Aspen (3 page)

“It’s quite a storm, isn’t it?” he asked.

Aspen slung her dish towel over her shoulder and picked up the one he’d used. It was sopping wet and lightly streaked with blood. She tossed it into the laundry hamper beneath the counter and looked out the window.

“I’ve seen worse, but this is in the top ten.”

The man turned back in his seat. “Did I hear that young lady call you Asp?”

Aspen picked up her tea and sipped from the now tepid brew. “It’s short for Aspen. If you believe my father I was named for the tree I was conceived under.”

The man looked into his coffee cup like it held the mysteries of the universe. “That’s a good, strong name. Just like the tree.”

“Thank you. And you are?”

He looked up and gave a brief, sad smile. “No one of consequence. Just another lost soul looking for a safe place to get out of the rain.”

He finished his coffee and placed the cup on the counter. “Do you think the innkeeper might offer me a room for the night?”

“I don’t know, but I can ask.”

Aspen raised her voice. “Hey, Creek! Can our guest have a room for the night? The storm isn’t letting up.”

There was a grunt from the kitchen and Creek shuffled through the doors. He looked the newcomer up and down and sucked on a tooth like it was the last morsel in the bottom of a milkshake. After a moment he mumbled, “Forty bucks.”

The man smiled his thanks and pulled three soggy twenties from his wallet. He handed one to Aspen and the others to Creek, who traded them for a key marked with a gold 2.

“Be gone by noon,” he said.

“I will. Thank you, sir.”

Creek turned away and vanished back into his sanctum. Aspen watched him go then looked at the newcomer. “Your key opens the hallway closet. Grab some fresh towels and a bar of soap, we don’t leave much in the rooms.”

“Got it. Thank you, Miss Aspen. I will bring you the key in the morning.”

He gathered his things and hurried across to the rooms. Aspen watched him fetch towels, soap and an assortment of toiletries from the closet then disappear into his room. The light came on in the window and she set about closing the diner down for the night. With the storm and the late hour, she doubted anyone else was going to stop for a bite, and she could use the sleep.

CHAPTER THREE

Tempeste Manor, Chicago, 4:00 a.m.

Raven lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She’d been awakened by the distant rumble of thunder, but when she’d looked out the window she’d seen nothing but a clear sky and the waning moon. The thunder hadn’t been nearby, it had been far away, heard through Aspen’s ears.

It had been almost two months since Aspen had taken off for parts unknown. She’d said she needed some space and time to think, and Raven had given it to her, though she had mixed feelings about letting her go. On the one hand, she had strong feelings for Rupert, he was a great friend and even better partner. But she also knew that he would never be happy in her world, and on the other hand she knew she was ignoring feelings for Aspen, and Aspen was already part of the preternatural world. Nothing would ever change that.

She was out of hands, but there was another part of her that thought perhaps everyone would be safer if she just stayed single. Her last girlfriend had been strangled to death by a doppelganger and her last boyfriend had been a scumbag in Strohm’s pocket, who knew what would happen to the next one?

But when she let herself, she missed the kid. A lot. It was all she could do not to reach out along the thread that connected them, to feel her and be with her, at least as much as they could be this far apart. It might be the weirdest long-distance relationship in history, but it was better than the nothing they were sharing at the moment and it might be enough to get Aspen to come home.

And then again, maybe not. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t probe Aspen’s feelings, and she meant to keep that promise, which meant she had no idea if Aspen shared her feelings, or thought anything more of her than as just a very close friend.

Raven sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. She hated relationships. They were confusing, sticky, and often led to hurt feelings where there shouldn’t be any. All too often, they weren’t worth the trouble.

She straightened, gathered up the clothes Dominique had set out for her, and adjourned to her private bath, all the while trying to ignore the little sensation in the back of her head that said, “But what if?”

Smokin’ Guns Motel, St Louis, 5:00 a.m.

Aspen woke to the scent of blood. It filled her nose, reached into her brain, and slapped her awake better than a bucket of ice on her chest. She sat up in bed with a gasp and looked around, her eyes wide. It took a moment for her to get her bearings, she wasn’t in her small apartment in Chicago or the room she’d been given at Tempeste Manor. The furnishings were too spartan. This room contained just a cheap flat-pack dresser, two flat-pack nightstands, and a double bed that was at least twenty years old. A nightlight flickered green and orange within the small attached restroom and she could hear the rain still falling beyond the room’s single window. She was in the room Creek provided her as part of her pay for helping with the diner.

She stood and padded across the threadbare carpet to the door, which was rattling in its frame; the storm was still raging outside. The scent of blood was stronger, but not coming from outside. It was coming from the rusty air vent that attached her room to the one next door and allowed for shared cooling when the rooms were unoccupied for weeks at a time.

Aspen pulled on her jeans, sneakers and jacket then hurried through the rain to the next room, where she knocked as hard as she could.

“Mister? Hey! Mister! Are you okay?”

There was no answer. Aspen gripped the doorknob and muttered a few syllables under her breath. The door popped open and she stepped out of the rain and into a room that was a mirror image of her own, except for the scent of blood and death that clung to the walls. The guest lay in the middle of the bed, his eyes wide and staring, blood running from his mouth and nose.

Aspen knew what she was going to find, but her training kicked in, and she checked his neck for a pulse anyway. His skin was still warm, but there was nothing, no hint of a heartbeat beneath his ear. He was dead and already beginning to cool in the blast of the air-conditioning.

She paused for a moment, her mind working. She should leave any investigation to the police, but she knew Creek and she knew hunters. No police would be called. If he’d been a fellow hunter, his death would have been investigated and revenge sought by every hand available.

But he wasn’t a hunter, and that meant his body would be buried in an unmarked grave with no fanfare or ceremony. A police investigation might dig up things that were better left buried and not all departments had a detective like Raven who could handle preternatural cases. If a vanilla cop got wind of a preternatural case, the Master of St. Louis would have to get involved and that was something she knew Creek would rather avoid. Hunters didn’t like Masters much, and the feeling was mutual. Their hundred year old truce was an uneasy one and it was best not to shake its foundation.

Aspen pulled the sheet back to reveal the victim. He’d gone to bed in nothing but his boxers and she could see that he was much thinner than she’d thought when she’d first seen him. His skin was grey and clung to his flesh, in some places tight as a drum while in others it sagged where the muscle beneath had wasted away to almost nothing. Blue-tinted veins stood out against his grey skin and his eyes were bloodshot, even more so than they had been the night before. But there was no sign of a wound or an overt cause of death.

She straightened and hurried back to her room, where she gathered her crime scene kit from its hiding place in the back of the closet. She returned to the adjoining room, donned a pair of gloves and set about searching for a cause of death. She started at his head then moved downward, working with practiced hands that knew their job. His body was covered in bruises and abrasions, but none were more serious than those obtained in a back room brawl. She found nothing that could account for his death or emaciated condition.

“What’s going on?” a voice asked.

Aspen glanced over her shoulder at Jynx, who was standing just far enough inside the room not to be soaked by the rain. She was still dressed in her jeans and ‘stripper’ tee, but stood barefoot with a silver pistol in her hand.

“Dead guy,” Aspen replied simply.

She heard Jynx move closer. “I’m guessing you didn’t make him that way?”

Aspen shook her head. “Nope. I found him this way, I smelled the blood from my room and came to check on him.”

Jynx holstered her pistol at the small of her back. “What are you doing, then?”

“Investigating his death before Creek buries him behind the diner and forgets about him. Help me roll him over.”

Jynx joined her and together they rolled him onto his side. He had more bruises around his kidneys and upper back. Aspen ran her hands over his flesh, starting at his lower back and along his spine, looking for anything less obvious. At the base of his skull she found a bubble that, when pressed, wept a small amount of silverfish fluid.

“What the hell is that shit?” Jynx asked.

Aspen shook her head. “No clue. But it isn’t natural. Grab a sample tube from my kit, will you?”

Jynx made a face. “You’re as bad as my sister. You find something weird and immediately want to study it. Normal people flush weird shit down the toilet.”

She turned away and reappeared at Aspen’s elbow with a pair of stoppered tubes. Aspen uncorked one and gathered as much of the material as she could from the wound. She then capped and labeled it for later identification. When she was finished she removed her goo-covered gloves and fished a device about the size of a smart phone from her kit. It flickered to life displaying the Automated Fingerprint Identification System logo and she pressed the victim’s thumb to the pad. It took a few moments for the system to connect in the storm, but then the victim’s information began to scroll across the screen.

“Kristofer Martel, forty-two years old from Denver, Colorado. It looks like he did six years in the Marines before an honorable discharge,” she read aloud. “Current occupation is listed as investigator.”

Jynx looked over her shoulder. “He was pretty good looking before tonight. Nice eyes.”

Aspen pursed her lips. “According to this, that picture was taken two weeks ago when he renewed his license.”

She put the AFIS reader back in her kit and looked at the body. “What happened to you, Kris?”

Jynx shrugged. “What do we care? He’s dead, there is no evidence a critter was involved, it isn’t our business.”

Aspen glanced at her. “I care because someone has to. The world is littered with people who were killed and left behind. They don’t have a voice so we have to give them one.” She turned to face Jynx. “Besides, it’s a weird one. My girlfriend would never let me forget it if I turned my back on a weird case.”

Jynx cocked her head. “You have a girlfriend?”

Aspen felt the blush rise in her cheeks. “I do. Sort of, anyway. It’s complicated, but I really wish she was here right now.”

“I try to avoid complicated. I’ve had more boyfriends than I can count, when they get clingy I move on,” Jynx said. She yawned and turned away. “Good luck with the dead guy, I’m going back to bed.”

“You aren’t the least bit curious?”

Jynx shook her head. “Nope. Dead human, no critter, I am so not curious. All I want is a couple more hours’ sleep. Then I am going to check on Piper and see if we can move on from this dump and get back to the action. Laters.”

Aspen watched her go, feeling lonelier than she had in some time.

Dammit, Raven, I wish you were here,
she thought.

She turned back to the body and finished her examination, which led to little new information. There was something black under his fingernails which she scraped and added it to her small pile of evidence. She then searched the rest of the room. There was no sign of forced entry and no sign anyone had been in the room with Martel. It looked as if he had drunk some water from one of the plastic-wrapped cups in the bathroom, disrobed on his way back to the bed and collapsed. His clothes left a trail from the bathroom floor to the side of the bed.

Aspen searched through his belongings, but found nothing but a wad of wet cash and an old rabbit’s foot keychain with the keys to his car. Not even a driver’s license or credit cards were present.

She was putting his clothes in a laundry bag when a slim card fell out of his shoe and clattered to the floor, where it vanished beneath the bed. Aspen knelt and groped in the shadows until her questing fingers closed around the small rectangle and she pulled it into the light. It was a hotel keycard belonging to the St. Louis Four Seasons hotel. The room number had been written on the back in black marker: 343.

Aspen slipped the key into an evidence bag and finished gathering Martel’s belongings. When she was done she locked the door and deposited the evidence in her own dresser before hurrying to the ancient Airstream parked behind the motel. Creek used the old trailer as both his home and office, freeing up space for any guests in need of the hotel’s handful of rooms. A light burned in the trailer’s porthole window and Aspen could hear the strains of Hank Williams through the door. She knocked politely and waited. Creek opened the door a moment later wearing nothing but an old pair of boxers. Aspen had seen uglier sights, but she couldn’t think where.

“Whu’s up? Too early, ‘spen,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Creek, something’s happened. The new guy… I found him dead in his room about an hour ago,” Aspen said.

Creek’s brow furrowed and his face darkened. “Wha’ killed ’im?”

“I don’t know yet. None of the usual suspects, but I don’t think it was natural causes. I’m going to look into it, though. Just give me a few days, okay?” Aspen asked.

Creek folded his arms. “Not ‘skeeters or wolves, den? Not a critter you know?”

Aspen shook her head. “No, nothing like that. If it was a monster of some kind, it is nothing I’m familiar with.”

“Okay. Ye keep th’ skeeters out o’dis and do yer thing. I’ll take care of ‘im.”

“Thank you, Creek. Michelle will be in this morning to cover the counter, I’ll get right on this.”

Aspen started away, but was stopped by Creek.

“Ye gonna call Raven?”

Aspen looked over her shoulder at him.

“She’s your Miss, right? Can’t hurt, ‘spen,” Creek continued.

Aspen turned away and continued toward her room. “Maybe. I’ll let you know what I find.”

Twenty minutes later she left her room dressed in one of the outfits she’d been given by Lady Valentina; Leather pants, leather jacket, and a white blouse matched with a pair of low-heel boots. Her cross and amulet hung around her neck and she’d pulled her violet hair into a ponytail that flowed down her back and kept it out of her face. Her pistol, a 10MM Javelina that had been a gift from Raven, was holstered uncomfortably at the small of her back.

Dawn had come and the rain had stopped, leaving the air cool and crisp with a hint of the haze that would rise later in the day. Aspen couldn’t help but smile at the gentle pink sun hovering over the horizon. It was going to be a good day.