“There’s definitely something going on there,” McManus said.
“Do you think they’d kill their own flesh and blood?” Tones asked.
McManus nodded. “When it comes to power, some people will do anything.”
“Let’s list some of the other persons of interest,” Bianca said, and stepped up to the white board. “What does VCU have?”
Tones grinned. “Nothing as usual. They’re still assuming this is a black market baby ring.”
Bianca stepped away from the board. “Okay, we have several rival covens that could benefit from the Hilden fall, but what would that have to do with the other witches?”
“If we’re counting the familial covens,” Tones said, “we have to be looking at the other castes as well.”
“And add the O’Shea brothers,” McManus said. “I’m convinced they’re involved somehow. Any luck finding out who owned that magic shop?”
Tones shook his head. “It’s listed as a concern of an umbrella company owned by another umbrella company based in the Cayman Islands. I’m still tracking the paper trail.”
“In summary, we have nothing,” McManus said, looking at the names on the board. “Nothing at all.”
35
Hell Bound
Nanette’s hands shook and she dropped the keys. Again. She picked them up and tried to make the slim shaft of metal enter the lock, which seemed impossible with his hot breath burning the back of her neck.
His hand closed over her wrist. “If you don’t hurry up,” he whispered darkly against her ear, “I’ll just do you right here in the alley.”
A shiver ran down her spine. The key slid home. She unlocked the door and twisted in his arms. The door opened inwardly and they fell through, smashing against the wall behind. His breath was hot and heavy as he pushed her against the table, ripping at the front of her shirt.
“Slow down,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “We have all night.”
Dajon looked around nervously. “Are you sure your grandfather is gone?”
Nanette laughed. “He really scares you, doesn’t he?”
“Fuck yeah,” he said. “All that crazy voodoo shit.”
“Come on.” Nanette took him by the hand. “We can go and check, just to make sure.”
Several chickens popped their heads up in cages and clucked softly. Snakes slithered in their tanks, black tongues darting out. Dried chicken feet hung from a rack suspended above the counter. Skulls and bones of all shapes, sizes, and species were stacked on the shelves behind the cash register. The mummified remains of birds, insects, and reptiles hung from the ceiling along with an array of colorful bric-a-brac. All the things used in necromantic spells could be found here. Nanette’s grandfather was the shaman of their congregation.
Dajon was human and didn’t understand the ways of her people. Which was exactly why her father and grandfather didn’t like him. Anything that pissed off the old bastard was just fine by her.
“Come on,” she said, giving him a coy smile. “I know exactly where I want to do you.” She took his hand and led him into the back room.
“What is this place?” Dajon asked.
She turned, taking both his hands. “I guess you’d call it our church.”
“You want to do it in a church?”
She nodded and smiled as she slid her zipper down a few inches. “Ah-ha.”
His eyes dropped to watch her slowly pull the zip down a little more, his pink tongue darting out to lick his thick brown lips. “Now?”
“Hell yes.” The naughty thrill of it sent her nipples hard, and she opened her top all the way.
She wore nothing underneath, her large breasts aching for his touch.
“God, I’ve never been this turned on,” she whispered in his ear. The thought of doing it in her grandfather’s church really had her hot, so hot she was ready to come.
Dajon moved in, his palm cradling her left breast, the pad of his thumb brushing her nipple and sending a shock through her body. His other hand snaked around behind her and pulled her close. Real close. His hand reached under the flouncy shorts she loved and squeezed her cheek as he pressed his arousal against her. She wanted him. Needed him.
Now.
She reached down and fumbled with his belt, desperate to feel him inside her. He pushed her back against the table. Holding her face with both hands, he sucked on her bottom lip, traced along her jawline with gentle playful nips. He pulled back a little to look into her eyes, his lips so close to her yet not touching as she pulled the air he exhaled into her own lungs.
He pushed her top off her shoulders and his gaze fell to her breasts. He lifted her leg, snagged her panties with one finger and dragged them over her hips. Nanette wriggled her butt to help him. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she kicked them off when they reached her foot, then leaned forward and fumbled for his belt buckle. “I need you in me now,” she whispered.
He claimed her mouth and gently pushed away her hands so he could get his pants off himself. She leaned back on her elbows and watched as he dropped them to his ankles and enclosed his erection in one big, strong fist.
She almost came at the sight of him touching himself. She was wet and ready as he guided the tip to her opening, and filled her completely with one hard thrust.
She cried out and gripped his shoulders. The rough wooden table bit into her buttocks. She’d have splinters in the morning, but right now the pain only intensified the mind-blowing sensation of him inside her.
Dajon swept the offerings off the table and pushed her back as he climbed on, barely breaking his rhythm.
She rose to meet him but just couldn’t get enough of him inside her. She wanted more.
“I want to ride you, baby,” she whispered.
He stopped, buried deep inside, and looked at her. “What?”
“I want to be on top, I want to ride you all the way.”
He grinned and deftly flipped them so he was under her. Then slipped his hands behind his head and watched as she positioned herself above him.
“Oh, baby,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m so close to coming.”
“Then come, baby,” she said, so close herself. “Come for me.”
She closed her eyes, feeling him beneath her as she rocked back and forth, picking up the rhythm. He shuddered suddenly, making a strange gurgling sound in the back of his throat as he came, but she wasn’t about to let that stop her. Almost there . . . almost . . .
She threw back her head as her orgasm shattered through her body her, and then she ground her last shudder against him.
“Whoa, baby,” she said with a laugh, leaning forward and sliding her hands over his chest. “That was amazing.”
Dajon was still under her, his skin slick with perspiration . . . and sticky?
“Baby?”
He didn’t answer, not even with the grunt he usually gave when their lovemaking had sapped all his strength. The room was dark. All the candles had gone out and she hadn’t even noticed. But it couldn’t be the wind. Everything was locked up tight.
“Dajon, baby,” she said again, a bad feeling starting in the pit of her stomach. “Say something, you’re scaring me.”
Something moved. But not Dajon. Something else touched her on the stomach. A strange heavy sensation bloomed deep within her womb. She lifted her hands closer to her face, unable to see in the darkness. It smelled familiar, like . . . blood.
All the candles burst into life at once. Nanette looked down at her lover. He stared sightlessly at the ceiling, eyes wide with shock, blood spilling from his throat, pooling on the floor, covering his chest and . . .
All over her. Her stomach, her hands, and even her breasts.
The scream ripped up her throat and out of her mouth, her lungs contracting painfully with the force of it, but it died as a figure in
a white robe appeared out of the smoky darkness. The ghostly figure floated across the floor, toward her, chanting in a language from a world long gone, powerful words, dark words, words that spread a chill up her spine.
She tried to climb off Dajon, who was still buried inside her. But she was stuck. Her legs were paralyzed and her womb heavy and tight. Nanette looked down as her stomach bulged and swelled. She placed both hands against the tightening skin trying to stop it when something moved.
Then the screams returned.
36
Death Follows Five
Here we go.
McManus hoped breaking into this crime scene would not end like the last. It wasn’t off to a good start. Déjà vu. Disturbing knickknacks, bones, and dead things hung from the ceiling, covered the counter, and filled the shelves.
“This place gives me the creeps,” he said. “All this black magic.”
“It’s not black magic,” Bianca said, tilting her head. “Necromantic practices are often misunderstood. They deal with death, yes, but use the spirits to help heal, find things, or just plain get messages from the other side. Most of it’s benign or even beneficial. It only becomes black magic if they use the death energy as a way to harm or kill. Even a hex can be seen as somewhat gray, depending on the intent and the outcome.”
“I’ll never understand witches and your politics. Come on, we don’t have much time for Witchcraft 101.”
Bianca ducked under the yellow crime tape crisscrossing the doorway to the back area where the local necromantic parishioners held their services. Blood stained the floor, the table, and splashed the altar bearing offerings of foodstuffs, candles, and other macabre looking items. It still all appeared rather evil to him.
“I can’t see the Dark Brethren symbol,” he said.
“I can.” Bianca pointed to the ceiling.
“Well, that’s different,” he said, looking up. “Have you tried to reconnect to that Dark Brethren thing again?”
“Ealund? No.” She squatted beside the bloodstain on the wooden floor. “Apparently the line’s been disconnected.”
“Probably for the best anyway.”
She gave him an ironic smile. “That I’m sure of.”
“So what do you think?” he asked. “Is it our guy?”
“It’s our guy all right.” Bianca nodded. “And if it’s five castes they’re after, then I think they now have everything they need. But this is just the preparation for something big. I’m sure of it. I fear these babies are the elements to a greater spell. And they have five—one from each magic caste.”
“Too bad we can’t trace them like a phone call,” he said.
Her face lit up. “McManus, you’re brilliant.”
“I know, but why?”
She tossed up her hands. “I’ve spent most of my adult life finding a way around magic, that I didn’t even think of it . . .” She stopped and looked at him. “I need to talk to Tez O’Connor and get my hands on some blood samples.”
“What’re you thinking?” he asked.
“Come on, I’ll tell you on the way.”
“Sure I have samples,” Tez said, her hands buried in the chest of an elderly man.
“I have an idea,” Bianca said. “I don’t know if it’ll work, but it’s worth a shot.”
The medical examiner looked up, a knowing smile on her lips. “You’re going to scry for them.”
“Actually, I’m going to have an old friend scry.” Bianca swallowed. She could handle the blood and open body cavity . . . but the smell. It was like death hanging in the air, refusing to leave. Even the antiseptic and ammonia couldn’t hide it.
McManus didn’t seem to have any issues with the corpse or the smell and watched with interest as Tez worked.
“What’d he die of?” he asked.
“Don’t know yet.” Tez stepped away from the body, peeling off the two pairs of latex gloves, then threw them into the bin. “He’s one of yours, Bianca. They found him dead in his greenhouse, with no obvious signs of foul play. I think I’ll have to wait for pathology on this one.” She rinsed off her hands and dried them. “I’ll get you those samples.”
Bianca moved closer to the body. He seemed familiar. Very familiar. Tez said he was one of hers but she just couldn’t quite place him.
“Here you go,” the medical examiner said, handing her a small wrapped package. “I hope this helps.”
“Thanks, Tez,” Bianca said. “And if anyone asks, we weren’t here.”
Tez winked. “No problem.”
Bianca knocked. Goddess, this brought back so many memories. The door opened and Lucinda’s smile reached her dark eyes. “Hello stranger.”
Bianca stepped into her old friend’s hug. “Hi, Luce. You look good. Motherhood really agrees with you.”
“So does divorce.” Luce’s smile lit up even more as she looked at McManus. “Well, hello there.”
“Sorry,” Bianca said. “Lucinda, this is my associate, Detective McManus from Homicide.”
“Detective,” her old friend said, holding his hand a little too long.
Bianca recognized that look too. She’d seen it enough in high school. And he didn’t exactly seem in a hurry to let go of the dark-haired beauty’s hand either. In fact, he was making eyes right back.
“Are you ready?” she asked, feeling pissed at her childhood friend and McManus for some strange reason.
“Right.” Luce raised an eyebrow. “Should we get started?”
“That would be great, thanks,” Bianca said.
Breaking off contact with McManus, Luce turned back to Bianca. “Come on in. I have everything ready. Did you bring the blood?”
“Right here.” McManus held up the package Tez had given them.
She led them into the living room. It hadn’t changed much since they were both in grade school and Luce’s mother was the local seeker. Photographs lined the mantel, including pictures of her and Luce when they were kids.
Bianca picked up a photo of a smiling teenager and a little girl with no front teeth. “Amy has grown up so much, and Hannah looks just like you did at her age.”
“You can’t be old enough for a teenage daughter,” McManus said.
Luce laughed and pointed to the little girl in the photograph. “Hannah’s my daughter. Amy is my baby sister. Well, half sister. Though she does feel more like my daughter. She’s been with me since she was eight, after my mother died.” She turned to Bianca. “Can you believe she turns sixteen in two days?”
“You’re kidding. Already?”
“I gather from Bianca you two have been friends for a long time,” McManus said.
“Since birth, actually. Our mothers were friends and pregnant with us at the same time. Bee was born two days after me. Which makes me her elder.” Luce winked.
“A fact she never lets me forget,” Bianca added with a laugh.
There was another girl in some of the pictures, older than Bianca and Luce.
“Who’s this?” he asked, pointing to the unsmiling girl.
She glanced at the picture and frowned. “That’s my sister, Ursula.”
“She doesn’t look very happy.”
Luce shrugged. “No, she rarely was.”
A map of the city covered half the living room floor, and heavy black curtains were drawn across the windows. The subdued light of flickering candles kept the room in half darkness. Luce knelt in front of a low table holding five crystals, each tied with a different colored piece of string.
Bianca sat across from her friend, watching her reverently touch the tools of her trade as she prepared for the scrying process. When they were kids, they used to sit together on this very sofa and watch Luce’s mother perform the same rituals.
She held out her hand for the package. “Give me the blood.”
McManus pa
ssed it to her and carefully stood back so not to step on the map, but he watched intently.
“Please, Detective, stop hovering. Sit that tight little tush of yours over by Bee and let me prepare,” she said, and unwrapped the package.
“I like your friend,” McManus told Bianca as he sat down.
“Even if she’s a witch,” she whispered back, a little more sarcastically than she’d intended.
“I’m going to search the New York State area for close relatives of the victims,” Luce explained as she removed a rack of tiny labeled test tubes from the insulated box, each with less than a quarter inch of crimson in the bottom. “Shall we start with the first victim?”
“Sounds great,” Bianca said, pointing to the first test tube. “It’s this one.”
Using a thin metal tool, Luce scooped out a small amount of the sample, no more than a few drops, and smeared it onto the crystal with the yellow string. A pale yellow glow bloomed in the center of the stone.
“Here goes,” she said, hanging the crystal by the string and with a slight movement of her wrist rotating the glowing stone over the map.
Nothing happened.
“Hmm, that’s not a good start,” Bianca said.
“It’s not working?” McManus asked.
“Or there’s no living relatives in the area,” Lucinda said.
Bianca sat forward. “Why don’t you try the latest victim? We know she had plenty of family.”
Luce nodded. She selected another vial and repeated the steps, this time using a crystal with a purple string. As soon as she started circling it above the map, little purple glowing dots appeared on the paper, some brighter than others.
“Whoa,” McManus said, leaning forward. “But how do we tell who they are? I mean are they male or female, brother or sister, aunt or uncle?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Bianca said.
“Each dot represents a blood relative,” Luce explained as she increased the circumference of the swinging crystal, more dots appearing on the map. Most were clumped around the neighborhood where Nanette lived with her parents. “The brighter the glow, the closer the relative is. But that’s all we can tell. Blood calls blood.”
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