mission magic 01 - the incubus job (8 page)

“Accidentally? How did you know that?”

“Her neck was broken. If he wanted her dead, he’d have sucked her dry while screwing her. Easier and he gets more out of it”

“Maybe he was hired to kill her.”

“I don’t think so. He wasn’t at all nervous and stayed in Vegas another couple days before moving on. I got there a week or so later. After that, he headed here by way of Salt Lake City, Omaha, Chicago, and Buffalo. He didn’t seem like he was in much of a hurry until he left Chicago, and then he burned rubber without stopping even once to eat.”

“What set him off?”

“No clue. Never saw him meet with anyone, and I was keeping a close eye out. He kept the box with him everywhere he went.” Which is why I hadn’t yet stolen it back and why there was a good chance that whoever had killed him had taken it. I’d have to call Ivan and have him get more information from his business partner on the box and its contents.

“It sure would be helpful to know what was in the box and why someone might want to kill to get it,” Law said, echoing my thoughts.

“Unfortunately I agree,” I said. “Where’s the body?”

“Over here,” he said, leading me to the right away from the pool. “You should know that ‘body’ is more optimistic than accurate.”

We came around a little wall partition and I stopped. It took everything I had not to vomit. The stench of death was thick. I swallowed hard, tasting bile. I’d like to say I’d seen worse but I hadn’t.

We faced a U-shaped couch built into the wall. It was wide on the sides, maybe ten feet or so, with the center only about five feet. The back was low. In the center of the space was a fire pit lined with beaten copper. Far above was a round copper exhaust fan. All of it was splattered with gore. Blood streaked the walls and sprayed across the ceiling and vent. More pooled on the floor and in the fire pit and drenched the cushions.

That was only the beginning. Bits of bone protruded from the center wall. Strips of skin wove between them. There was no blood or flesh on the undersides. They looked as if they’d been tanned. Taken together, the gory mural appeared to be some sort of pattern like a word or a symbol but nothing I understood.

“Christ. What the hell happened?” I asked. “Where is the rest of him?” I couldn’t see any evidence of flesh or internal organs.

I shuddered as tendrils of terror and bliss stuck to me. They whirled slowly through the air like flying leaches. Repulsed, I batted at them with my hand but to little effect.

“You feel them?” I asked Law.

He nodded. “I don’t think they are dangerous. Just a party trick. Don’t use magic,” he warned.

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” I snapped. “And I’m definitely not entertained. A bath in acid might do the trick.”

“I’ll wash your back if you wash mine.”

The idea sent a ripple of entirely inappropriate desire through me. “This is not the time,” I murmured, examining the scene to see if there was something I missed. “Who found the scene and why? You said this area wasn’t being used.”

“It seems the killer put a call in to the front desk. Said there was a mess that needed to be cleaned up.”

“Why would he want to hurry the discovery process?” I mused out loud, my mind tracking over the few facts we had. “It doesn’t make sense. He kills the incubus and reports it; that only cuts down the time he has to escape. If he has to retrieve the box, the time only gets shorter. And another thing—what triggered the shutdown shields?”

“It could have been any number of things,” Law said.

“Like?”

“Certain beings must obey specific protocols within the auberge. If they don’t, the shields trigger.”

“How often does that happen?”

“Rarely,” he admitted.

“What else?” I’d moved into professional mode, my brain trying to pick apart how the shield trigger figured into the incubus and the box. I wanted to rule out other scenarios.

Law cut to the chase.

“You’ve got a theory,” he said.

“More like a gut feeling,” I hedged. I’d never liked to throw my ideas on the table until I had something like proof.

“Your gut feelings are generally on target. Let’s hear it.”

“What if the killer triggered the shields on purpose?”

Law frowned. “Why?”

“Trigger the shields on the way out, and it gives him time to make a clean escape. Either that or it distracts us and buys time to find the box.”

“The one Ivan sent you for.”

I nodded. “Same logic. If the incubus had the box with him and the killer took it, then triggering the shields as he escapes slows me down and maybe I lose his trail. On the other hand, it might all be a play for time—keep you busy and me out of the way while he searches for the box. Then all he has to do is lay low until you lift the shields, which probably won’t be more than a few hours since your clientele will be chasing you with pitchforks if you don’t.”

Law considered. “It’s possible. Even likely. Until I investigate, I’ll have to look at other possibilities, but I’m willing to put your theory on the top of the likely list for now. The question is whether the killer left Effrayant or if he’s still here. Soon as we’re done here, we’ll go check out the incubus’s room. On the way, I’ll talk to LeeAnne. She has the power to trigger the shields as well.”

I nodded. Of course. As the housekeeper, LeeAnne would need that option at her fingertips. I considered and dismissed the idea that she’d have activated the shields. If something big enough to make her do that had happened, she’d have sent an army to fetch Law. No, this was something else.

Law glanced around one more time. “I’m not picking anything useful up here. No traces of any particular magic or ritual, aside from the leftovers of terror and pleasure. You?”

I examined the scene one more time. Nothing suggested pattern or a ritual. “What happened to all the flesh from the body? The bones look polished, and the skin looks tanned,” I said, trying not to think about the fact that only a few hours ago those bones and skin had been part of a living, breathing incubus—a man I’d never met but had come to know.

He had been handsome as sin, but that went without saying when talking about an incubus. He liked to laugh, and he liked to drink. Human food did nothing to feed him, but he seemed to enjoy it all the same. He was hedonistic. He liked pleasure in every form. I’d followed him into clubs, restaurants, a baseball game, and a museum. I have to admit that I had envied him a little. He didn’t seem to have a care in the world. Now he really didn’t have one.

“The killer couldn’t have taken very much time to do this,” Law said. “Between the time you arrived and the murder call came in, it couldn’t have been more than an hour—an hour and a half at most. In that time the incubus was lured here and this happened.” He waved, the gesture taking in the entire scene.

“The murderer would have been covered with blood and gore,” I said. “You’d think someone would have noticed that. You’d also think there’d be a blood trail. He couldn’t have done this without at least getting blood on his shoes. Unless he flew.”

“A possibility,” Law said and I could see him reviewing likely culprits in his mind. He frowned. “There aren’t any voids, though.”

He was right. Even if the murderer were hovering in the air, his body would have blocked the arterial spray and left blank spots somewhere on the walls, ceiling, or floors. Which brought us back to magic, which we already knew and told us nothing about the killer.

The only magical remnants from the murder that I could feel were the whirling confetti of pleasure-infused terror. It was deliberate. Whoever had done this wanted investigators to know that the incubus had suffered and the killer had enjoyed every excruciating moment. It was a message of some kind.

“I don’t know that there’s anything else to find here. Maybe we should head upstairs.”

Law nodded. “I have the incubus’s room number. I fetched you before I went to see it.”

I felt my cheeks heat as I remembered just what had happened after he’d found me in the club. He was watching me, but instead of looking smug, he looked troubled.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Whoever killed the incubus was targeting him. Finding him, luring him down here—it was well planned.”

I nodded, my brow furrowing. This was reasonably obvious. “Yeah?”

Law grimaced. “If he is after the stolen box, you’ll be going after him.”

“That’s the job,” I said.

“This thing is dangerous,” he said.

I was beginning to see where this was going, and anger rolled through me. “It is.” I offered nothing more. I was going to see if he was really going to jump off this bridge.

He was.

“What if you can’t handle it?” he asked bluntly.

It was a fair question, and if it had been anyone else but him asking, I’d probably have taken it better. As it was, all I knew was that he was doubting me, questioning my ability. Maybe because of the Ammit demon and lich incidents or maybe because I’d failed to grab the box already. Maybe the ghosts made him think I was weak. Maybe he just didn’t think I was good enough.

“I guess if I can’t handle it, I’ll end up painting the walls like the incubus,” I said. “Let’s hope I’m better than that.”

Law dragged his fingers through his hair. “Damn it, Mal! This is serious.”

“I’m well aware of that, Law,” I snapped. “I just didn’t realize that you had such a low opinion of my skills.”

He gripped my shoulders, jerking me against him. “This has nothing to do with your skills, and you know it,” he seethed. “We don’t know what this thing is, but we know it’s smart and it’s dangerous. What makes you think you can handle it by yourself?”

I shoved myself back. He extended his arms but didn’t let go. “What makes you think I can’t?” I demanded.

“I don’t think so, but I also don’t know that you can. For one, you’ve decided you’re anti killing. All well and good, but that handicaps you whether you like it or not. For two—” He broke off.

I waited, chin jutting stubbornly. He didn’t continue.

“That’s it? I don’t kill so I’m doomed to fail? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” This time I succeeded in pushing out of his grasp. “Good thing I broke our partnership up when I did. I knew you wouldn’t trust me to guard your back anymore.”

Saying that out loud lanced a hurt I’d been hiding from for years. The same reason I was content to work solo. I only risked my own life now. What if he was right? What if my unwillingness to kill an enemy got him killed? My life was my own to pay but his? Even now the thought of his getting hurt or worse because I failed to kill an enemy sent a shiver of horror down my spine.

“I trust you with my life,” he said. “But what if the only way to handle this thing is to burn it? Behead it? Tear its heart out? It’s not human; you can bet your life on that. You can’t just shoot it in the knee or knock it on the head. Demons don’t work that way, and it’s a damned good bet this is a demon. It enjoys the kill. It enjoys suffering. Tell me what you’ll do if you end up face-to-face with it. Punch it in the jaw?” He grabbed my purse and opened it, pulling out the brass knuckles. “I see you’re still carrying these.” He tossed them aside scornfully. “It would be like a mosquito biting a rhino.”

It took all I had not to slam him onto his ass. I hadn’t spent the past six years wringing my hands about my self-determined limitations. I’d developed new ways to fight and defend myself, plus working up a myriad of spells for capturing and containing opponents. I’d even gone old school and inscribed a bunch of them on my flesh using an inkless tattoo gun. Once inscribed, I invoked them and pulled them inside me, where they became a part of my body, blood and bone.

I didn’t trust my memory in emergencies.

Law had always been good at keeping his spells ready in his mind. He could visualize and invoke them in the blink of an eye. When we were partners, he’d made me practice doing the same over and over until I could call up spells in my sleep.

I got obsessed with practicing. I never trusted that I would get them right in the middle of a firefight. Forget even a bit of a spell, and the results could be explosive, not to mention fatal.

That’s when I’d gone old school. In the way back when, witches and druids had cut their spells into their skin with knives. That way they couldn’t forget them. Doing it that way was painful at best, and a whole lot of dangerous. It was easy to pass out during the cutting and lose control of the ritual. On top of that, feeding that kind of magic into the body made the sorcerer a target for black market magic harvesters. I’d done it anyway. I liked knowing the spells were always ready, like coins in my pocket. Pick one and go. I didn’t even have to remember a name for the spell. All I had to do was think of the one I wanted, and it would be there. I couldn’t forget them even if I wanted to.

If Law found out, he’d read me the riot act. I’d committed one of the ultimate stupidities in his book. Two of them, if you count not killing ghosts.

Speaking of the devil, he was still fuming at me, his eyes glittering fire.

I deliberately bent and picked up the brass knuckles, gritting my teeth at the way the dress gaped open. Before it had been sexy; now it was just pathetic. “Believe it or not, I’m not an idiot,” I said. “I’ve prepared for what might happen.”

He barely let me finish. “Not enough,” he retorted. “Once you start refusing to go take your enemy down, you show your own Achilles’ heel. He knows he can take risks because you won’t kill him. That gives any opponent a huge advantage.”

“Your faith in my abilities is overwhelming,” I said as I straightened up. “I don’t know if my poor heart can take such praise.”

“I just tell it like I see it,” Law said.

“Well, that answers that question,” I said, tucking the brass knuckles back in my purse. I don’t know if I was more angry or hurt. I was good at my job. Damned good.

“What question?”

“The odds of us ever being partners again,” I said. “Zero to none.”

He jerked back like I’d slapped him, and something that could have been fear flashed in his eyes.

Not likely. Law didn’t know the word fear. My lips tightened into a flat smile. “Partners or not, we’ve got a killer to track down. Let’s get back to work.”