For a stunned moment, everything slowed. Then my feet moved as if they’d made the decision before my brain had time to catch up. I ran to the window, the others at my heels.
Blood tipped the remaining jagged glass, and outside, below, a woman’s broken body lay half on the sidewalk and half on the grass. The leap had been only one story, but her hands were cuffed behind her back, so there’d been no breaking the fall. Not that having her hands free would have saved her. Judging by the way blood sprayed from her, gushing less with each weakening beat of her heart, the glass had severed an artery.
From my vantage a floor above, I watched the rider pour out of her body. Fuck. But I could do nothing. I was too far away to physically attack the disembodied creature and as soon as it found a body…it had proven human lives meant little to it. And it had plenty of fresh bodies to choose from as it dashed into the crowd. I reached with my grave magic.
Too late.
It jumped into a new body. I cursed. My power couldn’t touch the living. Within seconds a man broke away from the crowd, running the opposite direction as the other patrons. At this distance, and still gazing across planes, all I could make out was that he was male.
Damn.
I glanced at the broken body of the woman who, twenty minutes ago, had simply been a woman having lunch with her husband.
Death stood beside her body, he met my eyes for only a moment before looking away. I swallowed, fighting the burn that always preceded tears. He’d warned me. Told me not to stay, not to get involved. I’d thought he was trying to keep me out of danger. But maybe it was this…this utter waste and destruction of life he’d been trying to prevent.
And I pushed the rider to do it.
I glanced at the fleeing figure of the rider’s new host. Watched him turn a corner and vanish. Not that it mattered. I’d tried the direct approach. Tried to stop a serial killer. Not only had I failed, but now it was my fault that two innocent people were dead.
Chapter 23
The Anti–Black Magic Unit arrived four minutes later. Of course, by then they were too late to do anything but clean up the bodies. Falin vanished before they arrived. His last words to me? That I wasn’t to mention the FIB involvement.
Great.
I knew most of the ABMU officers, either from dinners at John’s or drinks after cases, but I hadn’t officially worked a case with any of them, so they saw me as a civilian. Which meant, at a scene like this, I was either a witness or a suspect, possibly both. Considering I’d been with both victims directly before their deaths, one of whom wore cuffs that I’d refused to explain, I was lucky I wasn’t arrested on the spot. Though that was still a possibility as I was asked—without the option of refusing—down to the station to answer more questions.
Which was why, two hours later, I found myself in John’s office, shivering and partially blind. He’d rescued me from an interrogation room, but as red as his ever-expanding bald spot had turned, I thought I might be better off with the dispassionate woman who’d spent the last hour grilling me.
“What were you thinking, Alex?” John asked, not quite bellowing the question, but only just barely.
I ducked my head. “No one would believe that the deaths were homicides. I found the pattern, found the most likely next victim, and I made an attempt to detain him.”
“Yes, and we all know how that turned out.”
I sank lower in my chair, the heavy weight of physical and magical exhaustion mixing with the crush of guilt. “I fucked up, trust me, I’m aware.”
“You’re aware? Alex, your actions led to the deaths of two people.”
I cringed, but a grain of anger competed with the guilt, so even to my own ears my voice sounded flippant when I said, “Technically, both were suicides, so as you told me, not a homicide case. Or are you finally ready to admit that something is wrong with the string of suicides in this city?”
John stared at me, his face so still, not even his mustache twitched. Then he pushed away from his desk, walked to his ajar office door, and shoved it closed. The resulting bang rang loud through the too quiet room.
Every step John took echoed between my ears as he walked back to his desk, leaned against it, and then stood there with his arms crossed. I shrank under his hard stare, wishing I had an invisibility charm on me. It wasn’t the reprimanding posture that got to me, it was the disappointment in his eyes. I’d been seeing a lot of it recently, and that cut deep because I owed John. He’d set me up as a retainer for the police, and when I’d been floundering after Rianna’s disappearance, he was the one to encourage me to get my PI license and open the business anyway. He wasn’t just a coworker, he was a good friend, maybe even the closest thing I’d ever come to a father figure in my life. As he stared down at me now, I had the urge to pull my knees to my chest and hide my face.
“Tamara changed Kirkwood and Kingly’s manner of death from suicide to undetermined yesterday,” he said after what felt like an excruciatingly long time.
I frowned. Undetermined still wasn’t homicide, and these people hadn’t died by chance or simple misfortune—they’d been murdered by whatever had possessed them.
“Alex, do you really think no one but you sees the troubling connections in these cases?”
A queasy feeling crawled from my stomach to my throat. “You mean there’s an active investigation? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because the brass wants to keep this quiet. There’s a good chance we won’t be able to prosecute, so it was determined that keeping as much information from the press as possible would be best.”
“But people are dying.”
“Yes. From suicide.” He threw out his hand to stop my protest as he continued. “Are there suspicious circumstances in the suicides? Yes. Did the strange anomalies contribute to the deceased’s decision to take their own life? Possibly. But if that is the case, you’re looking at charges of misuse of magic. Maybe, with the right judge and jury, you might prove manslaughter, but everyone knows magic can’t force someone to kill themselves.”
“Except you’re not looking for a spell. You’re looking for an…entity.”
“Which is the conclusion the two ABMU agents working the case reached as well, and no, I won’t tell you who they are,” he said before I could ask.
“I could help.”
“Like you’re helping now? By kicking up dust on cases everyone was willing to accept were suicides? By making a public scene at a crowded restaurant?” He raked his hand over his bald spot. “This city is a powder keg. Too many unexplainable things have happened, too many magic-related deaths. People are scared. We’ve had multiple reports of hate crimes, Alex. Hate crimes—seventy years after the Magical Awakening. From property damage to actual violence against witches and fae. My parents told horror stories about the riots following the Awakening, and as close to boiling over as this city is, we may just see that kind of terror again. Is that what you want?”
I didn’t justify the question with an answer. He continued as if he’d never expected me to.
“People are afraid of the unknown, of what they can’t understand. With everything that has happened, with all the unexplained, hell, unexplainable, magic from ritual murders to surfacing body parts with no apparent means of being severed, to holes in freaking reality—strange things are happening. Things that break the rules of what we understand about magic. And now a magic that can overcome free will to the point the victim kills themselves? It’s better if this stays quiet and doesn’t stir up any more fear.”
He had a point, and I sure as hell understood how terrifying it was when the rules changed—my entire understanding of the world was currently in flux. But I was one of the few people who could see the rider. It could walk by a dozen cops and they wouldn’t notice, but if I looked, I could pick it out of a crowd. That argument wasn’t anything John wanted to hear.
“Let’s say that a creature that can take over a body exists—then you’re talking about a nonhuman culpri
t. That makes it an FIB case—”
“Except it’s not fae.”
He continued without acknowledging me. “—and they obviously don’t want a spotlight on the issue either. The sale of iron is at the highest it’s ever been in Nekros, and the Ambassador for Fae and Human Affairs Office has been flooded with complaints from both sides. Then there are the political groups. Such as the group lobbying to make glamour illegal—”
As if they could enforce that.
“—and these people don’t view witches much better than fae. You have heard about the bill being considered that mandates that all children take an RMC test before they reach school age.”
I hadn’t actually. As someone who may not test human, the idea of a mandatory Relative Magic Compatibility test terrified me. And I surely wasn’t the only one. Besides, testing children was ridiculous. Unless they were wyrd, even people who peaked well above average on the RMC test had to choose to study and learn to use magic. And if people wanted to hate anyone with potential to use magic, only nulls were safe, and nulls were rarer than wyrd witches. The majority of the population could skim at least a little magic. Not much, and they couldn’t do a lot with it, but as long as they didn’t flatline on the RMC test, they had some small magical potential.
“So,” he continued, “if you don’t want to land in jail, you damn well better drop the case and leave well enough alone. Rebecca Cramer—that’s the woman who went through the window, if you didn’t know—her husband claims she was in police custody at the time of her death. He wants to press charges, except there were no NCPD officers on the scene when she went through that window. His description of the officer indicated that he was tall with long blond hair—does that sound like anyone you’re known to associate with?”
I looked away.
“What do you think Cramer is going to do when he finds out an FIB agent was involved in the death of his wife? And your client, Nina Kingly, she’s currently championing tighter restrictions on magic and its uses. Kelly Kirkwood has called the precinct a dozen times today. And an hour before your little lunch affair, I received a call from a reporter who was investigating the claims of a couple who said their son was murdered and the police dismissed the case. You’re stirring up fear and creating a hell of a lot of bad press for everyone.”
“I…” I had absolutely no idea what to say. He was right. I’d been careless. I’d been thinking about how to find the killer and giving the families peace of mind in the knowledge that their loved ones hadn’t committed suicide. I’d never considered what they might do with that information. “So what should I do?”
“Stop playing detective. You’re an exceptional grave witch, invaluable when it comes to questioning murder victims. But every time you get involved in a case, everything goes to hell. Leave the investigating to the police and stick to talking to the dead.”
I stared at him, too stunned to speak.
I was saved the necessity by a sharp tapping on the door. John stalked across the room and jerked it open, looking every bit the part of a very pissed off bear. The uniformed rookie on the other side shrank back, his head ducking.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but Ms. Craft’s brother is here. He said it was urgent. Something to do with their mother.”
My breath caught, my heart forgetting it needed to beat. Could it be…? I jumped to my feet, but made it no farther as John turned toward me, his bulky frame blocking the door.
“Since when have you had a brother?” The clinical skepticism in his voice brought reality back into focus. The hope that a moment before had crowded out room for doubt, withered and soured.
My legs weren’t quite solid enough to hold me and I sank into my chair. John watched me, but if he noticed me deflating, he made no comment. He just waited. Which wasn’t surprising, John had seen my background check when I’d been hired as a consultant. Officially, I had no listed relatives.
“My brother disappeared when I was eleven.” And I’d never given up hope that I’d find him again one day. But today? At the police station? I didn’t think so. “And my mother died when I was five. Whoever is in the lobby doesn’t know me.”
John grunted under his breath. “I’m starting to wonder if anyone does.”
I cringed. How could I respond to that? Not that John waited for a response. His mustache stretched downward with his frown as he stepped around his desk, opened the top drawer, and pulled out his service weapon.
“What did you say the last guy possessed by this ‘rider’ looked like?” he asked as he holstered the gun.
“As of a couple hours ago? Male, probably average height. He might have had short hair, but I’m not sure the color.”
“That describes half the population of Nekros.”
I shrugged. It was the best I had. “I’ll know with one look if it’s the rider.”
“No you won’t. You’re staying here.”
“Like hell I am,” I said, pushing out of the chair.
John shook his head. “Officer, arrest her.”
I gaped at John. “For what?”
“Oh, I’m sure there’s an entire list I can choose from after your little escapade earlier, but for now, let’s go with endangering a civilian.”
“What civilian?”
“At the moment, yourself,” he said, heading for the door. He stopped long enough to shoot a hard glance at the rookie. “Officer, that wasn’t a suggestion. Arrest her.”
“Sir?” The man practically cowered in the doorway.
“You can’t just arrest me,” I said, trying to slip around John.
“I’ll add resisting in a minute.” He grabbed my arm. “Cuffs.”
The rookie fumbled the cuffs from his belt, nearly dropping them before handing them to John, who slapped them around my wrists with the expertise of a veteran officer.
The iron content in the metal sent pain surging through my arms. I winced, cursing, but John had no idea I was anything other than human and that the iron hurt me. Ignoring my protests, he pushed me back into his office.
“Don’t forget to read Craft her rights,” he said, heading out the door.
“Yes, sir.” The officer took my arm, and then after digging through his pockets and pulling out a small slip of paper, he Mirandized me.
Chapter 24
“This is ridiculous. You know that, right?” I said once the rookie finished literally reading me my rights.
“Just following orders, ma’am.”
Yeah, I’d noticed that.
“Well, can’t we do this without the cuffs?” A burning itch now accompanied the stinging pain, and I fought hard not to let it show in my voice, or worse, to whimper. Humans didn’t have issues with iron and I was trying my best to pass as human.
The rookie not only didn’t remove the cuffs; he didn’t even bother answering the question. Grabbing my biceps, he pushed me toward the door.
“Uh, where are we going?”
“The cage, until you can make bail.”
Oh, he had to be kidding. I was ninety percent sure John had me arrested to keep me out of the lobby—which I’d have to pass through to reach the precinct’s cells. I was also sure he’d have thought of some other way to keep me out of the lobby if he weren’t so pissed, but either way, if it was the rider out there, I didn’t want my hands cuffed behind my back.
“Shouldn’t we wait for John to get back?” I asked, edging away from the door.
“Don’t make this difficult, ma’am.” He shoved me forward.
Crap.
As soon as he pushed me through the doorway, I opened my shields, peering across the planes. He escorted me down a small hall of offices—very small, not many detectives got an office instead of a slot in the bullpen—and then we were in the lobby. I scanned the room, ignoring the decay and the magic, looking only for souls. John’s cheery yellow soul was in the front, posture stiff and suspicious as he talked to a body filled with a soul coated in darkness.
The rider
looked up as the rookie pushed me into the lobby. A smile stretched across his stolen face. “Sister.”
Crap.
“That’s him, John. That’s the rider,” I yelled.
Then all hell broke loose.
The rider lifted a gun, aiming it at me. Someone shouted for him to drop the weapon. He wouldn’t. I knew he wouldn’t. I threw myself down even before I heard the gunshot.
Pain sliced through my arm, hot and sharp. Then I hit the ground. I’d managed to twist enough to land on my shoulder, which kept my head from slamming into the linoleum, but the jarring impact sent another wave of pain through me. I didn’t bother fighting the scream that burst from me—no one could hear it over the gunshots. Three of them, all in rapid succession.
The sudden silence following the loud shots sounded dull, empty, or maybe that was the ringing in my ears. Blood dripped down my arm as I tried to get my feet under me before—
Too late.
A large, shapeless darkness dashed through the station lobby, headed straight for me. No, not for me—we’d already danced that particular encounter—it attached itself to the rookie, pouring into him. I gulped, forgetting the hot pain surging through my body as I broke out in a frozen sweat.
Oh, crap, crap. “John, help.”
My boots left black marks on the floor, accompanied by smudges of blood as I scrambled, pushing myself farther from the rookie. His soul continued to dim. Fast.
“Someone call a medic,” John yelled as he headed for me. “How bad are you hurt?”
I shook my head, still trying to scoot away from the rider and his new host. “John, it’s in the rookie.”
The young officer smiled at me, his eyes glazing over with darkness. He drew his gun, leveling it at my chest. At this range, he couldn’t miss.
“Good-bye, Alex Craft.”
I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. I stared at the gun and time slowed, narrowing to only his finger as it tensed, to the movement of the gun’s action. I cringed, ready for the pain to blast into me. But his finger stopped, his face going slack.
Grave Memory: An Alex Craft Novel Page 22