Chapter 3
Chapter Three
It wasn’t the absence of life light that told me that. It was the blood. It drained from the ruins of her chest, stained the white sheets, and dripped lazily into an ever-widening pool of crimson at the base of the bed.... There was so damn much that I couldn’t believe it had all come from her.
I swallowed heavily against the rise of bile and forced my feet forward. I’d seen death before, in very many different guises, but I’d never seen one like this—one where the body had been so brutally butchered while the victim’s expression remained locked in serenity rather than terror.
Had she been magicked? Drugged? It surely had to be one or the other, because why else would her expression be so serene when some bastard had punched a hole into her chest and ripped her heart out?
Literally, just ripped it out.
“Hanna?” Jack said, the sudden sound of his voice making me jump. “What’s happening? You’re making some very odd noises.”
I was? I swallowed heavily, then said, in a somewhat normal sounding voice, “You need to get the forensics team here.”
“Ah, fuck.”
“Yeah. And it’s bad.”
“Both women?”
“Don’t know yet—I’ve only just found Francesca.
” I squatted several feet away from the crimson pool on the carpet and panned my phone along her length.
I didn’t describe it, simply because Jack didn’t need to hear the precise details.
But maybe that was the mom in me coming to the fore, given he was only four or five years older than my son.
In truth, Jack had probably already seen more than his fair share of brutal deaths, thanks to his association with the Society, even if in pictures rather than firsthand.
“You sure she’s dead?” he said.
“Very.”
There was a long pause. “Forensics are ten away. The manager has been informed of developments.”
Confirming he did get away alive, which was at least something. I rose. “Give me a heads-up when forensics get here. I’ll keep checking the penthouse and record what I find.”
“No probs.”
I found Francesca’s discarded dress, bra, and undies on the floor at the end of the bed.
They’d been carefully removed rather than ripped off in the heat of the moment, which, given how expensive the dress undoubtedly was, was understandable.
But why take the time to fold them all and then place them on the floor rather than the nearby chair?
Was it another of those oddities that just kept on happening, or was there a darker purpose behind the placement of her clothes?
I squatted beside the pile, carefully lifted one edge, and spotted a spell stone.
Or rather, the remnants of one. Whatever spell had run through it had completely shattered it; all that remained were a few broken shards.
The fact they were black suggested the stone had been onyx, which was often used by humans to absorb negative energy.
Dark witches tended to gravitate toward it for the same reason—when used correctly with certain spells, it could amplify that darker energy.
If there was one stone here, then there would be at least two others.
While most witches created protective circles using six or more spell stones, you could technically create one using only three, as long as they were triangularly aligned.
Which meant her shoes and sash were likely hiding the additional stones where they sat on either side table.
I rose to investigate; the small black shards littering the right shoe’s insole were little more than dust, but the remnants under the sash were somewhat chunkier and seemed to contain some sort of rune on them.
After taking a photo, I pressed a finger against one of them.
While the glove prevented a direct connection, the inner gates were still open enough that I could feel the fading caress of the magic.
Unsurprisingly, it held the same feel as the stuff that had culminated in this room before the shadowed stranger had barreled out at me.
But what had the magic been doing? Who else had been in here?
Someone surely had been. Aside from the fact the magic on the two men hadn’t felt like theirs, Francesca’s heart was completely missing, and the glimpses I’d gotten of the stranger’s hands had been blood free.
Even if I was wrong and he had used magic to punch through her flesh, there would have been a few remnants of it clinging to her brutalized flesh.
While all magic faded with time, the darker stuff tended to linger just a little bit longer.
As I pulled my finger back, the shard disintegrated.
Maybe the stone’s structure had been so weakened by the force of the spell that the slightest bit of pressure caused it to utterly collapse.
Or, perhaps more likely given the dust I’d found under her clothes, whoever had cast the spell hadn’t wanted the stones found, and had woven destruction into their spell.
If I’d taken a few minutes longer to get here, I probably wouldn’t have even found dust.
I hastily wrapped a nulling containment spell around the largest of the remaining shards; it should stop the continuing disintegration of the shard, at least until I found someone who could explain the runes on it and perhaps get a read on the spell.
Once I’d taken a few more photos of the rune decorating its surface, I tucked it carefully into my handbag.
I replaced the sash, then left the room and walked across to the third bedroom.
It held two queen-sized beds, and Marnee lay on the one closest to the door.
Unsurprisingly, her death mirrored Francesca’s.
I swore softly and scrubbed a hand across my eyes.
While the force of the magic and the sheer size of the two men said it was unlikely I could have saved either woman had I come here first instead of going back to headquarters for the damn audit, guilt nevertheless stirred, if only because I would never be one hundred percent sure that was true.
I drew in a deeper breath, then once again forced my feet into the room to check under the neat piles of Marnee’s clothes. There were no spell stones to be found. There wasn’t even dust, which told me my guess had been right—the stones had been designed to disappear.
As I turned and walked out, the earwig vibrated. I double tapped it and then said, “What’s up?”
“The forensic team is in the lift.”
“Thanks. I’m going to search Monica’s room while I’m here.”
“Be aware that Sienna is rather touchy when it comes to people fussing about her crime scene before she’s finished.”
Sienna being the blonde. “She can fuss all she wants. Monica is still missing, and her life might well be on the line, and that gives me priority over Sienna.”
“All of which Sienna knows; it doesn’t change the validity of my statement one iota, however.”
I smiled and walked over to the door to wait.
As the two women came around the corner carrying all their gear, Sienna said, “This is becoming something of a bad habit.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What is? You two attending a crime scene?”
“No,” she said crossly. “Attending a crime scene that’s been utterly fouled by blood and magic.”
And me. She didn’t say that, but that was the unspoken implication.
Of course, in this particular case, she wasn’t actually wrong. I just had to hope it wasn’t a case of bad luck coming in threes, and that we’d find Monica and Lanie before they too got their hearts ripped out.
“Does that mean you found blood at the kidnapping scene?” I hadn’t noticed any, but then, a werewolf’s nose and sight were far keener when it came to those sorts of details.
“Only a few drops not far from where you’d found her purse,” her partner, Janice, said somewhat dryly. “It wasn’t Monica’s.”
“Have you run it through the system yet to see if there’s a match?”
“It’s not like we’ve had the time,” Sienna growled. “If you’d stop finding bodies, then we might.”
My amusement grew. I wasn’t the only one out of sorts by the long hours, it seemed.
“There were spell stones present in both bedrooms here—three of them, each strategically placed under her clothes. They disintegrated just after I got here, but I did manage to snare one piece and keep it whole with magic. You may or may not find dust remnants.”
“We’ll vacuum and see what we get.” She paused. “If your magic contains the shard in its current state, you’ll need to take it to the lab yourself. There’s no guarantee we’ll get it there in time.”
I nodded. Aside from the fact the spell wasn’t perpetual, I’d made it on the fly, meaning there was no guarantee how long it would last without me boosting it. Janice, as a witch, could have placed a similar containment around it, of course, but it remained a risky business out here in the field.
“I take it,” Sienna continued, “that you have touched said clothes?”
“Yes, carefully, while wearing gloves. I also recorded my movements.”
“That’s something. You’re leaving now?”
There was an undisguised hopeful note in her voice, and I couldn’t help grinning. “Sadly for you, no. I need to search Monica’s bedroom to see if she left any clue as to what might be going on.”
Her responding sniff somehow managed to sound disgruntled.
While most of the werewolves I’d come across over the course of the last few years tended to be very guarded when it came to any outward display of emotion—at least until you really got to know them—Sienna appeared to have no such qualms. “Just record what you do and keep those gloves on.”
“I am not new at this, you know.”
“She gives everyone the same warning,” Janice said, in that same dry tone. “‘Trust no one to do the right thing’ is her current motto.”
“I take it someone didn’t do the right thing recently?”
“Yeah, and it almost lost us the case.”
“Ah, well, I shall be on my best behavior.”
Sienna snorted and moved past me, heading toward Francesca’s bedroom. Janice followed, her amusement chasing away some of the gloom. It wouldn’t last. Not when they got inside that room.