He continued, surprising me. “I don’t expect to survive my Restart, if it ever happens.”
I tilted my head. “Why not?”
“You know I was born with gray hair. There’s a legend of another like me. Adam. He died during his Restart.”
“He’s really the only one?” I asked. I’d heard the legend but hadn’t really believed it.
“Yes. Others who had gray hair when they turned eighteen weren’t Aretes. You know how rare Fourths already were. Children period were hard to come by.”
I nodded. I was well versed in the curse that had surrounded humans for at least a hundred and fifty years. Nicole had been instrumental in removing that curse, and thank goodness it was gone because it had nearly wiped out Aretes. It made conception very difficult for most people, and the vast majority of families only had one or two children. As a result, Fourths became truly rare. An Arete who had red hair when he or she turned eighteen had been almost unheard of, but an Arete with gray hair was a legend.
I didn’t realize the legends had been serious, though. I raised my eyes to him as something occurred to me. “Your parents named you Abel? Why would they do that? Abel was killed by his brother!”
He gave me a half smile and shrugged. “They didn’t expect me to survive. I don’t expect me to survive.”
“Well, let me know if I can do anything to help.”
He didn’t respond—we both knew there was nothing I could do to either help his Restart happen faster or make it so it was less dangerous when it did occur. Instead, he asked, “Will you take the job?”
I bit my lip, staring at the last of my food. “I don’t know. Who hired you to do it? And why now? I mean, it’s way too coincidental that I’ve just learned that the hounds are dangerous and are trying to find me right when you come and ask me to hunt them.”
Abel relaxed, resting one arm along the back of the chair next to him. “There are a lot of things I think most regular humans aren’t aware of.”
“I’m not a regular human.”
“I know. I’m just saying that things aren’t ever coincidences. There’s a lot more going on than either of us know, I’m guessing.”
He’d evaded my question, whether on purpose or because he really didn’t know, I wasn’t sure. But it didn’t make me happy. I needed to give him an answer, but I still didn’t know what it was. I mean, I’d been expecting to introduce him to the idea of hunting these hounds with me, and the fact that he’d come to ask me to do the same thing unnerved me a bit.
“I’ll let you know,” I said. “And you think about my offer as well.”
Abel chuckled, the smile not reaching his eyes. “I’ve offered you the same job you’re offering me. I don’t need to think about it. I’m already on board.”
I nodded, feeling somewhat silly for my suggestion. “I know. Let me think it over for a while.”
Needing time to myself, I excused myself to go to the little girls’ room. I washed my hands longer than usual, thinking over the situation and my feelings. Yes, Abel was attractive. And yes, I wanted to work with him, to spend time with him. That had definitely come as a shock. But what were my true motivations if I accepted his job? And more importantly, what were his? Not knowing who was pulling his strings—if anyone was—made things more difficult.
The fact that I’d initially thought of him the moment the shade told me to find people to help did make me a little more inclined to work with him. It had to be some sort of intuition, right?
The rest of our lunch date was made up of light conversation. We didn’t mention the hounds again. We talked about Katon University, my alma mater, along with my upper-grad studies and my three-year internship in Washington D.C. Like most people, Abel was interested in knowing what it was like to be a Fire Impeder. And I’d forgotten how it was not to be magical—not to feel the pulses that surrounded me. It had been over a decade since my Restart, and I’d truly grown accustomed to feeling magical pulses everywhere.
Abel didn’t tell me much about himself. I don’t know if it was on purpose, or if it was just in his nature to be vague and keep details to a minimum. When lunch was over, I still wasn’t sure what to think about him.
I’d only been home for maybe ten minutes when I got a call from Chief.
“We found the body.”
Chapter Thirteen
I sat up on the couch, turning off the TV. “You did?”
“Yes, and it’s not pretty. I’m glad you called it in.”
“Where did you find him?”
“Down the railroad tracks about five hundred yards after we found blood in that direction and broadened our search. It was mangled pretty badly.”
I grimaced, not wanting to think about what he’d seen. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Not right now . . . but there’s something else going on. The American Fork police chief wasn’t quite comfortable calling you on his own—he didn’t know if you’d be able to help—but I told him that I would talk to you.”
I frowned, absentmindedly petting Sia. “What’s up?”
“A man was murdered.”
“Okay . . . Give me the information.” I couldn’t help but wonder why they’d want to talk to me about a murder. I didn’t usually deal with crime scenes after the fact.
“He didn’t want me to tell you much about it over the phone.”
I snorted. “How am I supposed to have any ideas if I don’t have information?”
“My thoughts exactly. He said something about sending one of his detectives over to take you out to have a look.”
“Sure, tell him to send somebody. I’ll be ready.”
Chief ended the call, and only a couple of minutes later, an American Fork cop car pulled up outside. What happened to the A.F. police chief calling, and had this officer just been waiting around to pick me up?
I was still putting on my shoes when the doorbell rang. He’d actually come to the door? Most of the time, the cops waited in the car.
“Come in,” I called out, tying my laces.
The door opened, and a man in plainclothes entered. I’d seen this detective a couple of times before. He had an easy smile and dark hair and eyes.
“Thanks for coming, Lizzie,” he said. “We really appreciate it.”
I noticed his use of my first name. Hardly anyone called me by it—most just referred to me as Ashton. I didn’t mind, though I did feel bad for not remembering his name.
We got in his car and headed toward American Fork, the city just east of Lehi. Detective Cole—as I saw on the badge on his dashboard—maintained casual conversation the entire way. He asked me how my job was going and was curious about the projects I’d been working on recently.
The crime scene was obvious as we pulled up to it. Bright yellow police tape surrounded the house, and there were several cop cars parked in the driveway and on the street.
I followed Detective Cole to the front door, where an officer who was basically standing guard asked to see my badge. After seeing it, he nodded for me to go ahead, and Detective Cole followed.
The first thing I saw when I walked into the living room was the body on the floor. I guessed it was a body—it was difficult to tell at this point. It was burned completely. The whole thing was black, almost leathered, and was covered in a fine, greasy sheen. I wasn’t sure what someone who had been burned with regular fire would look like afterward, but I was pretty sure this wasn’t it. This had to have been magical fire. I now understood why the AFPD chief wanted me here.
There was a strong smell of gas or something similar in the air. It was slightly acidic, a little organic, with hints of what could have been diesel fuel. My nose wasn’t very trained in the different combustibles, but it was good enough to recognize the complete absence of smoke. There wasn’t even a faintly lingering hint of it.
Detective Cole was watching me closely, and I looked at him. “No smoke?” I asked.
He shook his head, but didn’t respond otherwise. I loo
ked around, realizing that he and the other officers were expecting me to examine the crime scene, so I stepped closer, even though my stomach clenched as if to remind me what I would be examining.
I crouched next to the man, forcing myself to study it, trying not to breathe deeply of the acrid smell of burned flesh. I barely recognized the nubs of limbs that were left, they’d been burned so badly, and it was almost impossible to distinguish between the charred remains of clothing and skin.
My first thought was that the murderer had been an Arete, but that didn’t feel right.
I tilted my head as something occurred to me, and turned and looked at Detective Cole. “Did they bring it here after the flames died?” That would explain the lack of smoke in the room, but not the smell of the flammable stuff.
He shook his head. “No. He was both murdered and burned here.”
I shook my head slowly, knitting my eyebrows. “How can you be sure? The lack of smoke and the fact that nothing else here has even been touched by fire would say that he died somewhere else and they brought his body here.”
Detective Cole nodded as if they’d already discussed all this, and I was pretty sure they had. “Well, you can see that the struggle took place in this room.” He pointed at furniture that had been knocked over, broken vases, a crack in the TV.
“Maybe the owners weren’t very good at cleaning up after themselves.” Even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true—the place was spotless.
He squatted next to the body, not responding to my comment, and rattled off other reasons they knew the man had been murdered there, including how the body was laid out, how its weight had settled, the fact that he’d lost control of his bladder right before dying (which explained the faint scent of urine I recognized once Detective Cole pointed it out, along with the ring of moisture on the carpet that I hadn’t noticed—I told you, I don’t catch details), and finally, the fact that the sinews, joints, and cartilage hadn’t been broken, even though the body was very brittle from the flames.
“What about spontaneous combustion?” I asked. “I mean, I’ve heard it’s possible.”
Detective Cole shook his head. “Yes, it can occur. But generally, when that happens, part of the person is burned, not their entire body.”
I gazed down at the corpse in front of us. He was right. This hadn’t been spontaneous combustion, as every inch of the man had been crisped evenly. How horrible.
“But how could he have been burned here without smoke and without the carpet underneath catching fire?” I shook my head. “A powerful Fire Arete could do that, but there aren’t any in the area. In fact, I don’t think there are any in the entire state.”
“You’re here,” he said, his eyes studying me.
I snorted. “I can’t control Fire to this extent—not even close. I’m able to create a little flame, but that’s pretty much it. I’m a Fire Impeder, not a Fire . . . Grower.” I wasn’t sure if those Aretes had a specific title or not.
He nodded. “We know.”
Then why bring it up? Rather than voicing my thoughts, I continued on with the mystery, musing out loud. “Maybe it was a visiting Arete doing a drive-through murder?”
Detective Cole stared at the body. “We considered that as well.” He got to his feet, wiping his hands together. “I’m going to guess, judging by what you’ve already said, that you don’t know who could have done this. But I need to ask just the same. Do you know how this happened?”
I shook my head. “But I know someone who might.”
He looked at me, raising an eyebrow. “Eleanora hasn’t exactly been open to visitors recently.”
“Did you talk to her already?” I asked, feeling a bit hurt that they’d gone over my head. Yeah, silly of me to feel bad when she was by far the more powerful and experienced Fire Impeder. But she was retired, and this was my job now.
He shook his head. “Nobody dares to contact her anymore.”
I had to smile. Eleanora was definitely an opinionated and headstrong woman. If she hadn’t broken her hip, she might never have retired. It didn’t surprise me that they were afraid to contact her—she’d been dedicated to serving the community for over sixty years, and now she was dedicated to enjoying a quiet retirement full of baking cookies and muffins.
Not that I blamed her—she was in her mid-nineties, and her body was finally catching up with her age. Arthritis was taking over her joints, and she was in a great deal of pain most days.
“I’ll go visit her,” I said.
Detective Cole looked relieved. “Thank you.” He pulled out his wallet and handed me a card. “Give me a call if anything useful comes up.”
I promised him I would and tucked the card into my purse. I wished I’d gone in my own car because I would’ve headed straight to Eleanora right then. It looked like Detective Cole was thinking the same thing.
“I’ll give you a ride to your house,” he said. “She’s usually available during the afternoons. Perhaps you could swing by now.”
I nodded, and we walked out to his car. Most of the drive home was silent. I couldn’t forget the way that body looked—the charred flesh that was blackened and almost shiny. A thought popped into my head, and I turned to the detective. “What was used to burn the body?” I asked.
He gripped the steering wheel. “We don’t know. It doesn’t smell like anything we’ve come across so far, and there’s no way to test it, as it didn’t get on anything in the room. All of it burned away.”
I raised my eyebrow. Weird. “So, no spills, and nothing left over after?”
“That’s what I’m saying. We have no idea what did it.”
We’d nearly gotten to my house when he sent me a glance that showed he had something completely different on his mind. “Hey, would you ever be open to getting a bite to eat sometime?”
Chapter Fourteen
Wait—was he asking me out? My mind was so far from the topic of dating that it took several moments for me to switch gears. Judging by how smoothly he’d posed his question, he must have been thinking about it for a while. But for how long? I didn’t even remember having officially met him. We’d barely even talked before today, as I didn’t usually work with detectives. They were more, after-the-crime-has-been-committed type people.
I nodded and said, “Sure. That would be fun,” even though I didn’t know if I was interested. Who knew? Maybe we would hit it off.
He looked relieved, and it reminded me that even in adulthood, most guys are nervous to ask out the girl. I was glad I said yes.
“You have my number, right?” I asked.
“Not officially.”
I pulled a notepad from my purse and wrote it down, then handed him the slip of paper. “Now you officially have it. Let me know when you’d like to go out.”
We’d pulled up to my house by then, and I jumped out of the car after saying goodbye and headed inside.
I set my purse on the counter and decided to grab something to eat before heading up to Eleanora’s house. Could I be interested in Detective Cole? He was attractive, yes, but I hadn’t been around him enough to know if our personalities would mesh. I suppose that’s what dating was for.
After eating some veggies with salad dressing, I made sure Sia had what she needed, then got my purse and keys and headed out the front door, locking up behind me.
I still didn’t love not having a garage, but I’d adjusted to the inconvenience. It was almost like being in college again anyway. The Realtor had reassured me that it was pretty simple to have a garage added on, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it. The house was quaint, and I didn’t know if I wanted to mess up the historical feel by putting a structure on it that wasn’t from the same era.
The drive to Eleanora’s house at the top of Traverse Mountain took about twenty minutes. I enjoyed the scenery and scrub oak along the way, noticing just how much things had changed even in the year since I’d been there last. There were hundreds of new houses.
Eleanora was waiting fo
r me outside when I pulled up. I’d often wondered if she’d installed cameras around her neighborhood and just sat and watched them all day. She almost always was waiting by the time I arrived. I had asked her once how she knew I was coming, and she smiled and shrugged, but hadn’t said anything.
I hopped out of the car and admired her house. “You’ve had the exterior redone since the last time I was here.”
She nodded, glancing over her shoulder at the new gray stone and brick that now covered her place. “I was getting bored.”
I chuckled. Even though she was retired in body, her mind was still active, and she obviously needed things to keep it entertained.
Like me, she also didn’t have a garage, but her modern home practically begged for someone to add one. Eleanora didn’t have a car, though. She said people didn’t ask for help as much now that she didn’t have a way to get around. After watching how difficult it was for her to turn the knob to get inside, I suspected it was mostly because driving was too painful now.
She’d obviously ditched the doctor-prescribed walker in favor of a more sleek-looking cane, but I knew better than to chide her for putting herself at risk for another fall. Last time I’d visited, she’d given me quite the earful about how people who use walkers gradually lose the ability to get around, forcing them to resort to a wheelchair, which eventually led to being bedridden, and then it was all downhill from there.
Bodies are meant to deteriorate. She couldn’t prevent it from happening, so why cause herself pain and increase the risk of injuring herself again? That had earned me a gentle swat on the hand and a ten-minute lecture. I smiled now, thinking about that lecture. She hadn’t lost her spirit, that was for sure.
“How’s Paul?” I asked.
Paul was her late husband, but he was also the yappy little Yorkshire Terrier she’d bought seven years ago.
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