Deadly Storm

by Skye Knizley

  “What about the guy with his disappearing act? He just vanished in the hallway.”

  “I’ll do a sketch and see if Aspen can do facial recognition before we go to court,” Raven said. “I have a hunch we’re not going to find him, though.”

  Levac frowned. “I’m surprised you aren’t pissed.”

  “I’m pissed, Rupe. I’m just getting better at feeling it instead of letting it control me,” Raven replied. “Putting a fist through the wall won’t help.”

  E Ohio St, Chicago, IL 5:20 p.m.

  The drive across town took far longer than it should have. The storm, initially expected to last only a few hours, had turned into a full blown blizzard by rush hour. Streets were packed with cars and taxis trying to make headway in the driving snow. East Ohio Street, normally a wide three lane passage through this part of the city, was now four lanes in the chaos of the storm. Raven guided her Jaguar through the mess and stopped in front of The Crow Bar, a red-painted storefront that made up part of a much larger hostel. The bar’s logo, a black crow holding a golden crowbar, was painted across the windows, which were frosted and impossible to see through. An effort had been made to dress the building up with twinkling holiday lights, but it clearly wasn’t the sort of place that went in for Christmas cheer. Elf dolls are supposed to be on shelves, not nailed to the door by their little plastic heads.

  Inside, the theme continued. Everything was shades of black, purple and grey, with lowlights instead of highlights. Groups of somber, black-clad young people looked up from their drinks then continued their hushed conversations or texting, uninterested in the newcomers.

  Raven passed through the room to the bar that took up the far side. The wooden bar itself was beautiful, polished wood from some dark tree inlayed with silver and mother of pearl. Behind it stood a tall, dark-skinned man with greying dreadlocks pulled back in a thick piece of leather. His smile was friendly and his voice a rich baritone laced with a Jamaican accent.

  “You two don’t look like you’re here for da beer or da ambience,” he said, polishing a glass.

  Raven unzipped her jacket to show the badge hanging between her breasts. “Storm and Levac, FBI. Are you the manager?”

  He smiled again. “Manager, owner, barkeep and master of keys, Sanka Drake. What can I do for you?”

  Levac slid his phone across the bar. The image was Jensen Murphy. “Do you know this man?”

  “Murphy, yes, he a regular, holds down de far end of the bar and stands his round, what trouble he in now?” Drake asked.

  “Mr. Murphy gets into trouble?” Raven asked.

  Drake shrugged. “He’s not a bad man, just has a habit of possessing things that aren’t ‘is. Is that what this is about? ‘is thieving?”

  Levac changed to the autopsy photo of Murphy, with his eyes closed. “He’s dead. Did Mr. Murphy have any associates you know?”

  Drake looked at the photo and sighed. “Oh, man, I knew de life would catch him up. Harley is de one you’re lookin’ for.”

  Raven arched an eyebrow. “Harley, is that real or a nickname?”

  “Dat’s his real name, Harley Davidson, like de motorbike,” Drake said with a laugh.

  “That’s a real name? Is he here?”

  Drake shook his head. “He a night-owl, Ms. Storm. He’ll come in around the witchin’ hour for a shot or three.”

  Levac tapped his lip with his pen. “I don’t suppose you have an address?”

  “Do I look like Google? How many people can be named dat, man?” Drake asked.

  “Good point,” Raven said. “Can you tell us anything else?”

  “Nope, I just pour de drinks, Ms. Storm,” Drake said. “I’m not involved in the dark belly of da city.”

  “Just one more question, Mr. Drake,” Levac said. “Have you ever seen Mr. Murphy with anyone else? Maybe a lady fair?”

  Drake’s laugh echoed off the walls. “Murphy? Dat dog has a new woman on his arm every week. But you knew dat, Ms. Storm.”

  Raven blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “Wasn’t dat you on his arm a month or so ago? Back when you had black hair, no?” Drake asked.

  “Sable,” Raven said softly. “Damn. Thank you, Mr. Drake.”

  She handed him her card. “If you think of anything else, please call.”

  Drake looked at the card. “That I will, Ms. Raven. Happy hunting.”

  Outside, the sidewalk was bustling with people on their way home or heading to the bars to celebrate the holiday season. It was almost Christmas, after all. Raven ignored them on her walk back to the Jaguar. Calling Sable to tell her that Murphy was dead was the last thing she wanted to do, but she knew it was necessary.

  “Want me to stay?” Levac asked.

  Raven shook her head. “Go take care of Sloan, Rupe. Family first.”

  Levac raised his hand to hail a cab. “Advice you should follow too, Ray.”

  “I’m trying, Rupert. It’s not so easy,” Raven said.

  “I know you are, Ray. And I know Aspen sees it, just remember there is more to life than the job. Murphy isn’t going to get any deader, neither is Decker.”

  A yellow Taxi with tire chains pulled up to the curb and Levac opened the door. “Donut Vault, same bat time?”

  Raven smiled. “Same bat channel. See you in the morning, partner.”

  She watched the taxi pull away into traffic then climbed into the Jaguar and started the engine. Once the heater was blowing she dialed Sable’s number, her heart heavy. Sable answered almost immediately.

  “Tempeste.”

  “It’s Raven, Say. You got a second?” Raven asked.

  “Yeah, this case is a simple lycan hunt, what’s up, sis?”

  Raven closed her eyes. “Do you know a Jensen Murphy?”

  “Jens? Yeah, I know him, why, what did he do now?”

  “Were you close?” Raven asked.

  Sable paused. “He’s just a friend, Ray. What’s going on?”

  Raven took a deep breath. “He’s dead, and I found a ring in the evidence with your name on it. An engagement ring.”

  “That son of a bitch!” Sable yelled.

  Raven was surprised, that wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. Anger, yes, calling her fiancé names, no.

  “Say?”

  “He’s not my fiancé, Raven, but he stole my damn ring! I knew it!” Sable said. Her voice was the low, dangerous monotone Raven adopted when she was raging.

  “Sable, does anyone else know you’re engaged?”

  Raven heard Sable swallow her anger. “My fiancé.”

  “Funny,” Raven said. “If he’s got your ring, do you know why?”

  “To sell it, duh,” Sable said. “I want it back.”

  “I’ll have it when you return. I guess congratulations are in order, do I know the guy?” Raven pressed.

  “I’ll tell you when I get home, Ray. Keep my ring safe,” Sable said.

  Raven held up a hand as if Sable could see her. “Wait… Sable, could he have taken your ring for any other reason? Maybe to find your fiancé?”

  “I doubt it, what kind of case are you and Levac on?”

  “Murphy’s murder,” Raven said.

  “He’s an Omega lycan, a lone wolf. I doubt it has anything to do with me or my bae,” Sable said.

  Raven stared at the phone. “Did you just say, ‘my bae’?”

  She could almost hear Sable’s grimace. “It just slipped out. You don’t get to talk, you said ‘on fleek’ last month. I’ll talk to you later, Ray, evidence is calling.”

  The call ended and Raven put the phone in her pocket before guiding the Jaguar into traffic. There was still time to pick up Aspen and get changed before court.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Aspen

  Chicago Library, Section 13 Headquarters,
6:00 p.m. Dec 22nd

  The Section Thirteen lab was a state of the art facility located beneath the old Chicago Library. The elevator was hidden behind a bookshelf on the second floor, while the stairs were accessed through the alley behind the library. Reaching them was like jumping into some 60s spy show. Aspen Kincaid’s office was in the heart of the lab behind a Plexiglas wall that allowed her to see everything going on within her sanctum. As the only trained field agent with a Forensic Science background, she’d been put in charge of the Midwest lab.

  Aspen tossed her glasses on the desk and rubbed her eyes. She’d been trying to match the bullet that killed Murphy all afternoon, without much success. It matched the rifling of the Walther TPH, but that was the best she could do. There were thousands of them on the market going back as far as1968, and most didn’t have sample rounds on file anywhere in the world.

  The runes were another matter. They were defaced and crushed, but she could make out several, and they didn’t fill her with warm and fuzzy feelings. For one, they were fae, which was never a good sign, and they were from the forbidden texts of Princess Nightshade, an elder fae sorceress who had served Queen Titania. They explained how Murphy had continued to regenerate after being shot in the head, but not why they’d been used in the first place. If it was a message, someone had hated Murphy with a passion. Aspen was certain there was more to it than that, however. With fae, nothing was ever as simple as it looked.

  “This just came over from the city lab,” Darcy said.

  Aspen glanced at the young technician then focused on the evidence bag in her hand. It was clearly a vial of Thirst, Aspen had seen it before when she had been forced to serve Xavier Tempeste.

  “Where did that come from?” she asked.

  Darcy set it on the counter. “Agent Storm found it at a crime scene. Harvey is hoping you can do a mass-spec on it and see if it makes any sense to you.”

  “I don’t need to, it’s a preternatural compound that, among other things, includes tainted vampire blood,” Aspen said.

  “Harvey said this one was weirder than usual,” Darcy said, walking away.

  Aspen looked at the vial as if it was going to bite her. She’d been forced to take more than a little Thirst, and she could still taste the sickly-sour flavor on her tongue, feel the incredible high and the vampiric lust that followed. It was nothing compared to the feeling of being a familiar, but it was close. Too close.

  With a sigh she signed the evidence log and prepared a sample for the mass spectrometer. She would let the sample run and review the results in the morning. Raven was on her way, they had court tonight and that took precedent over a Thirst workup that was probably no different than all the others.

  Once the machine was humming to itself she hung her purple lab coat over the back of her chair and shrugged into her leather jacket. She tossed her lavender hair over her shoulder, put her weapon in its holster on her thigh and logged out of the system. Five minutes later she was stepping out of the elevator, where she was greeted by the smell of old books and the elderly face of J.H. Parker, the Marine in charge of this entrance. He didn’t look much like a Marine, he was nearly ninety years old, with close cropped grey hair and eyes the color of a winter sky. He wore an old tweed jacket with pipe burns on the lapels and a pair of military dungarees that had probably been issued in 1945. But he was a crack shot and had kept the lab secure for over twenty years.

  “Calling it a night, Ms. Kincaid?” he asked.

  “I’m meeting Ray for dinner,” Aspen replied.

  “Enjoy then, and tell Ms. Storm I said Merry Christmas,” Parker said.

  Aspen kissed his cheek. “I will, Jacks, see you in the morning.”

  She felt his eyes on her as she hurried down the spiral stair to the first floor, then out to the revolving door. Outside, it was cold, bitterly cold, with a strong wind carrying snow and ice from the west. She zipped her jacket shut and wrapped her long scarf around her neck before hurrying down the sidewalk with the rest of the shoppers and city-dwellers heading home for the night. The holiday lights twinkling in time to the carols belching from the storefronts she passed made her heart feel good. She’d always loved the Yule holiday, it was the one time of year she had gotten to share with both her parents, and it would always be a season of love and joy.

  She was smiling at a holiday display inside a small custom toy shop when a new sensation came over her, a feeling of cold. Not because of the weather, but as if someone had walked over her grave. She froze and extended her senses, trying to locate the source of the strange sensation.

  “Hello, Aspen-Fyre,” a soft voice said. She looked up and saw the reflection of a middle aged man in the window. He had the facial structure and pointed ears of a fae, with long dark hair and green eyes.

  “My name is Aspen,” she said softly.

  “Aspen-Fyre, child of the fae. I am Kellen of the Gallowglass, I know who you are, girl. Your life is forfeit in the Faewild, I am here to take you back,” he said.

  The Gallowglass, secret police of Empress Titania. She hadn’t seen them since she was a girl, when they’d murdered her mother and chased her out of the Fae realm. Why were they here now?

  “I am Aspen Kincaid-Storm, Mage of the House Tempeste and familiar to Fürstin Storm, I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said.

  Kellen smiled. “You are, girl. You can come with me and die with honor in the Arena or you can die here like a human sheep. The choice is yours.”

  Aspen turned and let her hand fall to the pistol on her hip. “Neither is happening, Kellen. I am not the frightened girl you’ve read about nor am I a fae without magik. Leave, before I arrest you and hand you over to the Mistress.”

  “You serve vampires?” Kellen said with a sneer. “Why am I not surprised? Bloodsucking criminals just like you.”

  “I am not a criminal,” Aspen growled. “Nor was my mother. Let it go, Kellen. I’ve chosen this realm, pray I don’t feel a need to return to the Wild to set things right.”

  “I do not fear you, faerie,” Kellen said.

  Aspen let her magik rise in her eyes as she leaned close. “You should.”

  Kellen paled and Aspen turned away without a second glance. She was shaking inside, both with rage and fear. How dare he? How dare anyone claim she was anything but a victim of Empress Titania and her insane jealousy of anyone who shared the royal blood? And why now, anyway? It had been years, years she’d been left alone, now they were coming for her? That made even less sense than a faerie hunting her on Christmas.

  She stopped near Dolce Italian Restaurant and checked behind her. There was no sign of Kellen, but she could still feel his eyes on her, he wasn’t far away. Annoyed, she walked into the alleyway at the end of the street. It was a wide alley, choked with snow and debris, but its shadowed mouth would keep her hidden from casual passersby.

  “Alright, Kellen, I’m not looking over my shoulder for the rest of the holiday. Come out where I can see you,” she called.

  “As you wish,” Kellen said from the darkness. The air at the end of the alleyway shimmered like a desert highway and he appeared along with four faeries dressed in the armored leather of the Gallowglass Knights.

  “You’re braver than I thought,” Kellen said.

  “And you’re dumber. I’m not going with you, if you think you can take me, then let’s go. But this ends here,” Aspen said.

  Kellen bowed and drew the sword from his hip. “As you wish, Aspen-Fyre. I had hoped to face you in the Arena and allow you to die with honor, but this will do.”

  He approached, weapon ready. When he attacked with a mighty overhand swing, Aspen blocked with a shield of pure magik and punched him in the throat with her right hand. She hadn’t spent all that time training for the hell of it.

  Kellen fell back, choking, and sent a fireball swirling from his sword. It splashed harmlessly against Aspen’
s shield and she stepped closer.

  “As I said, I am Aspen Kincaid of the House Tempeste. I have no wish to hurt you any further, but I will protect myself and my family.”

  “Take her!” Kellen roared.

  The Knights charged, blades appearing in their hands by magik. Aspen widened her shield and drew the pistol from her hip. The first bullet punched through the nearest Knight’s face and he screamed, swirling away into a tornado of glittering energy. Her second and third shots went wide and then the Knights were too close. She dropped the pistol and conjured a sword of violet flame that she used to defend herself against their attacks. Between her shield and the blade, she held her own, blocking, dodging and slashing as she’d been taught on the training range, completing drills until they were mindless memory.

  She dispatched another Knight with her sword and kicked the third in the face, causing him to tumble away into a dumpster. Before he could recover, she removed his head from his shoulders and he vanished. The last Knight screamed in anger and rushed forward, swinging his blade in a wide arc that would have cut Aspen in half had her shield not been up. As it was, she winced and fell back under his attack. When he recovered and attacked again, she blocked and cast a fireball that exploded against his chest. He screamed as he burned, then swirled away into dust, leaving only a small pile that glittered in the fading light.

  Aspen dispelled her weapon and retrieved her pistol. “Go back to the Faewild and tell Titania I’m not coming back. Not because she calls, not ever. This is my home.”

  “I cannot, Aspen-Fyre. If I return without you or your heart, the Empress will put me to a most painful death,” Kellen said. He raised his sword, preparing to rejoin the battle, only to vanish in the echo of Raven’s Automag. He still had a look of surprise on his face as he twirled away into nothing.

  “What did I miss?” Raven asked.

  Aspen smiled and holstered her pistol. “Nothing I couldn’t handle, but I’m glad to see you.”

  She stepped close and snuggled into Raven’s arms. “You always did have great timing.”

  “It’s a talent. That didn’t look like nothing, honey. Those were fae, judging by the glittering ash. Gallowglass?”