Shifty Magic (5 page)

I turned my back on them and headed off. I
was anxious to get this farce over with so that I could tell Cooper
I wasn't interested. Working with him on another case was too risky
for my peace of mind. Weres were a tricky species where romance was
concerned. They were either the quick fun and games sort or the
serious commitment type, and I had a feeling Cooper fell into the
latter camp. Commitment was dangerous in my line of work.
Attachments made you vulnerable.

Nobody tried to stop me as I ducked under
the bright yellow crime scene tape and crossed into the damp
half-light of the space between the buildings. The narrow alley was
just like every other in the city; dirty, pungent with sour rotting
smells, and lined with several beat-up, rusty trash dumpsters.
Until I got to the last dumpster at the end of the alley, that is.
Then things got interesting.

A thick, steel rod had been wedged under its
lid. What looked like a naked male mummy hung upside down and
impaled through the stomach on the rod. The familiar buzz cut black
hair and shriveled tattoos covering its arms, chest and neck were
the only clues that the thing had been my biter.

I rubbed my left shoulder, remembering the
burning sting as his fangs had sunk into me. Even though the wound
had nearly healed thanks to the med pack, the memory would linger
on. Getting attacked by things that wanted to eat you tended to do
that.

I heard the light shuffle of footsteps at
the mouth of the alley and wasn't surprised when Cooper stopped
next to me a second later. The initial loud movement was a courtesy
a lot of Weres employed when out in the professional world. Nothing
got you a bad review like gliding up on your coworkers and giving
them heart failure.

He didn't need to bother. I always seemed to
know when he was within twenty feet of me—a secret I kept to
myself.

He nodded toward the body. "What do you
think?"

"Grim."

Cooper gave a bark of laughter. "That's an
understatement."

I bent down to examine the body and the area
around it more closely. A strange scent lingered, sweet and cloying
and vaguely familiar. Since "I smell something funny" wasn't
exactly what Cooper was looking for, I stowed the impression for
later and went with more concrete observations. "Looks like there
was an incantation circle around the body, but someone scrubbed it
out. What's that circle of white powder next to the dumpster?"

"No idea. We're taking some back to
analyze."

"His donor live in the fancy
apartments?"

"She claims he stopped in for a feeding plus
benefits about midnight last night. Records show he left just
before 11:30."

"The Church isn't going to like it that one
of them got himself killed in an alley."

"That's one of the reasons I requested you
on the case."

"Likely isn't the donor. She wouldn't be
strong enough. Blood around the steel bar and staining the skin
indicates that he wasn't dead when the murderer hung him up. That
wouldn't have killed him anyway. Neither would the slit throat. I
don't understand why he didn't fight back."

"I don't understand why he's naked," Cooper
said.

I peered at the tattoo on his neck. It
looked like a coat of arms—possibly a dragon holding a spear. Hard
to tell with the skin so emaciated. "I can't believe you thought I
could have done this."

"I'm required to pursue all avenues. Plus
you're surprisingly innovative for a human."

"Normally I'd be flattered, but this...." I
noted a few more things as my gaze continued to roam over the body.
"This is just gross."

I straightened up and took a step back, not
wanting to be near the remains any longer than I had to be. I'd
seen a few bodies in my time. Anyone living on the streets during
the attacks had, but not enough to get immune to the
unpleasantness.

"I've never encountered any single creature
strong enough to immobilize a freshly fed vampire," I commented.
"That's bad enough, but he's also been completely drained of his
blood with no sign of it around the body. He could have been killed
somewhere else, drained and brought here," I speculated.

"We searched a five mile radius. Nothing
turned up."

If a team of Weres plus a few talented
practitioners couldn't find the remnants of several pints of
paranormal blood, it didn't exist. "Then he must have been killed
here and the blood consumed or taken." A cold chill ran across my
neck. "I don't know who, or what, could have done that."

"But you have a theory."

"Two. And they're scary."

He waited patiently while I gathered
together the unpleasant thoughts rolling around in my brain. "One
possibility is a group of vampires have lost their minds and are
eating their own kind," I said.

"Unlikely, since the Church would be on
something like that faster than you could say 'damage
control'."

"The other possibility is an outlaw group of
practitioners."

Cooper tensed, his attention sharpening.
"Explain."

"Paranormal blood is a powerful boost to
certain types of magic. The darker the magic, the darker the blood
needed and vampire blood is about as tainted as you can get.
Because of the type of extra DNA in it, the blood also doesn't
break down as quickly as other types and works well for long,
elaborate spells."

"Tell me how you know this," he said in a
steady, quiet tone that implied he'd just realized he was standing
next to a ticking nuclear bomb.

I gave him a disgusted look. The FBI
probably had a required test so they could hire the most suspicious
minds on the planet. "One of my foster mothers was a practitioner,
and not the 'do no harm' kind. I found her stash of black magic
grimoires, picked the lock on her spell room and reported her."

His expression cleared as if this
information unexpectedly explained a lot. "Don't tell me, let me
guess. She laid a smart ass curse on you when she found out who
blew the whistle."

"Ha, ha. She blamed her husband." A smile
lifted my mouth. "He had a history of cheating on her, and this was
apparently the last straw. Making certain parts of him shrivel up
and fall off was satisfying poetic justice in her mind."

Cooper stared at me for a moment and then
shook his head. "Thanks for the mental image. Besides that, what
other kind of ugly spell needs para blood to work?"

"Animating the dead—very difficult, I
hear—unusually powerful curses, magical enhancement of
weapons...the usual unpleasantness. Nothing I want to be involved
with." Dealing with magic of any kind was a tricky business. Black
magic also had the lovely side effect of corrupting and
deteriorating your soul—literally.

"Are you saying our murderer is a zombie
practitioner with a cursed knife?" Cooper asked, amusement edging
his voice.

"I'm saying you have your work cut out for
you." I moved past him and started down the alley. The vamps would
be arriving soon to claim the body, and I didn't want to be around
when they did.

Cooper caught up to me without a lot of
effort and blocked my way. His eyes flashed with frustration as he
stared down at me. "That's it?"

"Spying on wayward husbands and finding lost
pets are starting to look like the path to longevity to me."

A frown pulled down his mouth and brow. "I
was hoping you'd comply without coercion."

I gritted my teeth, an uneasy anger twisting
a knot in the pit of my stomach. "You can't force me to work for
the FBI."

"What I said about the Church wanting you on
the case?" Deep in his silver-green eyes a predatory light flared.
"I lied."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"They believe this is a revenge killing.
Guess who this guy attacked last night? Until the real murderer is
found, the High Church holds you accountable for the killing. You
have to take the case."

A surge of alarm gripped me. "This is coming
from that Bellmonte jerk, isn't it?"

"As the Charlotte territory
Regent, yes,
Lord
Bellmonte clarified their position." Cooper's brows drew
together. "Even I won't be able to protect you if you refuse to
help."

"He doesn't actually believe I killed this
scum renegade. He wouldn't really care if I had, since he would
have done it anyway. He's just using this as an excuse to get
control of me." My worry receded as fury boiled up into my
chest.

"You threw his money back in his face,
Addie. There are going to be consequences."

I clenched my fists.

Sympathy flashed across his handsome
features. "At least what I said about them liking you was true,
which is why you're standing here and not on a slab in the morgue.
Unfortunately, vamp favor is a mixed party."

I stomped away from him and then back,
trying to get control of the helplessness and fear rolling through
me, tangling with my anger. "Effing great. Fine, I'm on the blasted
case. But I won't work for the FBI, do you understand?" I jabbed a
finger at his chest. "You work for me."

A smile twitched along his mouth, breaking
through the worry. "You have a good imagination, baby."

I returned his amusement with a cold smile.
I didn't need the help of the FBI, and I didn't need him. I didn't
need any of this crap, but it looked like I was stuck with it.
"Good luck, Agent Daine. Don't get in my way."

I stalked past him and out of the alley
feeling like steam was about to come out of my ears. For once, he
showed some intelligence and didn't try to stop me.

* * *

By the time I'd looked quickly over Jim's copy of
the FBI report and walked up the three flights of stairs to the
donor's apartment, my temper had cooled off. Okay, it hadn't, I was
still furious at Cooper for his condescending,
I'm-superior-and-you-should-do-what-you're-told attitude, but at
this point I was able to keep my abundance of feelings to
myself.

I added pity to that bucket when the door of
apartment 303 opened and a pretty, frightened looking African
American woman peeped through the three-inch gap allowed by the
chain. That amused me. Who did she think that dinky little chain
lock was going to protect her from these days?

Marla Beaufort, nineteen, five-four and one
hundred and twenty pounds took in the gun strapped to my right
thigh, my serviceable black logger boots, worn jeans, black tank
top, and the purple mess of bruising seeping out from the fresh med
pack slapped on my upper arm. Her wide brown eyes got even
bigger.

"I'm with the investigation," I said before
she could shut the door.

She hesitated. "I already spoke with that
awful orange-haired woman. I have nothing more to say."

"I'm not part of that investigation. This is
private."

"Where's your ID?"

I flashed her a smile of approval, glad she
still had some level of self-preservation functioning. I held up my
hands and then slowly unclipped my old iC from the other side of my
belt. After thumbing in the code, I showed her my license on the
screen.

Uncertainty clouded her eyes. "You're a
bounty hunter?"

"Occasionally. Today I'm a private
investigator."

Her gaze darted back to my gun, then my
eyes, and finally settled on my wounded arm. "Who did that?"

From the wariness in her expression I knew
she had a pretty good idea what my answer was going to be. By her
own admission to the feds, she'd been the vamp's donor for over a
year and there was a long record of hospital visits to prove it.
I'd also noticed the discoloration across her collar bone that the
scarf wrapped around her throat didn't quite hide.

Having something in common helped to build
trust with a witness...as long as she didn't feel obligated to
protect her dead lover. I took a gamble. "Your boyfriend bit
me."

Her expression turned troubled.

"It wasn't consensual," I pressed.

"I'm sorry," she said in a frail, hesitant
voice.

"Can I come in, Ms. Beaufort? The lady in
300 just cracked her door open to listen."

She studied me a moment longer. "Maybe you'd
better."

Marla closed the door and after some
rattling around, opened it again. Stepping back, she made room for
me to enter.

The generic white walls and beige carpet of
her apartment had been brightened by the presence of a periwinkle
colored couch with orange and pink throw pillows and a dark pink
overstuffed chair. Sliding glass doors that led onto a small
balcony cheered up the space even more and splashed light across
the breakfast nook and kitchen at the other end of the room. Dark
pink placemats on the table and a smattering of small appliances of
the same color kept everything pulled together, even to my
un-artistic eye.

Like the woman, the room was neat and
orderly except for the blood stain on the carpet next to the couch.
It looked like Marla had made several attempts to clean it up but
only succeeded in grinding the evidence of her violent lifestyle
deeper into the synthetic fibers.

"Two tablespoons ammonia, four cups cold
water," I said, nodding to the stain as I settled into the
overstuffed chair. "Blot, don't scrub. Takes it right out."

Giving a pained half smile, she drifted down
to the edge of the sofa, sitting as far from the blood stain as she
could. "You know how he could be."

"Not really. That's why I wanted to see
you."

An alarmed wariness skated across her exotic
features.

"The Church wants me to find out who killed
him," I said, keeping my voice soft and steady like I did when
dealing with frightened children. "You told the police that you
never knew his real name, that he used something different whenever
he came into town. I don't believe that's true."

Her fingers gripped the ends of her scarf,
weaving through the purple and turquoise fringe at the ends of the
material. She stared at the floor. "It's not important now."