[Kassandra Lyall Preternatural Investigator 03] - Bloody Claws

by Winter Pennington

  "That's not the point," I said.

  "What do the statues mean?" He straightened, tapping his pen against the palm of his other hand.

  "Well, to me, the statues suggest that the couple were pagan."

  "They were witches?"

  "Not necessarily, no."

  "Explain. What's the difference between a pagan and a witch?"

  I thought about it. "Pagan covers a broad spectrum of nature-based and polytheistic spiritualities. But not all pagans practice witchcraft."

  "What about the pentacle?" he asked. I hadn't yet seen the pentacle in the photographs.

  "I don't know," I said honestly.

  "Okay, so you think our possible victims were pagan?"

  "It's very likely, yes. I just don't know what flavor."

  Arthur tugged uncomfortably at his light blue tie. He pushed the messy tresses of his brown hair out of his face. "Keep going," he said.

  I pushed the two photographs away and scanned one of the close-ups. Crime scene photographs go in order of a full range snapshot, mid-range, and close-up. I stopped at the close-up of what I guessed was the doorway to the master bedroom. A trail of blood, like a body had been dragged, went from the door to the right and toward the camera.

  "A body was dragged from the master bedroom?" I asked, going to the next photograph. A red stained symbol stood out above the couple's bed. The celestial decorated blankets on the bed appeared to be soaked in the fluid.

  "That's not a pentacle," I said.

  The symbol looked disturbing, no longer bright and shiny red, no longer fresh, but dried, seeping down like the wall itself had bled. It didn't appear to be that big, perhaps a little larger than my hand. In the middle of the symbol, eight elongated triangles were positioned to form what appeared to be an eight-pointed star. Each triangle harbored a small symbol. I recognized the two symbols at the top of the drawing. The first was a sickle with a line drawn through the handle.

  "Do you know what it is and what it means?" Arthur asked.

  "Not off the top of my head," I said, gesturing for Arthur to stand. When he stood beside my chair and leaned over, I pointed at the first symbol. "This is the symbol for the dwarf planet Ceres. In astrology, Ceres corresponds to the mother."

  "The second symbol is just a circle," Arthur said.

  "Yes, but what do you get when you have a circle?" I asked, thinking aloud. "The circle can represent a lot of things, the sun, the moon, wholeness, completion. This entire drawing looks like a homemade seal of some sort."

  "A seal?"

  "Sometimes when a witch or Wiccan is doing magical work, they'll design a seal or sigil to represent the magical working. Usually, they'd carry the seal with them, on a piece of paper or talisman to aid the energy flow, intent, and focus. They could burn it, either by engraving the symbol on a candle or by burning the paper they've inscribed it on."

  I sighed. No doubt, the media was going to go ape-shit with this. Leave it to one idiot to give everyone else in a community a bad name.

  "I don't know why someone would leave this kind of symbol behind."

  "You think whoever drew the symbol on the wall is pagan?" he asked.

  "I can't answer that," I said, "as there's no telling just by looking. I can tell you that many of these symbols I'm not familiar with. They look alchemical, which isn't limited to a person who identifies as pagan. Has someone tested the stain on the wall to confirm it's blood?"

  "We sent samples to the lab."

  "Tell me about the couple that lived there."

  "Miranda and Landon Blevins. Married for two years. Miranda was twenty-five. Landon twenty-six. The neighbor, an elderly woman named Emma Mullins, said they were 'sweet kids.' No known enemies. Miranda often helped her with her garden. She didn't say much about Landon. But she did say that Miranda told her a few weeks ago she was infertile. She and Landon were looking to adopt." He flipped the notebook closed. "That's all I've got."

  I stared back down at the picture of the bedroom. "I don't see any signs of struggle. I don't see a weapon. The room is clean; nothing is knocked over or looks out of place. There's no body. Damn it, Arthur," I said. "I think right now, forensics is your best bet."

  "Why do you think you're sitting in my office?" he said. "They're out there as we speak. We'll go when we're not going to be in their way."

  It didn't surprise me he wanted to go in after forensics. It was easier than tiptoeing around trying not to contaminate anything. "And if they take stuff away to take back to the lab? It's better if I see the scene whole, Arthur. Judging by the dried blood on the wall, it's already some hours cold."

  "I know, Kass. I'm doing what I can. Do you think it's a cult related crime?"

  "I don't know. It could be someone trying to make it look like a cult related crime. It could be a discrimination crime. There are too many possibilities and not enough evidence."

  "When I get the green light, we'll go in."

  "You know, even seeing the scene, I can't guarantee any results."

  "None of us can," he said. "We just try our damndest to find clues."

  "Damndest?" I asked, smiling. "Oh, you were so born in Oklahoma."

  Arthur flashed his cheesy grin. "I know. I sound like my Gramps."

  "You sound like everyone's grandfather when you say that. It's not even a word."

  Arthur sat up straight like something had startled him. "I nearly forgot," he said, opening the top drawer of his desk. He pulled out a chain with a square of plastic attached to it. "We had an ID made for you so I don't have to hold your hand and walk you onto a crime scene."

  I took the neck ID. The top of it had my name and title written on it. The photograph in the middle of the ID was old, from before I'd been infected with lycanthropy, before the white streak had shown up.

  It wasn't a bad picture, but I looked serious and not happy about having it taken. I could see why most people had never pegged me as a cop. I looked feminine and fragile with a darker edge that might make some mistake me for Goth. The dark blue uniform looked good against my pale skin, made my eyes greener, but it didn't make me look like a cop. Arthur had once said I had a dominant look, despite my stature. Gazing at the picture on the ID tag, I didn't see it. I looked bored more than anything. Which if memory served me correctly, I had been. I'm not a big fan of being photographed.

  "This picture is so fucking old."

  "Yeah," he said, "but it's all we've got on file. It still looks like you, so it'll get you into the crime scenes without a police escort."

  "Hopefully, because every time I flash my license and badge they don't believe me."

  "They'll believe you now. Look at the bottom."

  I noticed the signatures. "Damn. You got Holbrook to sign it?"

  "Yep." He beamed. "I bugged the shit out of him until he did."

  "Thank you, Arthur."

  "No problem. You deserve to be able to walk onto a scene all by yourself."

  "I agree. Do you have a time guesstimate for when we'll check out the crime scene?"

  "Later."

  "Arthur, I really should be going in while the scene is still in one piece."

  "Sorry, Kass, but this time we're kind of bringing you in as a last resort."

  "I hadn't noticed."

  "I'll call you," he said.

  I got up, ready to leave. In part, I was glad I didn't have to go and immediately see the scene. The pictures were bad enough. It didn't sit well with me that he could call me at any hour of the night expecting my ass to roll out of bed, but it's not like he hadn't done it before.

  "Have a good night, Kass."

  "You too, Kingfisher."

  With that, I opened the door and headed for the exit, ignoring the hush of silence that fell over the main room. Ackerman was by the door. Her crystalline gaze met mine as she held it open. The look she gave me wasn't friendly.

  I ignored her as I walked past, hoping it would irritate her. I unlocked the car and slid behind the wheel.

 
; Ackerman stood in the doorway, glaring at me. I had to force myself to resist the urge to flip her off. Crime scene, murder, and a jackass police officer-three things that are not a good combination for a positive and cheerful mood.

  CHAPTER Four

  had my foot on the brake and was stopping at a red light when my cell phone rang from the console. When in the car, I keep a headset plugged into the phone so that I don't turn into one of those people who is too busy yakking away to pay attention to the road. The sun was setting on the western horizon of Oklahoma City. The last few streamers of light reflected brightly off the skyscrapers, like it was the light's last chance to fight against the darkness. Still, it was too early for Lenorre to be awake.

  I flipped the phone open and stuck the earpiece in my ear.

  "Arthur, I just left. What the hell?"

  "There's been a murder," he said.

  I jumped as a silver Impala behind me laid on their horn and noticed the light had turned green and someone was impatient to get somewhere.

  "You found a body?"

  I could hear a woman's muffled voice in the background, but what she said, even my werewolf hearing couldn't translate. Arthur was covering his phone again.

  "At the first scene? No. At this one? Yes. Where are you?"

  "In my car," I told him. "On my way home. Why? Where are you?" I knew why. I knew the moment I saw his number on my caller ID that something was up, and I had a feeling I was about to get dragged into that something. Oh, joy.

  "Penn and Eighty-Ninth," he said, spouting off an address.

  "Arthur," I said. "I'm driving. I can't very well write it down!"

  He chuckled. "Then look for the flashing lights. You can't miss us. We've got the entire street blocked off for the time being."

  "Why are you blocking the street?"

  There was a pause. "You don't want to know."

  "Shit, Arthur. Do you ever have anything good to tell me?"

  "You can bring your girlfriend or that one chick," he said.

  "Oh, that's wonderful news, Arthur. Thank you so much for inviting my girlfriend onto a murder scene." I hit my turn signal and made a left. "Why and what chick?"

  "That one vamp," he said. "Tall, dark, and drop-dead gorgeous." He seemed to find his last words amusing, chuckling in my ear.

  "Eris?" I asked.

  "Is that the one you don't get along with? The one that broke old man Cunningham's door down?"

  "Yeah, that's Eris." I sighed again. "It'll be a while. It's still too early for Lenorre or any of the other vampires to be awake. Give me about forty minutes, and I'll be there."

  "Forty minutes?" he said. "The sun is setting now. We could use her spidey senses. Not that yours aren't good enough or anything."

  "I need to change and I am not bringing a hungry vampire onto a bloody crime scene."

  He laughed. "That'd be a sight."

  "No, that would be an entirely new crime scene."

  "Hey," he said, "at least we wouldn't be busting our balls trying to find a suspect."

  "I'll be there as soon as I can," I said, and hung up on him. I probably should've told him that forty minutes would be the minimum amount of time it would take me. I guided the car onto the highway and headed for Lenorre's, hoping I had something to change into that didn't involve heels.

  The cops wanted to call me in last. Well, chances were I'd arrive last.

  CHAPTER Five

  osalin opened the door. "Wow, you look pissy." She moved out of the way as I entered and hung my coat on a coat rack by the door.

  "I'm not exactly happy."

  "What's up?"

  "I have a crime scene to go to."

  "The police have called you in on something?"

  Rosalin pushed the tangled auburn locks of hair out of her face. It appeared as though she hadn't brushed her hair.

  "Yeah. Did you just wake up?"

  "No," she said. "I make it a habit to run around in my nighties."

  I shook my head. Rosalin often slept in tank tops and a pair of boxer shorts. The red tank top she was wearing clung to her figure. It looked too tight to be comfortable to sleep in.

  I followed her, and the smell of coffee, into the kitchen.

  I leaned against the island as she poured herself a cup. "Do you want one?"

  "Nah, not right now."

  She gave me a look full of phony surprise. "God, mark this date. Kassandra Lyall, turning down coffee."

  I ignored her and checked the digital clock above the stove. It was almost seven thirty, which meant Lenorre should've already woken for the night.

  "You think she's up yet?" I asked.

  She took a sip of her coffee. "Probably."

  "Fed?"

  Rosalin shrugged. "Go find out."

  "I don't think that's a good-"

  "She's awake." I turned to find Zaphara standing in the doorway. "And fed."

  Two tiny bite marks were beginning to heal at the side of her neck.

  "Thanks for the update."

  Her dark brows rose. "You don't sound very appreciative."

  "Hard to, coming from you."

  Her generous mouth spread into a wide grin. "Which makes it all the more fun."

  "Zaphara," Rosalin said, but her voice didn't have the command in it that Lenorre often used when someone was stepping out of line. "Kassandra isn't in a good mood. I wouldn't push her," she said, but she wasn't meeting Zaphara's gaze. By doing so, she was admitting Zaphara was dominant.

  "Oh?" Zaphara asked, making a show of touching the tiny drops of blood on her neck and wincing.

  A low growl rumbled in my chest.

  She laughed. "Seems you are correct, wolf. You don't feel like playing?"

  "With you," I said, "very fucking rarely."

  Zaphara had her moments when she was easy to get along with, but only to an extent. She'd treated me with a little more respect in the last several weeks and had taken it upon herself to teach me how to harness the raven magic in my blood. For that, I was grateful, but the teasing and testing got on my nerves. But that's exactly why she did it.

  I left Zaphara and Rosalin to keep each other company, heading through the basement and the inner hallway. The door at the end of the hall opened, spilling light and color into my black and white night vision.

  "Good morning." I slipped in as Lenorre shut the door behind me.

  Lenorre wrapped an arm around my waist and brushed her lips across my cheek. "Good evening." She embraced me briefly before releasing me.

  I leaned against the back of the couch, crossing my legs out in front of my body.

  "How long have you been waiting?" she asked.

  "Not long," I said. "Pretty much as soon as I arrived Zaphara started parading around."

  Lenorre shook her head, black, waist-length curls slithering serpent-like over the wine colored blouse she wore.

  "You are later than usual."

  I crossed my arms, not defensively, but so I wouldn't get distracted by going to her, touching her. "I had an appointment that was scheduled later than usual," I told her. "Arthur called."

  "A murder?"

  "That's the only reason he calls, isn't it?"

  "To my knowledge, yes."

  "He called me in to look at some photographs."

  "Photographs?"

  "Mmhmm."

  Lenorre's expression was thoughtful, trying to figure it out.

  "Why photographs?" she finally asked.

  "According to him," I said, "he's trying to give me a break."

  "That does not sound like your detective friend."

  "No, it doesn't," I said. "Usually, no matter who else is on the scene, investigators, medical examiner, forensics, Arthur lets me play with them. Honestly, I think he's trying to keep me away from the press."

  "Why do you think so?"

  "There's something distinctively pagan about it."

  Lenorre caught it very quickly. "Ah." She moved, slightly, no longer so statuesque. "And if it leaks
to the media that the police have a practicing witch working on their investigation…"

  "Right," I said. "If it goes to court, the defense might use it as an excuse to play some awful cards. The whole department would probably get hit. So I think Arthur is trying his hardest to keep things under wraps."

  "What else?" Lenorre asked.

  I tilted my head. "What do you mean? What else?"

  "Kassandra." She smiled and my knees felt weak. "There is more. I can see it in the set of your shoulders. You're holding something back."

  This time, my brows went up.

  Lenorre moved so quickly she was a blur of wine-colored silk. She gripped my shoulders, pressing me a little roughly into the back of the couch. She squeezed and I stiffened under her hands.

  "I do not think it's just the photographs or Arthur's decisions that have created such tension."

  "You don't think it's being around you?" I asked.

  Her hands slid down my shoulders, across my back, resting at the base of my spine.

  "No," she said simply, but something about the way she said it was too intimate.

  I looked away.

  She placed one long, tapered finger under my jaw and turned my face back to hers. "Kassandra."

  "Well, technically, I don't think they've officially declared the first scene as a homicide, since they're still gathering evidence. However, there has been a murder and Arthur wants me to take a look at it."

  She took a step back. "I take it you want to change your clothes?"

  I nodded. "Yeah, and you've been invited, by the way."

  It wasn't obvious, but her surprise showed a little. "I have?"

  "Yes," I said. "Do you want to come with me? Seems they want someone who's more sensitive to help sniff things out." I shrugged. "And because they know what you are you'll be able to point things out to the police that I can't."

  She smiled, this time revealing the tips of her small fangs. "For you? Yes. For your detective friend? Not so much."

  I reached out, trying to catch her wrist.

  Lenorre moved too damn fast, turning her upper body away from me, just out of reach. The expression on her face was impish.

  I pouted. "No fair."

  She stepped into me, using her lower body to press mine against the couch. The breath caught in my throat.