Be My Banshee (Purple Door Detective Agency Book 1) (9 page)

“Pretty face?” Michel stared at Aine in horror. “Who are you two? What do you want?”

Sunshine sat up on the lounge and examined the finished pentagram on her plump arm. “Not bad. I might want to come back for a few of those flourishes. But for now, I want to know what you and your friends have been up to.”

He shook his head. “Nothing. We haven’t done anything. You have the wrong place.”

“You don’t know anything about your clientele being werewolves, shifters, that kind of thing? Is that what you want me to believe?”

“What?” He stared at both women, but quickly averted his gaze from Aine’s horrific countenance. “There’s no such thing, right? I mean, those things don’t exist.”

“You tell me.” Sunshine put a carefully manicured purple fingernail under his chin. “Do you think they exist?”

Her magic swirled around him. Aine could see it, and saw the change that came over him.

“Okay. We get a lot of talkers in here. People get comfortable, and they want to tell you their whole life story. A few of them told us some wild tales. Then Harley was approached by some chick who offered him money if he’d help her do a few things.”

“What kind of things?” Sunshine asked.

“It sounds goofy, but she gave us names and asked us to stick them and collect some of their blood. It wasn’t much—just a dot on a napkin. She was willing to pay a lot of money. What difference did it make? It didn’t hurt them or anything.”

“What difference indeed,” Aine growled.

“Blood magic.” Sunshine nodded. “If you were doing what this woman asked of you, why is Harley dead?”

“I don’t know. I swear I don’t know. John was the first one that we took a drop of blood from. We didn’t think it had anything to do with his death. I mean, how could it?”

“Who is this woman that hired you?” Aine asked.

Michel laughed nervously. “Harley was the only one who made contact with her. I don’t know who she is or where she comes from. That’s the truth. We were scared when we heard he was killed. We figure that chick was bad news. She might’ve even killed him. She might come after us too.”

“That’s all I can think of.” Sunshine glanced at Aine. “You?”

“They may have the names of their next victims,” Aine replied. “Perhaps a list that Jane can look up on the magic box.”

“Good idea.” Sunshine grinned. “Mr. Bad was so right about you. Michel, give us that list.”

He moved away from the fingernail that had held him in place and scrounged around in a drawer until he found a list of five names. Only John’s name had been crossed off.

Aine sniffed the list. “Written in human blood.”

“Okay, Michel and—” she glanced sharply at the second tattoo artist still frozen under Aine’s spell—“what’s your name?”

Aine nodded and freed him.

“Ike.” His voice broke like a teenager’s.

“Michel. Ike.” Sunshine gazed at them with unforgettable blue eyes. “All of this is going to seem like a dream to you after we’re gone. Forget the list. Forget the mystery chick. Forget John.       None of this ever happened. Mourn your friend. Keep doing these awesome tattoos. Don’t be so greedy.”

Both men blinked as they watched two women walk out of
Tattoo Hell
.

“I need a drink.” Michel ran his hand around the back of his neck. “That last one took a lot out of me.”

“I think it looked great though, man,” Ike said. “I could use an early night.”

* * *

“Human blood,” Aine said when they were in the convertible and headed back to the agency. “We must be mistaken about the magic. It has to be a witch tearing people to shreds. I know of no other creature that would use blood in this manner.”

“No way. There’s no way a witch did this. I would’ve sensed it. I would’ve felt the magic.”

“I think your bond with the wolf clouds your judgment.”

Sunshine glared at her. “I don’t care what you think. I’m not blinded by my love for John. And if that were the case, why couldn’t you sense the magic at the crime scenes? I’m telling you this is something else that uses blood magic.”

“Perhaps you’re correct.” Aine understood her partner’s agitation over the death of her lover. “I do not know of any other creature that uses blood to hunt for their victims and destroy them in such a manner, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”

“Werewolves sometimes use blood to hunt for their victims,” Sunshine agreed. “But I can’t imagine one of them planning something this way. Usually if they want to kill you, they kill you. But since this is like nothing I’ve seen before, I could be wrong about that too.”

“Is there a pack? Could this be a pack dispute for leadership?”

“I don’t know. I can ask around. But John wasn’t the pack leader and had no interest in taking that position. He usually didn’t stay in one place that long. He was a loner.”

“It could be possible that the pack leader misjudged John. A few carefully placed questions could bear fruit. I would be happy to undertake this for you. I know your heart is not in it.”

Sunshine pulled the convertible into the agency parking lot. “My heart might be broken by John’s death, but the rest of me is ready for revenge. You don’t have to worry about my commitment.”

“I shall await word from you on that inquiry then.” Aine inclined her head.

“Thanks.” Sunshine grabbed her bag. “You really had my back in there. I appreciate it. You’re going to make a wonderful partner. Will you contact O’Neill tonight?”

“Yes. The time is right for him to know me—and himself.”

“Well, let me know how that goes. Maybe once he knows you and himself he’ll get off our tails with his homicide investigation.”

* * *

After spending hundreds of years as the
beane sidhe
for the O’Neill family, Aine was nervous as she prepared herself for that night. It was absurd, almost beyond belief, that her hands would tremble as she thought of the task ahead of her. How many O’Neills had she gone to this way? It was true that most of them were adolescent, but it should make no difference.

She stared at the crescent moon in the black sky above her. It was possibly the only thing older than her in this city. “How many times have you stared down at me?” she asked the glowing white circle. “How many dreams did you take from me?”

It was also unusual for her not to be in the same dwelling with the O’Neill she haunted. She’d been with the family for so long it was getting difficult to remember when she didn’t serve them. It was no great hardship for her to go to his home—Aine was not a creature of flesh and blood unless she chose to be. The woman who would enter Sean O’Neill’s dreams would be the ghost of her former self.

Because it was customary, Aine stood outside O’Neill’s home and moaned in her most piteous voice. She stared at the second story window where his ‘apartment’—Sunshine’s words—was located. She reached for him with long gaunt arms and wept for his ultimate death. It was the way of the
beane sidhe
to begin the long process.

No one ventured close to their windows that night to discover where the terrifying sound came from. Some in the building turned on their lights and shivered beneath their blankets, praying for morning.

When the preliminary announcement was made, Aine allowed herself to drift into O’Neill’s bedroom.

He was alone in his room. He’d been asleep for a few hours. A smaller version of Jane’s magic box was open on the bed beside him with a picture of the Purple Door Detective Agency on the screen.

There were other accoutrements of his life and profession. He slept with a gun under his pillow. His gray suit was carelessly tossed on a chair. There were pictures of his parents on a nearby dressing table—no photos of a sister or brother. He was the last of his family line.

Aine watched him sleep for a moment, realizing the profound change his life would take when he realized he was not alone and would never be alone again in his lifetime. The secrets she would impart to him were for him alone and could never be shared with another. That was the sacred vow between them.

“Ach! I am happy beyond words to be here at your side, O’Neill. Prepare yourself. I am coming for you.”

O’Neill sat up in bed, gun in hand, and faced her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Chapter Ten

Such a thing had never happened to Aine in all her long years of haunting the O’Neill family. She gaped like the goldfish in the bowl for a moment before she found her voice.

“Go back to sleep,” she hissed. “You cannot be awake at this moment. Sleep, O’Neill.”

As
beane sidhe
magic went, it was poorly done, but her excuse—to find him awake and staring at her—was enough. What should she do if he didn’t fall unconscious?

“I think I need to be awake right now. What’s your name—Ann?” The gun stayed steady on her face as did his suspicious and angry gaze.

“I am Aine of Ulster,” she corrected. “And you cannot be awake. The first time must be in a dream. I cannot come to you with glad tidings while you are awake.”

“Glad tidings?” He got to his feet slowly, glancing around the room as he turned on the bedside lamp. “Is it Christmas already? You don’t look like an angel. Let’s try again. What are you doing here?”

Aine was nearly beside herself trying to decide how to correct the situation. She had never faced another like it. It was possible that she would have to give up this poor attempt at communication and leave him. She must have been more affected by coming to this foreign place than she realized.

“I apologize, O’Neill.” She slightly inclined her head. “I shall return at another time.”

“Stay where you are,” he commanded. “I’m calling for backup. I knew you had something to do with those murders. You and Little Miss Sunshine. Did you really think you could rip me apart too? Was I getting too close to the truth for you?”

“No.” Instead of guilt and remorse, anger suddenly came to her at his ignorance. “I am not here to harm you, fool. I am here to offer you a great gift—a gift you have never seen the like of before. You are the last of your bloodline to receive this gift.”

Alarm changed the focus of his attention. “Did you already kill Malto?”

“I have killed no one as of late, though I am sorely tempted to snap your neck at this moment. Surely the O’Neill bloodline has thinned and grown cold to have produced the likes of you. Perhaps in your last dying moments you would comprehend. I have never known even an O’Neill to be as stubborn.”

He’d picked up his cell phone as she spoke and punched in his partner’s number. “Malto? Are you okay?”

“Who is this? O’Neill? Have you got a mental problem? It’s two a.m. Go back to bed.”

When his partner had abruptly ended her side of the conversation, O’Neill stared at Aine again. “You’re lucky she’s still safe.”

“I have no reason to harm her.”

“I’m calling the station.”

As he began to use the phone again, Aine waved her hand, and the phone died. He hit it against the edge of the night stand a few times, but nothing happened.

“That’s okay. Sit down in that chair.” He waved the gun toward the chair with his suit on it. He grabbed two ties and prepared to strap her to the seat.

She laughed, turning from the middle-aged form in black to the hideous crone. “You will not bind me, O’Neill. Sit down. Put that weapon on the table.”

Her ghastly voice and commanding form brought compliance. He tried to look away from her after he was seated, but she had compelled him to face her. “What do you want from me? How can you change the way you look? Did you inject me with drugs while I was sleeping? That’s a felony, you know. You could spend the rest of your life in prison.”

Aine stayed where she was. It was difficult to control her temper but necessary. Only in calm could she relate to the most important man in her life. She began to comb her long gray hair through her fingers as she spoke in a sing-song voice.

“Your family has existed for many years with different branches of the O’Neill bloodline. Hundreds of years ago, a Queen of Ulster took to her breast a false lover who accused your family of terrible crimes.”

As she spoke, her countenance changed to the young, beautiful queen in the green velvet dress. Her fiery hair spilled down her back and across her shoulders. She wore a gold crown regally on her head. The emeralds in her ears and around her throat matched the color of her eyes.

“The queen believed her lover who had told her that he was wronged by the O’Neill family. She led the group that went to O’Neill castle and killed a great many of your family. In doing this, she doomed herself to haunt the O’Neills after she had passed through the underworld. She exists only as a
beane sidhe
to serve the family. For hundreds of years after she passed, she was friend, advisor, and protector to your ancestors.”

Hazy images of the O’Neill family through generations in Ireland passed before O’Neill’s amazed eyes, holding him in thrall. He saw his long-dead family members during the stages of their lives with a shadowy figure that greeted them at birth, came to them in adolescence to tell them their story, and held their hands at the moment of death to guide them to the underworld.

“I am Aine, Queen of Ulster, descendent of the
Fae
and the
Tuatha de Danaan
. I confess to you my sin against your family, which brings me to serve you, as is traditional. I regret I could not be here for several generations, including the start of your own life. I was held against my will at Castle O’Neill and only woke there recently. I immediately came to find you and relate your story. I am in your service from now until the day you die. I shall announce your death three times before it comes to you. I swear to you my fealty and that I shall be next to you as you travel to the underworld.”

Aine changed to the middle-aged woman in the black cloak and then to the ragged crone as she continued to comb through her waist-length hair.

When she had stopped telling the story, the spell on O’Neill was lifted. He stared at her without speaking for several moments.