Chapter Fifteen
Across town, rain drizzled over the gray streets of Seattle as Rowan walked to his scheduled appointment with Detective Lyons.
He’d landed his private plane a short time ago, parted ways with his brother and Renegade, and headed into the downtown area by cab.
Meeting with Lyons was the last thing on his mind—the goddess at Bealtaine being the first, and the mysterious disappearance of her, the children, and the female Wizards running a close second.
But he owed it to the detective to fill him in on the deaths on the island.
There was a connection, and Lyons might have learned more details while Rowan was gone.
The man might not have a magical bone in his body, but his foster mother had been a recovering vampire who drank only synthetic blood.
With this kind of mother, Lyons had been taught early in life about Seattle’s underground magical community and how to navigate it without getting killed.
By this late on Monday afternoon, there were still no leads on the missing Wizards.
Rowan was running out of options, so a meeting with Lyons was a long shot he was willing to take.
After they landed, they’d all separated, Stryker to track down his leads, Renegade his.
Or at least that was what Rowan hoped the Troll would do.
The man was harder to read than a zombie’s expression.
Rowan waited on the corner for the traffic light to change.
It seemed to take longer than normal. Too early in the spring season for a power outage, but this was the Northwest and known for high winds, rain, and changes in weather.
One minute the day was as grey as the underbelly of a dragon.
The next the sun blinded, and he was the only one wearing sunglasses.
Rowan glanced at his cell. He was going to be late.
His time on the island had changed the rules, and that made him very impatient.
Forty-eight hours ago, his life was simple.
Hunt down the bad guys. Catch the bad guys.
Kill or arrest the bad guys. The latter outcome depended on his mood and the crime.
Three ravens dropped from a rooftop and perched on a trio of newspaper stands.
People rushed past the birds as though they were the harbingers of doom in a fairy tale.
The humans’ instincts might be closer to the truth than they imagined.
Most people couldn’t tell the difference between crows and ravens.
Crows were true scavengers, content to feed off scraps and roadkill.
Ravens were hunters and protected their own.
It was not uncommon to see them drive off an eagle who threatened their nest.
One of the ravens turned toward Rowan. For a split second its eyes looked human, and in that instant Rowan knew—they were Ravs, part raven, part human.
Ravs were messengers, spies, snitches, protectors, and shapeshifters—which meant that, like the majority of the magical community, some were good, and some were evil.
The ravens lifted from their perch and disappeared down an alley.
He couldn’t tell if they wanted him to follow or…
A horn blared. It seemed to shake the pedestrians on the sidewalk.
Generally, Seattleites didn’t honk horns.
Must be a tourist, or maybe someone who’d just moved to Seattle from another part of the United States.
He swore under his breath. The presence of Ravs was never a good omen.
It almost always meant a warning of some kind.
What was taking so fracking long for the lights to change?
Taking advantage of the sluggish flow of traffic, he jogged around the cars clogging the intersection and headed to the coffee shop.
It was in the middle of the block. Lyons sat under one of the café’s large umbrellas, waiting for him.
Rain had forced the less hardy indoors, which Rowan knew suited the detective.
Lyons wasn’t a people person. He sat at a table in the rainy drizzle as though it were a balmy day, wearing his grey wool suit like a superhero’s costume.
His college football career had ended with a torn rotator cuff.
He felt his life was over, but in his senior year he learned that his foster mother had died trying to save an innocent, and her unselfish act had awakened a new sense of purpose.
He was a rare breed and seemed surprised he got paid for doing something he loved.
Rowan joined Lyons, nodded hello and sat facing the street, accepting the black coffee that Lyons shoved his way with another nod of thanks. “Did the evidence you and I gathered on the Pentagram serial killer hold up?” Rowan said.
“Like glue. It’s now in the court’s hands.
” Lyons’ grin lit up his face, minimizing the dark circles.
“And thanks for the tip on the kidnapper. The guy was right where you said he’d be.
The pond scum had the woman tied up in a deserted warehouse—lots of nasty-looking knives set out in neat rows on a table.
Dried blood from previous victims smeared on the walls and floor.
A real nightmare.” Lyons rubbed both temples as though trying to erase the memory from his mind.
The look in his eyes told Rowan he hadn’t been successful.
Lyons let out his breath and reached into his suit pocket for an envelope.
“We never would have rescued the girl from that ghoul in time if it weren’t for your tip. ”
Rowan accepted the envelope and tucked it away without counting the money. He knew it would be fair. Rowan was off the books and there was a silent benefactor at the department who paid him for tips or when he brought criminals to justice. “Glad I could help. Feels like more than usual.”
“Consider it a bonus. The chief thinks you’re a cross between a bloodhound and Houdini. I give you a sample of something belonging to the missing person and you find them.” Lyons sat back and glanced over at the slow-moving traffic. “If I told them who you really were…”
“They’d throw you in a padded cell.”
Lyons laughed. “I might enjoy the quiet time. I’m going to add fortunetelling to your job description.
That’s exactly what they’d do.” Lyons stared into his coffee as though it was a crystal ball.
“Think you’d reconsider starting a P.I. business with me?
We can pick our cases instead of them picking us. ”
Rowan had received a lot of offers over the years.
Working with Lyons held a unique appeal.
He was the first human he had ever trusted.
The global issues the Talons and the Grey Council dealt with took years, sometimes centuries, to accomplish.
He and Lyons might be able to do a lot of good in the here and now.
Besides, in addition to trusting the guy, he also respected him. He was one of the good guys.
Rowan finished his coffee. It had turned ice cold, but the jolt of caffeine was just what he needed. “I’ll think over the offer. New topic. Any leads on the yacht, and the missing female Wizards and Wizardlings I mentioned over the phone?”
Lyons took out his notepad and flipped a few pages. “The only boats docking in the last twenty-four hours were cruise ships and ferryboats. Bad weather reports kept everything else tied up to a pier, but I’ll keep checking. Want to tell me what this is about?”
“Would you like a refill on your coffee, Detective Lyons?” A tall blonde cliché batted her eyelashes and smiled, her teeth so white Rowan almost squinted.
Lyons didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”
She hesitated and then headed back inside.
“Interesting,” Rowan said. “She acted like she knew you or wanted to know you.”
“Don’t. You were going to tell me the rest of the story.”
Rowan rotated his empty cup. “Still trying to figure out if it’s a mystery or a nightmare. Stryker is checking out his area of expertise, cyberspace, and I have someone looking into the magical community. Everything’s as quiet as the tomb of a vampire in the daylight.”
Lyons flipped another page and shook his head. “Still freaks me out sometimes that monsters like that exist. My foster mom…”
“…wasn’t a monster,” Rowan finished. “She loved you and was a good mother.”
“Thanks for that. I miss her and still wish I could find the bottom feeder who killed her.”
“We will.”
Lyons nodded as he turned to another page.
“Here’s something that’s weird. Almost didn’t bring it up, but I know how you don’t like coincidences, so it’s better that I do.
We found a floater a few days ago. A body washed to shore on Bainbridge Island.
It scared the fillings out of an old lady who was walking her dog along the beach.
Then the body disappeared from the morgue.
Paperwork too. I interviewed the coroner, and he remembered a high level of hallucinogens present in the preliminary samples.
But he couldn’t remember the exact dosages or the composition of the drugs.
He said because of the state of decomposition he almost missed the most interesting part.
The eyes were gouged out of the scull. The coroner first thought it was the work of fish and parasites, but when he looked closer, he noticed cut marks around the eye sockets as though the eyes were surgically removed.
He figured they were made by some sort of metal instrument and was going to do a more thorough exam.
Then the body went missing. What do you think it means? ”
“Nothing good.” Rowan crushed his empty cup and threw it in a nearby trashcan.
“Gouging out the eyes is an effective way of neutralizing a Wizard’s power.
After that, killing him is as easy as stepping on a bug.
If this were a one-time thing, no problem.
Stuff happens. A week ago, if you had told me this story, I’d say someone who was into dark magic stumbled onto the real thing and this was a one off.
Unfortunately, that’s not the case. This feels like the beginning of a turf war.
I hope I’m wrong. If I’m right, Puget Sound and the lakes surrounding Seattle will flow red with human and Wizard blood. ”
For the first time Lyons looked older than his fifty years.
“I was afraid you’d say something like that.
I had a bad feeling about this one. The missing body is the real mystery.
Usually, this sort of thing happens at night, not in broad daylight.
The coroner stepped out for coffee, and when he returned the body was gone. ”
“Blood work? Tissue samples?”
“All gone. Photos included. Everything we had on him vanished. Any ideas who could pull this off?”
“No one human would be my guess.”
“Just so you know, it’s not easy making these crimes appear the work of a sociopath instead of something from a horror movie. Any idea who could move around in the daylight and not be seen?”
“An endless list, but it might be the work of beings called Shadows. For the most part they’re mercenaries, and impossible to catch. You might even start a conversation with one, thinking they were flesh and blood. The next minute you’re talking to yourself.”
“My foster mom never mentioned them.” Lyons whistled low and looked uneasy.
“But they sound a lot like what the kids strung out on the latest designer drug call Shadow People. Odd the name is so similar, especially with the drugs the coroner mentioned. Of course, with the kids, it’s the drug that causes hallucinations, not the result of a paranormal being. Ever caught a Shadow?”
“Never, and you don’t want to mess with them. Trust me. If you even think you see one, run. They’re soulless, merciless, and deadly.”
A cell phone rang, belting out Cher’s “Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves.” To someone who didn’t know Lyons, the tune seemed dated.
But the song was Lyons’ foster mom’s favorite, and he refused to change it, which earned Rowan’s respect.
Nothing was as it appeared. Probably one of the reasons they got along so well.
Everything with Lyons had a double or triple meaning.
Feeling someone starting in his direction, Rowan glanced in their direction.
The blonde was behind the counter, staring at Lyons.
He couldn’t tell if she was the one who’d called, but her expression was a little sad, as though she’d lost a puppy, or broken a nail.
Rowan was bad at picking up on “woman-signals.”
Lyons glanced at the caller ID. “Duty calls. I’ll contact you if my sources discover the location of that yacht with the Wizards or learn about any new coincidences. Be in touch.”
Rowan motioned inside. “Tell me about the woman.”
“We had a moment.”
“And then you found out.”
He nodded. “And then I found out.”
“Not all Fae women are psycho.”
“Gotta go. I’ll let you know if I find out anything.”
Rowan nodded as Lyons headed for his car, a mint-condition cherry-red 1965 Corvette. Most people would keep such a valuable automobile in a locked garage under a custom-made tarp. Lyons wasn’t most people.
Rowan didn’t like this new wrinkle on the murders. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He glanced toward the sky, expecting to see Ravs circling around him, but there was only a thick blanketing of clouds. He felt like he was in a maze, with no clear path in sight.
What kept nagging him was the reference to drugs.
Vlad had mentioned that he believed the drug Magic Carpet Ride was being used on Wizards.
Not the first time an enemy had tried to poison a Wizard.
But it had never been done on this scale.
His guess was that whoever was behind the murders meant to eliminate as many Wizards as possible before war was declared.
Had the female Wizards fled because they foresaw the danger?