Darkest Misery (8 page)

I watched him walk outside the room, envious of his excuse to leave and amused that he seemed glad for the chance. So, for that reason, when his emotions went into a tailspin, I noticed right away. Whatever news he'd received on that call couldn't be good if I felt his frustration and anger so clearly.

I caught his eye and silently left the table to join him in the hall. He hung up as I approached. “Are you okay?”

Tom rubbed his eyes. “I'm fine, but we have a problem. Jessica, Olef is dead.”

Chapter Eleven

The floor dropped out from under me. That's what it felt like. I actually pressed against the wall for support. I thought my spinning head might fly off in a million directions.

“Dead? No.” Olef couldn't be dead. It wasn't just that we needed him here—his knowledge and his calming presence—although we did. But I counted Olef as a friend. Not one I knew well, but one I'd known for a long time. He was a good person. Always kind, invariably helpful, and damn it—a good tipper too.

Of all the stupid things to remember. Shit. I felt sick to my stomach.

“The cops are on the scene already,” Tom was saying as he punched numbers into his phone. “Hold it together. I need to get us over there before they mess things up.”

Cops? Mess what up?

Before I could ask, the answer came to me like another blow to the head. It was obvious. Olef wasn't merely dead. He'd been murdered, and quite possibly—likely—because of his involvement with this meeting. Had someone found out about it and tried to silence him?

That line of thought opened up a hundred new questions and problems, none of which I could deal with in my current state.

Olef. Dead. I was stuck on that, and my emotions seesawed between nauseated grief and searing rage in a way that totally did not help my head.

“Jess?” Lucen appeared in the hall, and he put a hand on my arm. “What happened?”

“Olef was killed,” I whispered, only belatedly wondering if Tom would be upset with me for sharing the news.

Swearing, Lucen wrapped his arms around me, and at the moment, I didn't care how many Gryphons saw as I collapsed against him.

“He was a friend.” A friend, and we needed him. Though my chest hurt, I couldn't overlook the cold practicality of the situation. Even with my head buried against Lucen, I could hear the arguments continue inside the conference room.

Without Olef, we were toast.

I took a shaky breath, realized Tom was watching me, and released Lucen. I had to get my head back in the game fast. “I want to be part of this investigation,” I told Tom.

He nodded slowly, sticking the phone away. “A team is heading over now. You should join them with me. Olef was searching for materials. It's possible whoever did this might not have found them.”

Lucen didn't let go of my wrists. “You're certain Olef's death is related to this?”

“I can't be one hundred percent, but it seems likely. It's clearly homicide from what I was told.”

I closed my eyes, hoping however Olef had died, it had been quick. Fear of the answer kept me from asking, but I'd find out soon enough. “First Mitch and I are kidnapped. Now Olef is killed. If we're trying to be discreet, I'd say we failed.”

Tom's frown deepened, but he didn't disagree. “I've got to let Ingrid know. They can finish the meeting today without us.”

Lucen laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, I think they're finished already.” He grabbed my hands as Tom returned to the room. “Are you sure you want to go?”

“Positive. I liked Olef, and let's be realistic. We needed whatever he was researching. I
have
to go.”

He bit his lip. “I only ask because you're upset, little siren. I don't want you more upset by visiting the crime scene.”

“I can handle it. I want to be a part of this. I want to find whoever did this, and I want to kill them.”

Before they could kill anyone else involved. Like the satyr in front of me.

Since I was leaving with Tom, I was spared the annoyance of being tailed by my satyr bodyguards. We said very little on the drive. There wasn't much to talk about yet, and I didn't have much to say regardless. The nausea and dizziness of shock had worn off, leaving me with the awful empty numbness of grief and a slow, simmering anger.

Just as all preds lived in Shadowtown, the magi grouped together in their own neighborhood known as The Feathers. It was the very opposite of Shadowtown in every conceivable way, from the bright colors to the overwhelming filth.

Tom had to find parking a couple streets away, and we traipsed down the crowded sidewalks. The cacophony of bike bells and car horns and the cheery flags flying from the streetlamps got under my nerves. It was all too happy and normal. My emotions had been easier to control in the sterile, bland hotel, and again in Tom's meticulously clean, gray car. I had to refrain from snapping at the people who brushed by me as we walked.

Thanks to the Gryphon SUVs outside, and the cop car that was pulling away from the curb, it was easy to figure out which building was Olef's. It stood smack in the middle of a row of enormous Victorians that had been converted into apartments, a green-and-purple monstrosity complete with a turret.

It was also too garishly cheerful.

The front door was propped open, and I counted three mailboxes next to it. A cop met us in the tiny foyer. We flashed him our badges, and he pointed past a beat-up bike into a set of dimly lit stairs that had seen better days.

“Second floor. Your buddies are already here.”

The stairs creaked mood-appropriate background noise as we climbed, but voices soon drowned out the plaintive sound. The door atop the landing had been propped open, and I slipped inside the apartment after Tom.

Sadness hit me anew. This place was quintessentially Olef. Exactly as I'd have imagined it. Bookshelves lined every foot of wall space in the living room, each overflowing. More books cluttered the small tables, one of which was overturned, and still others were spread across the floor.

Overturned.

I paused, taking a closer inspection. Magi were generally a slovenly lot, but this seemed very not Olef-like. The books weren't neatly stacked, but strewn everywhere, lying open, spines bent upside down, pages crumpled. Olef was a librarian, and he loved books too much to treat his in such a way, even if he shared the magi predilection for untidiness. “Whoever did this was searching for something. But did they find it?”

“Let's hope not,” Tom said, and it was the last word he got out before two new Gryphons and an unknown woman appeared around the corner.

I ignored the woman, who was either plain-clothed PD or from the coroner's office, and my eyes settled on one of the Gryphons. My unhappy stomach sank further. As if this situation wasn't unpleasant enough already.

“Jess.” Agent Andre Pagan gave me an awkward smile. “Good to see you.”

Andre had been the Gryphon assigned to train me when I'd first been blackmailed into working for them. Tall, sexy and an all-around good guy, I once thought he'd be a great catch if I hadn't had Lucen. But the case we'd worked on had nearly gotten us killed, and—perhaps worse—dealing with curses and satyr aphrodisiacs had gotten us both naked and into a very, uh, interesting situation.

I'd had to hit a naked Andre with a chair in order to save his life. That sort of behavior made things uncomfortable after the fact. To put it mildly. No matter how well we'd worked together until then, I'd known it would be the last time. I hadn't gone out of my way to avoid him since, but I hadn't searched him out either. Andre, I suspected, had been avoiding
me
. Blaming him for it wasn't possible.

I returned the smile as best I could, and mine came out more sad than awkward. “So you'll be the one investigating?”

“I'm usually one of the go-to people for magic-related homicides.” He sighed heavily. “I'm not necessarily seeing why we're here though. This looks like a case for the regular PD.”

Tom held out a hand and introduced himself. “I requested your involvement because we have reason to believe what happened is related to a larger case.”

While introductions and other formalities were taken care of, I found a pair of gloves and slipped them on. A half wall to my right separated the kitchen from the living room, and I wandered over.

The kitchen wasn't the same disaster as the living room. The sink and some of the appliances could have used a good cleaning, but I'd seen plenty of people with housekeeping skills just as poor. Nothing struck me as amiss. A bowl sat in the sink, and a soggy, used teabag remained in a mug next to an electric kettle. Dregs of tea water coated the bottom of the mug, but it was cold, the contents drank a while ago. So Olef had been alive and well this morning.

Andre watched me as I made my way back into the living room. “The real mess is in the office. Come on.”

The three of us squeezed down a narrow hall, past a dingy bathroom, and Andre gestured to the door on the right. “That's the bedroom. It's also been torn apart. But this is where the body was found.” He pushed open the left door.

“Olef,” I muttered. “His name was Olef.”

“Jessica was friends with him,” Tom said.

Andre grimaced. “Sorry, Jess. He's already been taken away if that helps.”

I wasn't sure if it did, but I couldn't help but feel relieved not to see Olef lying dead on the floor. “How did he die?”

“I'm not sure what the official medical term will be, but my term would be a very hard blow to the head.”

“So over quickly? Good.” I braced myself and approached the doorway where Tom was standing.

Andre held up a hand before I got close enough to see past Tom. “Actually, I'm not so sure. Were you working on whatever case you think this is connected to?”

I glanced at Tom. “Yeah. Why?”

Tom inhaled sharply and darted inside the room. “I think Olef left you a message.”

Andre removed his hand, and I rushed forward, heart beating faster. Tape marked where Olef had been found, but even if it hadn't, his location would have been obvious by the pool of drying blood near his desk. I closed my eyes momentarily, fighting to maintain my grip.

The room had been torn apart, like Andre said. More books were tossed everywhere, drawers flung open, and paper and pens scattered across a space barely big enough to hold three people. With shaky breaths, I knelt next to Tom. He moved aside so I could see he was looking at imprints of dried blood. They covered a spot on the bottom of the wall, right above the molding. Through the mess was a message, scrawled in an almost illegible hand.

JESS USE KEY

If Olef had time to leave me a message, he hadn't died quickly. The dizziness washed over me again, and I waited for it to pass.

Focus, focus, focus,
I demanded my brain. This must be important. I just wished I had a clue what it meant.

“Key?” I raised my eyebrows hopefully at Tom.

I could see his answer before he shook his head. His expression showed him to be as lost as I was.

Tom took out his phone and snapped a photo of the message, and I stood, scanning the room. So many books. What were the odds any of them held the answers we required? What were the odds that whoever did this hadn't taken what we needed?

“So you don't understand it?” Andre asked.

I wondered how much I was allowed to share. “Olef was researching stuff for our case. I guess he found some answers.”

“You tell us what you're looking for, we can help you go through his belongings to see if we can find it.”

“It's probably not going to be that simple,” Tom said. “But let's start with what we do know so we can track down whoever did this. It's possible the killer took the information we need.”

We made our way back into the living room. More uniformed Gryphons had arrived and were conferring with the remaining cops.

Andre pulled out a notebook, and we stepped onto the landing to get out of the newcomers' way. “Here are the facts as originally taken by the PD before we arrived. Olef was found by his landlady when she went to deliver a package to him. She also saw him come home from work last night, which means there's a good chance that makes her the last person to see him alive, but we'll follow up on that. Landlady says she was home all day, but she was in her back room most of the time. So if someone came to Olef's apartment via the front door, she wouldn't have seen them.”

“How else could someone enter?” I asked.

“Fire escape.” Andre pointed toward the window. “There's also a roof entrance—standard in The Feathers. And, you know, we're dealing with magi. Olef's bedroom window was open. Someone could have flown in.”

I crossed my arms. “If we're dealing with a magi murderer.”

“True.” Andre gave me a pointed look. “I'll get to that in a moment. But first, back to what I just said. The landlady claims she didn't hear a thing all day except for the usual footsteps. That seem strange to you?”

I rubbed my sweaty neck. It was getting wicked hot up here with everyone roaming about. “But there was overturned furniture, and the books—shouldn't she have heard that?”

“Exactly. You'd think anyway. So either she's lying, or the mess upstairs was carefully and quietly staged.”

“To make it look like a robbery. Why?”

“Throw us off, perhaps,” Tom suggested. “Make us think this isn't connected to the other case. Hide the fact that something we need was stolen.”

I groaned and turned to Andre. “You're suggesting the cops think we're dealing with a magi killer?”

It would definitely shake things up. I couldn't believe for a second that Olef's death wasn't related to the prophecy, but there was no reason for another magi to have killed him in that case. Was there?

Andre flipped the page in his notebook. “A magi is possible at this point. The cops found a bright red feather under Olef's body. It's clearly not Olef's.”

“Falcon shifters have red feathers.” They were the only magi with colorful plumage. “So do many harpies.”

Tom scratched his head. “Or it could mean nothing. Another fake clue to throw us off.”

“Yeah, well.” Andre stretched and stuffed the notebook away. “We're sending the feather to the lab and hoping they can tell us if it's magi or harpy in origin. Whether it's just a red herring—er, feather—that's another story.”