9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Cooper
Z elyah is holding onto her secrets tightly, and I’m going to make it my mission to uncover them all. Her face drains of color as she looks at the victim, but she quickly composes herself, stands straighter, and puts on a neutral face. Her expressions may fool most people, but I can tell she knows something about this girl.
The magic in the air is still going strong. I didn’t notice it at the last crime scene, but I noticed at the first one. I was so distracted by finding Zelyah covered in blood that I missed the smell of dark magic. It leaves a bitter taste in the air. This one is stronger. Some of the supernatural officers and FBI agents had to leave because it’s so pungent it made them sick. There are only five officers left at the scene and six FBI agents.
The living room has been completely ransacked. The brown floral print sofa is pulled apart, and the old heavy drapes have been ripped from the windows. It doesn’t look like any part of this house has been changed since the seventies. The wood-paneled walls hold family photos that have been viciously scratched out in pen, obliterating the subjects’ faces and identities.
This seems like the kind of place vampires would bring their human victims for an addictive fix, away from prying eyes. According to the blood-addled humans I’ve interviewed, a vampire’s bite contains an intoxicating euphoria. But the secrecy of the act means run-down venues like this.
Next to the trashed living room is the kitchen which looks gutted by fire. Charred cabinets hang off hinges. The whole room probably went up during a meth explosion from the looks of it. Surprisingly, the flames didn’t engulf the entire structure. Graffiti tags blanket the remaining walls between obscene drawings. Nothing about the decor evokes a sense of home or care, just filth and neglect. The perfect spot for junkies and bottom-feeders to congregate.
“Who does this place belong to?” I ask.
“I checked into it, Agent Cooper, and records show it’s been abandoned for years. The homeowner died a few years back, and it was taken over by junkies,” Milo, one of our techs, replies.
I nod, gazing around the room. Syringes, broken glass, and filth litter the floors. What a depressing ruin of what was surely once someone’s pride and joy. I come back to the living room where Zelyah and the rest of the agents are standing near the body.
“Did they summon anything?” Agent Rodriguez asks, crouching to examine strange symbols etched into the rotting floorboards.
Beatriz, our occult specialist, closes her eyes, sensing for dark energies. After a moment, she opens her eyes and says, “There’s nothing to show that there’s a high demon being summoned.” My body relaxes. That’s the last thing we need on our plates.
Some high demons are allowed in this world, but the most powerful ones, the ones that are talked about in horror stories, stay in their realm. We don’t allow them to pass. They only wreak havoc. If you think the fae are bad for stealing humans, the demons are worse with their cruel ways. The only way they can show up in a realm is with spells and sometimes sacrifices. It would take someone with a lot of very powerful magic to summon them. Expelling them would be twice as difficult.
Zelyah stands silently rooted in the same spot across the room, staring at the corpse.
“Do you know her?” I watch her movement closely.
She drags her dark brown eyes from the scene and stares deep into my soul. I want to look away, but I can’t. She draws me in. What is it about her?
Her eyes flick back to the corpse before staring at me again. “I met her earlier today—well, last night.”
“So, you’re the last person to see this woman alive?”
She shakes her head, her long coppery hair swaying. “I don’t know. She had a friend with her when we met.”
Her voice is so small and sad that I find myself believing her. If she knew the woman well, there would have been more emotion in her eyes. Heck, when she killed her boyfriend, she looked absolutely sick. Right now, her shock is evident, but she’s not grieving.
“Who’s her friend? Do you have a picture of her?”
She puts her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes. “How would I have a picture of her? You won’t let me have a cell, remember?”
I suppress a wince at the jab. I hate when she has a point. A picture would have been pretty helpful right now.
“Would you be able to identify the friend if we found her?”
Zelyah clears her throat softly. “Yes,” she replies in a small but steady voice. “I can identify Trisha.”
She walks toward the tattered couch to sit but hesitates as she takes in the grimy state of it. She steps back and returns to stand next to me, arms crossed protectively over her chest. There’s commotion outside, and my officers draw their weapons on their way to the front windows and door to see what’s causing the ruckus.
I push my way through and they move aside to let me pass. Stepping out the front door, I see one of my agents stationed out front trying to restrain a young woman violently fighting against his hold. Her eyes are wild, and her movements unhinged.
The young woman struggles furiously and yells, “Let me go!”
I sense Zelyah joining me in the doorway, drawn by the commotion. Her eyes widen when she spots the girl, clearly recognizing her.
“You can’t go in there. It’s a crime scene.” The officer lets out a grunt, still grappling to contain the girl.
“No!” she screams, distraught at the mention of a crime scene. My stomach drops, this must be Trisha, the victim’s friend.
She manages to get out of the officer’s hold by blowing out small amounts of fire. She runs up to us, but her piercing eyes glare at Zelyah. The way the friend looks at her seems like they didn’t get along, but I don’t know their story yet. The venomous way Trisha glares at Zelyah reveals no hint of friendliness.
Trisha thrusts her arm out, pointing accusingly at Zelyah. “You!” she shouts for all to hear. She lunges at Zelyah, forcing her to take a step back. One of the officers grabs the Dragon Shifter, keeping a tight hold on her. “You murderer,” Trisha hisses venomously and points to Zelyah with hate-filled eyes. Trisha’s body trembles with barely contained rage as she tries lunging at Zelyah again. The officers hold her back with straining muscles. “You killed my best friend!” Trisha lets out an anguished cry, nearly collapsing in the officer’s arms.