“Sable, beaver, fox…apparently, he keeps a furrier on retainer. For being…”
Euros grabbed her hand so hard it hurt. He mouthed fox.
“Derek, did you say fox?”
“Yeah. Fox.”
Nodding at Euros, she pulled her hand out of his death grip.
“Only…” Silence again, agonizing silence.
“Only what? What, Derek?” Euros’ eyes were locked on hers, and she could feel him willing Derek to say something, anything.
“Hold on.” Another pause. “Huh…CSI didn’t list any fox furs in cold storage. Must have been transferred from us, or CSI. Site contamination, most likely.”
“Jesus. Thanks, Derek. I appreciate this… more than you know. I gotta go, but I promise, I’ll be in touch.” She flipped the phone shut.
“Euros, fox fur found at both scenes. You almost broke my hand when you heard that. What does it mean?” Nothing rang a bell, but she had the nagging sense she was missing something, something important. But the harder she tried to grab that thought, the more ephemeral it became, until it was gone altogether.
But Euros had moved away from her, looking briefly at the photos that lined the mantel. Confused, lost, she followed him. “These are all cronies of Lansing’s. Minor functionaries, all political individuals.” Abruptly, he turned away.
“You don’t think it’s any of those? What’s the deal with the fox fur?”
He was moving past her into the hall, his black coat swirling behind him. “I don’t think it’s someone high profile, not someone who worked with Lansing. And the fur…”
Catching up with him in the hall, she shined her light on the photos, keeping an eye on the front entrance. She expected patrol to throw open the door at any moment.
“I need to think about the fur for a minute. Here, look at these. As close as the news made the two of them seem, Lansing and Parnell didn’t have that much in common. Lansing helped Parnell when he could, with real estate deals, and such. But they didn’t travel in the same circles, socially or politically. Here…”
Euros pointed at the photos. “Lansing tended to bring people that he considered lower on the social ladder, into his home. The poses, the body language, all suggests he’s trying to show he’s one of the people.” He turned to her, his eyes almost burning with intensity.
“His election was controversial, divided the city. Since the election, he made a strong effort to show the world that he’s one of the people, to bring the ‘regular’ class into his home. Trying to make himself look like one of them.”
“But Parnell didn’t give a rat’s ass about anything, but status though.” She looked down at the list, and her heart sank. “This is the crème de la crème of Chicago society. None of these people are in any of these photos.”
They moved down the hall, scanning the photos against the list in her hand. This was impossible. She was ready to ask Euros for magical assistance, when he stopped suddenly, and she bumped into him. “What?”
“This…” He pointed to the empty spot on the wall. “This was the photo with the basketball player, and his girlfriend.”
“Right. It’s…” She frowned, trying to think why it would be missing. “Oh, wait. It’s the one you used…”
“To identify the Materia Magica.”
They maneuvered around each other in the narrow hall, and ended up back at Lansing’s desk. She scooped up the photo, and they looked at the image.
“So it’s Lansing and his wife, and David Hudson, and some woman.” Jessica pointed to the smiling woman in the photo. She was petite, dwarfed by both Lansing, who was average height, and Hudson, who was well over six feet. Her most striking feature, besides a wide smile, was a cascade of red hair, loose waves tossed over one shoulder. “I don’t know her name but, wait…here…there’s more than just his name on the photo.”
The autograph scrawled in the corner contained David Hudson’s name in large masculine letters. And below, in smaller, much more feminine hand writing was another name.
“Stacy Kane.”
“Anastasia, with the gallery, Anastasia…”
Euros nodded, then pulled the packing slip from Parnell’s penthouse out of his pocket. It wasn’t necessary; the curls and swirls were there, the loops in Kane all present and accounted for.
“So we found one person who’s got a connection between Lansing and Parnell. It’s a weak connection at that; she seems to have had a business deal with Parnell, at least to supply him with things from her gallery.”
“And she was in Lansing’s house. It is weak, but it’s a start.”
Euros took the photo from her, peering at it. She had questions, but he held up one hand. So, she held the flashlight on the photo, waiting, idly wondering if he could see in the dark without the flashlight, if she could turn it off. It made her nervous to have it on. It was full dark outside, and she felt like the narrow beam of her penlight was like a beacon, announcing to everyone in a six-block radius she’d broken in, and that she wasn’t supposed to be there.
“Fuck. Here…” She jumped at the sound of his voice, but he ignored her. He was pointing to Hudson. “The buckle on his belt.”
She leaned closer, peering at the man’s belt. “Oh my God. You think it’s the missing piece of the grimoire?”
“Yeah, I suspect it is.” Euros took the frame from her, turning it over, pulling off the backing and taking out the photo. “I need to show this to Mixt…” The photo disappeared into his coat. “He might be able to identify whether it’s the buckle or not.”
She started to protest being subjected to another magical trip through the ether, but he was already pulling her against him. “No, wait…”
“No. We don’t have time…” He jerked his head toward the door that led to the front of the house. “And we’re not alone.”
Sounds were suddenly magnified. The sound of a key scraping in the lock, the door swinging open, the suddenly sound of a car passing by. A scrape of a foot on the floor. Then the flash of a light down the hall. And the sound of a police radio crackling static.
“Shit. Patrol must have seen my light. They’ll see us…”
“But we’re already gone.”
And they were. She should be used to this by now, but the feeling of having her body reduced to individual atoms, and then being flung through space was just as alarming now as it had been the first time, or the second.
Then she was back in one piece, hanging on to Euros. Tentatively she let go, looking down at her hands, flexing her fingers.
“All your fingers in the right place?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” Her legs didn’t seem like they wanted to hold her up, but somehow she managed to stay vertical. The world gradually stopped spinning, something she was profoundly grateful for. She found her balance, and moved away from Euros. The world around her seemed slightly less intimidating as it had the last time. Maybe knowing where she was going this time helped. Or the relief of knowing Euros had whisked them away from being discovered in Lansing’s house, overshadowed her fear of this unknown world.
“So, you’re back.”
She turned around to find Mixt, looking even more ethereal than she remembered. As he moved toward them, his white robes swirled behind him. Euros stepped forward.
“Yes. And we need your help.”
“And you needed to bring her here again?” Disdain dripped from his words, but his expression betrayed concern.
“This concerns you and I, just as much it concerns Jessica. We’ve been over this, Mixt.”
“Fine. What have you found out?”
“I need you to look at this photo.” Euros pulled the photo out of his pocket and handed it to Mixt.
Mixt took the photo, staring intently at the image. His eyes widened, and for a moment he went completely still. He looked up at Euros, and as an afterthought, at Jessica. “The buckle…”
Mixt glanced back at the photo, in horror. “I can’t be sure… No one has ever seen the bu
ckle, not in our time as Gatekeepers.” His gazed moved over the image, so intense that Jessica almost expected the photo to burst into flames. Finally, he looked up, into her eyes. Not Euros’. Hers.
“Is there more information from the other murders? Other evidence?”
She swallowed hard, intimidated more than she wanted to admit by Mixt’s direct question. But Euro’s silence pushed her forward.
“The two men were in the upper echelons of Chicago society, but socially, they traveled in very different circles. The number of people who might have known both men is endless, but when it comes right down to it, there’s only a few people closely connected to both.”
“I see.” Mixt nodded, encouraging her to continue.
“One person, in particular…” She pointed to the photo. “The woman in that photo. She appears to have a direct connection with Parnell. She ran an art gallery that was demolished when he built a block of luxury apartments in the area. Oddly enough, her gallery was also the one that supplied Parnell with art for his personal use, and for his public spaces.”
She paused. Mixt’s arched eyebrow told her he had something to say.
“But the man in this photo is wearing the silver buckle. To me…” Mixt drew himself up, nostrils flaring slightly. The last thing she wanted was to have Mixt be upset with her, but she was tired of this pissing match. “It seems as though you are overlooking the obvious.”
“Listen, Mixt. Whatever is killing people in my world wants to get into your world. It seems to me that we should be…” She took a step closer to Mixt. In that instant, her mind came up against what felt like a brick wall. The words she wanted to say locked in her throat, refused to come out.
“Mixt, stop. Let her go. Now.”
Mixt growled. Something passed over his expression, so quickly she wasn’t sure what she saw. But her mind was suddenly her own once again, and she took a deep breath.
“What the hell? Don’t ever do that to me again! When I want to say something, you’re going to listen. I want this murderer stopped, just as much as you do. Don’t you think we are better off working together, then against each other?”
From behind her, she heard Euros grunt of approval, but she kept her eyes locked with Mixt’s. Slowly, the man nodded.
“Then speak. Tell me what you know.”
She took another breath. “It appears that this woman has a connection with both men. More so with Parnell, because he was buying items from her gallery. It also gave her continued access to Parnell, and when the shipment of books came in, the one with the body of the grimoire, she found out about it.”
“How?” The question came from Euros. She turned, looking up at him, somehow expecting the same disdain she saw in Mixt’s eyes. But his expression was alive, his eyes bright, a hint of a smile on his lips. She gave him a grateful smile, then turned back to Mixt.
“The guy who curates the books. He’d been calling me non-stop since Parnell’s death. He wanted access to the storage room, said he needed to unpack one of the shipments. He said something about being worried that someone else would have access to the storeroom, that the staff would damage his books. Except…he was upset because he thought the gallery owner would be allowed in, and if she was, then he thought he should be, too.”
“So she would have been in the storeroom, would have known when the book arrived, what packing crate it was in.”
Euros’ voice carried the same excitement that was rising inside her. This was what she loved, putting the pieces together, solving the puzzle. Connecting the dots. It took her a minute to realize part of that excitement this time was working with Euros, getting his input, bouncing ideas off each other.
She gave him a nod, and a smile. “Yes. Exactly.”
“But she wouldn’t have known he was going to buy that specific book, would she?” That came from Mixt, taking the negative view again. But she needed that too, needed to be challenged on her assumptions, needed to be able to come up with a logical, and clear argument against other possible scenarios. She turned back to him, ready with a response, but stopped. Something—someone—was trying to read her mind, she was certain of it. Her thoughts started to fray, pull away from her. She closed her eyes, pushed against him—it could only be Mixt—and fought to regain control. Little by little, she felt her mind coming back under her control. She opened her eyes, looking directly at Mixt.
“You do that again, and I swear to God…”
Euros’ expression hardened as he turned to Mixt. “You need to let her talk.”
Mixt scowled. “It would save time. All this talk…”
Euros held up one hand, and Mixt’s words died on his lips. He worked his mouth for a moment, but no words came out. With wide eyes, Jessica turned to Euros.
“You’re kidding me? You could have done that all along, but you let him prattle on?”
Euros shrugged, but she saw his mouth twitch with a brief smile. “I have a lot of respect for Mixt, though I know he’s not easy to get along with. We do need his help, though.”
She growled, but she knew he was right. “Yeah, okay.”
Euros released his hold on Mixt, and he sputtered, breathing hard.
“Enough of that. I get the point. We’ll do this the slow and ponderous way. The mortal way. Get on with it.”
Jessica bit her lip, regaining her thoughts. “No, the woman wouldn’t have known he would buy the body of the grimoire, but he collected books on the occult. They’re displayed on shelves in his home. She’d have seen that; there’s no way to miss it. Odds are, she was in the penthouse when the shipment with the grimoire arrived. She would have had access to the storeroom, if she supervised the placement of the art that Parnell collected.”
“That’s possible…” Mixt’s eyes flicked from her face to Euros. “Yes. It’s very possible, I suppose.”
“Mixt, this is someone who uses dark magic. Even if the grimoire was in pieces, she’d have sensed the magic in it. You know this.” Euros’ voice had an edge to it, and for a minute Jessica wondered if their relationship had always been this fractious, or if this disaster was wearing everyone’s nerves thin.
“Watch your tone.” Mixt fired back, his words clipped. “You’re talking to another Gatekeeper, remember.”
“Oh, I remember…” Euros took one step forward, and Jessica decided it was time to step in. It was easier to stop Euros with a hand on his arm, than it was to even think about restraining Mixt. Beneath her hand, his muscles tensed, and she glanced down to see his hand clenched in a fist. She tightened her grip.
“Euros…” She felt the tension in his body slowly fade. “This is hard for everyone… let’s just work together, and stop this evil.”
“She’s right,” Euros replied. “We’re all in this together, whether we like it or not. We have to work through this as a team, if we have any hope of defeating this darkness.”
Jessica nodded in agreement. “Let’s go back to the first victim. Lansing. He had the…” She turned to Euros.
“Materia Magica.”
Nodding, she went on. “He had it in a frame on the wall, in plain view of anyone who came to his house. And by the looks of the photos on the walls, there were a lot of people who came through his house.”
Mixt nodded, but stayed silent. And blessedly, she felt no tendrils probing her mind, testing her thoughts, looking for something.
“The woman was in Lansing’s house. She stood in front of it, right there.”
“Do we know when that picture was taken?” Euros had the photo in his hand. “Any way of telling from this?”
Sports were never her thing, but something about the photo, about David Hudson…
“There was a charity event, something to do with a wing at the Children’s Hospital…”
Euros was practically standing on top of her, looking at the photo over her shoulder. “He donated the increase in his contract to the hospital. They named the wing after him. The paper ran a huge article on it. Hudson was trying
to keep it low key…”
“But Lansing was there for the whole thing, made a big show of it. That was, what? A couple months ago? I remember…”
“And Lansing invited them to his house, had his picture taken with Hudson. And Anastasia would have been there. That’s when she would have seen this.” She pointed to the image in the photo.
“It must have driven her mad, knowing it was there.” Euros took the photo back, peering at the image.
“It drove her to kill Lansing.”
Euros glanced at her. “And Parnell.”
Mixt had been strangely quiet, but she could see the muscles in his jaw clench. She nodded at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Wait. What did you say this woman’s name was?” He pointed a long slender finger at the photo.
“Anastasia Kane.” Euros’ replied.
“Anastasia… And fox fur was found at both scenes.” Mixt’s lips were pursed tightly, as if he had to force himself not to speak his mind. Jessica wished she could read his thoughts the way he could read hers—especially now.
“Yeah, that’s right. What about it?” Jessica shook her head, impatiently. “Do you know her?”
For what felt like eternity, Mixt remained quiet, his face stern. Clearly, he had some internal conflict going on, so she gave him a moment to think. Finally, he sighed and let his head drop in defeat. He nodded. “Yes, I believe I do.”
Jessica looked at him in shock, her eyes growing wide. “But how? How do you know her? Who is she?”
“Anastasia was once one of us. She is older than most elders. Back before the portals were closed, she was one of the few who could live in both worlds. Being a kitsune, and a fae, gave her that ability. Even when the worlds started to collide, and we weren’t accepted in the mortal world any longer, she could easily adapt…she loved that world so much. Most of the shifter clans did. They felt they fit in there more than they did our magic world.”
“Kitsune? She’s a shifter?” Euros replied, his voice a bit strained. “The fox fur… it all makes sense.”
Murder by Magic Page 15