Banshee Charmer (Files from the Otherworlder Enforcement Agency, #1) Read online

  I pulled Amanda’s picture from my pocket. “Have you seen this woman? She would have been in here Monday night…probably not alone.”

  He glanced at the picture. “I wasn’t in Monday; you’ll have to talk to my daughter.”

  “Is she here?”

  “Not ‘til three or so.”

  “We’re going to need you to call her and ask her to come in early,” Aidan said from behind me.

  The bar owner snorted. “That girl don’t come in early for no reason.”

  I took a step toward him and looked at his face, giving him my best cop stare: hard eyes and a no-nonsense line set on my mouth. “She’ll make an exception today.” Or I would go knock on her door and haul her here.

  “Fine,” he said. “Don’t mind dragging her out of bed early anyhow.”

  Aidan turned to me as the bar owner went to call the girl. “I’m going to go, check with my sources. Call me if you need anything. Otherwise I’ll track you down later.”

  “Fine by me.”

  He gripped my shoulders and I started. He leaned in and I stopped breathing. But he bypassed my mouth, his rough cheek touching mine as he moved. Lips a hairbreadth from my ear, he whispered, “You will call me, right? If you get a lead, don’t go after this guy alone.”

  I nodded, unable to think of a suitable reply. After one final squeeze of my arms, he left.

  Nearly an hour ticked by before the manager’s daughter showed up. A long hour where I was left with nothing to do but remember the pressure of Aidan’s hands on my arms, and the roughness of his cheeks sliding against mine. By then I was ready to strangle the girl, but willing to overlook her attitude if she had information for me. She was shorter than me, which was an accomplishment all its own. A pretty thing, she had blond hair that dangled nearly to her waist with bangs that hung into her eyes. I couldn’t begin to describe the ways such a haircut would annoy me.

  “Ms. Lawson?”

  “I’m Kimmy,” she said. Her pert nose stuck up in the air, like she thought she was doing me a favor by deigning to talk to me.

  I handed her the picture of Amanda. “Do you remember seeing her here on Monday night?”

  She stared at the picture for a few seconds, and her eyes widened. “Oh yes, I remember her. She was here with the hottie.” She smirked. “Guy was quite a catch, but he sure had straying on his mind, if you know what I mean.”

  I mentally congratulated my gut. The killer was a man—so almost definitely an incubus. “Explain it to me.”

  “Well she was all over him, hanging on his every word, you know? But every time she’d go to the bathroom, he was all over me. Talking to me, flirting with me, looking at me with those eyes.” Kimmy sighed, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

  “Can you describe him?”

  “Oh, he was hot. Dark hair, dark blue eyes. The bluest eyes you’ve ever seen,” she said, with a dreamy look.

  “How tall?”

  “He was pretty tall, maybe six feet.”

  My stomach tensed and my thoughts turned to Aidan. Dark blue eyes, tall? But, no. He was OWEA.

  But he wouldn’t be the first cop in history to turn bad.

  “Scars or tattoos? Any other features you can remember?” I said, keeping my voice as even as I could manage.

  “No scars or tats that I could see…though I wouldn’t have minded a closer look, if you know what I mean.” She grinned. “Normally, I don’t dig long hair on a guy, but he pulled it off.”

  “His hair was long?”

  “Maybe as long as mine, pulled back in a ponytail against his neck.”

  I remembered to breathe. That didn’t match Aidan. His hair was long around his face, but nothing like the hair she’d described on Amanda’s date. He might have worn a wig, but he didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who’d be caught dead in one. The eyes matched, but he wasn’t the only guy in the world with nice eyes.

  “Have you ever seen him in here before?” I kept my voice steady. Goody for me.

  “Oh yeah, one other time. He had a different date then, not as flashy as the one on Monday. A player, that guy is, but I’d play with him any day of the week.” The dreamy expression was back. The incubus was good, I’d give him that.

  Kimmy followed me to my Toyota, where I showed her a picture of the first victim.

  “Could be her, I guess.” She shrugged. “Honestly she was such a wallflower I don’t remember.”

  I quizzed Kimmy for the better part of the next hour, and then let her get to work with instructions to call me immediately if the man showed his face in the bar again. She promised to call, but only after I told her that the women in the pictures were dead, and the handsome stranger may have killed them.

  …

  I drove to Amanda’s house next, telling myself I should take a quick look around the scene to make sure the investigators hadn’t missed anything. I parked a street over from hers and walked to the house, sneaking into the backyard. Feeling a bit of déjà vu, I slid my driver’s license between her doorknob and frame and let myself in.

  Her kitchen was in a worse state than she’d left it. The police had dusted for prints and searched for evidence, leaving a mess of fingerprint powder and rifled cupboards in their wake. Amanda would be pissed to see her home this way.

  Keeping my breathing steady, I walked through her house and tried to picture what had happened to her. We’d found the incubus’s second victim on Sunday night, and Amanda was killed Monday night. The murderer liked to play with his victims for a period of time before actually killing them, but Amanda didn’t act like she was under anyone’s influence but her own only a night before her death. And she’d sounded tired in the voice mail she left me, not thralled.

  I frowned and walked into her bedroom. The comforter was still indented where her body had waited to be discovered for over twelve hours after her death. Touching the comforter where her neck had lain, her head hanging over to stare at the bedroom door, I wished there was someone else I could talk to about the case. But I had no friends to speak of, outside of Amanda and my other coworkers, and my father and stepmother didn’t like to hear anything about my work. They had made that abundantly clear over the years.

  I replayed in my mind the last time I’d seen Amanda, searching for a clue that would suggest she was already under the incubus’s influence. But she didn’t have any of the signs. No dreamy expression, no distracted mannerisms, no talk of a beautiful man and his dark blue eyes. She handled the crime scene with her normal efficiency and solidity, even thinking quickly enough to snag the bit of hair from the victim to run a spell tracer on. Could I have missed a subtle hint?

  The spell tracer. I pulled Amanda’s file from my bag and glanced through the evidence list. No mention of a bit of hair that didn’t belong to Amanda. No evidence baggy. That would have certainly been recorded. Her spell kit was listed, and there was nothing obvious missing from it. Suddenly, I wished I had a better understanding of witchcraft.

  Was the hair already gone because she’d used it? Had she traced the bastard down to his den?

  “Did you confront him without me?” I whispered.

  I hissed. It fit. That’s why he’d selected a cop—an otherworlder with the ability to defend herself both with her witchcraft and the power of the law. Not to mention her sidearm. She didn’t fit his victim profile, or his modus operandi. He killed her because he had to. Because she found his ass and was going to bring him in.

  It was fast, too. I went through the timeline in my head. Sunday night, we met at the second victim’s house, where Amanda took the sample of her hair. Monday morning, I’d gone to the Medical Examiner’s and talked to Marisol, while Amanda prepped her tracking spell. Monday at lunchtime, Amanda stood me up for lunch—she was on his trail by then. Monday afternoon, I interviewed the second victi
m’s boyfriend, Jason, while Amanda ate a late lunch. Sometime between my lunch at The Grill House and Amanda’s, she’d caught up to the incubus and he’d enthralled her. Monday evening, Amanda met back up with the incubus at Sylvester’s. She took him home, made dinner for him.

  The image of the two plates floated back into my mind. One practically licked clean, the other only partially finished. Amanda was usually a good eater—the late lunch, of course. She’d made the meal for him. She wasn’t hungry. Then he’d taken her in her room. Drained her dry while she probably begged him for more.

  My stomach heaved, and I ran for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I vomited. I rinsed out my mouth in her sink and dried my eyes. The bastard was going to pay for reducing her to something that couldn’t think for herself. For using her like a battery to recharge himself. For taking away my friend.

  I grabbed her hairbrush from the bathroom drawer and walked back to the kitchen. I wasn’t technically stealing evidence from a crime scene. Not an active one, anyway. The police had been here and left, and I needed something that was closely connected to Amanda. I was no expert on spell ingredients, but objects didn’t get much more personal than DNA. I shoved the file back into my bag and tucked the brush into a side pocket. Giving the room a last glance, I headed for the door.

  …

  After some cursing, a bit of luck, and a few trips around the block, I found a parking spot in front of the downtown high-rise where Natalie Leigh’s office was located. The property reeked of money, and the lobby had that new building smell to it—fresh paint and new carpet. The building looked newer than some, but not that new. I gave the receptionist a quick nod, but couldn’t force a polite smile onto my face. “Natalie Leigh’s office?”

  “Identification, please.” Her voice was nasally, and her nose was red. Despite her obvious cold, she kept her fake, perky smile in place.

  I grimaced and pulled my badge out and flashed it at her. One advantage of being an otherworlder was immunity to most human diseases. But it didn’t make being around normals with a runny nose any less disgusting.

  She gestured toward the elevators. “Fourteenth floor. As you exit the elevator, turn right. Her office is all the way at the end of the hall.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered, and headed for the elevator. The receptionist picked up her phone, no doubt to warn Natalie of my impending arrival.

  My cell started ringing while I waited for the elevator to arrive. I flipped it open and put it to my ear. “Confirmed with the bar owner’s daughter that we’re looking for a man. That’ll teach you to doubt my gut,” I said without preamble.

  Aidan whistled. “Nice info to have. Get anything else?”

  “I’m working on something now. You got any info for me?”

  “Not much. Just that we can’t find anyone staying at hotels near Sylvester’s that matches what we’re looking for. No one who’s been there for several weeks. No one acting suspiciously.”

  The elevator dinged. “Look, let’s talk later. I gotta go.”

  The fourteenth floor was as nicely decorated as the first, with matching sconces on the walls and the same dark and light green carpets swirled together to form geometric designs. But this floor lacked the scent of new paint. Instead, it smelled of upholstery and carpet and computers—like most offices.

  As the receptionist said, the etched glass door at the end of the hallway had Natalie Leigh’s name inscribed on it, with one word below her name to denote her occupation.

  Witch.

  I opened the door and slipped through. I expected to see another receptionist, but there was only a waiting room equipped with padded chairs and small stands holding old People and Time magazines.

  The door at the other end of the room stood open, and as I took a step toward it, a voice called out.

  “Come in, Detective.”

  The woman behind the cherry desk didn’t look like a formidable witch. She especially didn’t look worth the undoubtedly astounding rate she charged the police department for her services.

  Witches—real witches—weren’t cheap.

  Not that Amanda hadn’t been a real witch. She could hold her own. But amateur witches like Amanda were self-taught. Covenant witches were trained since birth, pledged to their particular branch of magic, and raised from bloodlines that could be traced back into prehistory. They were as inhuman as I was—or more.

  The witch’s short, dark hair gave her a tomboyish appearance, but her face was pretty and heart-shaped, delicate. No one would mistake her for a man, even if her frame hadn’t been so slight. Her light green eyes stood out in stark contrast to her dark hair and golden skin, making her gaze almost startling. She stood behind the desk and held out her hand to me. As we shook, I took in the rest of her. She stood even shorter than me—maybe five feet tall—and she wore an expensive-looking green blouse and black slacks. The blouse, I noticed, matched her eyes. Not to mention the carpet.

  “I’m Natalie Leigh. Please call me Natalie. Detective, how can I help the police department today?” Her voice was soft and lilting. I would have bet the witch could sing.

  “I’m Detective Kiera McLoughlin. I need your help finding a killer.”

  She narrowed her eyes. Cute or no, the witch was no fool. “I haven’t received any paperwork. No notification you were coming.” She grinned, and the expression was almost feral. “No check.”

  I gritted my teeth and concentrated on not pulling my gun. “Well, you wouldn’t have. I’m hiring you myself, outside of the department.” I hesitated, but something told me that she would know if I lied. “My partner was recently killed, and I’ve been taken off the case. The PD won’t hire you except as a last resort, because you’re too damn expensive. Her killer may be gone by then.”

  Natalie leaned back in her chair and watched me. I stifled the urge to tap my foot or play with my fingernails, or something equally annoying, and watched her right back.

  “As you said, Detective, I’m damn expensive. And locator spells are particularly pricey.” She waved a hand in the air. “Rare ingredients, you understand. You are prepared to pay my fee?”

  “Yes,” I said through my clenched jaw.

  “Fine, I think you’re good for it. Did you bring something of the victim’s? Or even better, an item belonging to the killer?”

  I snorted. “Yeah, like I’d be coming to your expensive ass if I had something of his.”

  Natalie laughed, a musical sound, and only the knowledge of how much she was going to deplete my savings account dispelled her charm. Locator spells were much easier if you had an item owned by the person you searched for. Any amateur witch would have been able to pull that off. Trying to find them with something that was only secondarily connected to the target of the spell—like an item from someone they killed—required talent.

  And my brave partner had tried it without a second thought.

  The hairbrush was still in the side pocket I’d pushed it into. The pocket was one I didn’t use much so there was little chance of the space having anything of mine inside to mess up the energy or whatever witches used that would connect the hair in the brush with its owner. I set it gingerly on the desk and watched Natalie expectantly.

  “How long since she used this?”

  “Couldn’t be more than a couple of days.”

  “Good. Follow me and bring it with you, please.”

  Natalie led the way through the door in the side of her office that I’d mistaken for a bathroom when I’d first walked in. It led to a short hallway, with a bathroom on one side and a closed door on the other. By the size of the door I guessed it led to a closet. At the end of the hall was another room, this one even bigger than her office. Shelves lined the room, covering more than half of the walls. Where the shelves were absent, complicated glyphs could be seen, each intricately drawn.
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  Her casting room.

  The circle appeared to be etched into the floor rather than just painted on. Some of the glyphs brushed on the walls were white, the others red. I grimaced at the red ones. In the poor lighting they looked like they’d been drawn in blood.

  “It’s not blood,” Natalie said, voice full of amusement. “It’s not regular paint either, but I promise it’s all plant based.”

  She hummed while she pulled ingredients off the shelves and started painting a symbol in the center of the circle. Her soft voice barely carried to me, and I wondered if she even knew she hummed.

  “Okay then.” She stepped back from the symbol she’d been drawing and turned to me. “I need you to tell me everything you know about the person we’re looking for. Is he human? Otherworlder?”

  “Otherworlder.”

  “What kind?”

  I hesitated. Telling her he was probably an incubus might get me booted from her office. At the very least she wasn’t likely to take me seriously. “We don’t know for sure. Something that can kill without leaving marks.” That at least, was the truth.

  “So not a vampire then? Could he be a witch?”

  I just stared at her for a moment. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that the killer was a witch. I was pretty sure that only a Covenant witch would be capable of killing someone with magic, especially by draining their psychic energy. And Covenant witches were rare—not as rare as a species that by most accounts was extinct—but still rare. And ones with the power to kill without leaving a trace? They must be rarer still. A brief image of Natalie standing over Amanda’s prone body flashed in my mind. No. The witch could have done it—maybe. But she struck me as too smart to kill in her own backyard. “Not a vamp for sure,” I said. “What are the odds that a witch powerful enough to kill several women without making a mark got under whatever radar you guys have on the city?”