Heart of Fire

by Lisa Edmonds

  “There could be a lot of reasons to take Mark’s phone, but why take his ring?”

  “Mark wore that ring for thirty years, so it would be resonant with his magic, but I don’t know what good that would do them if he’s dead. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Could you trace it?”

  I thought about it, then shook my head. “If I’d realized it was missing last night, and had some other item belonging to Mark to use as a focus, maybe, but not now. The trace will have faded too much for me to sense unless I was nearby. Damn it.”

  I switched back to the crime scene report and moved on to the statements of the two men who’d found the body, taken by a detective named Brody. They’d gone into the alley to go dumpster-diving, according to their accounts, and called the police to report the body. Brody noted both men were clearly under the influence of Haze, but their statements were consistent and more or less coherent. He determined there was nothing suspicious about their story and no reason to hold them. They’d been released around two in the morning.

  I was about the close the file when my eyes went back to the names of the men who’d found Mark’s body: Jake Travers and John Andrews. I frowned. Where did I know those names from? How would I know those names? I certainly hadn’t crossed paths with many Haze addicts. There were no photos of them in the file, but I could swear I knew those names from somewhere.

  I jerked suddenly when recognition dawned.

  “What?” Sean asked.

  I held up my phone and pointed to Brody’s report. “I’ve met these assholes before,” I told him. “The last time I saw them, I left them unconscious in an alley not six blocks from here, after they attacked Carrie Davis.”

  He stared at me. “This sounds like a story I need to hear.”

  I hadn’t given John Andrews and Jake Travers, a.k.a. Dipstick and Twitchy, any thought since the night a month ago when I’d rescued Carrie from them. Had I not taken the time to go through their wallets that night, I never would have made the connection between Carrie’s attackers and the two men who’d allegedly stumbled across Mark’s body.

  I told Sean the story while we sat in the liquor store parking lot. I expected him to fuss at me for taking on three drug dealers alone in an alley in the middle of the night, but he surprised me. “That was incredibly brave,” he said. “And not at all unexpected, knowing what I know about you.”

  “That’s what Mark said,” I said with a sigh. “I guess I’m well-known for doing stupid shit like that on a regular basis.”

  Sean frowned at me. “You’re well-known for trying to save people on a regular basis, at great risk to yourself. That’s not stupid; it’s heroic.”

  “Or something,” I said, suddenly uncomfortable.

  Sean looked thoughtful. “Should we go looking for Travers and Andrews?”

  “I think so. Something feels really fishy about this. Why would a couple of drug dealers call the cops about a body they’d found? You’d think they wouldn’t want any contact with police, especially if they were high. I think we need to talk to them in person.” I checked the time on the dashboard clock and grimaced. “Only a few hours until the rally.”

  “Then we’d better get moving.” He turned the key in the ignition and glanced at me. “Stop for coffee first?”

  I gave him a look.

  “You’re right,” he said, shifting gears and heading out of the parking lot. “Dumb question.”

  According to Brody’s notes, Travers and Andrews claimed to be sharing an apartment off Seventh and Grove, a high-crime area about a half-mile from where Mark’s body was found. While Sean drove us to get coffee, I located social media accounts for both men and found pictures of them. Based on their photos and posts, they were fond of video games, girls, and posing with rolls of cash and various weapons, including guns and knives.

  Helpfully, they’d tagged their friend I’d dubbed “Knuckles” in several pictures. I found one that showed all three of them and sent it to Sean as we pulled into a convenience store across the street from the entrance to the apartment complex.

  Sean put the SUV in park and looked at the picture I’d sent. He snorted. “These guys?”

  “I know. Couple of scrawny punks. That’s Andrews in the middle and Travers on the left. ‘Knuckles’ is Clint Ravell, on the right.”

  “Scrawny or not, we know at least two of them carry knives.”

  “And guns.” I showed him some of the other pictures the trio had posted online. “I’m not going to underestimate them.”

  “What are we prepared to do if we find them?”

  “We need answers. I’m prepared to get them.”

  He didn’t ask how or hesitate in his response. “Then I’m with you.” He glanced at the apartment complex. “But we can’t do it here. Cameras on the buildings, too many witnesses. We’d need to get them to a place where we can do what we need to do. Our pack land would work. The problem is getting them out there and what to do with them after we’ve gotten our answers.”

  “If we can get them somewhere with no eyes on us, I can hit them with sleep spells and we can transport them fairly easily. Depending on what they tell us, there may not be an after.”

  Sean looked at me, his face unreadable.

  I tilted my head. “I’m sorry, I thought we were on the same page about this. We’re going to be questioning suspects using—what’s the phrase?—‘enhanced interrogation techniques.’ If they participated in Mark’s murder, I owe them a painful death. I thought you of all people would understand that.”

  “I understand it very well. I’ve killed for a lot of reasons, as you know. I suspected the same of you, though I think your reasons were very different from mine and you didn’t do it by choice.”

  So he’d put that together. I could have denied it, told him he was wrong, but I sensed we’d come to some kind of important moment, one where I needed to know what he thought about the possibility that I was not only capable of killing but had done so many times.

  Sean reached out. “Take my hand.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, I took it.

  His familiar golden shifter magic danced on the edge of my senses. Slowly, cautiously, I lowered my shields, preparing for an onslaught of power and emotions. Instead, I discovered Sean had remarkable control. Instead of the flood I’d experienced the first time we’d lowered our shields around each other—which was, admittedly, in far less controlled circumstances—Sean’s emotions washed over me gently. I closed my eyes.

  In my head, I saw a flash of Felicia’s smile, Mark’s kind face, and Rogue’s empty eyes, and felt Sean’s fury at what the harnad had done to them. Dozens of people—men, women, and children—flashed through my mind’s eye and I sensed Sean’s fierce protective instinct for his pack. I saw Lake leaving my house and gasped at the spike of jealousy, hurt, and anger created by the thought we’d slept together.

  Then I saw myself through Sean’s eyes in a series of fragmented memories: our reunion in Mark’s conference room; my panic attack in Felicia’s apartment; the morning after the poltergeist attack, when he’d smelled blood and knew I’d been injured; in his arms after sharing Adam’s visions; on my porch last night, angry and drunk; and finally today, when he’d voiced what he’d long suspected about my violent past. Each memory came with emotions: I sensed worry, protectiveness, frustration, regret, self-recrimination, and understanding…but not one ounce of disapproval or condemnation.

  Despite his willingness to share so much with me, I couldn’t bring myself to do the same. I had too much to hide. Instead, I sent him only one image: my memory of seeing Mark lying dead in the alley. Along with it, I sent my grief, hurt, anger, and cold resolve. I also gave him a taste of my blood magic, allowing it to sear the edges of his shields, and heard his sharp intake of breath at the flash of power and pain.

  I raised my shields, opened my eyes, and let go of his hand. Neither of us spoke for a while as I sorted through a strange mix of emotions. It felt as if w
e’d had a long, extremely honest conversation, though we hadn’t said a word.

  I was afraid and angry because Sean had figured out something about me and my past that I’d wanted to keep anyone from knowing. At the same time, I had an answer to the question I’d wanted to ask since the night I showed him my magic in my basement, when I’d started to wonder if there might be a place for him in my life: if he knew I was a killer and what I was capable of doing, how would he react?

  The answer, it seemed, was with understanding and empathy, and I didn’t know how to respond to that. I realized I’d been prepared for him to reject me but not for him to accept me. My vision of myself as a monster and a murderer was so deeply ingrained it hadn’t even occurred to me Sean wouldn’t react with the same disgust and hatred I heaped on myself.

  Some of that must have shown on my face because Sean’s eyes darkened. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” he said firmly. “I shared myself with you so you would believe me when I say I understand what it means to take lives and have no choice in the matter. I’m not asking you to tell me about it; your secrets are your own. You know exactly how I feel about you. I think I know what you feel about me, though I’m never quite sure what, if anything, you’ll allow yourself to do about it.”

  I wasn’t sure either and this wasn’t the time to try to figure it out. “I appreciate the honesty.”

  His mouth curved into a smile. “But—?”

  “But the rally is in less than two hours and we need to find Andrews and Travers.”

  He glanced at the apartment complex. “If we go in there looking for them, we’ll be on camera.”

  “I know.” I opened the crime scene report on my phone and flipped to Brody’s notes. The information I was looking for was at the bottom of the last page. “We’ve got phone numbers for both of them.”

  “Let’s see if we can find out where they are.” Sean sent the numbers off to Cyro with a request for a track. In the meantime, I texted Adam to ask if he’d been able to See anything more about Felicia’s condition or where she might be.

  Instead of texting, Adam called me back. “Hey, Alice. I was actually just about to call you. I’ve been trying to reconnect with Felicia, but now something is blocking me. I think they’ve added another layer to the wards, one that resists psychic contact. I don’t know if something happened to tip them off about yesterday or they did it as a precaution, but I’m hitting a pretty solid wall.”

  I didn’t need to ask to know it had hurt; I could hear it in his voice. “Thank you for trying. If you See anything that might help us, let me know.” He might still have visions, even without the psychic connection.

  “You know I will,” he said. “I’m sorry to hear about Mark. He was a good guy.”

  “Thanks, Adam. Take care.” We disconnected.

  Sean frowned at his phone. “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Cyro says both phones are off.”

  My shoulders slumped. “So much for that idea. I wonder if that means the harnad got them, or if they’re just lying low.”

  He hit some buttons and my phone beeped. “We do, however, have phone records for John West and Mark.”

  “How much did getting all these reports run?”

  When he told me, I was left speechless for several seconds. Finally, I said, “I am clearly in the wrong business.”

  He smiled. “Sometimes I think that myself, not just from a profit standpoint, but because I’d like to know how to do the things Cyro can do.”

  I made a face. “On the downside, you’d be risking an extended stay at Club Fed every time, so maybe it’s best we let Cyro handle it.”

  “Good point.”

  Before I opened the phone records, I shot a text off to Bryan: Maclin Security needs account info to cover case-related expenses formerly handled through MDI.

  Less than a minute later, he replied: Info will be sent to MS Accounts Payable.

  When I told Sean, he looked relieved. “The Court is nothing if not efficient. I’m glad to hear that’s settled. I was starting to worry if we’d be able to make payroll next week at this rate. I’m kidding,” he added when my eyes widened.

  I frowned at him. “Jerk.”

  He chuckled. “Whose records do you want to look at first?”

  “Let’s look at Mark’s.”

  Despite how easy and fast they made it look on television, going through phone records was tedious business, even if you knew what to look for. I found the record of Mark’s communications from the night before, beginning with my call to him around five, which pinged off a tower close to the park we’d been watching. He’d exchanged a few texts with another cell I took to be Sharon’s before I arrived, then nothing until after we’d parted company around eight twenty. There was a fourteen-minute phone call to Sharon just as he arrived at the liquor store.

  There was another gap until nine fifteen, when he sent texts while sitting in the parking lot at Ned’s Liquor. Both were to Sharon, saying he was on his way home and asking her to pick out a tie for him to wear with his suit. She texted back: Will do. I love you.

  I love you too, he replied. That was the last outgoing message on his phone, at nine nineteen. At nine twenty, he’d left Ned’s liquor, followed by the dark-colored sedan.

  Beginning a little after ten, Sharon began texting asking where he was, but his phone was already off because there was no information about what tower was closest when the text arrived. At ten fifteen, having gotten no response, she began calling. The unanswered calls and texts continued until about twelve thirty, then stopped abruptly. I imagined that was when she got the news Mark’s body had been found.

  “There’s nothing to help us here,” I said around the lump in my throat. “They knew to turn his phone off so it wouldn’t give away their location.”

  Sean squeezed my hand. “It’s not surprising. We know they’re careful.”

  West’s phone records were far more extensive and we didn’t have time to go through them line by line and figure out who all these people were.

  “We need an analyst,” I told Sean after we’d gotten a look at the size of the file and the sheer number of phone numbers and calls involved. “MDI has a good one, but that’s no longer an option.”

  “I’m sure the Vamp Court has some good ones.”

  “They do,” I said reluctantly.

  “You can’t do everything at once, Alice,” Sean told me patiently. “You have to delegate. That’s what a lead investigator does. Let the analysts do what they’re best at, while you do what you’re best at. Stop thinking like a one-person company and more like a manager of a team.”

  “You’re right.” I took a deep breath and exhaled. “Damn it, you’re right.” I picked up my phone and called Bryan.

  He answered on the first ring. “Miss Alice.”

  I told him what we had and what I needed.

  “Our best analyst for this kind of information is Kim Dade,” he told me. “I’ll put her at your disposal for the duration of this case. Send me the file. I’ll send you her contact information when we’re done.”

  “Thanks, Bryan. Any news on missing vamps?”

  “We may have something,” he said. “I have some people out following up on a report we received this morning. I’ll let you know what we find out. What else can I do for you?”

  I hesitated.

  Sean touched my hand. Delegate, he mouthed to me.

  I scowled at him, but said, “I have two persons of interest who may have information we need.” I gave Bryan Travers and Andrews’s names, phone numbers, and address. “I need a location on one or both of them, or their buddy Clint Ravell. I don’t have an address for him.”

  “Location only or pick up and detain?” Bryan asked briskly.

  “Pick up and detain, quietly. No one talks to them or touches them unless I’m there.”

  “Understood. Anything else?”

  “If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.” I paused. “Are you sending pe
ople to monitor the rally?”

  “Of course,” Bryan said. “You’re going?”

  “Yes.”

  “Be safe.”

  “You too.”

  We hung up. Sean looked up from where he’d been sending an e-mail. “We’re going to the rally?”

  “You don’t have to, but I need to.”

  “Why?”

  My phone beeped with a text from Bryan containing Kim Dade’s information. I saved it into my contacts and stuck my phone in the cup holder. “Because I’ve been so out of touch for the past month that I didn’t even know about all these protests, or the assaults on supes, or the Black Fire crime wave, or the attacks on Darius Bell’s cabal. I can’t afford to not know what’s going on, not when it affects the lives of so many people. It’s not that I didn’t know what groups like Humans First and the Daylighters say and believe, but I read through their Vamp Court dossiers yesterday and their websites this morning. I’m scared about what’s going to happen when Sharon gets up there and tells the crowd Mark was murdered by a vampire.”

  Sean pulled out into traffic, heading north toward downtown. “Okay,” he said, squaring his shoulders and giving me a grin. “Let’s go to a riot.”

  18

  It didn’t start out as a riot; in fact, for the first half-hour or so, I thought we’d been worried for nothing.

  Thousands of people packed the enormous plaza in front of city hall, many wearing Humans First or Daylighters T-shirts and carrying signs with anti-supe slogans. There were others with signs urging unity and peace, but they seemed to be outnumbered by about ten or fifteen to one.

  Sean and I stood near the edge of the crowd, about midway back from the steps where the first several speakers had each taken about ten minutes to condemn Mark’s murder and urge people to join one or more of the many “Human rights” groups in the area. Everything seemed calm except for a few outbursts of chanting and shouting. The conspicuous presence of riot police and heavy tactical equipment seemed to be keeping the situation under control. I saw SPEMA agents in their trademark jackets scattered around the perimeter, but no sign of Lake.