Hand In Ash
Page 12
Whoever he passed his night with isn’t someone he cares a lot for. Sora’s mild jealousy fizzles out. That could’ve been her he said that to.
“While I was sleeping? No. I haven’t heard anything from them since the café.”
Taking a bracing breath, she asks, “Did you get anything out of Max?” Sora isn’t so naïve that she thinks they aren’t torturing him for information. The part that loved him once aches from the thought of it, but Max made his bed. He has to lie in it.
“No, he’s as ignorant as anyone else. He knows only their recruitment message and that they’re very interested in you.” The lack of suspicion in his tone is the only reason she doesn’t hang up and end the uncomfortable conversation.
“You should let his mate in to see him. She’s suffering, and none of this is her fault.” Why she says it, she doesn’t know, but the woman’s pleading still lingers in her mind. Now that Sora has made an effort to help, she can let it go.
“I’ll take that under advisement,” Voss says in the monotone voice he used with her in the beginning. They’re apparently not going to be fast friends anymore. A little pang of regret wheedles its way in. “What’s the next step?” She snorts, why is he asking her?
“You’re the leader person. I’m just the token chick, you tell me.” Her voice is heavily laced with sarcasm, but damn if she cares.
“You’re the one who put this all together. It should be you directing the next step.”
Sora is fully aware that she’s neck-deep in this. So much so that she’s contemplating asking her grandpa—but something holds her back from it. He’s nearing the end of his life; the last thing in the world he needs is a bunch of maniacs targeting him. Although he’d probably love it.
The identity of the Father person bugs her. It’s like the information she needs is right there, but she’s too short to reach it on the shelf. That’s adding in that the magic of the amber-eyed sin eater feels familiar. Not that she thinks she knows him, forget spells or not. But there’s also the chance that she’s encountered a relative or met him years ago and can’t quite place him. It doesn’t help narrow it down. There’s so much magic in the world that it could be anyone.
“I think that somehow we need to start making charms to negate the magic stealing. So, you’re going to have to donate some blood, Voss. You’ll also need to find a sorcerer who is completely loyal to you to work the magic. Anything I try to make won’t work right for this.”
“I’ll look into it and get back to you as soon as I have a candidate. I have a group of alphas who issued a formal challenge today that I have to respond to.”
“You mentioned that in your text. Wait, there’s more than one of them?” Worry makes her frown. Yes, she’s put out with him, but the idea of something happening to him doesn’t sit right with her.
“Worried about me, Sora?” The first peeks at his charm seep into his tone.
“Na, I’m sure you’ll kill them all and be back in time for psycho-scrabble. Don’t make too big of a mess.” Her voice wobbles, and she bites her own tongue to make it stop. “Be safe, Voss.”
“Always,” he says and ends the call.
“You’re worried about him,” Devil says in a sing-song voice.
Ugh, she totally is and doesn’t want to be. “So?” She challenges.
“He’ll be fine. The last time a group of alphas came after him, it was on the news. They were cleaning up shifter parts over an entire city block. He didn’t get where he is by being weak.” Devil’s words carry reassurance and as disturbing as they are, they work.
“He’s still a dick,” she mutters.
“In that, we agree. But still, I wouldn’t worry too much. I don’t know where he came from, but he’s not like other shifters. There’s something more feral about him, and that tells me he’ll be fine.” Devil isn’t the biggest fan of Voss, but to hear him basically defend him makes her look at him closer.
“What did you do?” She demands. He opens his mouth to protest but then has the audacity to smile broadly. Her instincts are dead-on.
“I may have sent Voss a fruit basket to show our appreciation to him for the housing listings.” Devil needs to have his internet privileges revoked. It wasn’t that long ago that he sent him feminism pride balloons.
“But we haven’t found a house yet,” she asks in confusion.
“Okay, it might not be a fruit basket and may, in fact, be a catnip basket, possibly even catnip shaped like dicks. He’ll get them this afternoon, probably after his big showdown.” He doesn’t look like he feels the least bit bad for it either.
“You sent him catnip dicks?” The absurdity of it is enough for her to lay her head on the table and laugh loud enough that it makes her cup rattle. When she looks at Devil and his proud smile, she snorts and laughs even harder. “Catnip… dicks. Oh my god, to see his face when he opens them!”
When the laughter is finally drained out of her, she avoids looking at Devil to keep from dissolving into laughter again and cleans up her mess before leaving for work. She is actually looking forward to this afternoon because she’s taking an early day and going house hunting. Seriously this time.
She wants out of the shifter hotel and out from under Voss’s thumb.
The drive is relatively easy, with her taking the longer back way to get there. When she parks in the heated/cooled parking garage, she smiles as she locks the car and gets in the elevator. There’s no shame in having a nice building to work in now. Hank loves it here, and so does she. No more weird restaurant smells or people sleeping in the doorway in the morning.
She’s still daydreaming about houses when she steps off the elevator and discovers the line of people waiting outside of the office.
What the fuck?
“Can I help you?” She asks, unsure of why there are so many people waiting out here, and why Hank’s ass is still hiding in the office and not helping any of them. He’s not an elitist. A client is a client, and if she’s not there, he deals with them.
“Is this the detective’s office that’s looking into the murders?” Asks a middle-age man, shifter, with a bald spot and a dadbod for days. He’s kind of cute, and her smile is genuine.
“That depends. What brings you here?” Cute or not, she’s not about to tell all when they’ve not told any.
“My wife was one of the victims, and I came here, hoping he can help. We’re all actually members of the grief support group, and each one of us has lost someone to the same killer.” Compassion fills her, and she pulls out her office keys.
“Let me slip by you, and I’ll get inside and have some tea and coffee brewing before you know it.” They clear a path for her, and she does as promised. The new office has a commercial coffee and tea maker, and she spends several minutes making everyone one or the other before getting them settled in the large, but comfortable, conference room.
Hank’s office is empty, and she sends him a 911 text telling him to get his ass in here. She can’t do all this alone, and he’s better with people than she is. She’s full of empathy and righteous anger on their behalf, but she’s still learning how to manage all of this, and a room full of grieving people isn’t her forte.
“Let me get my stuff, and we’ll get to know each other, okay?” Several of them nod, and she slips out the door and breaks into a run to get to her desk and get things for taking notes and a pocket recorder. If she tries to write everything down, she’ll have Carpal tunnel halfway through.
Running back in, she stops outside the door and smooths her shirt and pats her heated cheeks before stepping calmly inside. Devil is floating at the head of the table, and all of them are staring at him.
Oh, shit.
Silently, she prays he hasn’t done something stupid and sits in the chair that he pulls out for her. “Now, let’s start with the basics. Your names, your reason for being here, and what you think we can do to help you.” Satisfied that sounds professional enough, she looks up and smiles at all of them.
> They’re still staring at Devil.
“Is that a prop of some type?” The elderly lady to her right asks, eyeing Devil like he’s the Halloween decoration of her dreams.
“No, he’s actually called a guardian. He’s my companion,” she explains.
“So, a familiar?” She fights to keep the smile on her face. She genuinely hates people calling him a familiar and has no idea why.
“Sure, let’s go with that. Now, would you like to start?” She prompts, taking advantage of the woman’s talkativeness.
“Well… I’m Goldie Ellerton, and I live in the Grond Territory in Alabama.” Her accent is cliché southern, and Sora isn’t the least surprised. “My, uh, step-son Kevin went to a job interview and didn’t come home. They found his body a few days later, and he had one of those hand marks burned into his skin.” She touches her throat nervously before continuing. “Kevin was a troubled man but not a bad one. He was good to me after his father, my husband died, treating me like his real mother instead of just his stepmother. When the police turned up nothing and told me it was best to stop calling every day for check-ins, I was invited to join the grief group–who are all experiencing the same nonsense excuses from the police–and met all of these wonderful people.”
Sora watches her carefully but with a friendly smile planted firmly on her face. Goldie isn’t done with her story; Sora nods her head and waits for her to continue speaking, and she does for the next ten minutes.
Three hours pass like this, and when the last story is told, Sora gratefully lets Hank take over. While he’s speaking with them about investigating on their behalf, she passes out sheets of notebook paper to get their information for invoicing and contacting. At the end of it, she sends the last grieving family member out and turns to Hank.
“Fourteen new clients, all related to the Hand case. This is crazy,” Sora says, gathering up the notes. She stands and stares at the table and empty chairs and turns to Hank. “It makes me sad that this is only the tip of the iceberg.”
“These bastards have a type of person they go for, that’s for sure,” he muses, shaking his head and looking at the stack of papers in Sora’s hands.
“They’re targeting people that aren’t innocent but haven’t done anything so horrid they can’t elicit sympathy from their deaths. That sin eater told me that they want the world to pay attention, so they’re taking the ones who will get noticed. This guy gambled, but he never hurt anyone but himself with it.” She points at the top sheet in the stack. “Another was a storyteller, or to put it bluntly a liar, who only wanted to paint a better life to people than she lived. Simple sins, Hank. Nothing condemning.” She goes to her desk and drops the papers on it with a thump.
“I don’t think it’s only about their unknown spell. They want the eyes of the world on them, and soon enough, someone else will connect the dots and contact the media, and this will blow up. It won’t be long until it’s on every news outlet, every paper. Whispered about in every house, and the fear will rise. People will start to panic and with the fuckers doing this running around free… it will continue to happen,” Sora says passionately, her eyes burning with unshed tears for the victims.
Devil, who’s remained quiet throughout the entire ordeal, speaks up for the first time. “Sora, finish up what you’re doing. We have houses to look at.” She turns on him with the full intention of telling him off when she sees the look on his face. “Your heart is too big, sometimes. That pain isn’t yours.”
The sadness in her is damn near overwhelming, but his words spoken with such care drag her from the darkest depths of the grief that isn’t hers to carry. The blame she’s heaping on herself because she hasn’t caught the bad guy.
“Empathy is expected, you’re all heart, but this isn’t your fault.” He comes close to her, the heat of his magic soothing her. “You’ve always had a kind soul, nothing will change that, but don’t let this tear you up inside.”
“My people are doing this, Devil… the ones who are supposed to ease the burdens of the soul are murdering people,” she chokes out.
“And how is that your fault? Are you out doing this to people?” She shakes her head. “Exactly. You’re the one who’s going to catch the ones doing these things but only in a realistic time frame. They aren’t going to walk up to you and turn themselves in. It’s going to take time, so stop finding a way to make it your fault when it’s everything but. The only people who deserve the blame for this are the ones doing it. Come on, Sora, girl, don’t let it tear you up this way.”
“Why is it doing that to her? It doesn’t seem normal,” Hank asks in concern.
“There are different kinds of sin eaters, Hank. Look at shifters, different breeds, different instincts. Different strengths and weaknesses. Sin eaters are no different. Sora’s weakness is her compassion, it goes deep, and when something triggers it, she’s affected.”
“Are you telling me it’s magical?”
“Yes and no. If you hadn’t noticed, Sora talks tough–is tough–but she’s got a soft heart that gets bruised super easily. That’s the no. She’s also probably one of the strongest sin eaters you will encounter in your entire life, and the cost of that power is that the magic can make her feel the pain of others, like these grieving family members, more keenly when she’s in a room with them all together. That same instinct is the reason why she tried to help Max’s mate,” he gives her the side-eye, “even though it hurt her to do it.”
Swiping at her eyes, she shrugs. “It was the right thing to do, and I did the bare minimum.” She’s not mad at Devil for his tell-all on her, but she’s self-conscious about it just the same. She trusts Hank for the most part, enough to tell him this stuff, but the sympathy in his gaze makes her uncomfortable.
“I had no idea. I don’t know much about sin eaters, to begin with.”
“I think it’s a safety measure put into them to try to keep them from doing bad things to people. It’s why they go insane when they murder too.”
“That’s not stopping the other lot,” Hank argues.
“It wouldn’t stop Sora if she had the mindset to do it, at least not right away. This lot has already started going down the path of insanity, and eventually, that’s all they’ll know to do. That is the weakness of a sin eater.”
“Even Sora?” Devil turns to Hank and smiles.
“We need to fuck off. We have a lot of houses to see today,” Sora interrupts. She’s not about to tell Hank that she’s not entirely sure she’ll go insane. She burned that sorcerer out and hasn’t felt one bit of the sickness creeping up on her. She didn’t murder him, but she might as well have. He’d never be more than a mute meatbag for the rest of his life. That’s if he was still alive.
But Devil suspects it. She can see it in the way he’s looking at her like he knows a secret.
“Yeah, you told me about it yesterday. I’ll go ahead and go through these stories. You can transcribe them later. For all we know, there’s a clue in there.” He waves them towards the door and goes into his office, shutting it firmly behind him.
Extricating herself from the last of the lingering sadness, she grabs her stuff, and they head out. She stops at the door long enough to flip the sign to closed and lock it before practically skipping to the elevator.
This is becoming the only thing to look forward to lately. Something good, untainted by death and cults. She always wanted her own house. Had this silly dream her entire adulthood. Get the house, get a dog, have a kid. Now she’s happy just to get the house. The rest of it can wait; she has a long time left to live.
As long as she doesn’t get her ass murdered working this case.
Chapter Fifteen
She picked the house that she liked the least from her list to visit first. The pictures are only of the outside, and from what the listing says, it was abandoned. It’s not looking promising so far. Standing on the front walk staring at the gloomy house, she shivers. The damn thing feels like it’s looking back at her.
“Are you sure you want to go in there?” Devil whispers, tucking himself against her shoulder.
She looks over at him with a laugh. “Are you afraid to go in there?”
He straightens himself up and clears his throat. “Of course not, I’m a badass guardian, nothing scares me.” As if karma has it out for him when there’s a loud bang from inside, he startles and hides behind her.
“Hail the conquering hero, Devil,” she teases.
“Fuck off, ghosts are creepy,” he defends hotly. She shakes her head at him, still hugging her shoulder even as she bends down to enter the code into the electronic lock. All the properties have them, and it saves her having to deal with an agent or previous owner showing her around. It pops open with a smattering of rust from where it bolts onto the door. She takes out the key, and as she’s unlocking the main door, there’s another loud bang from inside.
This time even Sora jumps.
“See? This place is fucking creepy, Sora.” She gives him a dirty look and goes inside anyway. The smell is overpowering; a mix of mold and wetness with an undercurrent of cat pee. Whoever lived here had a lot of cats or was a cat who didn’t know how to use the bathroom properly.
The room she’s standing in is the living room and smaller than her bathroom at the hotel. As she hesitantly walks towards the kitchen, she can see through the doorway. She discovers that all the rooms–at least downstairs–are small. And no matter which room it is, the smell is nearly overpowering.
In the kitchen, she looks around dismally. There are cat prints all over the dust coating the counters. Old food coat dishes in the sink. Optimistically, it’s cleanable, but realistically? She doesn’t want to.