For a Few Demons More (22 page)

The afternoon sun was hot, and easing my car door shut, I gave it a bump with my hip to latch it. My fingers were sticky from the pastry I'd eaten en route, and I scanned the sparrow-noisy grounds while I dug a tissue out of my bag. Wiping my fingers clean, I wondered if I should have taken five minutes to change into a more professional outfit than shorts and a top—professionalism being something I desperately needed, seeing as I was skulking around the mausoleum that I'd parked my car behind.

Jenks had run vanguard for me as I took the back roads to Spring Grove. If I had driven the interstate, the I.S. would have nailed my butt to a broomstick. It had made for slow travel—driving three blocks, parking, waiting for Jenks to do some recon, then moving forward another three blocks—but I couldn't stomach the idea of taking a cab. And as I hiked my shoulder bag higher and headed across the grass, I again thanked God I had friends.

“Thanks, Jenks,” I said, stumbling when my sandal hit a dip the mower had hidden. His wings tickled my neck, and I added, “I appreciate you running rabbit for me with the I.S.”

“Hey, it's my job.”

There was more than a hint of annoyance to it, and, feeling guilty for having asked him to fly twice what I had driven, I said, “It's not your job to make sure my butt stays out of traffic court,” then added softly, “I'll go to driver's-ed class tonight. I promise.”

Jenks laughed. The tinkling sound brought out three pixies from the nearby bank of evergreens, but upon seeing Jenks's red bandanna, they vanished. The obvious color was his first line of defense against territorial pixies and fairies, a sign of good intentions and a promise not to poach. They'd watch us but wouldn't start catapulting thorns unless Jenks sampled the meager pollen or nectar sources. I'd rather have pixies watching me than fairies, though, and I liked the idea that pixies had Spring Grove. They must be well structured, since the grounds were huge.

The sprawling cemetery was said to have been originally developed to tastefully “rehouse” cholera victims in the late 1800s. It was one of the first garden cemeteries in the United States; the undead liked their parks as much as the next person did. It had been hard to keep your newly undead relatives out of the ground back then, and being unearthed in such peaceful settings must have been a small favor. I had to wonder if the large, hidden vampire population Cincy had in those days had much to do with how the Queen City gained the dubious distinction of being known for grave robbing. It wasn't so much that they were supplying the multitudes of teaching hospitals with cadavers but that they were pulling their relatives out of the earth and back where they belonged.

Scanning the quiet, parklike grounds, I wiped my mouth of the last of the frosting. The feel of my fingers across my lips brought Ivy to mind for obvious reasons, and I warmed. God, I should have done something, But no-o-o-o-o, I stood there like an idiot, too surprised to move. I hadn't reacted, and now I was going to have to think about how to handle this instead of settling it right then.
Stupid-ass witch.

“You okay?” Jenks asked, and I pulled my hand down.

“Peachy,” I said sourly, and he laughed.

“You're thinking of Ivy,” he needled, and my flush deepened.

“Well, duh,” I said, stumbling on a marker set even with the ground. “You have your roommate kiss you, and you see if
you
can just forget it.”

“Hell,” Jenks said, flying just out of my reach with a grin on his face, “if one of you kissed me, I wouldn't have to think. Matalina would kill me. Relax. It was only a kiss.”

I plodded over the grounds, following the sound of radios. This was just what I needed. As if an insane demon tearing apart my church
weren't enough, I now had a four-inch man telling me to lighten up, go with the flow, live life—don't analyze it.

Jenks's wing clatter softened, and he lit on my shoulder. “Don't worry about it, Rache,” he said, his voice unusually solemn. “You're you, and Ivy is Ivy. Nothing has changed.”

“Yeah?” I muttered, not seeing it that clearly.

“Angle to the left,” he said cheerfully. “I can smell dead Were down there.”

“That's nice,” I answered, continuing on past a marker and cutting a soft left. Downslope and through the trees were the flashing amber and blue lights of a multispecies ambulance.
I'm not too late,
I thought, arms swinging as we passed a huge stone marked
WEIL
. Beyond a row of cedars was an artificial pond, and between that and the evergreens was a cluster of people.

“Rache,” Jenks said, his voice introspective. “You think this has anything to do with—”

“The bushes have ears,” I warned.

“The thing I picked up for Matalina on our last vacation?” he amended, and my lips twitched in amusement. I had twisted a demon curse to move the curse in the focus to a knickknack. That it had slowly changed form to look like the original statue was just plain creepy.

Eyes on my feet, I murmured, “Mmmm-hmm. I'd be surprised if it wasn't.”

“You think this is Trent looking for it?”

“I don't think Trent knows it exists,” I said. “I'd be more inclined to think it's Mr. Ray or Mrs. Sarong, and they're killing each other as they try to find it.”

Jenks's wings sent a cool breeze across my neck. “What about Piscary?”

“Maybe, but he wouldn't be having this much trouble covering it up,” I said, glancing up when the men's tone of voice shifted, indicating that I'd been seen. I slowed at the hushed mutter of my name, but since everyone was looking at me, I didn't know who'd said it. There were two FIB vehicles, a black I.S. van, an I.S. cruiser, and an ambulance parked in the turnaround. Counting the third FIB vehicle at the cemetery's back entrance, the FIB presence was stronger than the I.S.'s, and I wondered if Glenn was pushing his luck. It
had
been a Were suicide.

The cluster of men surrounded a dark shadow at the foot of the cedars and a tall tombstone, and a second group in FIB uniforms and suits waited like cubs at a lion's kill. Glenn was with them, and while catching my eye he said a few words to the man next to him, touched the hilt of his weapon for reassurance, and headed over. People turned away, and I relaxed.

My feet scuffed the grass, and I cringed upon realizing I'd walked right on one of those markers set flush with the ground. Nervousness struck deep when a familiar bulk beside the tombstone straightened and Denon's brown eyes met mine. He was wearing a suit today instead of his usual slacks and polo shirt, and I wondered if he was trying to keep up with Glenn, who looked great in his suit.
I'm not afraid of Denon,
I thought, then gave in and sneered at him.

Denon's jaw clenched, ignoring the slight man in jeans and a lightweight short-sleeved shirt who had stepped forward to talk to him. I thought of my car and got worried. “Hey, Jenks,” I said, lips barely moving, “why don't you flit around and see what you can overhear? Let me know if they find my car, huh?”

“You got it,” he said, and with a sparkling of pixy dust he was gone.

Trying to look as if I'd been doing a reconnaissance of the surrounding area instead of hiking my way in, I angled to meet Glenn. He looked frustrated. The FIB was probably being pushed out of the investigation. I knew how bad that felt but had little sympathy, since he'd been the one pushing me out last time.

I took off my sunglasses as I stepped under the shade of the massive tree, tucking them to hang from the waistband of my shorts. “What's the matter, Glenn?” I said in greeting when he took my elbow and led me to an abandoned FIB cruiser. “Won't that nasty-wasty vampire let you play in the sandbox?”

“Thanks for coming out, Rachel,” he grumbled. “Where's Jenks?”

“Around,” I said, and he sourly gave me my temp tag. I pinned it on before I leaned against the FIB cruiser, crossed my arms over my stomach, and waited for the good news.

Running a hand across his smooth chin, Glenn sighed, turning so he could see me and the crime scene both. His dark eyes were tired, and there were faint worry lines at the corners, making him seem older than he was. His trim stature looked powerful even beside Denon, and
his military background mixed well with his suit and loosened tie. Glenn had come a long way in a year as far as understanding Inderlanders, and while I knew he respected Denon's position, he didn't respect the man. He didn't mind telegraphing that either, which might be a problem. I had two big men with something to prove at a crime scene. Lucky me.

“How did you get out here?” he asked softly, his eyes envious as the I.S. collected their data. “I sent a car for you, but you'd left.”

I put my arms to my side and fidgeted. Glenn slowly turned. “You drove?” he accused, and I flushed. “You promised me you wouldn't.”

“No I didn't. I only
said
I wouldn't, not promised. I didn't know you were sending a car. And they don't have a bus run to the cemetery. There aren't enough pickups to warrant it.”

He snorted, and both our postures eased. Glenn's weary gaze went to the body at the foot of the cedars, and I crossed my arms over my chest again. “You want to bull your way in there or wait until after they contaminate everything?” I asked.

Glenn rocked into motion, and I followed. “It's too late,” he said. “I was waiting for you. Seeing as he's an Inderlander, I'm only going to get one look at him unless I can link him hard and fast to the murder of Mr. Ray's secretary.”

I nodded, watching my feet so I wouldn't walk on any more markers. “I talked to Mr. Ray on the way over,” I offered, and Glenn looked askance at me. “I have an appointment with him later today at his office.” My hand went up when he took a breath. “You aren't coming with me, so don't ask—but I will tell you what we talked about if it touches on this.” I couldn't bring a FIB detective to a client meeting. How lame was that?

Glenn looked ready to protest but then dropped his gaze. “Thank you.”

The easing of my tension didn't last, and my blood pressure went higher the closer we got to the body. My nose started working, and over the scent of musk gone rank and excited vampire was the smell of redwood. I smoothed my expression into nothing, my gaze going to the tidy-looking guy in jeans and dress shirt standing a little apart from everyone.
They have a witch out here? Interesting.

The circle of Inderlanders parted to show a Were corpse sprawled
dramatically at the base of a large tombstone, the grass stained with black blood. A dead wolf the size of a pony was a lot less disturbing than a naked man, even one that had blood matting his fur and the eyes rolled back so far the whites showed. A hind leg had a clean tear to the bone, slicing the femoral artery open. The scent of blood was strong, and my gut tightened.
Suicide?
I thought, averting my gaze. I doubted it.

Denon was smiling at me with his lips closed to hide his human teeth. Beside him the witch's nostrils widened as he took in my scent hidden behind the orange spice perfume I used to muddle Ivy's instincts. His mouth quirked, and he touched his clean-shaven chin with the back of his hand. My skin prickled when he tapped a line, and I didn't know whether to be insulted or flattered that he thought I was a threat. What did he think I was going to do? Curse everyone? But upon remembering he could see my aura as easy as sneezing and that it was covered in black demon smut, I couldn't blame him.

Two men stood from their crouch over the corpse, leaving one to take core samples to determine how far the blood had soaked into the ground. I felt like we had interrupted punks tormenting a dog to death, and I forced myself not to back up when they turned their attention to us.

Glenn looked cool and casual in his suit and with his gun on his hip, but I knew by the strong scent of cologne coming off him that he was wired for action. Eyes fixed on Denon's, he said evenly, “Ms. Morgan and my team would like a moment with the body before you move it.”

Someone snickered, and my face warmed.

“Whoring for the FIB, Morgan?” Denon said, ignoring Glenn. “I see the bus is picking you up again. Or did you need to use a disguise to get them to stop for you?”

I frowned, sensing Glenn's rising anger. Denon's honey-smooth voice made him sound like he should be hawking negligees on the women's channel. My God, it was beautiful, and I wondered if it was what had attracted his vampire master in the first place. That, and his deliciously dark skin now marked and scarred beyond belief. It hadn't been that way when he was my boss. Clearly things had changed.

“You seem upset, Denon,” I taunted. “I bet you had some 'splainin' to do about almost releasing that murder victim.” I smiled sweetly. “Be a
prince and run the updated coroner's report over to me this afternoon? I'd be interested to see what you almost burned in the kilns.”

The witch snickered, and the last Were rose, his gaze darting nervously. Denon's pupils widened to shrink the rim of brown about them. It wasn't as obvious as last year. He was losing status with whoever had promised to turn him when he died. A few more years like this and Denon wouldn't be much more than a shadow. And given his anger, I think he blamed me.

The Weres flanking him fell back at Denon's thick, casually moving fingers. The man eased closer with the same grace as before, but it lacked the threat it once had. That I wasn't trapped in a five-by-five cubicle probably helped.

“Leave,” he said, his words smelling of baking soda toothpaste. “This is an I.S. matter.”

Glenn stiffened, his hand nowhere near his gun. “Is that a refusal to let us examine the body?”

Denon moved his hard-muscled bulk gracefully in undeniable threat.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I cried, then lurched back when Denon's arm shot out, his hand reaching for my raised arm.