At the Behest of the Dead (13 page)

I heard a familiar voice over the chatter, clack of keyboards, and all the coughs and sneezes that went with
September in Seattle. I looked around until I spotted Ashley at one of the desks. Poor woman. It was bad enough she had been subjected to the changer and his violence. Now she was stuck in the purgatory that was the police station.

She did look awfully cute, though, with her green apron folded in her lap, buttons ripped off her shirt so it hung open
, revealing enough flesh to make me look twice.

Andrews was leaning on someone’s desk
, pointing at some text on a computer screen, her voice rising with frustration. I looked around again and remembered I was more or less a guest here.

“Come here often?” I asked.

“If it isn’t the magician.”

I let that one slide because I was tired and she was cute
, even with soot and debris in her hair and streaks of carbon across her forehead. Her auburn locks hung limp and forlorn, but her bright eyes more than made up for it. I was, once again, struck by what an attractive woman she was.

I pointed at an empty chair. The woman in uniform looked up from behind her computer and shrugged so I dragged it to Ashley’s side.

“Second worst pickup line ever.”

My cheeks roared with fire.
Again.

“I wasn’t trying to …” I stopped when her eyebrows went up.

“Smooth, right? I thanked you earlier for saving my life, but that was before I realized one thing.”

“You mean you are taking your thanks back? I’m pretty sure you can’t do that in this state.”

“Very funny. I’m not taking it back, but I am not a happy girl right now.”

“You’re alive. Got away with a few bruises and a cut that should heal right up.” I said and reached out to take her chin in my hand before I realized what I was doing. She looked only slightly scandalized so I wen
t with it. First rule of improvisation, right?

“I’m alive
, but what about my livelihood?”

“Huh?”

“You destroyed my shop! The place where I work. Did you ever think about that before you started tossing fireballs around, or whatever the hell they were?”

“
Er.”

“I’m sure it’s just another day to you, going around blowing stuff up
, but it’s not okay with me. And that man—he died!”

Tears started in the corner of her eyes and I suddenly felt like the biggest jerk in the world. I fumbled for something to offer in the way of a tissue
, but all I came up with was some scorched cloth.

Glancing up, I
caught Andrews staring at us, but her face was unreadable.

I dragged my chair toward
Ashley and put a hand behind her neck to pull her close. At first she pulled back, and I thought she was going to push me away. But she relented and actually leaned into me. I breathed her in and felt like the night was almost worth it just for this moment.

“I’m sorry,” I said
, but it was almost a question.

“Jerk.” She hit my chest. The pentagram dug into my skin
, but I didn’t mind so much. When she looked up at me she had a fresh line of ash on her forehead, but I didn’t have the heart, or the tissue, to help.

**

“They found another body in the underground. Same MO.”

“I’m sorry.”

“At least we got him, and we couldn’t have done it without you. Nice work, Phineas.”

“I meant I’m sorry about the bodies. The killings were meant to draw me out but I have no idea why.”

“Don’t be so full of yourself.”

“I’m not. That thing knew my name.”

“It barked your name?”

I sighed and dropped it. When I’d had a night of sleep
, I was going to come back and get to the bottom of this.

After we left, she asked me, for the fourth or fifth time, if I needed to go to the hospital. I tried to
sound mysterious when I told her I had better care at home. By better care I meant a bottle of absinthe and a soothing balm or three.

Detective Andrews was quiet while s
he drove me back to the scene of the crime. News vans had arrived and cameras stood in a line, pointed at reporters who repeated the same story over and over. I watched for Ashley, but she had either called it a night or gone to the hospital. While talking, I had surreptitiously checked out her aura (get your mind out of the gutter) to look for any trauma. She bore only scratches but had been on the verge of a panic attack. Holding her close and talking had kept it at bay.

“I hope this hasn’t put you off police work.”

“Are you kidding me? I haven’t had this much fun in months.”

“Sometimes I can’t tell if you are serious or messing with me.”

I didn’t answer.

“I thought about it. Why don’t you tell me abou
t the incident from the night before?”

“It was t
he case I asked you about. Last night I was doing an investigation. A demon tried to slice me in half.”

Detective Andrews slowly turned her eyes toward me.

“Pardon?”

“A demon.
Nasty bugger with three arms. One had a hook welded to it.”

“A demon.”

“You just pumped a werewolf full of lead and you’re going to scoff at a demon? Well not to be a downer, but I’m pretty sure that changer was possessed by a demon.”

Andrews fidgeted and looked at
her watch for what seemed like the thirtieth time in the last fifteen minutes. She had a steaming cup of police station coffee in the car’s front seat divider.

“
Warlocks, werewolves, and now demons. I suppose the next thing we will have to deal with is a vampire.”

“Pussies,
” I muttered. The last vampire I met had been far from debonair. He lived in a cave on the outskirts of Everett and existed on the blood of small animals, or a deer if he could manage to sneak up on a sleeping one. He was spindly, fragile, and mad with blood lust. It set in when they got older and needed more and more of the stuff. In some ways, they were worse than drug addicts.

“I thought vampires were all the rage.”

“About three hundred years ago. I need to get you more hip to the occult, detective.”

“I’ve had about enough to last me a lifetime. No offense, Phineas, but would you mind getting out of my car and traipsing back to your house?”

“So that’s the end of our date?”

Her eyes met mine. I smiled but she didn’t return the gesture.

“It’s not every day I meet a guy I actually like, and for some reason I like you, Phineas. I don’t know if it’s the mysterious stranger shit, or the saving my ass shit, or just having a plain shit week.”

“Uh.”

“Hold on.” She reached across the seat and popped open her glove compartment. A paper bag lay in the back. She tugged it out, removed a bottle of whiskey, and poured a generous amount into her coffee.

“Yummy,
” I said but I wished I had a cup too.

“Try it.” She handed me the cup.

I looked down at it then took a sip. The coffee had enough alcohol to put me on my ass. It was delicious.

“Why bother with the coffee?
Wait a second, are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Save the wise cracks. Besides, you seem to have a thing for the skinny barista.”

“We just met. I don’t know. The girl is smart and studying to be a lawyer.” Why was I defending someone I didn’t even know?

“Whatever. I
t’s not like I’m about to drag you back to my apartment and do things to you you’ve only read about in books.”

“I’ve read a lot of books.”

“Zip it.”

“About your apartment …”

“Not going to happen because we have to work together, and if we have to work together you won’t take me seriously if you’ve seen me without clothes. It’s happened before.”

“Do you have a third nipple or something?”

“No, I do not have a third nipple. You know what I mean.”

“I can go first,
” I offered.

“You can go home.” She leaned over to open the door.

I caught her hand in mine and pulled her close. She tried to pull back, but I ran my long fingers up her arm, shoulder, and neck until my hand was behind her head. She didn’t try to get away this time. Instead she gripped the back of my head with her hand.

“I’m the take charge type,” s
he informed me.

“That makes two of us. So what would be your first take charge move?”

We were so close that if I leaned forward, even an inch, our lips would touch, and if our lips touched I wondered what would happen next. But the moment hung between us and was gone just like that.

Some take charge types we were.

Maybe I was just exhausted or maybe I was just a little bit intimidated. Whatever the reason, I decided it would be smart to call it a night.

I pulled away and opened the door.

“Detective,” I said, and she looked at me in the poor light of the overhead dome. “It was nice working with you. If you ever want to get off the pills, I can help.”

Her
eyes lit up with sudden rage.

“Go home, Phineas, and stop acting like you know the f
irst goddamn thing about me.”

Right. Time to call it a night indeed.

Andrews grabbed the door handle and slammed it shut, threw the car in drive, and screeched the tires as she made an impressive exit.

I shook my head and went to find my fork. I had half an urge to follow her. Instead I did the smart thing and went home.

Chapter Seven

I
was beat and just wanted to go to bed, curl up with some Lovecraft, and call it a night. Bilbo had a pair of moths in her massive web and she was delighting in wrapping one of them in silk. The other fought against its bonds, but it was a losing battle.

Sleep.

It was too late to go get the Pomeranian. I hoped the little guy was better. I wasn’t sure what to do with him. If the dog really did belong to Thora Whitfield, I was going to return it along with her demon.

I made it to the bathroom, stripped
, and left my clothes in a pile for later disposal. In a real fire, if I had any sense. Then I stumbled into a pile of books, righted them. Hit my ancient wood dresser hip first, and from the amount of pain I would have a honey of a bruise tomorrow. It would look good with all the others.

The chest piece was the last thing to come off. I had to carefully peel it
from my skin, which was slicked with blood. I actually stood in place, swaying for a few moments, wondering if I should just go to bed and ignore the blood that would soak my sheets.

Common sense prevailed and I took a quick shower. A layer of my fading supply of balm coated my chest, numbing the area. I sat on the side of the bed for a moment, gathering energy. As it filled my center
, I let it leak out and seek the wounds. They responded by stitching together. It was a little bit like sutures only not as strong.

If Glenda were here she would have
had me sutured up in a heartbeat. She was ten times better at the healing arts than I had ever been. Glenda should have become a druid or healer, but she said her calling was always witchcraft.

My bed had never looked so inviting
, even with the horrific creatures etched deeply into the massive wood frame. Animals, changers, witches, warlocks all stared out at me. Salazar had owned the frame and gifted it to me when I left the university for good. It was beautiful and it was terrifying. Much like the power I had been born, or cursed, with, depending on which side of the debate you fell on.

A hawk’s cry shrilled outside. I flashed the bedroom light twice to let Frank know I was home and more or less alive. I wondered if he slept in hawk form at night or if he changed and also had a bed. I chuckled when I thought of Frank sitting in a nest while Mrs. Hawk went hunting.

I crawled under the messy sheets and closed my eyes but didn’t so much fall asleep as pass out.

**

Wards blew me out of sleep. They flashed like New Years was in full swing and I was in the center of Times Square. I fell out of bed in my haste to reach a weapon that wasn’t even there. I had been having a disturbing dream about changers dancing on my future grave. Frank was in the lead, shifting from human to hawk form every few seconds.

I slid the curtains back to reveal an empty yard. They weren’t here yet
, but they were on the way.

I stumbled to the closet, knock
ing over the same stack of books I’d righted before I fell asleep. I glanced down and was relieved to see the wounds on my chest were healing rapidly. That meant I’d had at least twelve hours, so it would be evening. I didn’t feel rested. I felt harried and worn out. My eyes were coated in grit and seemed to be gummed together. I was also covered in sweat but it was drying. Healing did that. My temperature rose in response to the spell and balm. The combination had always been likely to trigger the body’s response, like it was fighting an infection.