“It’s okay,” she said when an officer placed his hand on Xander’s shoulder, his other reaching for his belt at Xander’s growl. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
Xander remained silent, his attention on Kyra who continued absorbing the sun’s rays. He frowned, tilting his head.
“Xander?”
Kyra blinked, flinching when she noticed Xander staring. Face flushed she stumbled back, and then stared in return.
“Kyra?”
Kyra blinked. “Erm, I’ll go see if anybody needs my assistance.” She looked towards the floor, cheeks burning as she moved back into the tent.
“Who’s that?” Xander asked, his eyes tracking her until she was out of sight.
“That’s Kyra… she’s working with us on this case.”
“She a dark witch?” he asked, even though it sounded a statement.
“Xander, what are you doing here?” she asked once again.
He shook his head, eyebrows pinched. “I was passing through the library and heard the commotion.” He shrugged, but his attention kept moving back towards the white tent. “What happened?”
“I can’t say.”
She expected Xander to complain, but instead he just nodded. “Understood.”
“Alice?” Peyton called.
Alice moved her head to respond, and Xander was gone when she looked back.
“You going to tell me about the fabric?” Alice asked Peyton when he moved closer. “Like the sample in your pocket?”
Peyton smiled, just a small arch of his upper lip. “No, not yet. Who was that? I’ve seen him around that boyfriend of yours.”
Alice smiled back. “You got the address for that author?”
Chapter 11
Peyton pulled up outside the large house, the tall brick walls that surrounded the property keeping away prying eyes. The metal gates were open when they arrived, but as they followed the gentle bend of the drive the road disappeared from view.
“They’ve been following since we left the city,” Peyton murmured, bending the mirror to try and get a better look, but couldn’t.
Alice knew, she had noticed the black car carelessly following them for miles. They had made it obvious, close enough to tailgate when they were on the motorway. “They haven’t followed us on to the property.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Is there something you should be telling me?” Peyton asked as they both exited the car, his pale eyes staring at her from across the roof. “Why would they be following us?”
“Just so you know, the universe doesn’t revolve around me.”
“Alice, we’re connected. I felt your anxiety thirty minutes ago.” He opened their connection, the warmth soaking over her for a few seconds before he locked it back tight. It was long enough, the link calming her nerves.
She knew who it was, had seen them in the mirror.
“It’s just some guy who I had a disagreement with.” Which was the truth considering she punched Chester’s balls into his throat. But it wasn’t him she was worried about, even though she knew how powerful he was with or without a wand. No, it was the woman in the passenger seat who was his keeper.
She hadn’t seen them in months, which meant something had changed.
Shit.
Peyton narrowed his eyes before he moved to the open gate. “They’re still here.”
“And they will be our problem when we leave,” Alice said, turning towards the house just as the front door swung open.
“Hello?” a woman cautiously greeted from the threshold. “Can I help you?” She wore a silk dressing gown, her pale, almost white grey hair pinned up elegantly.
“Afternoon, I’m Agent Skye and this is Detective Peyton. We’re here to see Freya Wilson.”
The woman blinked, almost startled. “I am she, how can I help you?”
Alice knew Freya was supposed to be in her late seventies, but the woman before her looked barely fifty. Both her throat and fingers were bare of any jewellery, as were her ears. Unless she wore magic infused jewellery in her hair, the woman looked two decades younger. Surgery was good, but not that good.
Peyton seemed to think the same as he pulled out the book in question, bought from the closest bookstore. Flicking to the back he glanced at the photograph. “Mrs Wilson,” he said with a smile, “we have some questions regarding your latest book.”
Freya broke into a grin, stepping out onto the porch while closing the front door behind her. “While I appreciate you’re fans, I don’t allow people into my home so could you please…”
“I’m sorry, I think you misunderstood.” Peyton showed his badge, lifting it to the light. “We need to talk to you regarding…” He looked back at the book. “Blood of the Moon.”
Freya tucked the silk around her, eyes flicking between them. Her chi stretched, brushing across Alice and Peyton in what she disguised as a greeting amongst magic bearers, but Alice knew it was a strength test and had already concealed her own. Freya’s frown deepened, eyebrows pressed together as she tried to figure out what Breed they were.
“Of course, if you would like to join me.” Freya held the door open, clicking it closed behind them as soon as they entered. “Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee? Gin?” she chuckled.
“No, thank you,” Alice and Peyton said in unison.
Inside the house was dark, the thick curtains drawn across all the windows. Lavender and dust tickled her nose, more so when they sat down on an old fabric Chesterfield. A desk sat towards the back, a typewriter in the centre with a pile of paper beside it.
“I must apologise about the curtains, I suffer from debilitating migraines and the darkness helps.”
Freya clicked a button and the fireplace crackled into life.
“Now,” she said as she sat in the armchair opposite. “How can I help you?”
“Do you read the news?”
“The news?” she frowned. “What’s this about?” She looked between Alice and Peyton.
Peyton smiled gently, easing her nerves. “We were wondering if you’ve received anything interesting in the last few weeks? Fan mail? Gifts? Etcetera? Anything out of the ordinary.”
“Did my agent call you?” Freya looked away, hands shaking. “I asked her to keep it a secret.”
“Keep what a secret?” Alice asked. When Freya remained silent she leaned forward. “Mrs Wilson…”
“It’s Ms. I’ve been Ms since my husband passed.” Freya played with the hem of her dressing gown.
Peyton and Alice exchanged a look.
“I’m sorry to hear about your husband,” Alice said carefully.
“You shouldn’t be,” Freya smiled, “he lived a happy life.” A single tear glittered down her cheek. “My apologies, I get carried away sometimes.” She wiped it away with her sleeve. “To answer your question I’ve been receiving threats, more so of late.”
“Threats?” Peyton urged. “What kind of threats?”
“Oh, you know, the usual.” She gently clasped her hands together, the nails long and painted black. “Recently the letters have become rather dark, quoting my own words back at me. I write criminal thrillers, which involves me describing crime scenes in graphic detail. I didn’t expect the threats to repeat that.”
“In what way?”
“It would have been best if I could show you, but I’ve burned them all as soon as I received them. They would start with stating they were my biggest fan, and wanted to honour my work by murdering me in the same way.”
“I’m sorry, have you been receiving these threats for long?”
Freya laughed, the sound short and hollow. “Over the years I have received similar letters, harmless mostly. Blood of the Moon was my latest novel, have you read it?” When neither Alice nor Peyton answered she continued. “It’s about a collection of shifter murders across New York and the trial of the one sentenced. He’s a man who was brought up by his uncle, a hunter. He learned to skin as a child and became fascinated with shifters. H
e grew up to be a famous trophy collector.”
“So he hunted and skinned shifters?” Alice asked.
“I never said that,” Freya smiled, “but that’s the thriller part. The killer is never who you expect it to be.”
“So the killer would skin them as they would an animal for a trophy and what… wrap them up and pose them for the police to find?”
“Ah, so you have read my novel,” Freya smiled. “Yes, they were posed as an added insult to the investigators. To mock them.”
“What about the fabric?”
Freya’s smile tightened. “Creative inspiration.”
“To confirm, you haven’t kept any of the letters?” Peyton asked.
“No, I couldn’t bear it.”
“Why haven’t you called the police?”
“Because it had all been a bit harmless.”
“I’ll organise witness protection, if your fans are going to this extent…”
“NO!” she interrupted Peyton. “No, thank you. I don’t want or need police assistance. I’ll make a statement but I have no interest in witness protection at this time.”
“Ms Wilson…” Alice began.
“No.”
It didn’t take long for Peyton to write down her statement, reassuring her he would pass on the details to the station. It wasn’t until they were back outside, Freya safe behind her front door before Alice spoke.
“You heading straight back to Scotland Yard?”
“Hmmm.” Peyton stepped toward the open gate, checking the road before returning to his car. From his expression she knew the Knights had left. “What do you think of Ms Wilson?”
Alice didn’t hesitate. “Her hands were young.”
“Excuse me?” Peyton frowned.
“She’s in her seventies, yet her hands look as young as mine.” Alice stared at her own, the nails short, and bitten to the quick. Ms Wilsons, on the other hand, were well looked after, manicured.
“I don’t understand.”
“Hands are the hardest to make look young, along with the neck. So how did she do it?”
“Good genes?”
Must be amazing genes, Alice thought, looking back at her own hands. Fucking amazing genes.
Alice pulled off her jacket, her phone falling from her pocket and into the wet mud. “Oh, bloody hell.” The mobile flashed when she touched it, showing several missed messages and texts. She always had it on silent, not wanting to risk any noise when she was either on a contract, or on an investigation.
“You okay?” Peyton asked as he opened the car.
“Ye…ah,” she said with an obvious hesitation.
Peyton paused, his hand in his pocket. “The fabric feels like Fae.”
Alice looked up, her phone clasped in her hand. “You thinking an Object of Power?”
“I’m not sure,” he grunted. “That witch didn’t really help.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
Her phone flashed once again in her hand, a message from Mac.
‘Come pick him up. Now!’
“Shit!” She sent a quick reply, asking him for details. She saw him start to reply, but then nothing.
“Sam?” Peyton asked, lifting an eyebrow at her nod. “Elduin says your roommate is like the wind. Strong, fast, and unable to be caught.”
“Very poetic,” she muttered. “We need to sort out how this fabric…”
“And discuss the doorway you witnessed before, but I also understand loyalty. We have no active leads right now and I’ll try and figure out the weave.”
“Okay.” She tied her jacket around her waist. “You able to drop me off at Club X?”
Chapter 12
Alice had always thought it was strange how busy Club X was in the daytime. Not as busy as the night, the darkness bringing in all kinds of clientele. However, the daytime was busy nonetheless considering they specialised in erotic dancers.
So when Alice arrived and the club was closed, she panicked.
“Hello?” She banged at the locked door, fist on metal hard enough to hurt. The entrance faced a large square, with busy restaurants and shops. She was bringing attention to herself, the loud and consistent banging echoing across the pavement. “Hello?”
A small buzz, followed by a growl.
“Alice, it’s open.”
A click, the door opening with a slight push. Raucous shouts filled the entrance, louder when she entered into the main room. Tables had been pushed to the edges with no care, leaving dents and scratches in the expensive wooden floor. At least two chairs were smashed, splinters showered over the blood smears and splatters. A wolf lay unconscious, but from the steady rise and fall of his chest Alice knew he would be fine.
“What’s going on here?” she shouted, calling her magic to her palms when an aggressive looking wolf snarled in her direction. She immediately looked him in the eye, maintaining eye contact until he dropped to his stomach, head bent to expose his throat. The show of submission made her stomach twist, but in that moment she was grateful.
“YOU!” A woman with pale blonde hair snarled, nails elongating into claws as she stomped ungraciously across the floor. Her boots crunched the broken chairs, scratching the wood further. “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!” She lifted a full-shifted claw, swiping at Alice in a whip of speed.
Alice stepped back, a claw a whisper from her nose as a leopard tore through the room and tackled the woman to the ground.
“RANGER!” Mac snarled, running after the leopard who turned round with a mouth full of sharp teeth.
“What the fuck is happening?!” She hesitantly approached Sam, making sure his leopard caught her scent before she grabbed his scruff and pulled him away from the woman who lay beneath him on the floor. Her mouth stretched, fangs elongated as she fought her anger to shift. “Mac?”
“I don’t know!” He turned his attention to the woman, crouching until he was closer to her face. “Olivia,” he snapped. “Do. Not. Shift.”
Alice felt the power from his voice drift over her, like a heavy water current. It wasn’t as harsh or sharp as an Alpha, but he was still a strong dominant.
The woman ignored him, her nose becoming a snout, drool dripping between her pointy teeth. It meant she was a dominant too, maybe even stronger than Mac.
“ENOUGH!” Alice shouted, making every wolf flinch, including Mac. Olivia whined in the back of her throat, turning her face towards the tables.
Mac shot Alice a warning glance, his eyes reflecting back his own wolf.
Great, she thought. I seem to have pissed everyone off.
“Sam?” She tugged on the leopard. “What’s happened?”
A ripple appeared over his fur, obscuring the beautiful rosettes. Lifting her hand she stepped away, allowing him the space to shift back. Over the few minutes other staff members entered the room, hovering around the edges. Two she knew were new, vampires from what she guessed from their dark eyes. Another dancer was a predatory cat, and another a falcon who watched the event unfolding with only a little interest. All the waitstaff were wolves, and their hostile gaze was aimed at her alone. They prickled against her skin, but she refused to acknowledge them.
“Alice,” Roman said from the back. “You okay?” He pushed through the crowd, much to the grumbles of the others and crushed her in a hug. He had grown even bigger in the weeks she hadn’t seen him, his frame filling out until he was almost the size of his brothers.
“Roman,” Mac said, his voice vibrating with a barely controlled rage. “Can you enlighten me with what the fuck happened?” He swept his gaze across the room, mouth tightening at the broken furniture.
“Erm,” he mumbled, shuffling from one foot to the other as he stared at Mac’s throat. “I think you should let Ranger explain.”
Alice paused, wondering who the bloody hell Ranger was until she remembered it was Sam’s stage name.
Sam groaned, climbing to his feet. A cut slit his top lip and a bruise darkened the golden skin across his left pec. But they
were already healing, the majority clotted and sealed from his first shift.
“Why did you call her?” he said with uncharacteristic venom. “What a fucking joke.”
“That’s it,” someone called from across the room. “His pretty little whore witch is here to save the day!”
“HENRY!” Mac snapped, turning the full extent of his rage to the man. “GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND.” The man dropped immediately to his stomach.
It looked strange on a full grown adult.
Mac returned his attention to Sam, ignoring Olivia as she climbed to her feet, her face and hands completely human. “I called her because if I didn’t you wouldn’t have stopped until Paul was dead.”
The wolf Alice noticed when she first entered groaned. Paul, she assumed.
“You weren’t listening, and we both know your animal doesn’t listen to my dominance,” Mac continued.
Sam shook out his hair, the long blonde strands tangled. Olivia smirked, tilting her head as she turned to Alice, but she didn’t look her in the eye, keeping them lowered. She was beautiful, taller than Alice by a good several inches with a bust and butt to be envious of. Her blonde hair was pale, as pale as Sam’s which went well with the dark blue of her eyes.
“You shouldn’t have called her,” Sam said, his voice softening as he moved to stand behind Alice, his chin resting on her hair. She immediately began to stroke down the arm he circled around her stomach, calming him, calming his leopard. “That wasn’t fair.”
“What happened?” Mac asked again.
Sam remained silent, as did everyone else.
“No one? Really?” he snarled. “So you think it’s appropriate to trash my business? In front of customers? HUMAN CUSTOMERS!” He raised his voice, his wolf taking the lead. “NEVER MIND THE COST IT IS TO REPLACE EVERYTHING, THE AMOUNT OF MONEY WE’VE LOST BY JUST CLOSING FOR THE EVENING!” He began to pace, face flushed. “Everybody get to work on repairing the floor. Every single bottle smashed, chair broken and walls dented will be replaced or repaired, and it’s coming from all of your wages.”
A chorus of cries, complaining that it was unreasonable.
Knight's War: A Witch Detective Urban Fantasy (Alice Skye series Book 5) Page 9