by Shyla Colt
Every case has been bizarre in its own way, and other than the fact that they make no sense and have no evidence left behind, there’s no one thing that binds them together. Though, I’m starting to think every incident is more outlandish than the next. We went from stealing dead bodies to removing hearts and now heads. What’s next? And why in the hell would a demon need body parts? It has to be someone with a vendetta or a mission, but why and what? These cases deliver more questions than answers, and with the body count piling up, that’s a severe problem.
Short of the Frankenstein theory, everyone is stumped. Bad analogy. A Golam is created from clay, not actual pieces, and a hand of glory only requires a hand of a murderer. What the hell would anyone need a head for? Not even a part of the brain, but an entire flesh covered skull. Can one feed a demon like they do a dog? As far as I know, they hunger for souls and chaos, not actual flesh. Is this some new breed of demon someone unearthed? Why wouldn’t it be? It’s not like we have enough things to worry about.
I’m the furthest thing from professional wear in oversized sweatpants and a white T-shirt. Cristobal’s irritation and anger burn a bright red through our bend. He has slow burn anger, and it’s been brewing overnight. When I got the call for the case this morning, it tipped him over the edge. He doesn’t like letting issues lie. I swear I can feel the heat the closer I get to the city. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable, despite the air conditioning. This puts a whole new spin on the phrase hot seat.
Just when I think I’m getting used to the bond, a new quirk is uncovered. I understand why he is unsettled. Paranoia and plots come with any position of power. But I refuse to have bodyguards every place I go. Life is unscripted, and no amount of planning will keep me safe twenty-four hours a day. Not that I’d entertain the constant sentry.
Shifting into another lane, I kick the speedometer up a notch. The engine purrs, and I enjoy the perks of the upgrade. The black BMW is leaps ahead of the Toyota Corolla stick shift I’d been babying since I was nineteen. I glance down at the navigation center. Twenty-minutes.
An intense urge to switch into the far right lane slams into me. I obey. A loud pop makes me jump. I watch in horror as a fourteen-wheeler loses its rear tire. The mass of black rubber unravels and the car directly behind it veers to the right, directly into the car that would’ve been mine had I not moved. The white Honda plows head-on into the wall, only to be T-boned a second later. The hood flies up, and smoke begins to roll out. My heart beats erratically as I move into the emergency lane and grip the steering wheel tightly. Coincidence or pot shot at my life?
“Are you okay?” Cristobal’s voice chimes in my head.
“Fine, just saw a nasty accident on the highway.”
I keep my suspicions to myself. Accidents happen frequently, and I’m still spooked as hell by what I saw last night. Who wouldn’t be? Calm, I rejoin the flow of traffic, hyperaware of my surroundings. I pull into the parking lot next to the familiar aquamarine Studebaker. Fel and Sacha step out of the car, and I feel like I can breathe.
Sacha raises my black duffle bag. “You owe us a story young lady,” she crows.
“I do.”
“No more running off to do dangerous things solo, please. There are three of us at W.F.H, you know?” Fel adds.
“I know. This was supposed to be an info run. I never expected anything else.”
“Afterward we want all the details. Right now, this case deserves our full attention.”
“Have you guys been inside?” I ask.
“No, we wanted to wait for you.” Sacha nods her head at me.
“And to settle my stomach. There’s gruesome, and then there are headless bodies. We’ve graduated to a new level of disturbing and horrifying.” Fel mock gags.
“Who cuts a person’s head off, and takes it home?” Sacha mutters.
“This is one of those times I really don’t want to know,” I answer honestly.
“Be a private eye, I thought. It’ll be adventurous and glamorous, I thought,” Fel says in an announcer-style voice.
“Shut up, no one told you that,” I say.
She laughs. “No, they actually said, why the hell would you want to do that.”
Her impression of her father makes me giggle.
“It does help people and pays the bills, though.” I shrug.
“Tall, dark, and fanged would handle any bill you wanted him to,” Fel replies slyly.
“Do we want to enter into a debate about the tall, dark, and fanged, cousin?” I flip the tables on her.
“I go on vacation and you what … start up a new relationship?”
“N-no,” Fel sputters.
“No? Are you sure? ’Cause you were looking super cozy at the house.”
“Friendship is not the same thing as a relationship, and don’t you need to get dressed?” Her obvious change of topic makes Sacha and I laugh as she gestures wildly toward the bag.
“There’s a gas station up the road where you can change. In the meantime, we’ll give you the highlights of the case,” Sacha says as she leads us back to her car.
The conservatory was closed over the weekend as Dr. Stanley Glants finished final preparations for his brand new, fully funded display. The murder occurred sometime Friday, and the body was discovered this Monday when they opened around eight in the morning. Doctor Glants was a healthy, forty-five-year-old astronomer with no family to speak of and no serious relationships. Married to his work, he lived for research, travel, and the stars he studied. Fairly “likable” but quiet, he came across as reserved, but polite. There didn’t appear to be any obvious links between him and the other odd scenes we’ve been to recently.
I change quickly into a charcoal pants suit with low-heeled, black pumps, and an official-looking badge for appearances. Back on the scene. I try to brace myself for what’s to come. There’s nothing natural about murder, and every crime scene is unsettling in its own way. I don’t know that I’ll ever be used to seeing death this way. Nor would I want to.
The stench of rotten eggs and flesh greet me not long after we enter the building. The space is small and enclosed, and death is a potent breaking down of organic matter that gives off distinct odors.
“Ladies, if you’ll follow us, we’ll take you back,” Carter says. His face is even paler than usual, so I know this is going to be bad.
“What display was Doctor Glants working on?” Sacha asks.
“They were opening up a Night Sky observation. Nothing incredibly fancy to big cities, but the high-powered telescope was a huge upgrade for our town. Along with the new sound system and screens, it was a much-anticipated addition to the community. They’d been working on the proposal for a while I hear. Dr. Glants was persistent, and it paid off.”
“It doesn’t sound like anything kill-worthy. The exhibit wasn’t at anyone’s expense, was it?” Fel questions.
“No,” Marcus shakes his head. “As far as we know, Dr. Glants was looked at as a hero for getting the big wigs to pay attention to us down here.”
I clear my throat as the smell intensifies. Blood mixed with the unmistakable odor of feces and cleanser creates a hot mess of stomach-turning scents. Carter and Marcus stop in front of the caution tape and hand us booties.
“You should double up on those,” Marcus says.
“Jesus,” Sacha whispers. We quickly cover are feet.
“Are you ready for this?” Carter asks.
“No,” I reply honestly.
“Yeah, we weren’t either.” Carter holds up the tape as we duck under and round the corner.
I notice the corner is the first blind spot hidden from the cameras positioned around the room.
“And of course, this is in the blind spot. Let me guess, they didn’t capture anything on camera,” Sacha says.
“They didn’t. There was also no sign of forced entry,�
� Marcus states.
“That tends to mean the vic knew the killer,” I say.
“Usually, yeah,” Carter says skeptically.
“You don’t agree?”
“You’ll see,” Marcus replies.
The words are ominous. Around the corner is an image from a nightmare. I’m looking at a meat suit. A body without a head is a lump of flesh. Arms, legs, and a torso with no identity. They’ve stripped this man of who he was. Our faces emote. It’s the first line of conveying how we feel. The most powerful tool we have in our arsenal of communicative tackle. Blood splatter lines the walls and puddles of congealed blood line the floor in dark pools.
“This looks like a scene from a slasher movie,” Fel whispers shakily.
“When you sever the head, the blood that pumps to the brain has to go somewhere,” Marcus explains.
I cover my nose with my sleeve as I study the stump. Insanely clean, it appears the doctor’s head was taken in one fell swoop. The wound is uniform.
“What the hell would make a clean cut like that other than a guillotine or an executioner’s ax?” I wonder.
“I’m looking forward to seeing how the coroners spin this one when it comes to cause of death.”
“You’re the witches. Tell me why someone would need a head?” Marcus says.
Sacha shakes her head. “I wish we could tell you that.”
“Is this some Macbeth level shit? They put into a cauldron and cook up a spell?” Carter asks.
I scowl. “That is not how magic works. Besides, there are far easier ways to procure a skull. Ones that won’t draw police attention.”
“They either needed it fresh or needed it from Dr. Glands specifically.” Fel’s voice is muffled by her sleeve.
“I want to see if I can find a power signature. Can you give us a few minutes?” I turn to look at Carter and Marcus.
“Yeah, we’ll step out for a few minutes.”
“We need to cast a circle,” I say once the building is empty.
“Okay, why the precaution?” Fel asks.
“Whatever this thing is, it’s powerful, and now it knows we’re hunting it. We take every precaution we can moving forward when it comes to things connected to the sigil.”
“You sound scared,” Sacha says thoughtfully.
“I am, and you will be once you hear about last night. Cristobal doesn’t get upset over trivial things.” I hold my hands out. “The sooner we get this over, the quicker we can get out of here. The smell is strangling me.”
We join hands, and I call down the powers of our ancestors, the elements, and the watchtowers for protection. I take the girls’ offered energy and direct them toward the dome made of pure white energy we’re erecting around ourselves. People often misunderstand magic. It’s not a matter of which school of thought is correct, but the strength of the faith the practitioners themselves have. Their belief is the determining factor along with skill, practice, and some natural inclination. The air shimmers and I feel the shield settle into place.
Sacha waves her hand over the room, seeking signs of magic or summons.
“We’re here too late to pick up anything.” Fel’s voice is full of disappointment.
“I still maintain there’s no way these events are separate. It’s too bizarre even for Louisiana.” Sacha remains faithful to the serial magic worker theory.
“Maybe it’s calling us out. This is incredibly public and brutal. Could it be warning us off?” I ask out loud.
“That’s terrifying. You speak with confidence. You know what we’re dealing with now, don’t you?” Fel asks.
“Demon, a powerful one.”
“I think it’s time for that conversation. We’ve done all we can here for now,” Sacha shakes head.
“Let’s lower the circle and get back to the office.” Fel goes into planner mode, and I take a backseat, relieved we didn’t encounter the demon. We’re not ready.
***
“Holy shit, Lou.” Sacha whistles.
“Insects flew out of her mouth?” Fel repeats slowly.
I nod my head and huff. “I was there, and I’m still having a hard time believing it.”
“How?” Sacha says exasperatedly. “It’s not like Hal was possessed.”
“No, but she was keyed into the thing, channeling and challenging it. Apparently, it’s close enough to the same thing,” I reply.
Sacha holds up a finger like she’s about to make a strong point. “She’s also got one foot in the darkness. Her resistance isn’t the same.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes. As if that’s the answer to everything. Haven’t we learned by now there are never any easy answers?
“Still. What the hell level of demon can do that?” Fel scoffs.
“I might be more concerned about who could control it. Hal is no lightweight, and it owned her,” I counter.
“Maybe they’re not. The demon is pulling strings and letting them think they’re running it,” Sacha suggests.
“That’s the most likely scenario. A group of beginners stumbled on to a spell or a book and got in too deep. Now they’re stuck,” Fel agrees.
“All I know about demons is the bare basics. We need to change that immediately,” I say.
“So, research,” Fel mumbles.
“Seems like a legit place to start.” Sacha nods.
“I think the court’s library might be the most viable. We have a section dedicated to the subject.”
“Shocker,” Sacha drawls sarcastically.
“I saw that! I haven’t gotten a chance to explore it yet,” Fel says.
“Oh, have we been spending time there for reasons other than visiting our dear friend, Lou?” Sacha leans forward. “Please explain.”
“Percival’s been tutoring me, if you will, on how to deal with the different courts. It’s nothing toward.” The sparkle in her eyes and the slight upturn of her lips suggests the opposite of her words.
“Wait. How did this come about?”
Fel points to me. “She suggested it.”
“Way to throw me under the bus. I did. I thought it’d be beneficial for everyone. They have to get used to more witches, and you needed a crash course in vampire politics. I’m still learning, so I can’t teach you.”
“See,” Fel says.
“Oh ho. You like him, don’t you?” Sacha questions.
“He’s a likable man, so yes.” Fel’s dancing around the issue like a tap dancer at a competition.
“Don’t try to pull that misdirection bull crap on us,” Sacha scoffs.
“Guys, I enjoy spending time with him. He’s funny, polite, and incredibly knowledgeable. It’s not a hardship to be around him. It doesn’t mean we’re making a love connection. This isn’t reality television.”
“Uh huh,” I say.
Fel shoves me playfully. “I’m only doing this because of you,” she grumbles.
“Yeah, I said befriend him, not bewitch him I Dream of Jeannie.”
She flips me off, and I laugh.
“What am I missing?” Sacha asks.
“We’re trying to get an inside view of the Purge period.”
“Jesus, why would you want to bring that up? It’s like asking a Vet about ’Nam?” Sachs frowns.
I give her a cliff note version of the past few weeks. “I’ve been having dreams and visits from ancestors pushing me toward learning about the past.”
“Wow. What do you think they want you to do?” Sacha says.
“No way of knowing until I can get the full picture. It could be exactly what we’re doing, bringing our two groups closer together. That period was a time of huge strides forward when it comes to relationship building between all of us.”
“You know I’m here whatever you need,” Sacha says.
“I do, and I can’t begin to tell
you how much I appreciate that.” I move across the couch in the office to give her a side hug. A year ago, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever feel this closeness with her again. My mass exodus from Cypress nearly bankrupted our friendship. It wasn’t the leaving. It was the way I failed to share my plans before I uprooted my entire life. Looking back, I can understand her point of view, but hindsight is always twenty-twenty.
“We need a plan.” Fel grabs a notebook and pen. “I know we want to research, but where do we even start?”
“All we have to go on is the sigil itself. When I showed it to Cristobal, he suggested a Middle East B.C. It’s still broad, but it’s better than nothing. He’s looking for someone who might be able to help us, but it could take a while. There’s no telling where they might be, or what they’ll ask for in return for a favor. Everything is done with self-interest with them.” I roll my eyes.
“You’re telling me if vampires had a house it’d be Slytherin,” Fel says, lightening the mood.
“Hey! That’s my house, too,” I protest.
Sacha grins. “It explains so much, doesn’t it? Houses tend to stick together.”
“And suddenly it’s pick on Lou time?”
“No, we’re just comparing notes, in front of you,” Sacha says playfully.
“Oh, well that’s so much better than being made fun of, thank you.”
“You know we’re your real friends because we care enough to say it to your face instead of behind your back,” Fel deadpans.
“Evil witches.” I snicker.
“Speaking of. What’s up with you and Hal?” Fel asks.
“I don’t want to give up on her because she chooses an alternate route.”