Chapter Eleven
Lavinia scrolled through the evidence Arran had sent, willing herself to focus on the list of names, locations, and brief background descriptions the witches had compiled.
Over and over, her thoughts drifted back to last night.
To how beautiful Michelle had looked, the soft glow drifting across her cheek as she slept.
How her heartbeat had slowed, and how Lavinia’s had matched hers in response, beating in tandem.
Lavinia had sat there motionless for three hours, drinking in every dreamy twitch, realising that if Michelle woke up to find Lavinia staring at her, she might have found this alarming, while simultaneously finding herself incapable of moving and risking waking her.
Michelle had needed, no, deserved the rest. And Lavinia’s obvious interest in the human, well, that was a problem for the future.
There was no harm in spending time with her.
Lavinia couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat down and watched a television show.
It had been years, probably. She was usually too busy, only taking the briefest of moments away from Sisterhood business on the holy days or when her Sisters forced her.
She had never been drawn to flashy storytelling and melodramatic characters.
But watching TV with Michelle, well, she found she actually enjoyed it.
The diffuse afternoon light filtering into the study had already shifted significantly since she had sat down.
Time was slipping through her fingers like water.
Lavinia had been comparing the locations where the warlock’s victims were found with those of the rogue vampire’s.
A pattern was emerging. It wasn’t a perfect match, but three victims of the warlock had been killed close to where the rogue had drained a human.
The demon’s attack on Michelle made a fourth connection. Too many to be a coincidence.
For some reason, the rogue and the warlock killed together—perhaps not always, but often.
Try as she might, she had found no obvious links between the warlock’s victims and those of the rogue, except for their locations.
Four times already, they had hunted as a pair.
But why? Why did they kill one each? What was the point?
Rogues usually didn’t need a motive, as they were consumed with an uncontrollable bloodlust and surrounded by humans who could slake their thirst. A rogue working together with a warlock…
She leaned back. Her fangs itched, an ache that only one thing could resolve.
She had to feed, and soon. It had been too long, again.
Some vampires revelled in their blood hunger, chasing the high of slaking their thirst. Lavinia had always found it a chore.
Blood was sustenance, just like food was.
It was unfortunate that pre-packaged blood didn’t really work.
Not only did the preservatives ruin the taste, it only gave the barest of boosts, never fully sating the hunger.
A donor was necessary. She’d have to let Mrs. Frost know to arrange one for her.
Unbidden, Michelle rose in her mind’s eye. The way her blood flowed through her veins; the little throb at the base of her neck. How satisfying it would be to sink her fangs into her soft skin, to taste her. To feel her sweet blood spurting into her mouth.
She swallowed, returning to Arran’s information.
The warlock had killed five people—two of whom Lavinia hadn’t been able to conclusively match with the rogue’s prey.
All of the warlock’s victims had been attacked by demons—all had their souls removed.
This little bit of information was added in a footnote.
Lavinia didn’t know what she found more disturbing: that demons could remove souls, or that witches were somehow able to tell when they had.
The five victims spanned various demographics and didn’t have any obvious commonalities, besides the fact that they were all adults.
For whatever reason, the warlock drew the line at killing minors.
The youngest victim was nineteen, a student who was found inside his room in a shared house.
None of the victims seemed to know each other; at least, there was no overlap in place of work or friend networks on social media.
If the witches had an idea of how the warlock was choosing his victims, they hadn’t deigned to share.
She’d have to ask the witches for more information.
Was there a distance limit on a demon summoning?
Would the warlock need to be within a couple of blocks away to target someone, or would they be able to send a demon across London?
Crucially, though, how did Michelle fit into all of this?
As much as she hated to admit it, there was only one way forward.
She wanted to shield Michelle from as much of this as possible.
Michelle had been distressed on that first night they met, and that wouldn’t happen again, not on her watch.
But if Michelle could give any information at all that would set Lavinia on the right trail, Michelle would be able to go home.
Lavinia stepped into the corridor. Michelle’s scent lingered in the air, but it had faded into a pale ghost of its usual full-bodied bouquet. She wasn’t in her room, then. Taking the back staircase to the ground floor, she ran into Lucretia.
“Have you seen Michelle?” Lavinia asked.
“Kitchen.”
“Thanks.”
Luce stopped and turned. “Any progress?”
“Not yet.”
Luce emitted a low humming noise from the back of her throat, half acknowledgement, half irritation.
It wasn’t anger with Lavinia—if Luce was angry with her, there would be much more than a grunt or two—but having Michelle around put everyone on edge.
It had been just them for so long. Although Michelle was only one human, she disrupted their routines.
Even Quintia had been on her best behaviour.
That surely wouldn’t last long. It would be better for everyone involved for Michelle to go back to her own life so they could return to their old ways.
Lavinia walked into the kitchen. Michelle sat at the counter, the spacious modern room making her look small.
For a moment, Lavinia was stunned by her beauty.
The line of her cheekbones, the way her chin curved, a perfect counterbalance for the hollow of her neck.
Her skin glowed in the afternoon sunlight, and it looked oh-so edible. Stars, Lavinia really needed to feed.
Michelle looked up from her plate and tucked a strand of her mahogany hair behind one ear. “Oh, hey,” she said, noticing Lavinia. “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” Lavinia said, the answer coming automatically. Under Michelle’s open gaze, she relented. “Frustrated, actually.”
“How come?”
Lavinia leaned against the counter. Michelle popped the last piece of mango into her mouth.
Lavinia had to tear her eyes from her lips and focused her gaze on the artwork on the wall behind her.
It was some food-related still life in oil.
She had never noticed it before. “The information we got from the Witch Council has been useful, but I’ve reached a dead end. ”
“Can I help?” Michelle asked, wiping her hands on a cloth napkin.
“Maybe,” Lavinia admitted. “Would you mind having a look at the victims and tell me if any of them seem familiar to you? If there is some sort of connection, we can narrow our search. Even for us, finding two killers among millions of Londoners isn’t easy.”
“Of course.” Michelle hopped off the stool, picked up her plate, and took it to the sink. “Anything I can do to help. I’ve been thinking about why anyone would want me dead, but I can’t think of anything. Why would they want me? They’re some powerful witch, right?”
Lavinia shrugged. “A competent one at the very least, or the demon would have torn them to shreds the moment it was summoned.”
“So why me? I don’t know anything about magic at all.” Michelle washed the plate with practised motions, shook the last couple of drops off, and wiped it dry with a dishcloth.
“I don’t know,” Lavinia said truthfully. “Also, you don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“The dishes.”
Michelle put the plate into the cupboard with its fellows. “I don’t like being waited on. It’s bad enough that Mrs. Frost does all the cooking and cleaning. The very least I could do is tidy up after myself.”
“It’s your funeral.”
Her hand stilled, holding the door of the cupboard. “Why?”
“Mrs. Frost gets very grumpy when anyone messes with her kitchen.”
“Mrs. Frost is always grumpy,” Michelle countered.
“What was that about me?” Mrs. Frost’s husky voice rang from the foyer. The old woman had the hearing of a bat.
“Nothing,” Lavinia said, raising an eyebrow at Michelle. “We just love your food.”
“You better,” Mrs. Frost sniffed, marching into the kitchen. Then she spotted Michelle, guiltily standing in front of the open cupboard. “What are you doing? Get away from there.”
Michelle acquiesced immediately and closed the cupboard as if she’d been caught red-handed. She shuffled from behind the kitchen counter, hovering beside Lavinia.
“Come on,” Lavinia said. “I’ll show you the pictures.”
“Please,” Michelle answered, the tension only leeching from her shoulders once they left the kitchen.
“Damn humans. They’re even worse than vampires,” Mrs. Frost muttered after they’d left the kitchen, too low for Michelle’s ears to hear.
Lavinia led Michelle to the large study.
It was a sizeable room at the front of the house.
Four generous desks lined the walls, allowing the Sisters to collaborate when necessary.
Lavinia usually shared with their ninth Sister, but as she was currently on a long-term assignment, Lavinia could simply spread out the papers relating to the warlock/rogue case where she wanted.
She laid out a couple of photos across the desk that she had printed out.
In his email, Arran had included photos from the crime scenes as well as brightly lit pictures taken from the victims’ various social media profiles.
“These are the victims of the warlock,” she said. Michelle bent over them, carefully studying them in turn.
“Do you recognise any of them?”
“No,” she said, after putting down the last photo. “I don’t think I’ve met any of these people.”
Lavinia nodded, not particularly surprised. “Thank you for having a look regardless.”
“What about the other photos?”
“Excuse me?”
Michelle pointed to the neatly arranged pile of documents on the corner of the desk. A sticky note sat on top, the words crime scene photos scribbled on it.
“Don’t mind those,” she said.
“I want to help,” Michelle insisted. “Show them to me.”
“They’re gruesome,” Lavinia warned. There was no need to expose her to images of what could have happened to her if Lavinia hadn’t been at the right place at the right time.
Even vampire civilians didn’t have the stomach for this kind of thing.
Although vampires weren’t squeamish about blood, many abhorred severe violence.
The handiwork of a demon wasn’t easy to look at.
Although Lavinia had been a Sister of Twilight for over a century, she still couldn’t fully detach herself from the suffering the victims must have experienced in their last moments.
“I can handle it,” Michelle said firmly. “Before paediatrics, I did two years in the emergency department. The things I’ve seen… And those people were right in front of me, flesh and blood. A couple of pictures aren’t going to be worse.” There was a glint of determination in her eyes.
Silently, Lavinia handed over the second pile.
Again, Michelle’s gaze roved across the pages, taking in every detail.
With the eye of a professional, she glanced beyond the injuries, studying the backgrounds of the photographs.
She didn’t blanch at the blood, the torn flesh, or the organs that spilled from the bodies.
Michelle was a stranger to the hidden world of the supernatural, but now Lavinia started to appreciate that she wasn’t a stranger to violence.
Michelle went through all of the photos for a second time but lingered on one page. The victim, a middle-aged man, lay in a pool of his own blood. His jumper had been torn by the demon’s claws, which had raked through his skin as if through butter.
“Anything?” Lavinia asked.
“It’s nothing,” Michelle said, leaning back, placing the page with the others.
“Something caught your attention.”
“Well… I don’t think it would help with what you’re trying to do. It’s just the logo on the jumper. It’s the logo of the animal shelter where my parents met.”
Lavinia leaned across the desk, studying the photograph again. Splattered with blood, the dark green jumper sported an embroidered logo of a dog leaping into the air. No text accompanied it.
“It probably doesn’t matter,” Michelle continued. “It just stood out to me, that’s all.”
“It might be nothing,” Lavinia agreed. There were bound to be commonalities between the victims that were just the result of coincidence.
They all lived in roughly the same area, so their paths might have crossed in a myriad of ways that weren’t what tied them together in the warlock’s eyes.
But still, even the smallest coincidence could set them on the path towards finding the murderer.
“Could you please write down the name? I think it might be worthwhile to have a look at it,” Lavinia said, sliding a pen across the desk.
“Sure.” Michelle picked up the pen and scribbled a couple of words on a sticky note. “But I’m coming too.”