On Pins and Needles: Sierra Fox, Book 3 (15 page)

I caught a glimpse of Papan, who had a wickedly cheeky look on his face.
 

“What’s wrong with you?” I couldn’t think of anything amusing about our outing, especially after his encounter with Shapiro. So why did he look so smug?

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“What’s so funny, then?”

“Nothing’s funny.”

“You look amused,” I said, wondering what he was playing at. “So what’s up?”

“Looks like you’ve got a new fan.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The constable seems to be quite taken with you,” he said in a sing-song voice.

“Whatever, he just needs my help.”

“Hey, don’t get me wrong. I can totally see why he likes to be near you, it’s how I feel too.” Papan grabbed me around the waist when I made a move to rush for the front door. He dragged me back and wrapped his arms tighter around my midsection, lifting my feet off the path. “But I think he’s intrigued by what you do.”

“He just needs my help,” I repeated. It seemed too early in our newfound relationship to be teasing each other about other people’s attentions or intentions. There
was
something about Gareth that drew me to him, but it wasn’t romantic. He felt familiar and I didn’t understand why.
 

“I know he does.” Papan kissed my ear, then lost his nose in my hair. “Even after spending time in a dirty alley, you still smell nice.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling a little breathless by his physical reaction. Instead of getting carried away, because we were about to head inside to deal with Oren and Willow, I chose to ask him a few questions about the crime scene. “Which reminds me, did
you
smell anything out of the ordinary?”

Papan nuzzled me before letting go. He had his serious face on. “I smelled a lot more blood than what was there.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“That girl lost a
lot
of blood, but not all of it was consumed by her attacker.” His eyes darkened. “It’s almost as if whoever killed her chose to spread it around before finishing her off.”

“I still don’t know what you mean. I didn’t see much blood.”

“You didn’t see it because it was magically cleaned or concealed, somehow.” He looked away for a second. “But the residue hadn’t faded. I could smell it.”

“Really?” The thought made me ill.

He sighed. “Look, I didn’t want to freak you out, but I reckon we’re dealing with a killer who’ll do this again. I don’t believe someone can expel so much violence and hide the bloody evidence this well only to walk away and never want to experience it again.” He paused, staring into my eyes. “I think the clue is the blood—how it was taken and why. The fact the spirit was stolen is also strange. You mentioned a tail, so we need to look into vampiric folklore and find out what kind of creature would do this.”

I nodded. “Sure, I can do that.” The reminder of that tail made me feel squeamish.

“Now, let’s get inside to deal with your sister and grandfather.”

I laughed. He made it sound like such a family affair. “Speaking of crushes, it looks like you’ve made quite the impression on Willow.”

“Don’t try to get back at me because there’s a cop crushing on you,” he said with a wink.

I made a move to slap him in the arm, but he ducked at the last second. When I tried again he turned and ran for the front door, reaching it before me. He knocked, like a character in a horror movie trying to escape a crazed killer.

“I’ve got the key, silly,” I called behind him.

“Catch me if you can.”

By the time Oren opened it, Papan had me in his arms and we were kissing.

“Do you two ever plan to stop playing around?” he said, almost disgusted.

“Not if I can help it.” Papan gave me a quick peck before putting my feet back on the ground.

“How did it go?” I asked. “Is Willow okay?”

“Yes, she just went back downstairs after ordering a pizza and watching some TV.”

“Oren, did you notice anything strange about her?”

“Well, she eats a lot of pizza for such a small girl,” he said, continuing into the kitchen.

“Is there any pizza left?” Papan asked, stepping past me.

“There are a few slices. Help yourself.”

Papan disappeared into the kitchen but Oren stopped, turning to face me.
 

“Why, what did
you
notice about her?” he asked.

I sucked in a breath. “Well, the poltergeists following her around only seem to manifest when she gets upset or angry.”

Oren’s eyes widened. “You mentioned that before. Are you sure it’s poltergeists we’re dealing with?”

“I’ve dealt with them before but I’ve never known them to spontaneously make an appearance around a human.” Of course, I didn’t know everything there was to know about ghosts. “When we met yesterday, as soon as I mentioned her father she lost it. From what Gareth told me, the same thing triggered her response when he found her hiding inside my office.”

“That can’t be a coincidence.”

“No, it can’t, especially when her father reported her missing a month after she’d already been gone.” I watched for his reaction, but kept going. “She hid in my office last night, after she told me she was staying with a friend. There’s something really weird going on, and I’m starting to wonder if that’s the real reason she contacted me.”

“Could be…” He frowned. “Maybe the spirits are following her because of something she did to them.”

“No way. You’re not suggesting that she killed that guy and his dog and they’re now haunting her?”

Oren shrugged. “Stranger things have happened, and if she’s the second granddaughter of one of the most powerful spook catcher lines, she probably inherited
something
.”

I heard the rest of that sentence inside my head:
“Not to mention that she’s my offspring and would have inherited some witchy traits.”
Maybe Oren wouldn’t have said it exactly like that, but I knew he had to be thinking along those lines.
 

Willow was obviously harboring secrets, but no matter how strange she seemed, I couldn’t believe she’d killed anyone. Even if there was no clear sign or taint to mark people as killers.
 

Or was there?

“Oren, you know how you can see auras and spot hunters?”

He nodded.

“Can you…” What was the best way to word this? “If someone’s taken another’s life, can you see it in their aura?”

He looked away. “Sierra, I don’t think this is—”

“Oh my God, you can. Can’t you? That’s why you just said that about her?”

“Sierra, keep it down. You don’t want her to hear this conversation.”

I might not like it, but he was right. “So you can see it, right?”

He finally nodded, but still avoided my eyes. “Yes, I can. It manifests as a black stain in people’s auras.”

“And she’s got that stain?”

“Yes.”

My stomach churned. There had to be some sort of explanation for all this. After all, I looked like an average woman but had taken several lives—with good reason. I couldn’t help looking down at my hands because they were stained with the blood of a few. To save myself from the
Obscurus,
I would kill again without hesitation. So the way someone looked wasn’t necessarily the measure of what they were capable of.

“Sierra, what are you thinking?”

“I’m not sure what’s going on yet, but I’ll talk to her about it.” I sighed. “I just don’t think we should jump to any conclusions.”

“Agreed.”

“If you want a slice of pizza, you better come now!” Papan called from the kitchen.

Oren rubbed his white whiskered cheek. “But just so you know, there could be another reason why she’s tainted. Actually, there are two.”

“Go on.”

“She might be a medium or a necromancer.”

I met his gaze. “That doesn’t sound right, does it?”

“We don’t know for sure, but should be open to other possibilities. Just because the spook catcher gene is primarily passed onto the eldest granddaughter, it doesn’t mean the younger girls don’t inherit
other
spiritual traits.” Oren tugged on my sweatshirt sleeve. “If anyone knows about expecting the unexpected, it’s you. Don’t narrow the possibilities because it’s personal.”

I nodded. He was right, of course. “I better go get that last slice of pizza before Papan scoffs it.”

Willow offered me a rueful smile. “I’m really sorry for causing you so much trouble.”

I shook my head, sitting on the end of the bed. There’d been a few people staying in this room lately, but when I was a kid, this had been my bedroom. This was the bed I’d been sleeping in when my grandmother first appeared to me after she passed away. There were a lot of memories trapped within these walls, and even more ghosts.
 

There’s no point in dredging up the past.

“You’re not any trouble, but I do need you to be honest with me. I need to ask you a few questions and I’ll need answers.” I met her gaze, wondering if she really could be a medium or a necromancer. The more I thought about it, the more I realized Oren was probably onto something. “I’ll also need to speak to you about your father without you losing it.”

Her blue eyes flashed, but she shut them. “I know.”

“Why did you run away from home?”

Willow’s eyes snapped open. “Who told you that?”

“The police officer who found you.” If I was honest with her, I hoped it would help her relax enough to do the same. “He also told me your father reported you missing.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t send someone else to hunt me down,” she whispered, toying with the fraying hem of her jeans. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, and had just put aside what looked like a small photo album. “He probably has, but I’ve gotten really good at hiding.”

It broke my heart that she felt she had to learn how to hide from her own father. How bad was this man? Then again, it shouldn’t surprise me that my stupid mother got involved with some jerk. My father had many faults, but most had been against me. From what I’d seen growing up he’d always treated my mother with love and respect. Yet she still left him. But I didn’t know all the details about my parents’ marriage after they gave my grandfather legal custody. Or their separate, personal lives after getting divorced.

If I hadn’t had Granddad, would I have ended up like this? Scared and alone, running away because there weren’t any other options?

“So you two don’t get along?” I asked, even if I already knew the answer.

“You could say that.”

“Do you mind if I ask why?”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she wiped them away with the back of her other hand. “My father’s a selfish jerk.” A sob caught in her throat and the ends of her hair flew up, as if swept by a breeze. “I promise, I
will
tell you all about him but I can’t right now. I can feel the heat rising. He makes me so mad all I want to do is lose control. I want to hurt him, to send this rage out towards him, but I only ever end up hurting the people who care about me. And I don’t want to hurt you, Sierra.”

The last thing I wanted was for her to lose it right now. “Fair enough.”

Willow’s tears slid down her cheeks and I felt like the most horrible person in the world for reminding her of everything that caused her pain. My intention wasn’t to make her cry and feel worse than she had before.

“So, is that a photo album?”

She nodded.

“Mind if I take a look?”

Willow handed it to me. It was the size of my palm and was adorned with purple and blue flowers—the kind of photo album that flips easily but doesn’t hold too many photos. I opened it and found a picture that made my breath catch in my throat. It was my mother—a little older than I remembered, but it was her—posing for a photo. Her smile lit up her face, which was framed by thick, brown wavy hair cascading to her shoulders. Her eyes looked black more than brown, just like mine did. I looked more like my grandmother than her but I could still see the resemblance.

I couldn’t bear to look at her for too long.
 

The next page had two photos—one with my mother holding a tiny baby I assumed was Willow, and the other was what used to be a couple holding a toddler. My mother and Willow were still in the picture, but the other person had been torn from the photo.

“I did that last year,” Willow said matter-of-factly.

No point in responding. Instead, I turned the page and found a photo of a cute teenage boy with pale skin and dark hair falling into his left eye. He looked familiar, but it wasn’t until I looked at the picture next to his that I put two and two together. The photo on the right was of a dog.

“Who’s this?”

“That’s Jamie.”

“He’s your boyfriend?” And one of the poltergeists she now carried around with her. “And the dog, is he yours or his?”

“Stitches was my mother’s dog—an Australian Terrier—but when she died I adopted him.” She looked away. “He died last year. I still miss him.”