Magicstorm (Heart of a Vampire, Book 4) (5 page)

His face blanched, but his eyes burned with
fury. “Try it, De-tec-tive.”

She stared at him expressionlessly. “If
there’s nothing else, you can leave now.” She wiggled her fingers
toward the door.

Kurtz’ fists clenched. The tension in the
room spiked. Brandon’s anger spiked again, so fast and hard he
barely stopped himself from grabbing the man by his throat and
throwing him from the room. The man spun on his heels and strode
from the room.

“What was that about?” Brandon demanded,
wrangling in his emotions as he stared at the closed door.

“Just a jerk.”

He glanced at Celeste, trying to figure out
just what it was about this woman that made him feel so damn
protective. Why her?

She wrote notes on the whiteboard next to the
recent crime scene photos. Anyone without his enhanced vision would
have missed the way her hand trembled slightly, or the way her
pulse throbbed in the vein at her neck.

“You get a lot of that from other cops?”

She stopped writing, but didn’t turn. “Not
only am I a cop, I’m a female. I dared to qualify as a homicide
detective. I’m also the best shot in our division, pistol or rifle.
There are a few old-school cops like Kurtz who can’t stand it, but
plenty of others who don’t care. They respect me for what I do, and
have done.”

He watched her continue to jot notes, then
turned back to his own reading, still concerned about his reaction
to the asshole. He’d wanted to tear the man to shreds for causing
Celeste pain. As if he was possessive of her.

She slapped her hand on the whiteboard and he
raised his head. Spinning, she paced alongside the conference
table, eyes shining. He could practically see the thoughts flash
over her face.

“You said the original guy was a demon?”

“Yes.”

“So is this a demon too?”

“It could be, but I doubt it.”

She stopped. “Why?”

“The mutilations aren’t bad enough, there’s
no scent of demon, and no sense of one’s power in the city.”

Continuing to pace, she said, “Not that I
understood any of that.” Shaking her head, she added, “So let’s
consider if it’s not a... demon. What’s the main difference between
the victims before, and now?”

He glanced over the list and it struck him.
“These four are all prostitutes.”

“Yeah. But think historically.”

Prostitutes, gutted, throats slashed.

Brandon froze, his mind going to the past.
And to the butcher he’d known a few hundred years ago. His temples
pounded. “Jack the Ripper is dead.”

She stopped, slowly facing him. “Dare I ask
how you know that?”

Brandon met her gaze. “I killed him.”

Celeste could barely comprehend the thought
of his age, or how much past he must have. “You killed Jack the
Ripper?”

“I did.” His voice was rough, thick with
emotion.

There was something in his face, his eyes,
the tense line of his shoulders that told her there was a very
long, and probably painful, story behind this.

She struggled against the rising questions,
but it wasn’t her place to press him unless it pertained to this
case. “Well.” She cleared her throat, ignoring her curiosity.
“There have been plenty of copycats over the years. Seems like we
have another one.”

He didn’t reply.

“Since this guy is only killing prostitutes
now, it should be easier to find him. I have contacts on the
streets.”

Brandon remained quiet, staring at the file
in front of him, but she was certain he wasn’t reading.

Sitting across from him, she grabbed another
file, and tossed it between them. “The question remains whether
there’s meaning behind the runes this guy is using, or if they’re
copies too.”

Brandon raised his head, glancing over the
pictures from the more recent scenes. He jumped to his feet,
heading for the door. “It’s been a long day. Come, I’ll see you
home.”

Something was really wrong with the guy. “I’m
not done.”

His eyes flashed, red creeping over the blue.
“You need to come to this with a clear head tomorrow.” His tone was
fierce, daring her to argue.

“I have a clear head now.”

“Look, go home, be safe. We can continue
after the sun is back up.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”
she asked.

“Certain magics work better at night.”

“But you were fine today--” Her cell rang,
cutting her off. She continued to stare at Brandon for a second,
wondering what was wrong.

He growled something under his breath and
turned away.

Her cell rang again. She answered,
“Wilder.”

She recognized Officer Portensky’s youthful
voice. “Detective? We’ve had another homicide.”

Across the room, Brandon spun, staring at
her. “Where?” he demanded.

Shock raced through her as she realized he
could hear Portensky. “Address?”

The rookie listed it off and she scribbled it
down, then grabbed her jacket. After hanging up, she told Brandon,
“Go home if you want. I’m heading to the scene.”

His jaw clenched, lips thinning. “I’ll be
going with you.”

“Fine,” she said, though the quivering in her
stomach belayed the word. On the one hand, he was a vampire. He
could obviously sense things... and fight creatures she
couldn’t.

On the other hand, she hated to think she
might not be up to facing off against anyone she might come up
against, especially if they were an “anything”.

As they left the building, her internal
debate wouldn’t shut up. She despised admitting any weakness. She
knew herself well enough.

Brandon stopped at the curb in front of the
station, next to a black Harley Davidson motorcycle. Shimmering
blue flames licked along the gas tank, and ironically, in the
center of those flames was a blood-red bat.

He grabbed a helmet from the overlarge
saddlebags and tossed it to her.

She caught it automatically, then stared at
him in confusion for a second, before shaking her head. “We’ll take
my car.”

He grinned wolfishly. “My bike will be
faster.”

With a shrug, she put the helmet on, then
slipped on the back of the bike. The engine roared, rumbling
beneath her.

“Hold on,” he said.

She stared at his back, the width, the
rippling muscles clear beneath his thin t-shirt. Hesitantly, she
placed her hands on his shoulders.

He craned his head to meet her gaze. “Grab
hold, or fall off.”

He sped away from the curb, forcing her to
clamp her arms around his waist. His rock-hard abs flexed beneath
her palms as he rocketed through traffic.

True to his word, he pulled up at the crime
scene in a third of the time it would have taken in her car. Still,
as she stepped off the bike with shaky legs and an
all-too-uncomfortable awareness of him--and his very toned
body--she was determined not to repeat the performance.

Heading into the crowd of cops, she flicked
her jacket back to show the badge at her waist.

Silently, Brandon followed.

Yet another alley. Another bed of flowing
trash and another body. Frankie was already hunched over the dead
woman.

She glanced up, started to say hi, then her
gaze latched onto Brandon. “What do we have here?” Frankie winked
at Celeste.

“My new, temporary partner.” She waved at
Brandon. “Brandon Wulfgar, meet our head coroner, Frankie
Coutrass.”

Refusing to waste any more time, Celeste
approached the body. “What do you have?”

The answer was obvious. Another red cloth
covered the woman’s face. The same gory slices showed startling red
against pale skin, across the throat and down the chest and
stomach.

Celeste took a couple of quick, deep breaths
to settle herself, then got down to business.

She wrote notes as Frankie listed official
details.

As the red cloth slipped from the dead
woman’s face, Celeste stared into vacant blue eyes.

“
La madre que te parió!
” exploded out
before she could bite back the words.

“The killer is a motherfucker, but I’m
surprised you’d say so. You know this woman, too?” Frankie asked,
eyes wide at Celeste’s loss of control.

Brandon laid a hand on her shoulder. “You
didn’t tell me you knew any of the victims.”

Shrugging away from his touch, Celeste moved
closer. She wanted to be sure, even though deep in her gut, she
already knew the victim lying there was her younger sister’s best
friend. Poor Donna.

“I need to make a call.” Striding away from
the others, Celeste jerked out her phone and punched her sister’s
number in speed dial. The other phone continued to ring ominously,
before voicemail finally picked up.

“Shana? Call me as soon as you get this.” She
hung up, then dialed her mom’s house. She was about to give up when
the line clicked.

“Mama? Have you heard from Shana?” she asked,
glancing back at the scene.

Brandon stared at her, and she knew he was
listening to every word, even from across the noisy alleyway.

“
No, mija
,” her mom said slowly. In a
sharper voice, the edges of panicked worry creeping in, she asked,
“Why? What is wrong?”

“Nothing. I just have a couple questions
about one of her friends. That’s all.”

“Celestial Alejandra, tell me the truth.”

“Serious, mama,” she stated as calmly as she
could. “It’s not even my case. In fact, I don’t think her friend
has anything to do with this traffic thing, but I need to
check.”

Across the alley, Brandon’s eyes widened,
flashing a bit of red as she lied through her teeth.

She turned her back to him, and continued
trying to placate her mother. “Just tell her to call me if you see
her?”

“
Si, mija
. But you make sure
everything is all right.”

She hung up the phone and crossed to the
body, which was being gently laid into a bag. As the area cleared
of people, she tapped her foot, wanting to get done and track down
her sister.

Brandon leaned against the wall, next to her.
“You lied to your mother. Why?”

Meeting his dark gaze, she replied lightly,
“You don’t want to see my mama in a panic. Trust me.”

“Hmph,” he muttered.

Striding to the wall, staying out of the way,
Brandon continued to shoot her disapproving glances.

With nothing she could do yet, she joined
him.

“So you were speaking of yourself when you
said everyone lies,” he commented quietly.

“My mama is a worrier. My sister is out of
control. I’m not going to send my family into a panic when I don’t
even know if something is wrong.” Her insides churned though, as
worry chewed at her.

Shana was nearly inseparable from Donna.

Part of her stood still, the staid cop doing
her duty. But the other part of her wanted to abandon it all and
find her sister, make sure Shana was safe.

“It’s all yours, Detective,” an officer
called out. Shoving back her worry, Celeste got down to work. She
had a job to do. That had to come first, because if Shana was in
trouble, the only clues Celeste would find were hidden right in
front of her.

Finally, the scene was clear. She pulled out
her flashlight and scoured the area, taking pictures of the runes
drawn over brick and asphalt, and the bloodstains spread over
them.

“What do these markings mean?” she asked.

Brandon stared at them. “Many things. It
depends on the placement, the words spoken by the one drawing them
when he makes his sacrifice, and the additional ones you can’t
see.”

Chapter
five

She straightened. “What do you mean, the ones
I can’t see?”

He pointed to a spot on the wall.

She stared at it. “There’s nothing
there.”

“Exactly my point. Give me your
notebook.”

Handing it over, she crowded him, watching as
he drew a strange shape.

“
Merida!
” She glanced back at the wall
straining to see it, but got nothing. “You’re telling me there
could be these runes at all the scenes?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re coming with me to revisit them
all. This could be the piece we’re missing.”

“Probably. But unless you know a witch who
can look at them all together, they won’t do you much good.”

She arched a brow. “You can’t read them?”

“Only some.”

After Brandon scoured the alley for any other
hidden runes and they finished documenting the scene, they headed
for his motorcycle.

She was making plans to get back to the
station, retrieve her car, and search for her sister when Brandon
started the Harley, then asked, “So where do you want to check
first?”

“What?”

“For your sister.”

She shook her head. “I need my car.”

He shut off the bike, then stared at her.
“You’re not going off looking for her alone.”

She opened her mouth to argue, startled he’d
read her so well.

“You’ll go with me, or go home.”

She stiffened, raising her chin. “You’re not
my keeper and you have no right to tell me what to do.”

His eyes flashed red, glowing a little, as
his lips thinned. “It’s my job to keep you safe. I can’t do that if
you’re out on the streets with vampires, and who knows what else,
hunting women.”

“There’s only been one murder a night. It
should be safe.”

He grinned, but it was almost predatory.
“Really? And if this is truly a copycat of Jack the Ripper, then
what about his double murders?”

Her heart sank as worry for her sister filled
her. Her phone rang and she grasped at it. “Wilder.”

“Shana is here. She stumbled in and fell
asleep.” her mother said, voice full of relief. “She’s been
drinking again.”

“Keep her there.” While she wanted to race
over right now, between knowing her sister was probably drunk and
passed out, and the “dare me” look on Brandon’s face, she sighed,
giving in to her own fatigue. “I’ll come over in the morning to
talk to her,” she replied.