Chapter 9
Eleanor hesitated outside of Professor Miller’s house.
The entire place was done up with caution tape.
Bastian had received clearance to inspect the premises.
He’d done so several times already. On his own, it was unlikely he’d discover anything new, but with Eleanor?
He was hoping she’d bring fresh insight.
He gently prodded her between her shoulder blades. She threw him a glare, then walked up to the porch. She was still wearing his damned T-shirt, tied in a knot at her waist. She’d paired it with her pants from the night before.
Seeing her in his clothes did things to him he didn't want to examine. Especially the way she’d looked coming into the kitchen this morning. Bare legs on display.
Cooking breakfast was a win. He hadn’t been sure how it would go over. But hearing her make those little sounds as she ate his food? He’d wanted to pull her off the damn bar stool and carry her upstairs. Or rather, the goblin in him had.
For now, he recognized his lust for what it was, but he could see exactly where this was heading if he allowed it. The goblin side of him would grow protective. Would start seeing her as his in ways that went far beyond physical. His instincts were already stirring...
Fuck.
It was good that he was dropping her off at home after this. He would keep their relationship strictly professional going forward. Consultations over the phone rather than in person.
Eleanor stopped at the front door, hesitating as if to collect herself. He pressed in behind her, close enough that his chest grazed her back. He forced himself to relax and ignore the sensation. “Whenever you’re ready, sugar, it’s unlocked. Take your time. We can hang out here, if you need.”
Just keep standing there, his body demanded. I don’t mind the feel of you against me.
He didn’t want to rush her. Even now, her scent had changed.
He could smell the heavy dregs of anxiety rolling off her skin.
It raised his hackles when it shouldn’t have, pulling at a primal part of him.
As soon as this case was solved, they’d have no reason to see each other again—what did he care if this upset her?
When she nodded, the top of her pink ponytail brushed his chin. He glanced down at it and his lips twitched. His free hand lifted, reaching for it, but he stopped himself before he could.
“I…” she sighed and shook her head, opening the door at last before stepping through.
He gave her some space, waiting for her to acclimate. She walked through the entry and into the living room, then began moving around the space, inspecting things. He studied her, noting the way her lips had pressed into a thin line, her expression pinched tight.
The air was stagnant, the scent of death lingering even now. Everything was eerily silent. Something had happened here beyond a simple murder. He felt it the moment he first arrived on the scene, and each time thereafter. A fine trace of malice, almost imperceptible.
It had always been that way for him, which was what made him so good at his job. His ability to sense lingering traces of death. Not that it had done him any good in this case.
“What happened to her after…after she died?” Eleanor stood frozen in the middle of the living room.
“Moved her to the morgue for autopsy.”
She shuddered, then nodded. Her throat bobbed. “Where…?”
He pointed. She followed his finger and walked over, head down, studying the area. “Burn marks?” she asked.
“Yes, they found them around the body, and a charred streak across—” He cut himself off, because the graphic details weren’t something she needed to hear. “Just focus on the house, sugar. What do you see? Anything missing? Out of place? Anything that makes you suspicious?”
She looked up at him, eyes narrowed, then pointed at the ground. “This. This makes me suspicious.”
He sighed. “We can get to that later, if you like.”
Her jaw clenched, then she nodded, moving away.
She inspected everything, remaining silent.
He stayed out of her way, watched as she moved from room to room.
He should have used the time to get one more look at everything, even though he’d been over it twice.
Instead, he watched her. Fixated on the way her brow furrowed, the way she sucked her lip between her teeth, like she was contemplating.
Once done, they headed back to his truck. He’d left the bike at home, knowing she’d be more comfortable in this. A long silence stretched between them once she was belted in.
“Well?” he asked.
She blew out a breath. “I can’t say for sure, but…” She angled toward him and their eyes locked. “Professor Miller had a private collection of…things.” His eyes narrowed in question. “Like, artifacts, I mean.”
“Artifacts…”
“Things built by humans, you know?”
“When you say humans, you mean artificers?”
She nodded.
He made a humming noise in his throat.
Magical objects—artifacts—were well known and regulated among supernaturals.
These were objects constructed by humans, and those humans were known as artificers.
The why of the matter wasn’t fully understood.
Humans crafted them and used supernatural blood to imbue power into them.
During ancient times, artificers had become blood chemists, learning to mix different supernatural bloods holding different magics to create new recipes of power.
It was the only advantage humans had over supernatural races—that only a human could make such an object. And it had been exploited throughout history. Especially in days long past.
Before the Supernatural Council had been formed, more commonly dubbed the SC, races had no qualms about enslaving humans, forcing them into crafting dangerous objects of power.
This made it far more difficult to keep the magical world hidden.
Now, only a select few humans became artificers, which made them answerable to the SC, but they also had rights, just like any supernatural.
Eleanor cleared her throat, remaining silent otherwise.
He said, “You mentioned studying art history and other ancient things with Professor Miller. You were really just referring to artifacts, then?” She nodded. “And? The artifacts Professor Miller had in her possession, are they missing?”
“Some of them,” she managed, her voice falling to a whisper. “But she could have, I don’t know, sold them, or gotten rid of them. Maybe donated them.”
“What does your gut tell you?”
“A few of them were really important to her.”
He sat up straighter. “How do you know that?”
“Because…” She chewed on her bottom lip, briefly drawing his attention to her plush mouth. “Because I helped her find some of them.”
He sat forward. “You?”
“During…like, when I was studying under her.”
He huffed. “You guys went out and hunted artifacts or something? Like some modern tomb raider shit?”
“Actually, yes. That’s…that’s exactly what we did.”
He gaped at her, realizing he’d vastly underestimated her, then snapped his mouth shut. “They let you get a master’s degree in shit like that?”
“Well, no, not really.” Her cheeks flushed. “But…”
Damn. She was a mystery unfolding. He rubbed his chin.
“We did it in secret—Professor Miller and I. My master’s was supposed to be in art history, minor in archeological anthropology.
When people don’t know magic exists, ancient objects are seen as relics of an old time.
Humans have no idea that half the things in their museums are, in fact, magical objects.
And then there are the allusions to artifacts that spring up in art pieces all over the world, objects of myth and legend depicted in paintings and journals and such.
That sort of thing. Those were often what we searched for.
Common things like armor, belts, crowns, jewelry, masks, mirrors, musical instruments—that’s always a fun one—tools—”
“Okay, okay.” He exhaled through his nose. “I get it. Shit. This changes things.”
The realization was sinking in. If Professor Miller was tangled up in something like this, then it was very likely her death was premeditated and centered around her artifact work.
“Right. Well. So, yeah. That’s what we did together. Most of the things we reclaimed were in the name of the university, as part of our research and whatnot. But sometimes we did stuff on the side too. That’s how she got her own collection.”
“And your necklaces?” He lifted an eyebrow.
She shrank down in her seat. “I mean…well, yeah.”
He studied her. Clearly this wasn’t something she wanted to discuss. He was tempted to push, but if it didn’t have anything to do with the case, then it didn’t matter. And yet, it mattered a whole hell of a lot to him, when it shouldn’t have.
In fact, nothing about her should have mattered to him. Nothing. And yet, he found himself wanting to know more. Wanting to know everything.
Wanting to hear stories of the adventures she’d been on. Of the artifacts she’d found.
He pushed that aside and said, “Fine. All right. I want you to make a list of all the artifacts you remember in Professor Miller’s house. I want to know what they did, too. I can go through it to see if it explains this. It might be our best lead.”
She nodded, her eyes going distant as she gazed out over the quiet suburb street they’d parked along. “I can do it after I get home,” she whispered.
“Good. Then let’s get you home.” He turned the key in the ignition and they set off, all while ignoring the sense of dissatisfaction blooming in his chest over the idea that he would soon be separated from her.