Blood Legacy: Adult Urban Fantasy (The V V Inn Book 5) (17 page)

“Smart.” Dria joins him at the counter, taking the only other stool. Jon and I exchange a glance and remain near the doorway.
 

“If I didn’t know better,” she says, “I’d say this was a witch’s home.”

Bart bobs his head, glancing around at the copper pots and row upon row of books. “Yes, it would easily pass. They might not admit it, but witches and wizards are like cousins in the same family.” He sniffs again, this time in derision. “Although they make us feel like dirty whores for taking jobs they deem beneath them.” He motions around him. “Magic is magic—whether you have it in your blood, or you study for years and learn to harness that which is not freely given.”

“Speaking of work—you’re still a wizard for hire? I would have thought after a time you’d retire.”

“Hmph. You sound like the local coven. Retiring means dying.” He looks her hard in the eye. “What would happen to you if you stopped taking blood?”

“Are you saying your magic keeps you alive, like blood for a vampire?”

“Not really the same way, but after a fashion, yes. When I use magic, it enters me, too. Preserving the shell of my body a little longer. I’m one hundred and forty-seven years old. Don’t look it, do I?”

Jon coughs, a sure sign he’s going to say something he probably shouldn’t. “If you mean you don’t look dead, then no, you don’t. But dude, you look wicked old.”

“That’s enough helping, Jon, thanks,” Dria says. “How about I talk with Bart for now?”

Jon looks at the floor, clearly annoyed at being chastised.
 

“So you keep working to have a longer life—got it. When did you start using animal blood instead of your own?”

His face scrunches up. “Damn Justin. He told you that part too, eh?” He folds his arms over his chest, and slumps. “He’ll see what it’s like someday… to lose…”

“Yes?” my wife prompts, eagerness in her tone that we might be getting somewhere.

He shakes his head, a faraway look on his face. “When you do too much magic, when you don’t shore up your soul and sense of self… well… eventually your blood isn’t enough payment. You’ve diluted it with your greed. Then, you have to seek purer blood, blood untainted by magic usage. I use animal blood because I refuse to harvest from humans like they used to do in the old days.”

“I would think such a practice would be frowned on nowadays.”

“Oh it is, you bet your pretty little head it is. But that doesn’t mean someone, somewhere, isn’t doing it.”

“Do you think another wizard in the city is using human blood to pay the price? And if they were, would that cause an imbalance?”

“Ahh… so that’s where you’re going with this. You think a magical imbalance could have caused the recent killings I’ve seen in the news. Now that’s a thought, young lady. Normally I’d have said no, especially if you’re looking my way,” he says with a wink. “But there have been a lot of strange things seen lately.”

This is the first we’ve heard of seeing strange things, and Dria leans forward in anticipation. “Sightings like what?”

Bart looks under his bushy eyebrows at her, well aware he’s got her on the hook now. “I heard of a witch beaten to death. My first thought would have been one of your lot,” he gestures to Jon, “but the witches who found her were positive it wasn’t a Were. And honestly, I wasn’t sure they were barking up the right tree.” He looks to Jon and grins. “Pun not intended. It doesn’t take a supe to beat someone to death. Just strength.”

“Agreed,” my wife says, her expression showing deep thought. “That was the first murder, as far as we know, but not a sighting like you mentioned a moment ago. Did the witches see something and tell you?”

“That’s not my story to tell, you should ask them direct. Here,” he says, grabbing a scrap of paper and jotting down a name and address. “This is the name of a witch I’m glad to call a friend. She’s the one who helped me perfect my formula for using animal blood over my own.”

“And how did she do that?”

“I use blood purchased from the butcher over in Monserrat. The animals die for a use, rather than being wasted to serve only as fuel for a spell, but because of that, the ‘weight’ or value of their collected blood isn’t strong enough to be a true payment. If I infuse the blood with certain herbs, add blessed water, and perform chants of power, the blood becomes something more. It transforms into exactly what I need it to be: payment for a spell, with no life lost.”

“Why don’t the witches utilize the practice for their spells, too? Why would they need to hire a wizard?”

“Some witches do—or else I never would have had one who could teach me. But it’s harder than it sounds. I made the ritual sound easy, in reality it’s quite time consuming, taking a few days to complete. And most magic users want instant results. Even witches. If they have the contact and can get a wizard to do a task for less or faster than what they would charge, they’ll do it.”

Dria looks down at the paper in her hand. “Gwendolyn will talk to us? And it’s not too late to see her tonight?”

“Yes. I’ll call her when you leave so she can expect to hear from you.”

My wife rises from her seat, extending a hand to Bart. “You’ve been a terrific help. Thank you.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Jon

We hustle out of the strange little man’s stinky house and make our way to the car. I’d offer to drive, but one look at Rafe’s face tells me there’s no way he’d agree. Man, he’s looking tense and anxious. Too bad the basement apartment of ours is so tiny, I’m sure the couple could use some alone time to work off that stress.

Who am I kidding? If they decide they need to rip their clothes off to release stress and sexual tension, they will, whether I’m behind a paper thin wall or not. I swear, it’s like they’ve got no respect for the sidekick.

My mind drifts to Candy and our last night together. She was so sexy and carefree with stating her desires. It’s refreshing to be with a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it.
 

And yet, I’m risking it all by dabbling with Magda to
possibly
learn how to half-shift. Could I forgive Candy if the shoe was on the other foot?
 

Dria opens her car door and slips into the front seat, tension vibrating from her body. If I had to wager a guess, I’d say she’s bottling up a lot of frustration over our inability to find Rolando on our own, and this current distraction of figuring out who is responsible these killings isn’t helping.

“Do you really think it’s possible someone is behind these murders or could they be more random?” I ask the couple when I join them in the car. “This whole magical imbalance crap seems rather convenient.”

Rafe pulls away from the curb while answering, “Finding the right connection is what we need to do. So far, we’ve got two South American mythological creatures who sprang into being and started killing people—for no apparent reason. Or a reason we’re still unaware of.” The car speeds down the silent streets. “Were those people targets or victims of bad luck?” He takes multiple turns, not needing a map since the two know the city so well.

“I vote for a killer behind the deaths,” I say, happy to play devil’s advocate.

“I think it’s this magical imbalance we’ve heard of,” Vivian says.

“Really? And these things just poofed into existence?”

“We
saw
it ‘poof’ into existence, Jon,” Vivian says, irritation showing in her tone. “And then kill. Were they summoned by a spell? Did the victims have an item on them that made them a target?”

I edge forward in the backseat to angle myself closer to the couple in front. “So either way, we’re thinking the deaths are related to magic, right? No chance it could be another supernatural occurrence, like a curse has been triggered, or a bunch of individual incidents?”

“All happening within the tight timeframe of a few days?” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t make sense. I know we’ve got at least two different causes of death for four victims. Rafe is right, the next logical step is to discern how they’re related.”

“A curse?” Rafe asks. “That thought never occurred to me. A magical curse put in place, who knows when, and recently triggered? What do you think, liebling?”

“I have no idea. But if that’s the case, it’s still fueled by magic, right?”

“I would think so,” I say. “A witch, a delivery man, a vampire, and homeless man. One beaten and died of blood loss, two ripped apart by sharp claws, and one we saw bludgeoned to death by a freaky little person known to protect wizards. Without questioning the witches, we can probably assume their witch was killed by the same thing we saw today, right?”

“I don’t know,” Rafe says. “You know what they say about assuming.”

“Well then,” his wife chimes in, “is it safe to assume a wizard is behind the deaths?”

“Why couldn’t it just as easily be a witch?” I say. “Wouldn’t it make sense to deflect suspicion elsewhere by summoning an invunche to do your killing, knowing the magical community would pin it on a wizard?”

It’s quiet in the car for a moment while we all ponder the last statement.
 

Rafe clears his throat. “We haven’t discussed motive yet. What would be the reason to kill a homeless man? How did he hurt anyone?”

Vivian says, “Could he have witnessed something he shouldn’t have?”

We pull to a stop on a quiet street, a calico cat slinking down the sidewalk. “We’re here. Time to find Gwendolyn and see what the witch knows.” Rafe opens his door and steps out, leaving Vivian and me alone in the car for a moment.

I lean closer, my breath moving the long red hair by her ear. “You can get into their heads, can’t you?”

Vivian nods. “Yes. But I won’t risk it.”

“Why? Wouldn’t it make this interview go
a lot
faster?”

“And what if they have a charm to alert or block them to such manipulations? Beginning with force won’t garner any trust, and then they’d shut us out. We’d be back to square one.”

We exit the car and join the hulking man on the sidewalk. The streets are empty, leaves swirling in darkened doorways. “This place is like a ghost town, what gives?” I ask.

Vivian closes her eyes and breathes deeply. She looks like she’s concentrating, perhaps doing that thing she does in Alaska that allows her to connect with the resort and all the people on it. Think she calls it extending her consciousness.

We stand patiently beside her for a minute before Rafe breaks the silence. “Anything, darling?”

Vivian opens her eyes. “Nothing. I can sense life in all the buildings, but nothing beyond that. They could have protective wards in place we triggered with our arrival, or traps waiting behind every door. I didn’t feel a tingle like we did at the Tribunal, but their defenses could be different. I have no way of knowing.”

“Swell,” I say, taking point and striding to the first home. “How about I lead, so I take the brunt of damage if anything goes sideways?”

Neither of them complains or raises a disagreement, so I knock on the door. It opens instantly, as if the attractive young woman stood on the other side, waiting for us. Even at our late hour, she’s dressed in a long flowing dress, cinched at the waist. Her long brown hair is braided and drapes over one shoulder. I stifle my surprise at her quick answering of the door, and clear my throat, ready to launch into an introduction.
 

She jumps in before I have a chance. “My, my, my… a werewolf, a vampire, and a great big human… What a pleasant surprise,” she says in a voice that holds no surprise. She steps to the side and ushers us in. “Please, come in. Bart called and told me you were coming.”

I glance back at the deserted neighborhood, mouth open to question her about a promise of our safety in her home, when a firm hand shoves me between the shoulder blades, directing me to enter.

I shoot Rafe a dirty look as I step over the threshold. She should have said “big dumb human” instead.
 

The full-bodied woman snorts through her nose, my annoyed gaze meeting hers as she smothers her amusement. Once we’re all inside she closes and locks the door behind us, making me feel like I’m Hansel and I’ve just entered the witch’s home in the forest with my sister, Gretel. I shake off the macabre thought and try my best to look calm, cool, and collected. If I’m acting as the muscle in this trio, I should look it.
 

“So, master vampire. What brings you here with your mate and your werewolf? I don’t think I’ve ever had one such as yourself in my home before.”

“I thought you said Bart called you,” I say. “Wouldn’t he have told you why we were coming?”
 

“He was curt on the phone. Just told me to expect you.”

Vivian arches an eyebrow, her only physical reaction to the witch knowing exactly who we are. “Why don’t you tell me why we’re here?”

Interesting ploy. She’s using the witch’s knowledge against her to see what she has assumed or learned on her own, just by us being here.

“If I had to guess, I’d say it’s related to the vampire who was slain a few hours ago in the Tribunal’s neighborhood.”

Vivian answers with another question. “Would it only be the vampire’s death that concerned us?”

The witch looks surprised. “Why would your kind worry about Sophia’s death? We already cleared vampires as the possible murderer.”

“And who do you think killed her?”

“More accurately would be ‘what,’ but we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Please, come in and sit. Have some tea.”

She directs us to the dining room table in her cramped home—all the houses in this section of town being small—where we all take seats. Mugs already sit arranged on the tablecloth, a teapot in the center. I get a creepy vibe watching her pour the tea slowly into her cup. I have no intention of drinking anything this woman offers me, no matter what Vivian says.
 

It smells okay, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.

Vivian smiles at the witch’s show of hospitality. “We’re fine. But thank you for the offer.” She folds her hands on the table in front of her. “Tell us about the strange sightings.”

“Ahh… that’s what brought you here then. Nosey old wizard.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “They’re nothing. Just whisperings.”