Authors: Keri Arthur
He glanced at me sharply. “Why? This is gruesome, no doubt about it, but there’s no indication it’s the work of a non-human. I mean, not even a vampire could tear someone apart this completely. Some kind of power tool
must
have been used.”
“It wasn’t. Trust me.” I took a deep, shuddering breath and closed my eyes. Bad mistake, because the minute I did, I saw Mum bits, Mum’s head… Bile rose and I swallowed heavily, then grabbed Jak’s hand and dragged him out of there.
“What the fuck?” he said, trying to wrench himself free. “Risa, there’s one hell of a story in there—”
“And it’s not one you’ll ever be allowed to print,” I said. I stopped in the garden and sucked in several deep breaths. It didn’t do a lot to ease the churning in my stomach, but it at least cleared the scent of blood from my lungs.
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve seen this before.”
He studied me for a moment, frowning. “Where?”
“When my mum died.” I waved a hand toward the house. “That’s precisely the way she was killed.”
“Oh,
fuck
,” he said, his face going white. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t,” I cut in. “No one knew outside the Directorate and me, so you have nothing to apologize for.”
“And that’s the reason you want the Directorate called in? Because they’re the ones that investigated your mom’s death?”
Azriel? Are you near?
I thought, then said out loud, “Yes. Only there were no clues and, until now, the killer hadn’t resurfaced.”
Azriel appeared behind Jak and lightly touched his neck. Jak froze, his eyes going suddenly blank.
“Are you okay?” Azriel asked.
“Mostly.” I wrapped my arms around my body, and wished they were his arms, not mine. “I guess you’ve already been inside?”
“Yes. As before, there is nothing to suggest who is behind this murder.”
As before… I shivered, and again tried to ignore the images that rose.
“No scent or spiritual essence—or whatever it is that you Mijai track by—whatsoever? How in the hell is something like that even possible?”
“The lack of scent is understandable,” he said calmly. “Humans have had scent-erasing soap for many years now.”
I waved a hand in acknowledgment. “But how can the killer not leave any other trace of himself behind?”
“Anything is possible if one is extremely careful, and our killer obviously is.”
I took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Then what the hell is the link between my mum’s murder and this man’s?”
“That is obvious.” His voice was grim. “
You
are the connection.”
I blinked. “Why would I be the link when it comes to a retired photographer I didn’t even know?”
“You might not have known James Blake, but you were intending to question him about Nadler. You were also investigating Nadler and his consortium when your mother was killed. I doubt it is a coincidence.”
“But—” I paused. Pain and guilt rose like a ghost, but I pushed them back down and added, “I can understand someone killing Blake to keep him quiet, but Mom didn’t really know much about my investigation.”
“She was a very strong psychic,” he replied, his voice soft. “You do not know what she might or might not have known.”
And now never would, I thought bleakly. “Do you think they’ll go after Nadler’s ex, as well?”
“It is possible.”
I swore, dug my phone out of my purse, and said, “Uncle Rhoan.” The psychedelic patterns ran across the screen as the auto connect sprang into action.
Then Uncle Rhoan appeared. “If you’re ringing to tell me you’ve discovered another dead body, I will not be happy. You know I wanted you off these investigations.”
Fortunately, there was a resigned weariness in his voice rather than anger. I had a suspicion that either Aunt Riley had talked to him or he’d simply come to accept that I wouldn’t stop sticking my nose into events. “I’m afraid there
is
another body and his name is—was—James Blake. He was a retired photographer who happened to be the attending photographer at John Nadler’s wedding. He was killed the same way as Mom.”
He was silent for a long moment, then said, “Are you okay?”
My attempt at a smile came out more of a grimace. “Queasy as hell, but holding up. You need to get people out here, but I also need you to check on Jacinta Nadler—we talked to her yesterday, and it just might have placed her in danger.”
He paused, and barked out orders to whoever was in the room with him, meaning he was at the Directorate rather than at home, then said, “Who’s we?”
I hesitated. “Myself and Jak Talbott.”
“Jak Talbott?”
His voice was incredulous. “The reporter who used his relationship with you to do that hatchet job on your mother?”
I winced. “Yeah, that very one.”
“Why the
hell
are you working with him?”
“Because I’m trying to track down John Nadler, and Jak’s got a lot of useful street contacts.”
His sigh was one of exasperation. “Riley’s right. You’re not only pigheaded but determined to see this through no matter what you have to do, or who you have to use.”
It was no surprise she’d said that—she knew me better than most. “If it was Riley who’d been murdered,” I said softly, “wouldn’t you react the same?”
“The difference is,” he snapped, “I’m a trained guardian. You’re not.”
“No, but I’ve been taught to fight by two of the best, I’m not without means of protecting myself aside from that, and I have a reaper following me about who needs to keep me alive.”
He grunted. Whether that meant he was finally accepting my continuing pursuit of both Nadler and my mom’s murderer was anyone’s guess. “Okay, I’ve pinpointed your location. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He hesitated, then added, “Do not go back into that house until I arrive.”
“I won’t.” I hung up and glanced at Azriel. “No matter what you think of Lucian, he can’t have been involved in this. I haven’t seen him, haven’t talked to him since last night, and even if he could read my thoughts, he wouldn’t have had time to get down here before Jak or me.”
“All of which is true,” Azriel commented. “That does not, however, change my opinion that he is involved in all this somehow.”
“You,” I said flatly, “are annoyingly pigheaded.”
“Perhaps it is the company I keep that makes me so.”
I snorted and waved a hand at Jak. “You’d better release him.”
“Do you wish me to update his memories to include your ringing the Directorate?”
I nodded. Azriel touched Jak lightly and energy swirled, whispering through me like a sweet autumn breeze.
Then he dropped his hand and met my gaze again. “And just to be clear,” he said, his voice even but a teasing light suddenly gleaming in his eyes, “I am not as immune to the virtues of that top as you believe.”
And with that, he disappeared again, leaving me shaking my head and smiling like an idiot.
“Care to share the joke?” Jak said dryly.
I glanced at him. “Sorry, just something my uncle said.”
“Your uncle the guardian, I gather we’re talking about?”
“Yeah.” I put my phone away. “To say he was rather surprised to discover I’m working with you on this is something of an understatement.”
Worry crossed his face. “He didn’t threaten violence, did he?”
“No.” I studied him for a moment. “Has he before?”
Jak cleared his throat and looked a little uncomfortable. “You could say that.”
“Really? When?”
“The first time when I wrote that story on your mom; the second when we broke up. He can be a very scary man, you know.”
“He
is
a guardian.” I said that a little too cheerfully,
if Jak’s darkening expression was anything to go by. “But the threats can’t have been too bad. I mean, not only are you still alive, but you walked away from them intact.”
“Only because I swore on my mother’s grave not to do another report on your mother, and to keep well away from you. The latter of which I am obviously not doing.”
I patted his arm comfortingly. “Because we all know the story means more to you than the threat. And don’t worry—Uncle Rhoan knows I contacted you, not the other way around.”
“Doesn’t mean he won’t be pissed,” he muttered, then plopped down on the step. “How long will they be?”
I sat down beside him and glanced at my watch. “About thirteen minutes.”
As it turned out, they arrived in eight. Or at least Uncle Rhoan did—it seemed he’d beaten all land speed records to get here.
He came through the gate, a crime scene kit slung over one shoulder. His gray eyes swept the two of us critically. “You haven’t been inside?”
I shook my head. “Other than the initial entry when we found the body, no.”
“At least you can obey
some
orders.” He glanced at Jak, his gaze narrowing a little. “You will
not
report anything you see inside. Not until we give you clearance. Is that clear?”
Surprise flitted across Jak’s face as he nodded. He’d obviously been expecting to be banned from the proceedings.
Rhoan opened the kit and handed us both gloves
and plastic booties. “Put those on, and don’t touch anything without asking.”
We both obeyed. Once Rhoan had the floating crime scene recorders up and operating, and was similarly kitted out in gloves and booties, we headed down to the kitchen.
“Jesus, it
is
similar,” he said, as he entered. Then he glanced over his shoulder at us. “Stay at the doorway, you two.”
He moved deeper into the room, carefully avoiding the bits of blood and gore. James Blake’s torso was only half hidden behind the island, his entrails streaming out from his ruptured body like fat sausages.
“Arms have been ripped off.” Rhoan’s gaze met mine as he added softly, “Head separated.”
I swallowed grimly. I’d been expecting it, but the knowledge still clawed my stomach. “Any idea what time he was killed?”
“The cleanup team will give us a more accurate time, but I’d say within the last half hour. The blood hasn’t really begun to coagulate, and there’s no sign of rigor mortis.”
“Can’t have been,” Jak said. “I was parked outside for half an hour while I was waiting for Risa to arrive. No one came in or out.”
“You couldn’t have seen the back door if you were parked out front,” Rhoan said.
“True, but the front door was unlatched when we got here. That’s why we entered in the first place.”
Rhoan glanced at me—as if for confirmation—then rose and walked to the end of the room. He disappeared through another doorway, but after a few minutes
came back. “Okay, the back door is locked and the security chain is still in place. They didn’t enter that way. You two want to check the other rooms for an entry point?”
I glanced briefly at Jak and, in unspoken agreement, he checked the rooms on the right, and I checked the ones on the left. Crime scene recorders floated along after each of us, making a note of everything we did. In the rooms I checked there were no windows open, no windows unlocked, and no sign of any other sort of disturbance.
I said as much to Rhoan, as did Jak when he returned a few minutes later.
“Well,” Rhoan said, his voice grim, “that leaves us with three options—he knew his killer, there’s magic or some form of demon involved, or it was an Aedh.”
“Demons?”
Jak said in an incredulous tone. “And what the hell is an Aedh?”
“That’s one I’ll let you field, Ris,” Rhoan murmured, bending back down to examine torso remnants.
Jak’s gaze came to mine expectantly. I grimaced. “You know how in many religious drawings angels are depicted as powerful and luminescent beings with wings?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying they’re angels?”
“No, I’m saying they’re the reason religion depicts angels as they do. They’re the template. The reapers are actually the real angels—they’re the ones who guide the souls to heaven or hell, and they’re also the warriors who protect us.”
He blinked. “Reapers?”
“Yeah.” I paused. “I’ve been able to see them all my life.”
“Huh,” he said. Then, “Weren’t you scared out of your mind as a kid?”
“A sensible person would be,” Rhoan commented without looking up. “But, as we all know, sensible and Risa do not have a whole lot in common.”
“I love you, too,” I said dryly, and he flashed me a grin. I glanced back at Jak. “And no, I wasn’t scared. How could I be? I’ve always seen them, even if I didn’t always know who or what they were.”
“Could your mom see them?” he asked.
“No, although she could see and talk to ghosts.” I paused, studying him. “I thought you didn’t believe in my mom’s gifts.”
“No, I didn’t believe the history she told everyone—a history I all but debunked, as we know. I never refuted the fact she possessed some psychic skill.”
I snorted softly. “Some? You have no idea just how powerful my mom was.”
“If your skills are any indication, I’m guessing that’s true.”
And he’d reached that conclusion without ever seeing
half
of my skills. Especially not my Aedh side—which is why I’d sidestepped mentioning it.
“What about demons, then?” he continued. “Can you see them, too?”
I hesitated. “Yes. But they’re not that commonplace—hell is a pretty efficient prison.”
At least until the keys had been created.
Jak scraped a hand across his bristly jawline. “I’ve learned more about this weird and wonderful world of
ours in the last ten minutes than I did the last twenty-nine years.”
“And it’s information you will never repeat.” Rhoan gave Jak his guardian expression—the one that held no emotion and yet still spoke of all kinds of hell waiting for you if you dared disobey. “None of this is information we want known by the general population. We couldn’t afford the panic.”
“But they have a right—”
“And
I
have the right,” Rhoan interrupted, voice terse, “to call in a telepath and erase your memories if you do not agree to keep this silent.”
Jak glanced at me, his expression disbelieving. I could only smile grimly. “I’ve seen it done. And the fact that you possess mild telepathy skills yourself won’t save you.”