Stone Chameleon (Ironhill Jinn #1)

by Jocelyn Adams

  Stooping near the edge where the white cadaver line had once been etched, I searched the pavement. Only a faint hint of a blood stain remained on the cracked surface, sheltered from the wear of rain by the bridge overhead. I’d given little thought to the water surrounding the victim that evening, being so near the river’s edge. If I’d thought to take a sample, I’d have been able to analyze it against the river water. Something told me it wouldn’t have matched.

  Another check of my cell phone gave me no relief. “Where are you, Dom?” I gritted my teeth as my mind delved into the previous night again. Desperation led me to scroll through my recent calls list before I remembered Mr. Bassili had called me from the mayor’s office and not his own cell.

  Had I really considered calling him to demand answers? A growl rumbled in my throat. I would not let him know he’d gotten under my skin, because he hadn’t.

  He hadn’t outright called me jinn, so maybe he still wasn’t sure, even after the sugar incident. There might have been other races that had issues with sweets, not that I’d met any. If Mr. Bassili intended to blackmail me with any suspicions about my cursed bloodline, he would have made his demands already. No, I had to believe he only wanted to make me squirm, and I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  Realizing I’d been squatting over the same crack in the pavement long enough my leg muscles cramped, I stood and shook myself.

  “Stop thinking about the Persian ass and get to work. It wasn’t that good of a kiss.” It had been a long time since I’d had one, and he’d startled me, that was all.

  I snapped photos from every angle of the bridge, the cement beneath it, the place where the body had lain, and the bank leading down to the water for careful study later. Isaac didn’t allow autopsies on his people, something about desecrating the body. Funny, I couldn’t imagine how anything would cause more harm beyond what he did to them during their damnation. Whatever that was.

  If he wanted to get to the heart of the issue, he might have to make an exception. We needed to know what kind of instrument had carved such perfect lines in the vampires’ chests. The murder weapon could lead us to the perpetrator. It wasn’t a common tool like a scalpel or razor knife due to the iron strength of their bones. Which left too many options, including fae blades or elven weapons. Too many possibilities to speculate about. I needed to know for certain, even if I had to pester Isaac to give his consent. Not a pleasant thought.

  The rest of the day whizzed past as I repeated my thorough inspection of the other three sites. The one in the alley beside the café, another in Mr. Ferguson’s soy field, and finally in the attic of a condemned century home in the low income side of Ironhill, which I was grateful the city hadn’t yet torn down. I didn’t bother with the sewer. There were too many places the male victim might have entered from, and the putrid water would have long since washed away any useable evidence.

  Nothing linked the sites together, other than having been host to a vampire murder and other various preternatural pest issues that had drawn me there along with my team.

  After printing several of the photos at the office, I took the stack home and tossed them on the kitchen table. The Tylenol from this morning had worn off, and my head seemed to be stuffed with fuzz. At least my visit with Mum had settled into the background and no longer bled me from within.

  In need of a mental and physical break, I plopped down on my sofa with Benny and clicked the TV on, flipping by a Big Bang Theory rerun, The Ellen Degeneres Show, and a plump woman stirring a pot of rice in my dream kitchen. I stopped at the evening news.

  The plastic-looking anchorman was in mid-sentence. “…has baffled local scientists. The epicenter of the small earthquake reported by the National Geological Society was right here in Ironhill’s industrial district. There’s speculation that something stored in one of the non-human owned warehouses was to blame, as there are no fault lines in the area.”

  The remote dropped out of my hand and crashed to the floor, the batteries breaking free and skidding across the hardwood. Benny squeaked and ran to the other end of the cushion.

  It couldn’t be. I wanted to make excuses, but I had to have been the cause. Mr. Bassili had poisoned me with sugar, and my magic had caused a bloody earthquake in Ironhill. Stupid bastard would ruin me yet.

  “In other news,” the anchor continued, arranging the papers on the desk in front of him, “Ironhill’s own Amun Bassili met with Mayor Tate yesterday afternoon to discuss his proposed changes to Ironhill General Hospital.”

  Still frozen in horror, I watched as Amun appeared on the front steps of City Hall, shaking hands with the Mayor. Mayor Tate was a thick-bodied man, not fat, but muscled in a way I found too bulky. He’d combed his salt and pepper hair straight back, and his navy pinstriped suit strained over his massive arms. I felt relief that at least Amun had been in the Mayor’s office for legitimate reasons when he’d called me and hadn’t broken in.

  Amun wore a modern navy suit and a white shirt with the top button left undone. His dark curls lifted in the breeze, and my fingers tingled as I imagined what it would feel like. The lights from the camera flashes made his veiled night eyes sparkle even more.

  A raven-haired reporter in a too-short skirt shoved a microphone in his face. “There are several human interest groups that are against treating non-human patients at Ironhill General, Mr. Bassili. What do you have to say to them?”

  He put on that smile that could dazzle the panties off of just about any woman within half a mile. Except for mine, of course. “More than half of Ironhill’s population isn’t human, Miss DeVries, is it?” At her dreamy gaze and nod, he continued. “This isn’t about taking something away from human beings, it’s about providing care to every citizen in our fine city, no matter their race, religion, creed, or orientation, and I’d encourage the groups you speak of to embrace knowledge and facts instead of blind fear.”

  Ever the politician. He spoke eloquently, his voice rolling through the air like lines of soulful poetry. If only Daniel hadn’t been murdered in the sewer, he’d have been the visionary Amun needed to succeed in his efforts to open our hospitals to everyone. We had that cause in common, the one aspect of him I admired.

  Another microphone jutted forward, held by a tiny, wiry carrot top. She tugged enticingly on her long hair. Flirtatious tart. “Is it true the heart of the most eligible bachelor in town has been stolen away by Cindy McGillis?”

  I jolted forward on the sofa. Cindy McGillis? As in the weathergirl from Channel Six? What was he doing with that bimbo? A growl gathered deep in my throat, threatening to escape.

  Amun’s laughter tickled my bones. “It’s true this heart”—he patted his left breast and stared at the camera, and right into the back of my skull—“has been stolen, but not by Cindy. She and I are good friends, and nothing more.”

  The press erupted into a deafening din of shouted questions on the steps of City Hall. Amun waved and ducked behind the Mayor’s security detail as the armed men guided Amun and Mayor Tate inside.

  If not Cindy, then who? When I skewered my lip, I gasped and sped into the bathroom, terrified of what my reflection might reveal. I stood there for seconds, staring into the sink. “Come on you bloody coward.” Reluctantly, I rolled my gaze up to the mirror. Tiny white needles jutted up in front of my normal ones for the second time. But why? Because Amun confessed to being in love with someone? I didn’t care who he dated!

  No, something else had to have triggered it. Something he’d done to me, perhaps through the spiked soda, and my body was just now reacting to it. If the teeth had anything to do with my connection to the earth, they’d have appeared before now.

  Having hit my emotional limit for the day, I opted for a bath to clear my head. I still needed to make sense of the crime scene photos, and if they yielded nothing, I had to plan my next move.

  Glorious steam rose from the water around me, its heat permeating my tired flesh to the bone. My mutant teeth retreated into my gums as
if they’d never been there. The lack of evidence made denial so much easier.

  My skin turned red from the temperature, just the way I liked it.

  Benny whistled at me from the floor beside the tub.

  “What’s got you in such a tizzy?” I asked. “Be off with you, or I might decide you need a bath, too.”

  He stopped and tilted his head. His black eyes peered at me through his fringe, and I could have sworn he understood my threat. The little fuzz ball didn’t fancy getting wet. Grinning, I reached for him. He bolted from the room on his stub legs, whistling a shrill tune of admonishment. The sight gave me the deep belly laugh I desperately needed.

  I must have dozed, because something woke me. A sound? Remnants of a dream?

  The cool water sloshed over the side of the tub as I sat upright and looked around. The lack of light suggested the sun had gone down, putting the hour at around nine at least.

  “Miss Hudson, do not test my patience,” Isaac bellowed from somewhere beyond the bathroom door. Definitely not a dream. Bloody hell.

  My heart tried to escape my throat as I leapt from the bath and wrapped my terrycloth robe around me, still cinching the belt when I entered the living room. I kept my distance from both doors until I pinpointed where Isaac’s voice had thundered from.

  The exit leading to the stairs remained closed. I glanced at the sliding glass door that led out the back to a small patio taking up the rest of the store rooftop that extended beyond my apartment. It was open.

  Although he couldn’t enter my home—I’d had Deirdre password the place against vampires—my flight instinct took me by the throat. But there would be no running from Isaac unless I wanted to become a prisoner in my own home.

  I flicked on the living room lights. My eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness despite my pupils feeling over-dilated with fright.

  Isaac stood in a pool of shadow beyond the glass panel. He’d shed his sash and wore nothing but his kilt, a wide black belt, and a brass buckle the size of his large fist. The ancient Scot wore his typical expression that told me nothing. Part menace, part amusement, and part hunger, it was a combination that never ceased to make me glad I had good bladder control. His shoulders heaved, adding to the huffing bull image he pulled off so nicely.

  I should have known he’d show up after receiving my message about Marina, but it still surprised me.

  Growing visibly calm, he took a few steps into the light, his dark gaze sweeping my body before landing back on my face. “You’re all pruny. What have you been doing, trying to pickle yourself?”

  Maybe it was the sugar aftermath, or the stress about Mum, or the earthquake I’d caused with my drunkenness, but his comment cracked me up until my belly ached. When I finished wiping tears from my eyes and shook off the last of my giggles, I found him grinning at me, though it held more petulance than amusement.

  “You have a lovely laugh, Miss Hudson.” The grin flattened. “It would be a shame to extinguish it.”

  I flinched, holding my ground only just. “I spent the entire day photographing the sites,” I said, pointing at the stack on my table as proof. “My evening will be devoted to comparing them to see if I can find anything useful.” A swallow didn’t quite dislodge the knot from my throat. Why had I left left all of my blades on the bathroom counter? “It would be helpful if I knew what type of weapon was used. Often, that alone will lead Gerry back to the murderer.”

  “Where is Marina?” The tips of Isaac’s fangs descended beneath his upper lip. I wondered how he perfected the deranged predator look, whether he practiced raising his lip in the mirror, or if he could extend his fangs at will to the appropriate length. Either way, the effect worked marvelously to jump-start my heart and send it into fits.

  “You mean…you haven’t…she didn’t return to the hive last night?” I put my armchair between me and the patio door. Not that it would matter one whit—he couldn’t enter my home anyway—but it gave me a greater sense of security no matter how false I knew it to be.

  His presence saturated the air, carrying hot ripples of his power that stung my face. “Do you suppose I’d be here demanding answers from you if she had?”

  “But I…” I waded through the misty memories to get back to my last moments with the young vampiress. “She left before I got much out of her. I assumed you’d contacted her somehow and forced her home. Didn’t you?”

  Isaac had always been tight-lipped about how he managed his underlings, whether by fear alone or by some metaphysical means. I thought about asking him about it in a more pointed way, but prodding an angry vampire wouldn’t have been my brightest idea ever.

  His face remained neutral though his fangs stayed like a promise of death. “Did she tell you why she was there? Was she injured?”

  He ignored me as usual. Splendid.

  “The video feed from A & I Electronics can tell you more than I can.” Especially that I hadn’t murdered her. “She was bleeding black, so says Connor Lewiston. It was dark in the warehouse, so I didn’t get a good look to see for certain if she was injured. She did say she was frightened.” I winced at the last, remembering too late that what petrified the poor girl loomed beyond my doorway.

  Isaac regarded me with eyes filled with golden fireworks, forcing me back another step. “What was she afraid of?” His voice lowered an octave. “Or of whom?”

  I took a moment to assemble a coherent sentence. “I think she regrets her decision. She told me she’d been dying, and you gave her eternal life, but I don’t think she realized what that meant for her. I think she’s afraid of spending the ages like a wizened apple under the rule of the hive.” There, that included truth enough without poking my finger directly at the scary dead man before me.

  A shift in stance sent a cascade of his thick, root-beer hair over his shoulder. “Tell me why you soaked in your bathtub long enough to get waterlogged. Was it to wash away her blood?”

  I made a sound of disgust. “No, it most certainly was not to remove blood.” My hands would have been on my hips to emphasize my irritation if they hadn’t been holding my robe closed.

  A heavy drumming sound sent a jolt of fright down my central corridor as he clashed with the invisible barrier keeping him outside my home. His palm pounded it again before he stepped back and grew still. I’d rather have him acting like a raging rhino than that terrible, unpredictable stillness.

  “Tell me the password so I can smell you.”

  The command in his tone urged my gaze away from his herculean body—though I wasn’t sure when my attention had fallen there—and raise it to look at his face.

  “Some scents can be washed away, but not blood. If you’ve damaged one of mine, I’ll know it.”

  “If that would clear me, why didn’t you demand that of me yesterday?”

  He glared until I thought I’d go up in flames in the heat of his anger. “What. Is. The password.”

  “No.” Scenarios of him ripping my throat out filled my imagination. How many of his children had I touched? They’d all been face down when I found them, forcing me to put hands on them to test for life. Or undeath, as it were. Had their positioning at the scenes been by design, too?

  I didn’t fancy being in his presence at all, but if I didn’t allow him to have his smell test, he’d suspect me of hiding something from him, and then he’d never go away. Besides, there were enough people who worked at the bakery to hear me if I screamed, and Isaac wouldn’t kill me with so many possible witnesses around.

  I pointed toward my bedroom. “Let me get dressed, and I’ll come out there to you.”

  He extended his index finger in my direction and made a come-hither motion. “Come here now before I get angry with you.”

  I flinched again. If that wasn’t anger, I didn’t want to see the real thing. No point in delaying the inevitable; he’d catch up with me sometime, and I didn’t want him hunting me while I worked.

  Ignoring an incessant desire to run, I shuffled toward him and open
ed the door farther. The moment my wrist cleared Deirdre’s ward, he grabbed my arm and jerked me the rest of the way outside. I kept my gaze on his collar bones, which seemed to have their own muscles, to avoid looking at his mouth full of daggers. His chest didn’t rise and fall, which unnerved me even more.

  “I’ve been in contact with all of them, Isaac.” I tried to swipe moisture onto my dry lips with my tongue, but found none in my cotton mouth. “I didn’t know if they were dead when I found them, so I turned them over.”

  While his gaze drilled into my skull, he lifted my fingers to his mouth and took two of them in deep, cradling his tongue around them as he sucked. My blood became fizzy and warm, and pleasure seeped into my abdomen in the presence of the half-naked Celtic god suckling my digits.

  Until I remembered he was a dead man who, I was quite certain, would have no regrets about turning me into a pile of shredded jinn for his dining pleasure. That he wasn’t cold suggested he’d fed well on some human’s blood before arriving. Who needed a cold shower?

  “I thought you said smell?” I pulled back from him, but his grip on my wrist might as well have been an iron shackle imbedded in the side of a mountain. After an agonizing pause that stretched into a small eternity, he let me slide from his lips and stepped away.

  In a voice low in register and tinged with sadness, he said, “Old blood. Dead blood.”

  My lungs expelled their contents in one large gush. I wiped his slobber from my fingers on my robe. “So you know I didn’t harm then, then?”

  “Aye. Unless you wore gloves.”

  I leaned against the brick and let my head fall back against it with a clunk. “Then help me prove to you I’m telling the truth. Arrange with Detective Peterson for me to see the original crime scene photos. Allow the Ironhill PD forensics team to examine Daniel to determine what type of weapon killed him.”