Last Grave (9781101593172) (2 page)

“I'm proud to be an Italian American,” Zack said with a grin.

“And with her red hair, clearly Samantha's proud to be an Irish American,” Lance said.

“What does that make you?” Zack asked Lance.

“He's proud to be an Asshole American,” Samantha snapped.

Lance jerked his head around to stare at her. She bit her tongue. She shouldn't have gotten on him. Lots of homicide cops had a macabre sense of humor. His joking was a way of coping with the death he saw every day.

Before she could apologize, he nodded. “I'm going to use that.”

She rolled her eyes, fighting down her annoyance with him. Which was good, actually, because it kept her from focusing too much on her surroundings, which were spooky at night.

The Swamp was part of the aquarium complex. It was where they housed alligators. Poisonous snakes and spiders also shared the space.

“Someone didn't feed her to a gator, did they?” Lance asked as they got closer.

Zack shook his head.

Samantha had been through the museum complex, the California Academy of Sciences, once since she'd moved there. She'd gotten sick of having everyone she worked with suggest she see it, so she'd gone on a Saturday.

Now, with the sound of their footsteps echoing eerily and darkness reigning over much of the area, it was a completely different experience.

The body came into view, and Samantha caught her breath. The woman was well dressed, wearing a business suit. Her eyes were frozen wide in terror. And her arms were lifted straight up, hands clenched into fists that looked like they were clawing at something Samantha couldn't see.

“What the hell?” Lance said, stopping abruptly.

“We found her like that,” the officer said. “Took us a minute to realize she was actually dead. I've never seen a body do that before. It's like she was frozen.”

“I've never seen rigor mortis like this,” Lance said.

Samantha grabbed a pair of gloves and slid them on. She knelt down on the ground and touched the body. The skin was warm to the touch.

“She's still warm. She can't have been dead more than a few minutes, so this isn't rigor mortis and she isn't frozen.”

She pushed gently on the arms, then on the woman's stomach, and finally on her cheeks. Everything she touched was hard. It didn't even feel like she was touching flesh. She sat back, head reeling.

“What is it?” Lance asked, kneeling down next to her.

“It's like she's been petrified.”

“Come again?”

“Like a tree. She's warm to the touch, but everything is hard as wood. There's no give in her skin at all,” she said.

Lance put on gloves and touched the woman's cheek. “She feels like stone,” he marveled.

Samantha stood slowly and backed a few feet away from the body. Something wasn't right. She walked a few more feet away, leaving Lance with the officers who had discovered the body.

She swept the ground with her eyes, looking for something, anything that could tell her what had happened to the woman.

You won't find anything,
a voice inside her head mocked her.
Nothing natural, nothing rational.

She hissed to herself, trying to silence the voice. She walked in the direction away from the African Hall. If the kids and their leaders hadn't seen anything, then there probably wasn't anything to find over there, and it was best to leave them alone anyway.

She stepped lightly, straining her senses to hear and see whatever she could.

Whoever had killed Winona must have left just as Zack and his partner arrived.

Unless they're still here.

She came to a standstill and struggled with herself. It would be so easy to reach out with her senses, see if she could feel anyone nearby.

But that wasn't going to help her fight the desire to use magic. And if she found something, she'd have to find a way that didn't sound supernatural to explain it to her new partner.

Her last partner hadn't been able to handle the truth.

She forced herself to keep walking and she reached the rain forest biosphere. She let herself in and then stood for a moment, letting her eyes adjust. It would be the perfect place to hide, and it would be easy to slip out in the morning after the Academy had opened.

She took a step into the darkness and felt a growing apprehension. Another step, and the birds that lived in the rain forest exhibit fell silent.

And suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be out of there and to be
anywhere
else.

It felt as though the trees were actually whispering her name.

The trees.

She had seen a petrified tree once when she was younger. People thought it had been hit by lightning, but she'd been able to tell that lightning hadn't killed it; magic had.

What killed Winona?

She began to sweat, and her heart sped up.

She didn't want to know the answer.

She tried to force herself to take another step forward when a large bird screamed and flew at her head, wings beating her face. She threw up her arm to block the bird and felt energy surging through her. It would be so easy to push the bird away with magic.

Too easy.

The bird flew away and she took a deep breath.

Something didn't want her there and she couldn't agree more. She backed out slowly. As soon as she exited the biosphere, her heart began to slow again and the feelings of dread slowly ebbed. She made her way back to the Swamp, feeling like there were eyes watching her the whole way.

When she got there, Lance was talking to a short, balding man who looked like he was shy several hours' sleep and a gallon of coffee. He had the look of shock people wore when they were woken in the middle of the night with bad news. He was wearing a name badge on his shirt.

He must be one of the people in charge of the Academy,
she thought.

“I have no idea who could have done this,” he said.

“No enemies that you know of? How about angry exes?” Lance questioned.

“Nothing like that.”

“What about her family?”

“She has a teenage daughter. That's all that I know of. This is going to be terrible for her. Imagine losing your mother that young.”

Samantha didn't have to imagine. But the loss of her mother had been her salvation instead of the nightmare most would assume.

What kind of mother were you, Winona?

“So, there was no one that had a problem with her?” Lance pushed.

The man shrugged. “She was a treasure, as far as many of us are concerned. Her knowledge of mission-era and even pre-mission-era native settlements was exhaustive. She worked tirelessly to preserve that heritage, that culture. She worked to get some historical sites officially recognized and protected. She even helped spearhead cleanup efforts at some of the ancient sea caves down the coast.”

“Was she in the habit of working late here?” Samantha asked, easing into the conversation and trying to forget the feelings of foreboding that still swirled within her.

“No. In fact, she didn't technically work here. She was here a lot. Doing research. We would bring her in to speak at events.”

“Was she talking to the Scout troop tonight?” Lance asked.

The man looked at them both blankly for a moment and then turned even more ashen. “There's a Scout troop here tonight? That's terrible. The kids didn't . . . they didn't see anything?”

“No. They don't even know what happened,” Samantha said.

“That's a relief.”

“So, she wasn't supposed to be here tonight?” Lance pushed.

“No. Certainly not. She didn't have keys, so I don't even know how she got in here.”

Samantha glanced down at Winona's body. The wrongness of it set her teeth on edge. This was no ordinary murder. She knew that, but she didn't want to know it. Why hadn't there been someone else free to take this case? The way the department worked, she might have never even heard about Winona Lightfoot.

No, people would have been talking about this one,
she told herself.

“She live nearby?” Lance asked.

“Nah, she worked in the city, but she commuted in. She lived in Santa Cruz,” the man was telling Lance.

Samantha gasped and reached for her cross.

“Is that a problem?” he asked, turning empty eyes toward her.

It was a huge problem. Because what had happened to Winona was unnatural. There was nothing Samantha knew short of magic that could have caused the petrification. And before she left Salem, Anthony had warned her that Santa Cruz was home to witches.

Samantha struggled to find words while Lance and the administrator stared hard at her. Nothing came to her, though. All she could think about was Anthony's warning. Witches in Santa Cruz. Winona was from Santa Cruz. It should mean nothing. It should be a coincidence. It wasn't, though; she could feel it.

Finally Lance shrugged. “My partner doesn't like hippies,” he quipped. “Now, I have a few more questions.”

“Yes, of course,” the other man said, turning back to look at Lance.

Samantha just stood there, struggling to listen, as she let Lance ask all of the questions. He glanced at her a couple times more, and she could tell from the look on his face that she was going to have some explaining to do.

After standing there for what seemed like forever, as frozen in her own way as Winona Lightfoot, Samantha forced herself to move.

She crouched down, ostensibly to examine Winona again. Soon the coroner would arrive and, hopefully, a logical explanation for the condition of the body would be presented. She forced herself to take several deep, calming breaths.

And what if the coroner did find an explanation? Would it be enough for Samantha? Would she be able to shake the feelings that were plaguing her? The months that she had lived here, she hadn't actually ventured outside of the city. She told herself that was because there was enough to see and do in San Francisco to keep her busy for years. In reality, though, a part of her had been heeding Anthony's warning about staying in the city.

Her hand reached for her phone. He knew so much about the occult. Maybe he'd heard of something like this petrification before. A moment later, she pulled away her hand. Even if she did get up the nerve to talk to him, doing it where others could hear was the height of stupidity.

Get a grip, Samantha. Pull yourself together,
she demanded. She'd spent the last few months jumping at shadows, and now that she was faced with the possibility of a real threat, she was a basket case.

There's only one way to know for sure,
a small voice whispered inside her mind.

She glanced up at Lance. Her partner had all his attention focused on the man he was questioning. His voice had taken on a bit of an edge. Lance had a way of making even routine questions sound more like an interrogation. At least they were both focused on each other and not on her. Zack and his partner were walking back toward the exit, probably getting ready to escort the coroner or someone else in.

It was now or never.

Samantha took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let herself reach out. In a flash, she could feel everything around her—the animals, the plants, the electrical currents running through the building.

And around Winona, fading quickly, was the faint pulse of magic.

2

Samantha toppled backward, landing on her rump with a thud.

“What's wrong?” Lance asked sharply.

She looked up and was dismayed to see that now she had her partner's full attention. The administrator was looking at her too, but from his glazed-over expression, she was pretty sure he wasn't going to remember many details about this night.

“My foot slipped,” she said, hurrying to stand up.

She could hear voices. The coroner and reinforcements to sweep the crime scene. They wouldn't find anything. At least, not anything that really mattered.

Samantha wrapped her arms around herself. She probably looked like a twelve-year-old girl instead of a police detective, the way she was holding herself.

But the fears of her childhood were hitting her hard. It was because she knew deep down what she had to do. Something hadn't wanted her in the rain forest, so that's where she had to go.

“I'm going to take a look around,” she said to Lance.

He was still staring at her in a way that told her an unpleasant conversation was going to be part of her near future. That was, if she lived through her immediate future.

He nodded, and she took off quickly before anyone asked her anything she wouldn't or couldn't answer. She hurriedly retraced her steps to the rain forest, her pulse skittering out of control with every step. As she walked, she began to pray, feeling the weight of the cross necklace around her neck.

It was a simple silver filigree cross. It was the one she had bought herself in Boston just before moving out to San Francisco. It was a pale replacement for the one that witches had stolen from her, but it was still of some comfort.

The cross she'd worn since she was thirteen had held a secret compartment in it, a centuries-old design, and she had put a drop of her own blood inside as she vowed to God that she would do no more magic. The cross had been stolen from her before she'd had to break that vow. She desperately wanted it back, but the police, who had swept every location related to the coven and its members, had come up empty looking for it.

So she clutched the new cross and prayed fervently for strength, for guidance, and for the ability to do whatever she had to do without resorting to magic.

She arrived at the dome that housed the rain forest and stepped quickly inside. If she hesitated, she would give herself a chance to rethink her decision, and that would do no one any good. She took only five steps inside before she realized that something was different.

She stopped, listening. She could hear the call of birds and reptiles. The air was warm and humid, as in an actual rain forest, and she had the immediate urge to shrug out of her coat.

She took a few more steps and nothing happened. The darkness she had felt before was gone. She was both relieved and angry with herself for her earlier cowardice. Someone or something had been here, and she should have confronted whatever it was.

Even if it had meant having to leave San Francisco and go somewhere else to hide her identity.

I am not a witch,
she reminded herself again as she stared around.

But a witch was here, and I let him or her get away.

Slowly she began walking the circular path, looking for anything out of the ordinary. There were a few dim lights on in the structure, just enough to see the path. She was crazy. It was too dark to find any clues. She would need to come back when it was daylight.

You could reach out, see what you can feel.

She rejected the voice that whispered inside her head.

No more magic. She stopped, ready to exit the exhibit and rejoin her partner.

Suddenly a whiff of something came to her. She turned her head slightly, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. There was definitely something in the air. Sandalwood, maybe? She walked a couple more steps into the rain forest and her foot came down on a leaf in the path.

She froze as her senses were suddenly bombarded, assaulting her, undeniable. The presence of magic was so strong, it nearly overwhelmed her.

She stepped back. There was something on the path. There had to be lights that could be turned on in the ecodome. She would just have to go get someone to help her find it. She took a step backward. That's what she'd do. She'd turn on the lights.

And suddenly she felt energy rippling through her body and then arcing out of her and into the structure.

“No!” she shouted.

Hissing and popping sounds surrounded her, and suddenly the lights nearby turned on.

“No,” she whispered. “That's not what I wanted to do.”

She'd wanted to find the light switch. Instead she had used magic to send currents flowing to the lights. And she was still connected to them. They would remain on only as long as she was sending out the energy.

Tears of frustration stung her eyes.

She dashed them quickly away, though, and turned to look at what was on the ground.

Leaves from the nearby trees had been ripped free and formed into words on the path.

The last grave.

She blinked. What could that possibly mean?

And then, as suddenly as she had turned the lights on, they winked off. She sagged, feeling the drain of the energy. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust again to the darkness. She bent down toward the leaves, thinking to scatter them before somebody else read the message.

Stop! What are you doing, Samantha?

She blinked as if coming out from under a trance.

Had she really been just about to destroy crime scene evidence?

She sucked in her breath as she straightened. Even if the killer was a witch, she shouldn't be destroying evidence, especially when she didn't know what it meant and it wouldn't require her to explain the realities of that world to her new partner.

“Idiot,” she said to herself. “Just treat this like every other case. If you don't, you'll expose yourself and lose any chance to bring Winona's killer to justice.”

A bird screeched by, and she couldn't tell whether the creature was agreeing with her or contradicting her. Either way, she knew it was time to leave the exhibit.

She hurried out and made her way back to the Swamp. Half a dozen more police personnel were there now. Lance appeared to have finished questioning the museum administrator and was crouched down by the body, talking to the coroner.

She moved to join them.

“Evening, Detective,” Jada King said, looking up at her. The coroner's long black hair was perfect, as always. Her dark skin looked flawless, and there was even a dusting of eye shadow on her lids. Her fingernails were freshly manicured with French tips.

“How is it you look good even in the middle of the night?” Samantha asked.

“In case you haven't realized it yet, appearances mean everything in this big, bad world,” Jada said, casting a disparaging glance at Samantha's attire.

Samantha flushed, realizing she'd walked into that one. She had learned that Jada wasn't trying to be catty with comments like that. She just really believed in always being at her best. Which was ironic, since she saw people only at their worst.

“Anyway, I was just telling Detective Garris that I've never seen anything like this.”

“So, any idea what could cause it?” Lance asked.

“No. This is a new one. I'm going to have to do some research, ask around, and find out if
anyone
has ever seen this.”

Samantha was willing to bet the answer was going to be no. She had been raised a witch and she certainly couldn't remember seeing anything like this before. Of course, that didn't mean she hadn't. The holes in her memories of that life were still staggeringly large, the gaps in her knowledge numerous.

“Well, let us know when you have something,” Lance said.

“Really? Because I was planning on keeping that information to myself.”

“If we're done here, I found something else,” Samantha said.

Lance nodded and stood up. “Lead the way.”

Not sure where the museum employee had gone, Samantha borrowed a flashlight from Zack. She led both of them into the rain forest and then shone the light on the message.

“‘The last grave'? What is that supposed to mean?” Lance asked after a second.

“It's probably a prank—kids, a disgruntled janitor,” Zack chimed in.

“I don't think so. I thought I heard someone in here, but I couldn't find anybody. It would have been a great place for the killer to hide out while we were all busy in the Swamp,” Samantha said.

“Okay. Zack, get the lights on in here. Grab a couple of guys and sweep this place. If there's even a remote chance our killer's still here, I want this place torn apart,” Lance said.

Zack nodded and dashed off. Still using the flashlight, they looked around the area some more. “So, this is where you disappeared to?” Lance asked.

“Yeah.”

“Mind telling me why?”

“I don't know. Hunch, I guess,” Samantha said, striving to be vague.

Lance turned to look at her, and in the light from the flashlight he was holding, his face looked demonic. She forced herself to stand her ground, reminding herself it was only a trick of the light.

“What's the matter, spooked?” Lance asked.

“Something like that,” she said.

The overhead lights flooded on, and she breathed a silent sigh of relief that it had nothing to do with her and that the darkness had been driven away. She helped Lance do a preliminary search of the area even though she knew they wouldn't find anything else.

She traced the paths through the rain forest. Had it been a witch hiding in here when she was here earlier? She was sure it had to be. But why leave the bizarre message on the ground, especially since it was nowhere near the body? Janitorial staff could have easily mistaken it for a joke and cleaned it up without the police ever seeing it.

She walked for another fifteen minutes, peering into dense copses of trees, but seeing nothing. When she returned to the beginning of the trail, she still had no idea why the message had been left with the leaves or what it meant. Some uniformed officers joined in the search, and a few minutes later she and Lance conferred.

“I think it's time we head out,” Lance said.

“Agreed. I don't think there's anything else we can do here tonight. If the others find something, we can come back.”

“You need to get some sleep?”

She shook her head. “We need to tell Winona's daughter what happened to her before she wakes up and realizes her mother isn't there.”

“Worst part of the job.”

“Always is.”

They made it to Lance's car, and as soon as they were inside, he turned on her. “What the hell happened back there?”

“I don't know what you mean,” she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

“Don't give me that. You froze up. You got a problem with Santa Cruz? Did the place personally offend you somehow? An ex live there? What?”

She took a deep breath. “A friend warned me that I wouldn't like it there.”

“Because of all the hippies? They're harmless. Obnoxious, but harmless.”

“No, I've just heard some unsavory things about other people . . . not hippies.”

“Look, we're nowhere near Halloween, so there won't be a bunch of stupid college kids trying to perform satanic rituals and torturing cats.”

“Are you kidding me?” she asked, revulsion flooding her.

“I wish. It's one of the reasons a lot of the local animal shelters won't adopt out black cats in the month of October. But like I said, none of that is going on for another nine months.”

Her stomach turned, and she began to move her hands, then stopped herself just in time before she had conjured Freaky.

“But the fact that kind of stuff happens at all is enough to keep me from wanting to go there. Because those people might only be doing that stuff a couple of times a year, but they live there all the time.”

“I know—it's sick. Like I said, mostly college kids, not the regular granola-eating, tree-hugging residents.”

She didn't respond, and he seemed willing to drop the topic, which relieved her to no end. She couldn't help but wonder how many of those “college kids” were actually practicing real witchcraft and how many others were just jumping on the bandwagon. Some could even be the unwitting pawns of the real witches, who were using them and harnessing their energies.

Lance turned on the radio and classic rock filled the car. They left San Francisco and passed through neighboring towns and cities until they finally were in the mountains. The highway narrowed, and it seemed as if the trees were pressing in on either side. There were only a handful of other cars on the road and whole stretches where they saw no one.

“Where are we?” she asked at last.

“Santa Cruz Mountains. We're in the Redwoods.”

A while farther on, they turned off the main road and climbed into the mountains. She caught glimpses of houses tucked away here and there.

“People here must love their privacy,” she commented.

“You could say that again.”

Finally, more than an hour after they'd left, they arrived at Winona Lightfoot's house. It was a beautiful cabin constructed in the Arts and Crafts style. The porch light was on, but the rest of the house was dark. They pulled into the driveway, and Samantha reluctantly climbed out of the car. She hated doing this, shattering someone's world. It was bad enough to lose a loved one to illness or accident, but to lose them to violence changed a person's view of the world forever.

The gravel on the walk crunched underfoot as they made their way to the porch. Three steps up and they were standing on a well-worn welcome mat, facing a heavy wood door inset with beveled glass.

Lance rang the doorbell. They waited a minute and then rang it again. Lights came on inside, and she could hear steps pounding toward the door. She heard the lock turn and a moment later a girl came into view.