by DAVID B. COE
I could almost hear Namid growling, I am not a ghost.
“Never mind that,” Kona said. “How does this blood spell thing work?”
“I’ve never cast one, so I don’t know for certain, but I’d imagine that a myste would simply incorporate the blood as an element in the spell, and the result would be the same as usual, but a good deal stronger.”
“So you came here because you thought maybe the murders I mentioned were committed by some of your kind who aren’t playing by the rules.”
“Something like that.”
“If you’re right, how do we prove it?”
“Kevin, you said the last murder was committed five days ago?”
“Yeah. Autopsy’s been done, and the body has been cremated.”
I expected as much, and I wasn’t sure that there would have been much to see on the corpse anyway. If the victim’s blood was used to fuel a spell, chances were the spell wasn’t directed at her, which meant that there would be no residue left on the body.
“Was there anything unusual about any of the crime scenes?”
Kevin deferred to Kona, appearing far less sure of himself than he had moments before. I felt bad for him. He was too new to the whole magic thing, and he was still playing catch-up.
“Nothing that I saw,” Kona said. “But we can show you the photos.”
“Without getting yourselves in trouble?”
“We’ll worry about that.”
We returned to the detectives’ room, and while Kevin pulled the files, Kona and I sat at her desk.
“He’s taking the magic stuff pretty well,” I said in a whisper.
“He’s a good cop. He’s freaking out on the inside, but he won’t let you see it—he might not even let me see it—and he damn sure won’t let it get in the way of him doing his job.”
Kevin came back with the files and handed the first one to me. It was that of the elderly woman, Muriel Carey. She bore a jagged wound that ran from the base of her ear to the middle point of her jawline, cutting right across the carotid artery. She was a mess, her face frozen in a rictus of fear, blood splattered across her skin and clothes. But I could tell that Kona was right: A wound like that on a victim who bled to death would have produced a great deal of blood, more than most people would expect, more than I could see in any of these photographs.
But nothing else caught my eye. The same was true of the photos of the other two victims. No surprises, not as much blood as I would have expected, although in fairness, some blood might have pooled within the body of the young woman who was stabbed in the heart.
“No footprints,” Kona said, as I peered more closely at the photos.
I had, in fact, been checking for them. I scrutinized the pictures for another few minutes, then closed the files and handed them back to Kevin. “Thanks.”
“Anything?” Kona asked.
“No, but I didn’t really expect to see much. I would have needed to be on the scene.” For Kevin’s sake I added, “Magical residue doesn’t show up on film, or in pixels.”
“That’s inconvenient.”
“Hang around with Justis for any time at all, and you’ll realize that magic is almost always inconvenient.” She toyed with one of her long gold earrings, her forehead furrowed in thought. The earrings weren’t regulation, but none of her superiors had the guts to tell her that she needed to get rid of them. It was one of the perks of being a really good cop. “I suppose we’ll have to call you in next time. If there is a next time,” she added with a glance Kevin’s way. “Hibbard’s going to love that. Along with the murder of James Howell, these killings are the biggest ongoing investigations we’ve got, and you’re in on both of them.”
“I’m not convinced yet,” Kevin said.
We both eyed him, and I nodded. “That’s all right. I’m not entirely sure I am either. Having opposing theories is a good thing.”
“He’s right,” Kona said.
Kevin nodded. “Okay.”
I stood. “I’ll be in touch if I hear more. You’ll do the same?”
“Of course.”
I started toward the door, but Kona called my name. I walked back to her desk.
“Who was your source on the dark magic thing? Was it Q?”
I kept my expression neutral, but on the inside I cringed. I hated keeping secrets from Kona. Long ago, my father had taught me ten rules of being a good cop—things like “Never lend your weapon to anyone” and “Don’t put off your paperwork.” Rule seven was “Never keep secrets from your partner.” In my early days on the force, I had come within a hair’s breadth of destroying my career by violating this rule. I was a weremyste, suffering through the phasings every month, and rather than confide in Kona, I tried to hide it from her. I vowed never to do that again, and I remained true to that vow until the day I resigned.
I didn’t want to lie to her now. We were working together, and keeping secrets from her promised to complicate our investigation. But we weren’t partners anymore; I didn’t have a partner. And if I was to tell her that I was working for Jacinto Amaya, the most notorious drug dealer in Phoenix, she might never speak to me again.
“I can’t say,” I told her. “It wasn’t Q, but I can’t tell you more than that.”
She pursed her lips for a moment, which she did when she was unhappy. After a moment, she gave a shrug that conveyed more annoyance than acquiescence. “All right,” she said, her tone clipped. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Right.”
I walked away again, and as I did, her phone rang. I heard her pick up, and then a moment later scribble something on a note pad. “Hold on a minute,” she said into the receiver. “Justis!”
I stopped, turned.
“You can’t go yet. We’ve got a new victim who you need to see.” With a sidelong look Kevin’s way, she added, “Bled to death.”
CHAPTER 10
The body had been found in Sweetwater Park, adjacent to the Paradise Valley Mall. I called Billie and asked if we could meet a bit later than we had planned. Then I followed Kona and Kevin out to Paradise Valley.
Upon reaching the park, we found squad cars everywhere, a frenzy of flashing blue lights. The cops on the scene had set up a perimeter starting about a block from the park and were directing traffic away from it and away from the mall as well, which couldn’t have been making the shop owners happy. But Kona must have said something to them, because they waved me through without asking me for ID. We drove to the edge of the park and got out to walk the rest of the distance.
The body had been found among a line of trees that formed a boundary between the park and Paradise Village Parkway, which ran around the mall. According to the detective who met us a few yards shy of the trees, no one had touched it. Kona and Kevin stayed with the detective, learning what they could about the person who found the body. I eased closer, peering into the shadows, taking in each new detail as my eyes adjusted to the dim light beneath the trees.
“Hey, what’s he doing?” the detective said.
“He’s all right,” Kona told the guy. “We’ll join him in a minute.”
I’d have to remember later to thank her.
The body was that of an older man, late fifties, maybe early sixties. He was white, with wild gray hair and a rough beard. He wore baggy pants that were held up with a frayed canvas belt, and a pale green T-shirt, stained and torn. His shoes were bound together with silver duct tape.
He had been tied to a small tree. Or rather, he had been forced to wrap his arms around the narrow trunk, and then his hands had been bound together with those plastic cable ties that electricians use. His wrists had been slashed so deeply that his hands hung from his arms at an angle, as if they might fall to the ground at any moment. Dried blood stained his palms and fingers, as well as the earth beneath them. I couldn’t say for certain whether any blood was missing, but I didn’t doubt it for a moment. This was a ritual killing. I could tell from the distorted grimace frozen on the man’s f
ace that he had died in fear and in pain. Tearing my eyes from him, I turned a slow circle in the cool shade, searching for any sign of magic, any glow of a sorcerer’s spell. I saw nothing.
Checking on Kona and the others—they were still talking, though the third detective kept an eye on me—I walked around to the far side of the tree so that I could see the wounds on the victims wrists more clearly. At least that was how it would seem to Kona’s friend.
I squatted down in front of the corpse, bracing my hand on the dirt for balance. I didn’t see much on the wounds beyond what any other cop would see—there was no magic here, either. But as I stood again, I took a pinch of blood-darkened earth between my fingers.
I walked away from the body, deeper into the shadows, and pulled my scrying stone from my pocket. Holding it in my hand, with that bloodied dirt beneath it, I spoke the words of a seeing spell in my head.
The dappled light that had been reflected off the smooth surface of the stone vanished, taking with it those familiar sinuous bands of blue and white, and leaving what appeared at first to be impenetrable darkness. But I heard voices in my head, voices the dead man had heard; at first they were vague, muted. I couldn’t make out their words. Within a few seconds though, they gelled, became more real.
. . . Coming around.
It’s about time. We can’t stay here forever.
Relax, the first voice said. A man, authoritative and used to having people do as he instructed. No one’s going to find us. We have all the time in the world.
Faint light appeared in the stone, vanished, appeared again. In the seeing I had summoned, the dead man was waking up, his eyes fluttering open. He tried to straighten up, but the tree was in his way, his arms were already bound. Despite the darkness, I could see his hands and wrists, which remained whole, at least for now.
A face loomed before him. Dark eyes, a straight nose, and trim beard, all beneath a shock of straight dark hair. A cruel smile played at the man’s lips, dimpling his cheeks.
Wake up, sleepy-head. It’s a beautiful night in the neighborhood.
Who-who are you? the bound man asked. Why are my hands tied? He sounded terrified, and he spoke with a slight lisp.
What’s your name?
J-Jeff.
Well, Jeff, we need your help, and we want to make sure you cooperate. Here, let me give you a hand.
It seemed that Dimples helped him stand straighter. A moment later the victim’s perspective shifted. He could look around with greater ease. He spotted the second man, who stood several feet away. He was taller and broader than Dimples, looming like a bear in the gloom, but I couldn’t make out the details of his face.
Is that better? Dimples asked. When Jeff nodded, he smiled again and said, Good, I’m so glad. Now . . . He brandished a knife, waving the blade in front of the bound man’s eyes. We need to take a bit of blood from you. Is that all right?
Are you fucking nuts? No it’s not all right. Lemme go!
Dimples winced, his brow furrowing. I’m sorry. I should have phrased that differently. We’re going to take your blood. That’s why you’re here and tied to that tree. I didn’t mean to imply that you had any choice in the matter. Forgive me.
Stop fucking around, Bear said from the shadows.
Shut up. I know what I’m doing. To Jeff, he said, This will hurt a bit; quite a lot, really. But with any luck we’ll leave a bit of blood for you. That’s the plan anyway.
The bastard. Fear increased the amount of epinephrine in the blood, and I would have bet every dollar I had that the stronger the fear, the stronger the magical enhancement in a blood spell. Dimples was scaring the guy to make his spell more effective.
Come here, Dimples said.
Bear lumbered toward him.
Please don’t do this, Jeff said, his lisp growing more pronounced. I could see him struggling to free his arms, but the ties held him tight.
Dimples didn’t answer. He’d done what was necessary to make his victim’s fight-or-flight response kick in. But after a moment, he did say, Hold him steady.
Arms appeared in the periphery and took hold of Jeff. Bear was behind him, pinning him to the tree, gripping his forearms to keep the bound man from flinching or thrashing.
Dimples stood in front of them both and glanced past the bound man. His knife flashed in the darkness, gleaming with reflected light, perhaps from a streetlamp.
No! Jeff cried out. Then darkness, and a skirling scream like that of an animal being torn apart by a predator. On and on it went, spiraling into the night.
Shut him up, I heard Dimples say, the command nearly lost within the bound man’s agony.
The screaming was muffled abruptly, though it didn’t stop. I assumed bear had wrapped a hand over Jeff’s mouth.
Dimples cursed and muttered something under his breath. At that point, Jeff’s screams did stop. Moments later, his eyes opened again, his gaze fixing on the gaping wounds at his wrists and the crimson stains on his hands.
Bear stepped out from behind him and moved to stand beside Dimples.
Ready? Dimples asked.
Bear nodded.
Dimples closed his eyes and held out his own hands toward those of the bound man, though he seemed to take care not to touch him. He said nothing; his lips didn’t even move. But seconds later golden light burst from Jeff’s wrists, arcing through the darkness and slamming into Bear’s chest. The big man grunted and staggered back several steps, so that Jeff could no longer see him. Whatever spell Dimples had cast stopped the flow of blood from Jeff’s wrists, but not for long. Moments later, the torrent began again. Jeff’s eyelids drooped—blood loss, terror, pain.
Strange sounds reached him from where Bear had been. Groans, a sharp intake of breath, and a scream of agony much like Jeff’s own. Jeff’s head lolled to that side, his eyes opening once more. Bear was on the ground on all fours, looking like he might be ill. His back arched, his head snapping upward to reveal a bearded face locked in a feral grimace.
Before I could see more, Jeff’s eyes closed again. Seconds later, Bear’s screams faded. I saw nothing else in the stone, heard no more from Jeff or his killers.
Taking a long breath, I slipped the scrying stone back into my pocket and brushed the dirt from my hand. Catching Kona’s eye, I gave a single nod.
She, Kevin, and the other detective spoke for a few moments more before she said, loud enough for me to hear, “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
They walked to where I was standing, the third detective eyeing me once more.
“She says you’re some kind of expert in serial killers,” he said, jerking a thumb in Kona’s direction. “That right?”
“I have some experience with them.”
“Like the Blind Angel.”
“Like that,” I said.
“So what do you see here?”
I didn’t like the guy’s attitude, and I didn’t feel like proving to him that I had the chops to work his case.
“There were two guys here,” I said, talking to Kona and Kevin, and all but ignoring their jerk friend. “One was about my size, the other bigger, heavier. They . . . took some of the victim’s blood, though obviously not all of it.”
“What do you mean took?” the detective asked. “And how do you know how big they were?”
“I told you,” Kona said, “he sees stuff the rest of us miss.” To me, she said, “Do you know what they used the blood for?”
My gaze flicked in the detective’s direction. “Not yet. But I think I know where to start looking.”
“Good. You’ll call when you have more for me?”
I grinned. “Don’t I always?”
She nodded. Kevin winked at me. I headed back to the Z-ster, knowing that our exchange would leave the other detective scratching his head, and not caring one bit.
I drove back to Mesa, the seeing spell replaying in my head like a SportsCenter highlight reel. I’d have no trouble remembering the color of Dimples’s magic, but what had he don
e to Bear? And what was that scream at the end? It had all the qualities of a magical attack, and yet Dimples had asked if Bear was ready and the big man had signaled that he was. It didn’t make sense.
With midday traffic building throughout the city, I barely made it on time to my rescheduled lunch date with Billie. She was already in the restaurant at our usual table. I kissed her and took the seat opposite hers. Her smile faded as she read my expression.
“Rough day?”
“So far.”
“Your dad?”
It took me a minute to remember my trip out to Wofford; that’s how preoccupied I was with what I’d seen in my scrying stone.
“Yeah, it was a rough night with my dad. And today . . .” I shook my head.
“You said something about Kona needing you, which I’m figuring out never means anything good.”
“It’s not her fault,” I said, hearing the weariness in my voice. “She needed help with a crime scene.”
Billie frowned. “Another one?”
“Yeah. You order yet?”
She studied me for another few seconds before shaking her head.
“Right. I guess it’s my turn to pay, isn’t it?”
Concern lingered in her green eyes.
“I’m all right,” I said, taking her hand. “There’s a lot going on right now, and I’m trying to figure out how much of it is related, and how much is just random crap coming down on me at once.” I fixed a smile on my lips, hoping it would be at least somewhat convincing. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” she said. “Thanks to a tip I got from a certain private eye, I’m the toast of the Internet.”
“Well, good. Then order to your heart’s content.”
Her eyes danced. “You sure? I’m thinking about the seafood fajitas.”
I considered the check Amaya had given me the previous night, and the other one I was supposed to retrieve from Nathan Felder. “A fine choice,” I said. “I’m feeling flush right now.”
“Good! Then I’m getting a margarita, too.”
“Don’t you have work to do, Miss Castle?”
She canted her head to the side, her smile turning coy. “I’ve already finished for the day. I was hoping you might have the afternoon free.”