A Mate Worse Than Death

When the Supernatural creatures of fantasy came out of hiding in the 1980s, the Natural Realm, Mundania, found itself protected from the worst of the creatures. A magical Curse forced the most destructive of Supers to work for the public good. But when good Supers go bad, the Supernatural Crimes Investigation branch of law enforcement are on the job. After Detective Tony Newman and her ogre partner Calvin Kelly reach the scene of a high profile murder in downtown Washington, D.C., they find traces of vampire activity and a card leading them to an mageline dating service for Supernaturals. An interview with Mephistopheles, the proprietor of MonsterMate.com, leads Tony to a search through Fairie and the Natural Realms to find the vampire’s master and stop an ancient evil, while avoiding the romantic advances of a certain devilishly handsome dot com CEO. Tony Newman has met her match; she just doesn’t know it yet.

A Mate Worse Than Death

Monster-Mate.com

Book 1

By

J. L. Ray

Copyright 2013 J. L. Ray

With thanks to Kathleen for her assistance and inspiration, to my friends and family for their support, and to my husband, who helps me keep it together in the face of all
things computerish

CHAPTER ONE

Tony’s shit of a day just kept getting worse.

The fun began when her f-light woke her at 4 a.m., howling like the damned. In all fairness, she had set her fairy-magic light on “the damned” the night before to make sure that it actually woke her on time. Her supervisor, Lt. Azeem, had written her up for being late often enough that she assumed she was pretty close to going on review, where never a good time is had, thus, her choice of the most obnoxious setting for the alarm. However, she had set it for six, not four, and for fun, not work. She had planned on a weekend camping trip in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The premature wake up meant nothing but trouble, in this case, an early catch on a homicide, a death knell to what had been a few days off and a chance to spend time with her little brother Fred.

Tony arrived at the scene, meeting her partner Cal at the entrance of an alley behind one of the trendier lines of restaurants and bars on 7th avenue in Washington D.C. He nodded at her, his thick, auburn eyebrows rising in question.

“High-profile area for a homicide” she told him grimly. “Lt. Azeem didn’t tell you?”

“I just got a dispatch call, not a personal invite, but I figured the high-profile bit once I got the address,” Cal told her, his voice rumbling out like rocks from a dump truck. “I think you got the lead on this one on account of you being the looker in this partnership.” He tilted his lumpen head to one side to see if she’d take the bait, but all she did was grimace as she tried hard
not to grin.

“Dude, my pet tarantula’s a looker if we use that scale,” Tony told him.

“That scale?” he asked.

“The compared-to-Calvin scale,” she poked him in his chest, having to reach up high to do it, despite her five feet, eight inch height.

“Huh,” he acknowledged the hit, then paused. “What pet tarantula?”

She threw out a hand and gestured for him to follow, “Come on and I’ll tell you about Snook’ems later.”

“You didn’t! Tell me you didn’t!”

“What? Get a pet tarantula?”

“No! Name a self-respecting creature Snook’ems!”

“Hey, I was five years old. Snooks has been gone a while. Come on. We got dead to view.” She walked into the alley, came to the barrier erected by the uniforms, and showed them her f-light. “Detectives Newman and Kelly” she gestured at Cal as he held up his f-light.
“Pass us through to the scene.”

The older uniform looked at her f-light, passed his hand over it and got a green flash. “Thank you, detective.” He looked up to Cal’s face and blanched, but then held out his hand so Cal could put the f-light up to it. It flashed green and the uniform looked incredibly relieved to pass both detectives through. Tony felt the electric tickle of the magic barrier going though her system. Then she and Cal walked down the deserted alley. The barrier kept crime scenes pristine, blocking mundane and magical interference alike. Without their f-light clearances from headquarters, the barrier would have knocked them both on their asses.

They found the body of the victim lying thirty feet from the barrier. She looked young, but several types of fae didn’t age, even in death. She also looked oddly peaceful.

“They sure this is a homicide?” Cal grated out, passing hands over the victim’s face, but not touching. “She looks kinda euphoric.”

Tony raised one eyebrow at her partner, “Euphoric, huh? You and Angel studying for the SATs again? New word for the week?”

Tony had hunkered down to get a better take on the scene, her hands glowing with a ward to keep from them from depositing effluvia or particulate from her body onto the victim. She pointed to the side of the woman that Cal wasn’t facing. “Check this out, buddy.”

He got up and walked around to the other side, still chuckling, and knelt by Tony as gently as he could. The ground shook just slightly, making the victim’s head roll a bit, allowing more light to hit her neck and the two gaping holes smeared in blood that Tony pointed out to him. Cal breathed in, a shallow breath taken through his mouth, testing the air for scent like a cat. “Hmm, yeah, I see it. All I smell is blood. Go figure.” He snorted, then added, “A revenant?”

“Has to be. Vamps got wiped out, what? Early 20th century? This has got to be a wannabe.”

Cal ground out a sound that turned into “Hmmmm. Well, we think we wiped them out, anyway. Kill one cockroach, ten more show up, y’know?” He turned his head from the evidence and looked down into Tony’s eyes. Even hunkered down, at seven feet, six inches tall, the ogre towered over his partner. “Keep your mind open to the possibility that the Powers That Be missed a few, but didn’t tell nobody nothin’.”

“Ya think?” she shook her head. “Preachin’ to the choir, baby, preachin’ to the choir.” With one glowing hand she reached down to poke around the wound site. “I’m not seeing a lot of blood anywhere except at the wound area.” She looked up at Cal. “If this wasn’t done by a revenant, then the alley must be a dump site. There should be more blood.” She gestured to the victim. “A hell of a lot more blood.”

Cal stared at the pasty skin of the victim. What might have been a Mediterranean olive complexion now looked like more of a washed out yellow. “Yeah, even dead she looks kinda...dead. Happy,” he shrugged massive, heavily muscled shoulders, “but seriously dead.”

Tony shook her head and added, “I better take some images,” and then she held up her f-light and muttered a few words. It began to flash--pink, pink--with each word the device flashed, creating an image that flowed up into the space above the body, hovering until Tony stopped muttering. She glanced through the images and pointed at two of them. “Move.” They shifted to one side and she pointed at the left one, “Go.” It vani
shed. She pointed again,“Go,” and the other disappeared as well. She looked up at Cal, “Check the group and see if I need more.”

He ran his eyes over the remaining images. “Pull back for one in situ and then close up on her eyes, hands, and feet.”

“Feet?”

“I got questions,” he told her.

“Questions, huh. Your gut?”

“My brain, gorgeous.”

The victim, who appeared to be in her early twenties, lay in the alley, draped, as if she had laid down to rest, with her head lying on one arm and the other arm tucked up under her neck. Cal’s movement had shifted her head just enough to expose the bite mark on her long neck. Her outfit, and it was definitely an outfit, included a short leather skirt topped with a handkerchief blouse in bold reds, golds, and purples, the blouse belted above the waist with a wide leather belt that clearly cost more than Tony’s monthly salary. Her pierced ears still held large gold hoops, either retro 1960s style or maybe even originals, and her right wrist, the one tucked under her head, proved that she hadn’t lain that way on purpose. No one could have that much metal under her head and expect to nap. But despite the clearly “put-together” look, there were no shoes on their victim’s feet. Tony got her own hunch about Cal’s hunch.

“Have you been
watching reruns of
What Not to Wear
again?” Tony asked her partner.

“Not on purpose! Berthell is addicted to that show.” He narrowed his eyes at his partner’s smirk. “What? It’s self-defense! You know I don’t tell my sweet wife what to watch when she’s--” he took one hand and made a large half-circle in front of
his belly, “y’know, gestating.”

“Uh huh.”

“What?”

“Her favorite show?” Tony pressed the pronoun. “Cal, just because you have the same last name, doesn’t mean you’re related to the fabulous Clinton Kelly.” She grinned as she brought up a long-standing joke between them.

“Hey, kid, you just never know!” Cal grinned. “Supers and Nattys cross-pollinate all the time.”

Tony blew out a breathe and shook her head, “You smooth-talker! Cross-pollinate? How did you land a lady like Berthell? Yikes.” Then she looked at the victim’s feet again.
“So, no shoes, huh.”

“Well,” Cal grumbled out, clearly annoyed at being outed for enjoying his favorite show, “look at that outfit! Nobody goes to that much trouble on the rest of the outfit but not on the feet. She wouldn’t go out without something nice. And look at her feet.”

The bottoms of the victim’s feet were cut, cut badly.

“So, she ran away?”

“I don’t think so. Look at the blouse.”

“It’s lovely. I hope it’s this season, and maybe I’ll find it on sale.”

Cal lightly slapped the back of his young partner’s head. “Don’t be an ass,” he told her after she stood up straight again. “Look at the armpits.”

“Oooh, do they get to say armpits on the show? Isn’t that a bit crude?” She got another light head smack that almost knocked her off her feet. “Okay, I’ll bite.” She grimaced and muttered, “No pun intended. Okay, already. What’s with her armpits, Clinton?”

Cal moved as if to smack again and then grinned when Tony flinched away from the smack he didn’t deliver. “No sweat stains. That’s silk. Either she’s found the holy grail of deodorants, or she didn’t run enough to sweat.”

“Or she can’t sweat! Some types of fae don’t, you know. It’s like being around domestic pets. They just pant. And drool,“ she grimaced. “And that’ll
put you right off your donuts.”

“Nothing puts me off my donuts,” he murmured, then added, “yeah, you could be right about the sweat. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy. Still, I’m betting she was wearing those platform stiletto things that’re popular right now,” Cal nodded his head sagely, confident that he probably knew more about current fashion than his female partner. And he might have been right. Tony stuck to the pragmatic approach to dressing herself. She blamed it all on being raised by a shopaholic, wealthy mom. A solid seven years separated Tony from her sister Amelia, and while Tony was growing up, her mom treated her like a dress-up doll until she finally rebelled. Tony did know really good clothes, but she just didn’t care enough to follow trends. She was perfectly happy with ready to wear. It drove her poor mother distracted since, with her chestnut brown hair, green-gray eyes and tall, slim figure, Tony could make anything she wore look runway ready. However, Amelia proved happy to take up the slack there and gave her mom an outlet for her shopping habit.

Tony shook her head as she finished the images to take back to the Supernatural Crimes Investigation Bureau, District 8. “C’mon Cal, we need to get the mage squad down to scry for details. Maybe they’ll find the stiletto thingees of which you speak.”

Cal rumbled as he stood
, “You’re irked.”

“What?”

“You’re irked.”

“I’m not irked.”

“You are.”

“Now, I am.”

“I knew it.”

Sigh. “Let’s go.”

“Why’re you irked?”

“Seriously?”

“Why’re you irked?”

“I gotta work with you and you’re asking.”

“I’m askin’.”

She shook her head as they walked up to the barrier. Then Tony turned to her partner and gestured with two fingers for him to come closer. He leaned down. She turned her palm and thwacked him in the head. Being an ogre, the thwack did very little, but the two human cops in front of the barrier were startled, and one even began to unhook his gun holster. When Cal started laughing, the sound of grinding rocks, the uniform cop almost pulled his weapon. Luckily, his partner grabbed his arm and shook his head. As they watched, Cal patted his partner on the head, like a puppy. She gave him a disgusted look, and then t
hey passed through the barrier.

Tony turned to the cop with his hand still on his gun and his mouth hanging open, just a little. “You’ve ever worked with an ogre before?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Total pain in the ass, especially if they get obsessed with self-help shows.” She paused. “And shiny, pretty things, like women’s dress shoes.”

Cal grimaced and leaned down closer to the uniform cop, who flinched back just a little. “Obsessed is an ugly word, especially for such a lovely show. You like
What Not
to
Wear
? Right? Am I right?”

The man nodded, his face scrunched in confusion that turned to alarm as the ogre threw a companionable arm around his head and gave him a mild squ
eeze.

“See, Tony, real men watch
What Not to Wear
. What’s your name, buddy?”

The cop stuttered out, as if in confessional, “D-Davis. My, uh, my wife m-makes me watch it so I buy her the right
stuff for occasions. But, but I kinda like to watch it anyway, now.”

Cal squeezed his new buddy again, eliciting a squeak of alarm from him.

Tony smiled at them and shook her head again, then turned to the other uniform cop who was following the conversation in bemusement. “Hey, I need you to call in the GOOEN Squad.”

“The, uhm, what?”

Tony laughed, “Officer,” she looked at him and he offered, “Hiller”, and she continued, “Officer Hiller, this really is your first rodeo, isn’t it? The Goodly Order of Eldritch Necromancers, the GOOEN Squad. They’re the folks who go over Supernaturals’ murder scenes and promise never ever to use their goodly powers for anything but, well, good.”