Born in Blood (The Sentinels) (14 page)

Did the man ever relax?

The Mave settled behind her desk, waving a hand to the two chairs opposite her. “Have a seat.”

A command despite the polite tone. Duncan waited for Callie to perch on the nearest chair before taking his own seat, bracing himself for the latest disaster.

“Has something happened?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

The Mave wasn’t the type to invite people into her office for chitchat.

“I received a message from your chief this morning,” the powerful witch said in tones that revealed nothing.

Duncan frowned. Why hadn’t Molinari contacted him directly?

“What did she say?”

“I think you should view it for yourself.” The Mave reached to pick up a remote lying on her desk and pressed a button.

Immediately the light dimmed and flickering images appeared on the far wall.

At first there was nothing to see but the dim shadows that filled an empty house.

No, not a house.

A mansion.

One of those cold, sprawling places that looked beautiful in photographs, but had to be as uncomfortable as hell to try and live in.

So what was the deal? A big house with a lot of fancy artwork wasn’t that uncommon, even in Kansas City.

About to demand an explanation, he was halted when the security system shifted to a camera displaying the front yard, obviously set on motion detectors.

Duncan sucked in a sharp breath as he watched a woman with long chestnut hair and a slender build boldly striding onto the porch.

She was no longer naked and she was standing upright instead of being sprawled on her kitchen floor, but there was no mistaking that it was Leah Meadows.

“Is that . . .” He shuddered, the name sticking in his throat. He’d heard a hundred victims tell him that their blood ran cold. Until this minute he’d never actually experienced it for himself. “Holy shit.”

“Leah,” Callie breathed for him, her hands clutching the arms of her chair.

He resisted the urge to reach out and lay his hand over her clenched fingers. “Where is she?” he instead demanded.

“Mission Hills.”

That explained the McMansion. The upscale neighborhood was south of the city and populated with the swankiest of the swanky.

Callie leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she studied Leah placing her hand on a small screen.

“What’s she doing?”

“Disarming the security system,” Duncan absently responded, almost missing the significance as she turned to push open the door and stepped inside the house. Through a fog of horror he watched as the young, beautiful girl walked around as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Christ. Was it possible she was an empty shell being used as a puppet by some psycho necromancer? “That’s it.”

The Mave sent him a small frown. “What?”

“That’s the reason the ...” He struggled for the right word. The bastard wasn’t a diviner like Callie. He was the bogeyman the norms feared. “Necromancer chose Leah.”

“Of course,” Callie gasped as she easily followed his logic. “She could pass through security.”

The Mave nodded, her expression unreadable as they all turned back to the images flickering on the wall. The camera angle shifted to follow Leah as she moved through the house, her movements chillingly fluid considering she was a corpse. She was walking across a long living room when another form, this one a male, entered the room.

“Busted.” Duncan unconsciously leaned forward, taking a swift inventory of the newest player. An aging white male who moved toward Leah like a peacock. Puffed out chest, strutting walk. All he was missing was tail feathers to spread. Pompous dick. “This should be interesting.”

They watched in silence as there was an exchange. There was no sound, but they didn’t need to hear the conversation to know that the man wasn’t happy. At least not at first. There was a short tête-à-tête, then clearly reassured, the man was shoving his hand under Leah’s stretchy little top.

“A little too interesting,” Callie said with a grimace.

“Keep watching,” the Mave coolly commanded.

The zombie-Leah flirted with a disturbing ease before she turned to dash into what looked like an office. There was more flirting. But, even as Duncan felt a burning fury at the thought the mysterious necromancer was going to allow the ultimate defamation of Leah’s body, the young female was moving to stand directly in front of her lover, her necklace beginning to glow.

“What is that?” he muttered.

The words had barely left his mouth when the man jerked backward in shock, his skin ripping open like it was being torn from the inside.

“An amulet with a powerful spell,” the Mave answered.

“This is . . .” Duncan shoved his hand through his hair, his stomach threatening revolt as the man turned gray and began to flake away like a smoked cigar. “Fucking crazy,” he breathed. “Men don’t turn into ash. And dead women aren’t supposed to be walking around town.”

“No, they’re not,” the Mave said, her voice crystal hard with an anger she kept hidden behind her mask of smooth composure. “Which is why we’re going to put a halt to whoever is responsible.”

Yes. Yes he was.

Being a stubborn ass who refused to admit he was in over his head was actually a bonus in his job.

“Who’s the decomposed corpse?”

“A Mr. Calso.”

Duncan frowned. The name was vaguely familiar.

“A high-blood?”

“What’s left of him is being brought to our medical facility,” the Mave said. “We’ll soon know.”

Duncan glanced toward the witch in surprise. “The chief signed off on you taking the remains?”

The Mave shrugged. “Mr. Calso is a prominent figure in the norms’ financial world. She didn’t want to risk the PR disaster of having what’s left of his body disappearing from her morgue.”

Duncan snorted. “Yeah, not to mention the hysteria if a man who is supposed to be dead is seen at the country club.”

“I don’t think he’ll be walking anywhere, but yes, that was a concern,” the woman smoothly agreed.

“What is she stealing?”

Callie’s abrupt question had Duncan returning his attention to watch as Leah turned a stone vessel upside down and allowed a small metal object to fall into her open palm. Copper? Bronze? Impossible to say at a distance.

“A good question,” he muttered. “It looks like a coin.”

“It was locked in a hidden safe so it must be rare,” Callie pointed out.

“Maybe,” Duncan agreed. “But so is the Picasso hiding the safe and the Matisse statue on the mantel.” He pointed toward the small bronzed statue of a woman, belatedly realizing that three sets of eyes were regarding him with varying degrees of astonishment. “What? I’m not a complete barbarian. I like art.”

“What’s your point, Sergeant O’Conner?” the Mave prodded.

“The robbery wasn’t about money. Could the coin have powers?”

“Any item can be a focus for magic,” the Mave answered. “But if you desired true power it surely makes more sense to steal a witch.”

Duncan blinked. “Can a witch be stolen?”

“Can the dead walk?” the Mave smoothly countered.

“Touché.” Duncan’s lips twitched. The Mave had a subtle sense of humor. Unexpected and no doubt lethal to the poor fool who ever thought he could claim this woman. “And speaking of the dead, did anyone notice Leah after she left the house?”

“That’s your territory,” she informed him without hesitation.

“I suppose it is.” He pulled out his phone to start making notes. What made him a good cop were his instincts and his hidden talent. What made him a great cop was his acceptance that ninety percent of his job was dull, old-fashioned legwork. “We’ll need to canvas the neighborhood to see if anyone noticed how she arrived or left. We also need to find out more about Calso and his mysterious coin.”

“Your chief said to tell you she would meet you at Mr. Calso’s house,” the Mave said, pressing a button to allow the early morning sunlight to return to the room.

Duncan turned to glance toward Callie. “Are you going to join me?”

“Not yet.” She furrowed her brow, clearly debating how she could best use her talents to help. “I think I should try to discover the identity of the necromancer.”

His lips parted in denial only to snap shut as he met the glittering sapphire gaze.

She was clearly waiting for him to make a jackass out of himself and try to forbid her to put herself at risk. Maybe she even wanted him to annoy her so she’d have a legitimate reason to keep him at a distance.

Thankfully, he hadn’t been plagued by a gaggle of older sisters for nothing.

Swallowing his impulsive words, he managed a tight smile. “Where will you start your search?”

“Russia,” Fane announced from the corner.

Zak had time to shower and return to the main part of the house when Tony returned with Leah’s body and the coin.

Not surprising, the henchman was barely functioning, his human brain unable to process what he’d witnessed. That, of course, didn’t keep Zak from sending him off to dispose of Leah’s body. What did it matter where he took the corpse, just so long as it was far enough that it couldn’t be traced back to this house?

Now he sat in his office and studied the tiny object that he’d waited three hundred years to hold in his hand.

It didn’t look like it could offer him the power he’d been promised. Less than two inches in diameter, it was paper thin and tarnished to a blue green. It might have been mistaken for a piece of trash if not for the odd, winged bird etched into the metal.

Rubbing his finger over the ancient artifact, Zak felt the gnawing sensation in the dark pit of his heart.

It was a familiar ache.

It had started when he was barely five and he’d realized that his brothers were destined to become his father’s heirs while he was doomed to a suffocating existence in the middle of fucking nowhere, surrounded by superstitious serfs who’d taken one glance at his peculiar eyes and claimed his mother had slept with a demon.

Ignorant peasants.

Boris and Viktor had been easy enough to get rid of. The two had been ruthless bullies to Zak, but they’d also been as dumb as a box of rocks. And once Zak had started to come into his powers, it’d only been a matter of time before he could put them in their graves.

Boris had been disposed of by the simple process of having his dead lover make an appearance in the woods. The fool had tumbled from his horse in shock and broke his own neck. Viktor had been a little more difficult, but eventually Zak had stumbled across the body of a recently shot poacher whom he used to pull Viktor from the stables and snap his neck.

It had never occurred to him that his father would refuse to make him his heir. He was, after all, the only remaining son.

But the bastard had coldly informed Zak that he’d never allow a deformed brat to claim his title.

This time Zak had taken matters into his own hands, quite literally, strangling his father and hiding his body. Hours later he’d used his powers to ensure his father appeared long enough to formally proclaim Zak as his heir before he allowed his father’s dead body to tumble to the floor.

From there he’d traveled to Saint Petersburg, confident he’d at last satisfy that sense of emptiness.

Instead he’d been consumed with fury as the nobles had treated him with the same contempt as his father. He’d managed to forge a place for himself at court with sheer cunning, but it hadn’t been enough.

And then he’d met Anya, who’d revealed to him the power to make certain he’d never again be treated as anything less than a king.

As if the thought of Anya had conjured the witch, she stepped into the office and crossed to where he sat behind his desk. “You have the coin?”

“At last,” he confirmed, his fingers continuing to stroke over the copper coin.

Anya leaned against the edge of the desk, her slender form barely covered by the microdress that was a brilliant shade of yellow.

Why she bothered to play the role of sex kitten defied logic. He never wasted his time or energy on a project unless it promised reward.

And any reward he’d gain by taking the witch to his bed had already been reaped.

“The female?” she demanded, placing her hand flat on the desk and leaning sideways to study the artifact in his fingers.

Zak shrugged. “Tony’s disposing the body.”

Anya wrinkled her nose. “The servant has seen more than is good for him.”

“He still has his uses.”

She reached a hand toward the coin. “May I?”

Zak smoothly rose to his feet and stepped away. “No.”

Her face flushed at his uncompromising rejection. “You can’t be afraid that I might try to steal it?” She gave a short, humorless laugh. “We need one another.”

“Certainly you need me.”

She muttered something beneath her breath as she pushed away from the desk and headed for the door. “Fine.”

“Where are you going?”

She halted, glancing over her shoulder. “It’s time for my pedicure.”

“It will have to wait.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I want you to take me to the temple.”

The witch froze, her expression wary. “Now?”

“Yes.”

“But . . .” She shook her head, licking her dry lips. “I haven’t prepared the sacrifice.”

He held up the coin. “Then get prepared.”

She slowly turned back to face him, her movements wary, as if she feared his response.

Smart witch.

“And what about you? Are you fully prepared?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have convinced yourself that you’re destined to succeed, but have you considered the consequences of failure?” she muttered in defensive tones. “We can’t be sure that using a surrogate will protect you.”

He smiled with a cold arrogance. “Don’t worry about me, witch. Take me to the temple and I’ll become nothing less than a god.”

Her eyes flashed with fear. “You should at least consider the danger.”

“I would be flattered if I truly thought you cared, Anya,” he mocked. “But we both know your only concern is losing your luxurious lifestyle.” He carefully plucked a bit of lint off the sleeve of his white satin shirt before lifting his gaze to stab her with a lethal glare. “Or at least that had better be the only reason you hesitate.”

Anya wrapped her arms around her waist. “Sometimes you frightened me.”

He arched a brow. “Only sometimes?”

 

 

After being returned to Kansas City by Fane and his magical portal, Duncan made a brief stop by his apartment for clean clothes before heading to the station house to speak with the techy who was dissecting Calso’s security tapes. He forced the poor bastard to go frame by tedious frame until Duncan had the information he needed.

Only then did he head south of town to the mansion that was now a crime scene.

Parking a block away, Duncan blatantly trespassed through private yards to enter through the back terrace doors. A death in this neighborhood would bring out the vultures in hordes. He didn’t want to have to shoot paparazzi. No matter how satisfying it might be.

Entering the kitchen, he was met by a rookie who looked impossibly young with his face flushed and his pale eyes shimmering with excitement.

Christ. Had he ever been that wide eyed and fresh faced?

Probably not. By the time he was four his special little talent had revealed just how often a face of an angel could disguise a soul as black as the pits of hell.

“You had the entire neighborhood canvassed?”

The young man squared his shoulders, his uniform perfectly pressed and his shoes shining.

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“And?”

“And nothing was seen except a silver Taurus parked a block south of here,” a female voice answered as Molinari stepped into the kitchen.

A small woman in her early fifties, the chief of police didn’t have the muscles or the bluster to intimidate others, but there wasn’t a cop in the city who didn’t quake beneath the dark gaze.

There was something in that glare that reminded him of the day he was busted by his ma for hiding a stash of
Playboys
beneath his mattress.

“Any one jot down the plates?”

Molinari shook her head, the dark hair that was dyed, sprayed, and pinned into a bun at her nape not moving an inch. Her tailored jacket and matching skirt were equally rigid as she stood in the doorway. “No.”

“Of course not.” Duncan rolled his eyes. “I can’t sneeze in my apartment without old lady Rogers asking if I’m coming down with a cold. Where are the nosy neighbors when you need them?”

“Nosy neighbors aren’t allowed in the communities where power brokers live,” the chief said, her dark gaze flicking toward the backyard, which was as large as a football field. “They have too many secrets.”

“So what were Mr. Calso’s secrets?”

Molinari lifted a slender hand. “Follow me, O’Conner.” She glanced toward the silent rookie. “Blackwell.”

The cop audibly swallowed the lump in his throat. “Chief?”

“Make sure we’re not interrupted.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Duncan followed Molinari through the house to the office where Calso had died. He smiled as he caught a glimpse through the windows at the dozen cops who surrounded the house, keeping the gathering jackals at bay.

“Trying to keep a lid on things?”

The woman moved toward the desk, making a wide path around the spot where Calso had . . . disintegrated.

Duncan didn’t blame her. The memory of watching the body turn to ash was something that was going to haunt him for a long time.

“When it gets out that one of the richest men in Kansas City was killed by magic all hell’s going to break loose,” Molinari muttered, reaching to pluck a manila file off the desk.

“You left out the fact that the person casting the spell was a zombie who escaped from our own morgue.”

That dark glare swiveled in his direction. “I’ve already named my first ulcer Mayor Stanford. Do you want me to name the next one O’Conner?”

“I’ll pass.”

“This whole damned thing is a nightmare just waiting to happen.”

Just waiting to happen?

Duncan was fairly certain they were knee-deep in the nightmare.

“You can’t keep this from the press for long,” he said, waving a hand toward the window that revealed the line of news vans already blocking the street. “Not with such a high profile victim.”

“Instead of stating the obvious, why don’t you make yourself useful and assure me the freaks know who’s doing this.”

Duncan moved, studying the open safe, effectively hiding his expression. He was loyal to his job and to his chief, but he’d go to the grave protecting Callie and her connection to the case.

“Like us, they’re following leads,” he said, absently noting the stack of crisp thousand-dollar bills just begging to be taken.

Whatever the reason for Calso’s death, it had nothing to do with money.

“And?” Molinari prompted.

“And that’s all I know.”

“You wouldn’t be keeping anything from me, would you, O’Conner?”

He turned to meet her suspicious frown. “The Mave has her people trying to track down info on a necromancer capable of truly raising the dead. I assume they’ll contact us when they discover anything.”

The suspicion remained. “Hmm.”

“Tell me about Calso.”

The chief’s lips parted to cross-examine him, then clearly deciding it wasn’t worth the battle, she instead turned her attention to the file folder in her hand. Flicking it open, she read from the top page.

“Sixty-two-year-old Caucasian male, in decent health, who made a fortune in the financial world.”

“Anyone want him dead?”

“Two ex-wives who were stupid enough to sign prenups and a dozen employees with pending lawsuits that accuse him of everything from sexual harassment to insider trading.”

Typical. What was it with rich guys having to be dickheads?

“So not the most popular guy.”

“I have Caleb running down the more obvious suspects. But—”

“But this murder was anything but obvious,” Duncan finished for her.

“Exactly.”

He strolled toward the desk, allowing his gaze to wander aimlessly over the room. He’d discovered over the years that clues rarely came attached with labels or blinking neon lights. Instead it was almost always something subtle.

A chair moved for no apparent reason.

A drawer not fully closed.

A recently repaired window.

Anything out of place that was inexplicably easier to notice with a casual glance instead of a focused search.

“Do you know anything about the coin that was stolen?”

Molinari shrugged. “I have the research department enlarging a picture of it. They haven’t found anything yet.”

“Yeah. I picked up a copy.” Not that it helped. Even with the details of the coin brought into focus it meant nothing to Duncan. He needed an expert. “Was it listed on his homeowners policy?”

“Not.”

“So, black market.”

“That would be my guess.”

“What about the other artwork?”

Molinari shuffled through the papers in her file. “It looks like most of the pieces have legitimate paperwork, but I’ll have it double checked.”

Duncan grimaced. No one would be stupid enough to display such famous pieces if they were off the black market. Unless they were forgeries.

His hand reached to pick up the stone vase that was safely wrapped in an evidence bag.

“What about the container?”

“What about it?”

“What is it?”

“I don’t have a damned clue. It looks old.”

It looked older than old. It looked ancient.

Holding it to the light, he studied the strange symbols etched into the stone.

“Can I keep it?”

Molinari frowned at the unexpected request. “It’s evidence.”

“I won’t let anything happen to it.”

There was a long silence as the chief weighed the need for information against protocol.

At last the shouts from the growing crowd of gawkers across the street made her heave a sigh of resignation.

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt. It’s already been dusted for prints,” she muttered. “What do you want it for?”

“Callie and her pet Sentinel are searching for the history of the necromancer in an effort to locate him. I want to start at the other end.” He glanced toward the black mark on the carpet where Calso had died. “The present.”