I stare at Lynesse Jones’s beaming face. She looks ecstatic, a young woman on the verge of beginning her new life. She is showing off her big sparkly diamond ring.
No wonder she had looked familiar to me in my dreams. I saw their engagement being announced on this very newspaper some weeks back. They’d had several wild parties to celebrate. There had been a new headline every day.
Another paper shows a pale faced Jared Everett speaking to a police officer. Everett is not the man I had seen with Lynesse in my dream.
“Are you going to buy that?” says the woman at the cash desk. She is glaring at me.
“Sorry,” I mutter, putting the paper back.
I hurry out of the store, but once I am outside I feel at a loss. I just stand there watching traffic go by. The purpose of my day was to save her. I had been so excited about proving Storm wrong for firing me. So stupidly excited.
What a mope-fest, says the little voice. Cheer up. Now we’ve got a killer to catch. Exciting times.
“How could I not know it was DCK?” I ask her. “Why didn’t I see that?”
It’s done now. So go to the house and find a clue. It’s what you wanted all along, isn’t it?
“And then what?”
Track the scumbag down and we’ll take our vengeance. I’ll do it. You won’t have to lift a finger… Well, maybe a finger. She sniggers.
I give a huff of disbelieving laughter. Track him down and kill him? Is she mad? And anyway, we can’t go to the house.
“It will be crawling with cops,” I tell her. “They’ll probably arrest me for interfering.”
So we’ll wait it out. We’ll go at night.
“I can’t. I’ve got work tonight. I can’t let Luca down.”
Pfft. Work, she mutters. I thought you were sick of stagnating, but look at you giving up so easily. It’s pathetic.
I ignore her, and try to figure out what to do. I fish out the Agency’s address from my bag. I can go there and beg them to let me help. This guy killed Magda. He killed before her and he killed after her. Nobody has managed to catch him for years. This murder happened in London. My home town. No way am I going to sit this one out.
Filled with a renewed sense of determination, I head to the address for the Agency’s London Headquarters in Westminster. When I get to the address I found on the internet, I worry that I am not at the right place. Street view did not fully convey the grandeur of this place. It looks more like a monolithic old museum than an office for law enforcement. Nearly everyone going into the building is stressed in suits and formalwear. No uniforms to be seen.
I stand outside, staring up at the immense building, and wonder if Storm is inside or if he went back to Paris. It would be good to see a face I know, even one that is more likely to scowl than smile when it sees me. And he’s more likely to believe me than a stranger is.
Trying not to think of our last meeting, I go inside. I am relieved to find a reception desk that looks like it could well belong in a police station.
“I’m here to see Constantine Storm,” I tell the woman at the desk, trying to sound as if I am confident that he works here.
She taps that her computer, and frowns. “Do you have an appointment?”
I shake my head, my heart beating faster, because this confirms that I am in the right place. Storm must work here.
“It’s about a case he is working on,” I say.
She looks at me suspiciously, as if I might be some sort of fan-girl chasing after a movie star. It is not far off. Storm’s father was a movie star, and Storm himself has led an interesting life. It occurs to me that perhaps I am not the first girl who has turned up here looking for him. I flush bright red.
“Special Agent Storm isn’t available,” she says.
I discreetly take a deep breath, trying to settle my nerves. “I was a witness for his case at Wintersdeep Castle,” I tell her. “At the Royal Engagement Gala. He interviewed me there and… Er… That case it still open.”
“That was two years ago,” she says, looking unimpressed.
“He said to call him if I needed to talk to him.”
“Then you should do that.”
“I lost his business card,” I tell her lamely.
“You can leave a message for Agent Storm with me. I’ll pass it on.”
“But I really needed to talk to Agent Storm in person.”
“I can’t help you,” she tells me coldly.
“This one giving you trouble, Maxine?” says a brusque voice behind me.
I turn around to see a gorgeous woman in her late twenties towering over me. With her curly black hair and her confident stance and steely gaze, she looks like a warrior.
The receptionist, Maxine, sits up a little straighter in her chair. “Not at all, Agent Gage,” she says.
“Did I hear you say you were after Storm?” says Agent Gage to me.
I nod.
“On official business, supposedly,” says Maxine.
“Come with me,” Agent Gage commands.
She strides away, not bothering to check if I am following. I almost trip over my own feet hurrying to keep up with her, she leads me into a foyer and then up in an elevator. Her silence in the elevator does not invite me to speak. She does not look like the sort of person who enjoys chit chat. I spend the time worrying about what I am going to say to her.
We leave the elevator and she expertly leads me around the maze-like top floor, part of which is open plan desks, until we reach an office. The door is ajar. She knocks once, and then sticks her head inside.
“Chief, I’ve got one here to see Storm,” she says to whoever is in the office. “Says it’s about a case. Want me to interview her?”
The door opens to reveal a middle-aged man standing there looking at me with suspicious eyes. He is balding and the expression on his face tells me that he is not having a good day.
“Leave her with me,” he says.
Agent Gage looks disappointed for a fraction of a second, but then her face becomes neutral again. As she stalks away I get the feeling that she is scowling at me.
The middle-aged man closes his office door and invites me to sit in the chair opposite his desk.
“I’m Section Chief Mike Santagar,” he says. “How can I help you?”
I get the feeling that he is not the sort of man to have patience for a waffling story. I had prepared a whole speech in my head for Storm about giving my psychic skills another chance. About it being his responsibility to use any tool at his disposal to catch DCK, including me. I feel like it will make the chief walk me to the door.
“I’m Diana Bellona,” I tell him.
The expression on his face does not change at all and I cannot tell if my name means anything to him. I would have preferred to not remind him of who I am. Perhaps if I do not mention James Fenway he will not remember me in that context.
“Go on,” he says.
“I was a witness on one of Agent Storm’s cases. He came to question me about it at Wintersdeep Castle where I was working during the Royal Engagement Gala.”
I expect him to say something in response, but he only nods. It hits me that he knew all along who I was. The look on his face tells me to carry on speaking.
“DCK murdered a woman at Wintersdeep Castle. I found her. I imagine Storm told you she was my biological mother.” It hurts to say it out loud. I wonder if it is a mistake to tell him, but I need him to know why this case is so important to me.
Finally he says something. “Outside of Storm’s team, I am the only one who knows that fact.” It is as if he wants to reassure me about my safety. It makes me like him a little better.
I decide to get directly to the point, saying stiffly, “You let Storm give me a job because you thought that I could help catch DCK. He’s murdered again. I need to catch him. I want my job back.”
“Your actions caused a girl to murder her uncle.”
The little voice stirs inside my head, and I can feel her pushing agai
nst my tongue. “He was molesting his underage niece,” I snap. “Just because she was a succubus didn’t mean she was old enough to consent.”
The chief raises his eyebrows.
I flush. “I didn’t know Eliza Fenway would do that.”
“Do you think James Fenway deserved it?”
Yes, hisses the little voice in my head.
“No,” I say. “He deserved to rot in jail. He deserved to be publicly tried and found guilty and feel the shame for what he did. And it’s not fair for you to blame me for Eliza Fenway’s actions. I didn’t want her to do it.”
You didn’t predict that she would do it either, the little voice says slyly. That’s what he’s thinking. What kind of psychic are you?
“I don’t blame you for what happened,” says the chief calmly. “Perhaps we hired you prematurely. You weren’t ready for the job.”
This annoys me, reminding me too much of what Storm said. “I’m not ready for the visions that I keep having either,” I snap. “I didn’t ask to be a psychic, but I keep seeing people die anyway. I saw the murder happen in a dream. That’s what I came to tell you. What do you care where the information comes from if it helps you to solve the case?” My voice breaks at the last few words.
His eyes narrow. “Did you see the killer?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“What useful information can you give me?” he says.
I fiddle with my fingers on my lap, stalling. I need to choose my next words carefully. They will determine whether he gives me my job back or not. “I saw a man with brown hair in his thirties being bashed in the back of his skull with a cat sculpture. I saw the woman, Lynesse Jones, standing at the top of the stairs screaming. But it’s not about what I already saw. It’s about what more I can see if you let me investigate–”
His phone rings, interrupting me.
He answers straight away and barks a greeting. He listens intently to whoever is speaking on the other end. I cannot hear the words but the cadence of the caller’s voice is immediately familiar. It is Storm. My heart skips a beat.
“Keep me updated,” says Chief Santagar and hangs up the phone.
He turns to me. “What work have you been doing these past couple of years?”
“Nothing relevant,” I say shortly.
“Have you pursued any training to refine your psychic skills?”
“No,” I admit, feeling embarrassed.
He frowns. “Have you sought any psychiatric help following your experiences at Wintersdeep Castle?”
“I don’t want to talk about that,” I say tersely.
He sighs. “It would benefit you to take steps to process the grief from your mother’s death—”
“I’ve processed my grief!” I cry out.
He gives me a stern look, and continues, “If you truly want to work for the Agency I recommend that you train to become a registered Oracle and spend some time learning to work with your gift. Come back to me in a few years.”
He leaves it unsaid that this is what I should have been doing with my time these past couple of years. It does not make me feel better.
“I don’t have years!” I snap. “This Agency hasn’t caught DCK in years. I don’t want to read in the newspapers about dozens more of his murders. He needs to be caught now.”
“And you think you alone can do what the entire international Agency of Otherkind Investigations hasn’t yet been able to achieve?” he says tartly.
“Yes!” I snap, sounding more confident than I truly feel.
He gets to his feet abruptly and goes over to his office door. “If you’ve got no new information, then you’re wasting my time. My secretary will show you out.”
“Please!” I say softly, hating how weak I sound, knowing the little voice will berate me for it later.
He shakes his head.
Challenge him, says the little voice. Ask him what he’ll give you if we solve the case faster than his people.
He’s not stupid, I tell her.
But he’s a man. And men’s egos are so fragile. I bet he’ll offer a reward. Let him underestimate us.
I listen to her out of desperation. “I could just go ahead and start investigating without you,” I tell him.
“I wouldn’t recommend that,” he says sternly.
“And what if I can solve this case faster than the Agency, will you admit you’re wrong?” I demand.
He laughs. It is not a mean sound. More like he is appreciating my nerve.
“Even you have to admit that I would deserve my job back if I could do that,” I persist.
“Perhaps,” he says. A small smile quirks the corners of his lips. “I’d like to see anyone outwit Constantine Storm.”
I stand up from my chair, elated, ready to dash out and begin right away.
He holds up his hand to halt me. “You are not to interfere with the crime scene or witnesses or do anything illegal.”
I scowl at him, refusing to agree. I won’t make any progress at all under those terms.
“If you do,” he continues, “I will hold you accountable for your actions. You will be locked up, young lady, and I don’t want to see that happen.”
“Neither do I,” I acknowledge. “But if I’m successful you’ll give me a consultancy fee for solving the case and let me have my job back.”
He sits back down on his desk and he steeples his fingers and places them under his chin thoughtfully. After what seems like a long time a little smile comes onto his face.
“Very well,” he says. “Proceed.”
Chapter 7
STORM
By the time he gets off the plane in London, Storm’s blood is boiling. He hates the idleness of travel. He hates that the jet is in use by another team in Europe, and that his team had to fly on a commercial plane that had been delayed by an hour. He hates that he has been feeling riled up ever since Magda’s funeral.
Seeing Diana had brought back the anger and frustration he had felt two years ago. DCK had murdered a woman at Wintersdeep Castle right under Storm’s own nose and gotten away with it. Two years they had kept Magda’s body before the Mystics department had admitted defeat.
That case had been personal. That victim had been Diana Bellona’s mother. Diana who deceptively looked like a playful breeze might knock her over, and whose eyes had been far too sad even after two years. He’d seen those eyes full of mischievous laughter once. If only the darn woman didn’t look so tragic all the time.
Just half a day ago Storm had been looking forward to a well-deserved break. He’d closed off his Paris case last night and been about to give his team a couple of days off when he got the message from the chief early this morning. Two fresh murders in London.
The only upside of a new DCK case is the hope that the bastard might have left behind some evidence this time which would lead to his capture. There had been nothing at Wintersdeep Castle. Not a fingerprint, not a hair filament, no magical traces and not a single lead on why the killer had chosen the woman, Magda.
Since Wintersdeep Castle DCK had killed several more times all over the world, but never within Storm’s jurisdiction. The savagery of Magda’s murder had made that case seem personal for DCK. Storm doesn’t even want to admit this line of thought to himself, but part of the reason he had offered Diana a job had been to keep an eye on her. And then he’d allowed her to mess that job up so spectacularly.
He’d hated firing her, but she’d caused a Hollywood mogul’s head to be blown off, no less. If the guy hadn’t turned out to be a Hollywood villain, Storm would have lost his job too. The Agency hated bad press. Seeing Diana again had brought back feelings that Storm would prefer not to stir up.
As Storm finally leaves behind the long queue crawling towards border control and passport checks he curses the delayed flight. He should have been at the murder scene by now, assessing whether this escalating pattern was something to worry about, not dodging the crowd at terminal five.
He sets an impati
ent pace through arrivals, with Leo and Remi trotting just behind. He heads towards the train terminal. Even at the tail-end of morning rush hour the tube will be faster than getting a taxi into North London.
This new case could be the one that finally leads to DCK. And it has not escaped anyone’s notice that these fresh murders could be the key to solving the Wintersdeep Castle case. The chief has received a call from Buckingham Palace already. The Agency is not happy about having the British Royal Family breathing down its neck again.
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