The Medusa Files, Case 2: Heart of Stone

by C. I. Black

  He brushed his lips against hers, soft, fast.

  Another shudder rocked her. This wasn’t right. She didn’t want him. Not like that.

  “You’re powerless to stop me.”

  But that’s what she needed. To stop him. To find her power.

  She struggled to breathe, to think, to focus. “No.”

  “You don’t get to say no.” Eoin pressed his lips against hers. Heat exploded within her, setting her on fire, tipping her almost… within reach.

  He teased her mouth open with his tongue. Her traitor body obeyed, melting into him, digging her fingers into his scalp to draw him closer.

  No, no, no.

  She didn’t want this… well, she did.

  No. She. Didn’t.

  She wrenched away and slammed her fist into his face. He stumbled back, his hand on his jaw, his eyes wide.

  “Morgan.” Kate jerked to her feet.

  The businessmen rocked back, shocked, and half a dozen more people stood around, watching, pointing.

  Fire roared across Morgan’s eyes and she fought to keep it back. “I won’t be your plaything.”

  “Really?” Eoin straightened and desire buffeted through her.

  The fire in Morgan’s eyes burned across her face and down her neck. A new strength scorched through her veins, a power she’d never felt before. It incinerated the haze of Eoin’s charm. She squared her shoulders and leveled her gaze on him. “Really.”

  He staggered back. “No, you can’t. You’re a half-breed. That’s—” Fear flashed across his expression, and for a heartbeat, she saw what a monster she truly was in his eyes. Then he tugged his suit jacket straight and stormed away. Trina, the clerk from the jewelry store, stared at them from across the lobby and hugged her business satchel to her chest. The young woman’s expression was hard, but at Morgan or what her boss had done, Morgan didn’t know.

  “What the hell was that?” Kate asked, sagging back into her chair.

  “A little taste of my world.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Morgan parked the borrowed SUV back in the house’s multi-car garage. Her body still thrummed with desire, just like it had the last time, and even the slightest thoughts of Gage or Lachlin or even Eoin sent heat pooling deep within her. She had no idea how the hell she’d broken away from Eoin’s charm, and from the look on his face, neither did he.

  And when she stopped shuddering at the thought of his name, she’d try to figure out what had happened. Until then… frozen waterfalls, Antarctica, dead bodies.

  Another shudder swept over her. To hell with it. One cold shower coming up.

  She got out of the SUV and headed to the door leading into the house, but stopped before she reached it. That door led right past the situation room, where Gage or Lachlin or both likely were. She was not ready to face them, even if she only rushed by. If she did, they’d likely get worried and chase after her.

  Her nerves burned with want.

  Definitely not a good idea.

  There was a back door, closer to the bedrooms. She wouldn’t have to pass anyone. That was a better plan.

  She rushed out of the garage to the narrow walk leading around to the back of the house—mansion was more like it. The large building sprawled across a modest expanse of property in Old Town. Ancient trees towered overhead, their branches heavy with buds turning the sunset into a latticework of rich light.

  She passed through a wrought-iron arch into the back gardens. Bushes and shrubs crowded around her and hints of perennials poked through the dark mulch. Three early crocuses clustered against a stained birdbath, bright purple against the dark granite base.

  Once spring hit in full, she didn’t doubt the garden would be beautiful. Of course, that was probably due to a nymph or sylph or plant god of some kind. Hell, a brownie kept the house clean—not that Morgan had ever seen him.

  Last week the thought would have been ridiculous. Now, having seen what she’d seen… anything was possible. The cuts on her body and her broken ribs were almost gone and all by Hannah’s healing hands. Who knew who or what else lived in this house?

  It was almost impossible to believe that Morgan was now one of its strange residents. But she was, whether she liked it or not. And if she was going to live with Gage, she’d better figure out fast if she could trust him.

  A shudder raced over her. But first, one long, cold shower.

  She rounded a tall shrub to the small patio leading to the back door. Clayton sat on a wrought-iron bench, his enormous black frame taking up most of it. His glamour wavered and she saw smooth, sculpted ebony. Every detail had been made with a master’s hand, the curve of each thick-corded muscle, every vein, even those miniscule wrinkles at his joints.

  Gage had said Clayton was a golem, an animated statue, and in that moment, he really was. He sat in perfect stillness, a soft smile on his lips, his hands, palms up, resting on his lap, filled with birdseed. Sparrows hopped over his arms and legs and around him on the bench, chirping and eating. One cuddled in the crook of his elbow. It fluffed its wings and resettled.

  “Morgan,” he said, his deep voice a gentle rumble.

  With a flurry of chirps, the birds scattered into the branches above.

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  Clayton tossed the seeds onto the patio and brushed his hands on his thighs. “They’ll come back.”

  His glamour wrapped around him again and he returned to the normal human man she’d first met.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “I’m a golem. I don’t feel anything.”

  “Of course.” But she couldn’t bring herself to believe that. He’d seemed happy with the birds. That was a feeling. Perhaps he meant he didn’t feel anything physically.

  Heat swept through her and she fought another shudder. She shouldn’t be thinking about physical anything. Not until she’d shaken the rest of Eoin’s charm.

  Clayton didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he made no indication he knew how she felt. He sat, stillness still wrapped around him, watching her. He didn’t look at her with the same heat and depth Gage did, nor with the playful wickedness Lachlin did, but his gaze still made her squirm. There was a weight to it, a deep seriousness that went hand-in-hand with his stillness.

  A brave sparrow hopped to the edge of the patio and pecked at a seed.

  The weight in his gaze softened and that small smile pulled at his lips again.

  The sparrow hopped closer and devoured another seed. It froze and twitched its head right and left.

  Clayton’s smile blossomed in full with childlike joy.

  “See,” he whispered. “They always come back.”

  The bird chirped and flew up into the branches with the other sparrows.

  “Sometimes there are squirrels and rabbits. Oh, and Tom the cat. I bet if you join me, the little garter snake at the back of the garden would come.”

  “I would love that.” Well, maybe not the snake. She didn’t know if she wanted to be reminded that snakes were attracted to her—and if Eoin was any evidence, it seemed the masculine Kin kind were as well.

  “But not now,” Clayton said. “You have work to do.”

  “We’re waiting on Detective Wright to deliver the evidence he collected. Unless Rika and Lachlin have found something, there’s not much I can do right now but wait.”

  “Not that. Work about Chava.”

  Her biological mother. “Did you know her?”

  “Only for a little while. Gage and Lachlin knew her better.” Clayton’s smile turned sad. “But she was kind to me.”

  “Do you know where I could find out more about her?”

  “Gage can tell you.”

  Which brought her back to her original problem: whether she could trust Gage or not. “Thanks,” she said and headed into the house.

  Gage had said the Kin who’d killed her mother also wanted her dead, but—when he hadn’t thought Morgan was listening—had said the evidence box the k
idnappers had demanded for Kate’s ransom was a message to him and Lachlin. One of the kidnappers had even asked if Gage had looked in the box, as if that had been more important than getting it. Which, now that Morgan thought about it, actually was. They hadn’t wanted the box. They’d wanted to send Gage a message and then kill Morgan.

  She eased into her room, making sure the door was shut behind her, and slid the evidence box from beneath her bed. What was the message? What didn’t Gage want her to know?

  She propped her sunglasses on top of her head and pulled out the case file. It contained detective and lab notes, as well as photos of a bedroom belonging to Cameron Davis.

  From the bullet casings and the amount of blood at the scene, the detective in charge had concluded someone had been murdered, regardless that no body had ever been found. However, the blood on the clothes didn’t indicate the victim had been wearing them at the time of death. They’d been on the floor when the victim was shot and had bled on them. And while the blood type was a match to Mr. Davis, O+ was the most common blood type there was and really could have been anyone’s, which was pretty much all detectives had had at their disposal in the ’70s. Perhaps if she ran DNA testing on the sample, something might show up.

  Morgan flipped to the next page. According to phone, credit card, and any other record, Davis had disappeared that night and the detectives had concluded he was the victim. But they had no suspects, save for a girlfriend they’d never been able to identify or find.

  Someone knocked on her bedroom door. She kicked the box back under the bed and shoved the file under her pillow.

  Gage opened her door. Her heart skipped a beat and desire heated her. All of her. She struggled not to squirm and realized she sat on her bed. Not that a bed was necessary for what her body wanted, but it certainly helped.

  God damn Eoin and his charm. But she wasn’t sure her reaction was because of Eoin’s magic or not.

  She sucked in a ragged breath. Gage’s musk-and-mint scent wrapped around her and she forced herself to her feet before she could lie back in invitation. “Yes?”

  “Wright finally sent over the evidence.” Gage’s eyes narrowed. “You okay?”

  Hell, no! “Anything from Rika or Lachlin?”

  “I’m not going to ruin Rika’s thunder and Lachlin is still pouting.” He stepped back into the hall, an invitation for her to join him.

  She slid her sunglasses back into place and marched to the door, her body warming even more the closer she got to him. She tried to take a steadying breath without looking like she was taking one. All she had to do was focus. She could beat Eoin’s charm. She’d done it at the coffee shop… well, sort of. She could finish the job now. The catch was doing it while walking beside Gage.

  “So what did you get from your apartment?”

  “Just stuff.” She hadn’t gone to her apartment, but she couldn’t very well tell Gage she’d been meeting with Kate to get her to check up on him.

  “I didn’t notice anything new.”

  “Excuse me?”

  They turned past the rec room and headed down the hall to the front wing of the house and the situation room.

  “Your room looks the same.”

  “It’s, ah… I put it in the closet.” She made herself shrug. “Where else would clothes go?”

  Gage raised a dark eyebrow. “Where else.”

  A new heat spread across her cheeks. She didn’t know what kind of Kin Gage was. What if he was like Lachlin and could sense things about her, like the fact that she was lying? But Gage strode through the door to the situation room and there was no chance to figure out if he suspected anything. Ah, shit. This was getting complicated.

  Rika sat at the large table in the centre of the room with an unfamiliar laptop hooked up to the computer imbedded in the table, typing away and working at unlocking whatever secrets it might hold. Clayton had come in from the garden and now perched on a stool. He stared at the big screen at the back of the room, which was lit up with over a hundred thumbnail-sized pictures.

  “What’s that?” Morgan asked.

  “Photos from Scarlet’s laptop and the social networking sites she belongs to,” Rika said without looking up. “The first couple hundred, at least. We’re starting with the most recent.”

  Morgan squinted at the screen. “Don’t tell me you can actually see anything with them that size.”

  “Yes.” Clayton didn’t move, didn’t even breathe.

  “That’s yes to you can’t see anything or yes to you can?” Morgan asked, knowing full well it was yes he could—they would be a different size if he couldn’t.

  “Don’t confuse him, Kitten.” Lachlin’s silky tenor drew up the memory of his twin’s charm, sending a shiver racing over her. “He needs to find that sliver of evidence proving Eoin’s guilt.”

  Clayton gave Morgan a quick smile and turned back to the big screen.

  “He’s hardly confused, and trust me, while I think your brother has sleaze written all over him, the only evidence we have points to your sister.” Morgan fought the urge to move nearer to Lachlin and instead shifted closer to Rika.

  “My sister had nothing to do with this.”

  “Is that your conclusion from examining the box trap?” Gage asked.

  Lachlin rubbed his temples. “It doesn’t make any sense.” For a moment, he almost looked vulnerable instead of his usual bad-boy arrogance.

  “Do I need to bring in a specialist?” Gage asked.

  Lachlin glared at him. “No. I know what I’m doing.”

  “So what did you discover?” Gage crossed his arms, as if daring Lachlin to lie.

  Theirs was a complicated relationship. One Morgan wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to figure out.

  “The signature is almost identical to Bearnas’s, with one very subtle variation,” Lachlin said.

  “So she didn’t make the phantom sword box.” Which didn’t explain why Lachlin was unhappy.

  “The variation is so subtle, the only reason I noticed it is because I’m so familiar with Bearnas’s signature. Someone else wouldn’t have noticed.”

  “So it isn’t Bearnas’s signature,” Morgan said.

  “It might not be, or it might just be she’s further refined her technique. She was a teenager when you last spent any time with her,” Gage said. “What about the anchor?”

  “That’s Bearnas’s without a doubt.” Lachlin tapped the screen in the table and swiped across it. Pictures of the metal box appeared on the big screen. “You see this engraving here?” Lachlin highlighted a series of swirls and lines along the side of the box. “I’m certain they’re Bearnas’s marks.”

  “Damn.” Gage leaned closer to the screen, as if getting a better look would change things.

  “So what does that mean?” Morgan asked.

  “Those marks are the spell’s anchor, locking it into the box,” Gage said. “We can’t show the actual spell in a photo, but anchors are set after the spell is woven. Even if we can prove Bearnas didn’t weave the spell, she had to have known what it was to anchor it to the box.”

  And now it made sense to Morgan. “So at the very least, she’s an accomplice.”

  “But she wouldn’t be an accomplice to murder, period,” Lachlin said.

  “Is there any way the anchor or spell could be manipulated?” From the conversation, Morgan doubted it, but for Lachlin’s sake, she hoped it was a possibility.

  Rika typed on Scarlet’s laptop. “Not unless the phantom sword was created with raw, elemental magic.”

  “What does that mean?” Morgan asked. “And don’t tell me to look it up in that damned encyclopedia. Give me the abridged notes.”

  “All magic is elemental, Kitten. It comes from the magical plane.”

  “There are many different types of planes,” Clayton said.

  Lachlin glared at Clayton. “A spellweaver opens a fissure in the plane, slowly draws out magic, and weaves it into a spell.”

  “This takes time and c
oncentration,” Gage said. “It’s different from our Kin abilities. I can call fire, manipulate it, form it into a whip or blast it. To form a whip, a spellweaver would need to carefully make the spell, anchor it to an object, and then activate it.”

  “Like how the phantom sword was attached to the box.” Morgan was not going to think about how there now was more than one plane of existence. One little bit of insanity at a time, and right now, she needed to know how magical spells worked.

  “Because a spellweaver can make a fissure between our plane and the magical plane, it also means they can technically make bigger holes, drawing more magic faster,” Lachlin said. “They can cast the spell right away and they don’t have to have it anchored. Or in this case, they could have made the spell and added it to an already established anchor.”

  “Except that’s almost impossible to do and extremely dangerous. That much magic pouring into a Kin like that is almost guaranteed to kill them,” Gage said.

  “But it can be done?” Perhaps Bearnas didn’t make the phantom box after all.

  Lachlin shot Gage a dark look. “Not anymore.”

  “Which means all our evidence still points to Bearnas.”

  “My sister didn’t make that spell.”

  “Would she have made it for Eoin?” Morgan hated to ask, but family was one of those things people would kill for, and that was more likely than some super-powerful, risk-taking spellweaver casting an almost impossible spell.

  “No, not unless Father—” Lachlin stiffened. “I’m going to kill him. I swear to the Lord and Lady I will kill him.” He jerked to the door.

  Gage grabbed Lachlin’s arm. “We don’t know anything yet.”

  “Sure we do. The odds that another spellweaver cast the spell after Bearnas was done with the box is practically nonexistent. And it’s practically her signature. The only way Bearnas would get involved in something like this is if Father commanded it.” Lachlin twisted, and Gage let him go. “I wasn’t around, so now Bearnas has been forced to clean up another of Eoin’s messes.”

  “Calm down.” Dark power gathered around Gage.