Feathers and Fire Series Box Set 1

by Shayne Silvers

  Which was how we found ourselves linked elbow to elbow on either side of James Vane as he led us from the room and back into the main lobby.

  Beckett shot me a look over Vane’s shoulder, but I merely glared back. Something was still bothering me about the whole experience, and it wasn’t the sex, vape smoke, or Cain.

  Chapter 32

  We stared down at the swarming mass of bodies from the second tier, which was much more instructive than the closer view we had seen earlier, answering a few of my unasked questions. Several guests spotted Vane and gave him dark, hungry looks that promised all sorts of things. Male, female, young, old – it didn’t matter. He returned the looks with a devilish grin of his own, and then continued on. It looked practiced, rehearsed, and… positively bored.

  Many in the crowd had already sated their bodily desires, and were now seated on couches or pillows, still in various stages of undress, conversing casually, drinking, and smoking clove cigarettes. Faint whiffs of marijuana drifted up to us, and I saw Beckett scowl.

  Vane didn’t even turn, sensing it. “I would ask Callie how best to proceed before you level charges, Detective,” he said absently, not seeming to care one way or another.

  Beckett turned to me, frowning. “Please let it go, Beckett. Vane has information he’s willing to share. Then again, if that information isn’t forthcoming…” I said in a warning tone.

  Vane chuckled, patting the banister with a palm. He really was ridiculously good-looking. Fresh-shaven, and hair perfectly styled. I could sense that this seemed to bother Beckett, seeing a criminal so handsome, professional, and polite. Also, Vane was very handsy with me. Not inappropriate, but very… familiar. Which made me smile, sensing Beckett’s displeasure at that.

  “What do you think of my art?” Vane asked, turning around to lean against the banister, draping his elbows over the edge. One casual shove and he would fly over the railing, slice his head open on a chandelier, and most likely land on his neck.

  I shivered at that thought – the smooth, heartless concept of murdering him.

  I turned to the art he was indicating – a giant, expensive looking piece that was covered with a layer of glass flush against the painting. Underneath, the painting had been disgustingly vandalized with neon paints. So why cover it up with protective glass?

  Without asking permission, I began to meander down the walkway, noticing the same with each piece of destroyed art. Defaced, yet covered in protective glass, and illuminated to highlight each piece. The art itself was varied, judging from many different artists, styles, and time periods, but all looked expensive.

  I reached the end and then turned around to walk the other side. Vane smirked as I walked by him, and Beckett looked curious, wondering what game I was playing. I took time to study each painting, glancing back now and then at Beckett and Vane who were watching me with different types of interest. One piece in particular caught my attention as an oddity – a portrait of a man standing in a hallway. Of course, with all the spray paint it was hard to make out much, but sections of the picture looked extremely detailed. I gave it no more attention than the rest, thinking wildly as I continued on, sure to inspect all of them. Ever the polite guest, if it got me what I wanted. I reached the end, and made my way back to the men.

  I paused in front of the oddity, reaching into my purse to pull out my breath freshener, but I dropped it clumsily. I bent down to pick it up, spraying a few bursts into the air to test that it hadn’t broken in the tumble. In this small act, what I saw made everything click into place in my mind. I plastered a smile on my face, shot two bursts onto my tongue and then tucked it away. I walked back to the men, a disgusted frown on my face as I considered Vane.

  “You buy ridiculously expensive art pieces and then destroy them.”

  “Everyone has a different perception of what constitutes art.”

  I nodded absently, leaning over the rail to stare down at the debauchery. “Why didn’t you tell me your real name?”

  He chuckled. “I wanted you to meet me before labeling me with your preconceived notions.”

  I turned to look at him, arching a doubtful brow. “And was this,” I waved a hand at the party below, “supposed to make me think any differently than the story?”

  He shrugged. “I hoped my charm would help. And it’s easier to deal in information when you’re acting as everyone expects. Inviting you in private to give you secret information would definitely piss off quite a few people in town.”

  Beckett piped up, frowning. “James Vane… I knew that name sounded familiar.”

  Our host turned to him, face curious. Hell, I was curious. Beckett had recognized that obscure quote by Nietzsche – which I hadn’t – and I sure didn’t know who the real James Vane was.

  “James Vane was the brother to Sibyl Vane. He swore to kill…” Beckett trailed off, shaking his head uncertainly. Our host merely smirked, nodding slowly. Not proud or arrogant, but impressed at Beckett’s knowledge. Hell, I was impressed. I didn’t know squat about James Vane. I had come to a dark conclusion via good old sleuthing and from reading old stories.

  “Dorian Gray,” Beckett finally said, a look of disbelief on his face as he appraised the man before us.

  Dorian held out his hands. “It truly is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  Chapter 33

  Dorian leaned back over the balcony, not overly concerned with our discovery as he winked at a young man on a couch. The same college kid I had seen from the bar. He grinned back, but frowned when he saw me. He promptly stomped away in search of greener pastures.

  I shook my head in disbelief. Dorian Gray, in Kansas City. I tried to remember things about him from my cursory knowledge on the book, but I didn’t have a memory like Beckett. I just knew the basics. Wild parties. A painting. And a ridiculously handsome man up for anything.

  But I didn’t let on what I had discovered…

  Dorian turned to me. “What’s his story?” he asked, jerking his chin at Beckett.

  Beckett’s shoulders stiffened. “My story is that my knuckles have been aching all day,” he said, rubbing his knuckles pointedly. “To pound some teeth into the back of someone’s throat. Just been looking for the right set.” He smiled darkly.

  Dorian rolled his eyes. “Well, go right ahead,” he said disinterestedly. Then he turned to me, looking bored. “He’s cute. So ignorant he doesn’t even know how stupid he is.”

  “Dorian Gray. A cursed painting makes you immoral. I mean, immortal. Loves excess everything – gluttony, sex, drugs, any kind of thrill. The consequences of your actions transfer to your painting, leaving you healthy and whole. But… destroy the painting, destroy the man,” Beckett finished with a casual shrug. Dorian turned to him thoughtfully. Beckett was staring down at the vault door below us. “That door looks familiar. Has five tumblers. Only one person has successfully cracked it. I wonder what’s valuable enough to warrant it?”

  Dorian stilled for a moment, a flicker of anger crossing his features. “Astute. But still defenseless.”

  Beckett shrugged. “If defenseless means I know how to crack your vault, then I guess so.” He finally lifted his gaze, a playful twinkle dancing behind them. “Want me to show you? If you’re looking for some fun. Some risk. Some thrill. Maybe turn the heat up. Party’s dying, anyway,” he said absently, glancing down at the crowd, who did appear to be slowly dispersing, sated.

  I laughed, clapping my hands delightedly. Dorian scowled at me. “I told you I was fun.”

  “He is more interesting than I thought. Not your average detective,” he said, studying Beckett before turning back to me. “You may keep him. Now, I’ve got people to do and things to try.”

  I shook my head. “You want to meet Temple, you’ll give me some answers.”

  Dorian sighed. “You want to meet monsters?” He held out a hand to the party. “I’ve invited you to a horde of them. Kansas City’s finest. But none would dare talk to the woman in white,” he said with a g
rin.

  “Woman in white? Is that a church joke of some kind?” I asked, frowning.

  Dorian stared at me intently, neither confirming nor denying, and I had the sudden feeling that my usage of white magic was maybe not so secret after all. “God is dead…” I said flatly.

  He frowned, turning to me. “You probably shouldn’t say that.”

  “But a lot of people are saying it these days.”

  He… blinked. “Pardon?” I stared into his gray eyes, and felt myself frowning. He was telling the truth. “Did I miss something?” he asked, turning to Beckett. “The Nietzsche quote?”

  Beckett was very still, watching me nervously. “It was painted in blood at the church murder,” I said, still watching him. But his eyes didn’t even flicker. Not like the other times we had caught him in a lie. I wanted to scream.

  “Churches can be nasty places,” he murmured, finally turning away. “Full of such vitriol. You wouldn’t catch me dead inside one.” Then he grinned wolfishly. “Speaking of, did you hear the news?”

  I blinked at him, ignoring his lame joke. “No.” Had there been another murder?

  He pulled out his phone, tapped a few times on the screen, and then handed it over. It was a news article… my breath stopped, and I almost dropped the phone, forgetting everything.

  There had been a bombing at the Vatican. Today.

  “Churches,” Dorian agreed. “What has the world come to when you can’t find safety in a church. The church, as a matter of fact… Maybe God is dead,” he mused, more to himself.

  I handed Beckett the phone, and he grimaced in disgust, but missed the significance.

  Roland was at the Vatican, digging out a mole, and trying to find answers to my past.

  “I’m just here to make friends, so that whoever comes out on top remembers me showing them a good time. I’m not into the murder business. I’m a concierge to monsters. But churches can be nasty places,” he finally said, and when I looked up, he was simply gone.

  Beckett flinched, eyes darting around us, but not finding him. “We need to go. Right now,” I whispered. He nodded slowly, not understanding my reaction, but sensing that something was horribly wrong.

  He gripped my elbow, supporting me as my legs threatened to give way. He led me down the stairs and outside, slapping away another ass grab by the butler in the pink tuxedo outside.

  We climbed into our car, which was oddly waiting for us already – as if Dorian had told them we were ready to leave. Beckett helped me inside the passenger seat, and I had to force myself to sit still rather than simply Shadow Walking away. I growled under my breath. Well, I couldn’t Shadow Walk anyway, because my power was inaccessible here.

  I focused intently using my anger and fear for something useful, embracing that new power inside me, through the cracked door – the mercurial, quicksilver world. Although I didn’t fully understand it, I was beginning to get a better grasp at sensing it. I reached out, sensing a rippling mirror before me that showed a chrome reflection of myself. My reflection smiled at me.

  It was different than my wizard magic’s version, but it had still worked.

  A Gateway. A Silver Gateway.

  I was smiling as Beckett climbed into the car. I could still use this magic, here. I just needed to figure out what to do with it. As Beckett pulled away, I glanced back at the house. One room in the corner revealed a man staring through a window, watching us leave.

  Dorian Gray.

  We were far from finished. Even though he didn’t know about the God is dead slogan, he definitely knew something that could help me. And I was going to get it.

  I had things to learn from him, because I hadn’t gotten to my other questions. And I had a lot of them, but first I needed to check on Roland.

  I dialed him as Beckett drove in silence. It didn’t even ring, just went straight to voicemail. I cursed under my breath.

  “We’re no closer to catching this killer, unless you think it was Cain or Gray,” Beckett said thoughtfully. I grunted noncommittally. I didn’t think it was either, although I knew both were dubious men to say the least. “I still can’t believe that was Dorian Gray. Are all the stories real?” I nodded distantly. “That was an asshole thing for him to do, making fun of the church.”

  I frowned at that, my worry over Roland making my thoughts cloudy with concern.

  Then it hit me. “No…” I whispered to myself. Could it be that Dorian had given me an answer, and not just a parting jab? But as I thought about it, the pieces seemed to fit together all too well.

  “What’s wrong, Callie?” Beckett asked, exiting the property. My wizard’s magic washed back into my reach like an incoming tide. I touched it for a moment, thinking furiously.

  “I think Dorian gave us what we needed.”

  “What? When? Because I’m pretty sure he’s just an asshole.”

  “How do you feel about kidnapping a priest?” I asked with an angry grin.

  He blinked at me, so I told him my plan, giving him the chance to poke holes in it.

  He nodded after a time, eyes growing darker.

  It made sense. The church was at the center of it all, and their message was one of hate. And with Dorian mentioning the church, it all made sense. I thought Pastor Benjamin was an asshole, but hadn’t considered him to be a killer. He did have Brigitte, but she seemed scared of her own shadow. But he also had Desmond – a younger man, a disciple – to do his dirty work. Because those two had heard me talking to Roland on the phone while he was at the Vatican. About strangling the Pope in person.

  I couldn’t do anything about Roland. Except get a little vengeance.

  And quench my rage in those sweet screams.

  I didn’t feel like I understood the entire picture, but enough to move ahead, and maybe lance a few of Amira’s little helpers – whether they knew they were being manipulated by her or not.

  Because one thing I was sure of was that the demon had caused a handful of disturbances in my life, just to keep me busy, or to torment me. Before she set up whatever she was planning for tomorrow night.

  Only one way to find out, though.

  And I needed to keep my eye out for Cain. The silver hood I had surprised in the alley. He was either working for one of the bad guys, or he was genuinely watching my back – the way he had made it sound. Following those following me.

  But I still had the black stalker to look out for. Because if Cain wasn’t bad, he was following that guy. Maybe there really was a Shepherd in town, and he had just picked a hell of a time to stir things up.

  Sensing I would need all the power I could muster, I told Beckett to drive me home.

  Tomorrow would be interesting.

  Chapter 34

  I lurked at the edge of the steps, trying to keep attention from myself. It was cold enough that I was justified in wearing a hoodie, so was using that to somewhat disguise my distinct white hair. The cold weather had lessened the crowd somewhat, but not entirely, and for the most part, everything had been very peaceful.

  A few of the church members had tried to start up hateful chants, but Desmond, Benjamin, and Brigitte had quickly pounced on them, handing them plates of food, and deftly breaking them up to introduce the loudest to random people from the community. I even spotted a familiar werewolf from a few years ago – who was actually a member of Abundant Angel Catholic Church – forced to politely talk with the protester. Father David nodded gratefully over his shoulder, before stepping up to a pair of loners in the crowd and striking up a conversation.

  All in all, it was exactly what they had told me it would be. A peaceful gathering, complete with food, friendly faces, and sodas. They had initially given a brief sermon to the crowd, and then divested of the religious aspects and simply mingled. Father David had seen me, given me a brief nod, but hadn’t pointed me out to anyone, as if sensing that I didn’t want to be recognized.

  Thank god.

  I waited until the right time to strike, when I could catch Des
mond or Benjamin off guard.

  I swooped in for the kill, slipping past a gathering of faces that were conversing lightly, and caught Pastor Benjamin at the burger table.

  “Hello, Callie,” he said without looking up. “I’m glad you could make it.”

  I hesitated, thinking I had been sneaky. He turned to face me, and must have seen the conflict on my face. He smiled kindly, and my rage exploded in an instant, imagining this man smiling after what he had potentially done. Or what he had encouraged his followers to do. I kept my face blank, cautious, pleading. Seeking counsel. “We need to talk. In private. I think I discovered the killer, and you’re not going to like hearing who it is.”

  He stilled, face entirely serious all of a sudden. “Shouldn’t you be going to the police?”

  I nodded. “Yes, but I thought you might want to talk to the person first. Maybe convince them to turn themselves in. Which would be better for everyone.”

  At these words, Pastor Benjamin grew very thoughtful. If he was innocent, this was good news, giving him a vision of all the press and attention he might get for his new church. If he was guilty, my words would make him think I had found someone else to pin the blame on, and that he could get away scot free. Either way, I was giving him favorable news. Because he didn’t think I was dangerous enough to lure him away. I would have called the cops if I suspected him.

  He nodded. “I see. Should we bring Father David into this?”

  I shook my head. “Not yet. I wanted you to know first. It’s… unsettling.”

  “Very well,” he sighed. I let him lead the way around the side of the church. I glanced over my shoulder warily to find Father David watching us from far away, his lips tight with concern.