Ties That Bind: a New Adult Fantasy Novel (The Spire Chronicles Book 2) (7 page)

“Not much,” Wright spoke up as he poured in his fifth spoonful of sugar. “Bodies of both the Garou and Protean persuasion have been turning up in the forest, their organs and skin removed. Once Sir Sullivan received word of it, he organized a group to investigate.”

“That’s it?” said Alex. “Nothing on who they were? Did they hold positions of power within their tribe? Do their loved ones?”

“The killings have been random,” said Sullivan. “No connection besides the species and manner of death.”

“Can we see the bodies?” I asked, pouring myself a refill. If there was one good thing about being here, it was the coffee. I planned on stealing a truckload of this stuff from the kitchen before we left.

“The respective tribes have taken them back for cremation,” said Sullivan. “They didn’t want us to defile the bodies.”

“Pretty sure they’ve already been defiled,” I mumbled, tracing a finger along the rim of my cup.

Alex turned to me. “Do you want to see if the tribes will speak to us? Is there any chance you knew one of them from your childhood?”

I shrugged. After my mother left, I spent most of my time indoors. So, unless the puppy I used to have was actually a werewolf, I had nothing. That would’ve been pretty cool, though. Maybe I’ll see about adopting a baby werewolf… Okay, that sounded wrong on at least three different levels. And illegal. I arrested a guy for doing that once. He was kidnapping them, though, not adopting. It’s the little details that matter.

It was clear Alex expected more of an answer from me, but I had nothing more to give. Being in this house felt wrong. I half expected to look down and see a pair of tiny white legs dangling over the couch as small, chubby hands wrapped around a plastic cup filled with apple juice instead of scuffed up boots and a coffee-filled china cup. I looked over to the side as if Rufus, my puppy, would be laying there, wagging his short, brown tail.

“Well, if all that dark business is settled for now, why don’t we take this opportunity to get to know each other better?” said Wright, pouring himself more coffee before shoving enough sugar into his cup to put him into a diabetic coma. “It’s getting late, after all. You can begin your investigation tomorrow.”

Was it late? I hoped so. It meant the feeling that this conversation had been painfully long wasn’t just in my imagination.

Alex nodded. “Sounds good. Is there an inn with a free room nearby?”

“Rooms,” Sullivan corrected firmly, his eyes darting between us. “You two will be staying here until this affair is settled.”

“That’s not necessary,” I said.

“I say it is.”

“And I say it isn’t. See how effective that is?”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” said Alex, shooting me a tense smile filled with a message I chose to ignore.

“I’m not staying here,” I huffed.

“Morgan!”

My jaw dropped as I, along with Sullivan and Wright, turned to stare at Alex with wide eyes. Did that son of a bitch just yell at me? He– He
had.
He knew how I felt about my father, and he knew shit would get awkward between us. That’s why I told him he didn’t have to come – though it’d be an admittedly dick move if he hadn’t. Still, what was his damage? I knew coming here was a bad idea, but I didn’t think Alex would be the one to make it obvious.

“Okay, then!” Wright clapped his hands together and stood up, his eyes still small despite being wide with unease. “Alex– May I call you Alex? Why don’t I show you to your room? Now.”

“Um…” Alex stuttered.

“Just go.” Arms crossed, I paced over to the window, keeping my back to him.

It had been cloudy earlier, but now the sky was clear. Nights in Dovesport were gorgeous; the stars looked so close you wanted to reach out and touch them. I let out a deep breath and tried to distract myself by seeking out constellations in the sky, but there were only so many I could name without going crazy. I leaned back against the wall and tried not to glare a hole into the back of Sullivan’s head.

Flexing my hand, the one Wright shook, I surveyed it, looking for a sign of something strange. What was that weird feeling I got when we touched?

“Is Wright a sorcerer?” I asked.

“No, he’s a normal hunter. Ex-hunter,” said Sullivan. “A rogue shifter nearly ripped his throat out a few years ago. His heart and lungs were too damaged for him to keep hunting.”

“Is that where his scar is from?”

“Yes.”

“Does he take it personally? Like, do I need to look out for prejudice against shifters?”

“Yes,” Sullivan said.
Well, beep-boop to you, too, robo-man.
“The possibility of war concerns him, but he hasn’t lost any sleep over the deaths.”

I wanted to ask if
he’d
lost any sleep over those deaths, but instead said, “You still haven’t told me why you want me here.”

“I wanted someone I could trust to handle this.”

Well, that was…rather touching. The deadened cockles of my heart defrosted a bit at his words before another chill overtook them. It was probably a lie to keep me complacent; no one could truly trust someone they barely knew and hadn’t spoken to in almost two decades. Was it just because I was his daughter? In a normal family, sure, but it didn’t make sense in our case.

“You don’t need someone you ‘trust’ to handle this. A competent hunter – or the hundreds you have on hand – would be enough. What do you need me for? Or is there some personal stake in it for you?” I tried to cover the hopefulness in that last question with heavy suspicion, but my voice still sounded squeaky to my ears.

Sullivan sighed and turned to face me, looking even older than he did when I first came in. “I promised someone this would end peacefully. The hunters here look out for their own – as they should – but that can cloud their judgment. I needed someone who would be objective no matter the situation. Cassandra believed in family, but she was ruthless when it came to justice. I had hoped that quality would have rubbed off on you.”

Hearing him say her name felt like a violation, but I pushed that feeling aside. “You think a hunter could be responsible?”

He looked down at his clasped hands. “I think these atrocities have a human touch.”

I debated how professional it would be to call him out on his vague bullshit, but I knew he wouldn’t budge, even if I kept pressing. “If the perpetrator really is human, I doubt the Protean will be happy with just seeing him caught–”

“A crime of this nature is grounds for execution,” said Sullivan.

“By the Council,” I said. “The tribes will want to get revenge personally.”

“I doubt the Council will protest over handing the guilty party – human or otherwise – over. My concern is catching the killers, not sentencing them.”

“How many deaths in total?”

“We’ve discovered almost a dozen bodies, but I’m sure there are more.”

I was expecting a high number, but not that high. Over a dozen murders. How was that even possible in – or near – an Order city? Who would have the balls to–

“You received the report on Lady Cassandra’s death?” I asked.

He nodded. “My condolences.”

I’d thank him, but he could’ve given his condolences at the funeral along with everyone else instead of ignoring me the entire time.

“Murdering the head of the Maxwell family – by proxy – sending someone to massacre a caravan of innocents, and planning to begin breaking the locks on the Spire… Someone with the guts to do that in one Order city wouldn’t have a problem doing something like this in another.”

That got Sullivan to look at me. “You think the same man is behind this?”

“He’s certainly brazen enough.” I had no idea if it was Fake-Corrigan. Maybe I was just shoving him into the equation because I wanted to go after him, or maybe he really was behind this. I had no proof either way, but my gut was telling me it was the latter. Otherwise, two incidents of mass murder in two separate Order cities in less than two months would be a coincidence.

I don’t believe in coincidences.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” said Sullivan. I wasn’t sure if our similar way of thinking was supposed to make me smile or frown. “Either way, we need proof, and if he is responsible, we need to find him.”

“The vampire called himself Corrigan,” I said, noting how hard he flinched at the sound of my mother’s name. The action lasted for half a second, but for a man who was known for his poker face, it may as well have lasted for hours. “Do you know anything about him? Did you see the talisman he left behind?”

He dropped his head back down, the fire casting flickering shapes across the slope of his back while highlighting his profile. His nose was straight and pointed, perfect, in my opinion – an admission that pained me since it broke my rule on not saying nice things about the man who abandoned me. My nose was rounder, shorter, apparently a “gift” from my mother, though I couldn’t remember exactly what hers looked like. But y’know, process of elimination and possibly a lack of understanding on how genetics worked.

“The Council contacted all the family heads regarding a threat to the Spire, and the man responsible. Beyond that, however, I know nothing. Both the vampire and his talisman are a mystery.”

“You’re sure you’ve never seen that talisman or the symbol on it before?” Like around mom’s neck or maybe in one of her books? Did she have a tattoo of it on her ass, maybe?

“I’m sure.”

“You don’t know anything about Fa– him, either?”

“Not by that name,” he said softly. “It’s possible we’ve met, but without a clear description–”

“He looked like mom.”

There was a pregnant pause, long and heavy enough to make me uncomfortable. Everyone involved had given a description of Fake-Corrigan: wavy auburn hair, grey eyes, and so on, but it’s not like we’d said, “Basically he’s an evil version of Morgan’s mom.” There was no reason for Sullivan to have known.

I felt bad at how bluntly I phrased it, though I held back the apology. The heat from the fire was suddenly ineffective, so I moved to stand right in front of it. Little black spots danced in front of my eyes as I stared at the flames, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away.

“Have you heard any news about her?” I tried again. Another bout of silence followed. My so-called father and his damned silence regarding my mother. The whole deal was getting so old, I wouldn’t be surprised if it took form, only to crumble into dust. “We’re going to have to talk about her eventually. Don’t you think I deserve to know about my own mother?”

This time, he didn’t even get a chance to reply.

Alex pushed through the doors. “There’s been another murder.”

5

The car ride was rife with tension as Sullivan personally drove us to the scene of the attack. Wright’s insistence that there wouldn’t be anything new for us to find were the only words spoken the entire time. As annoying as I found his blabbering, I kind of understood where he was coming from. The head of the family may have invited us, but I doubt I’d be very happy if “outside” hunters were asked to do a job that could be handled locally. Still, we were here and hurt feelings – his or mine – weren’t going to stop us from doing our jobs. Both Alex and I insisted on seeing the body before it was moved; maybe we’d get lucky and pick up on something.

I snuck a glance at Alex, who was sitting near the opposite window. His shoulders were stiff, but I hoped that was more about the murder than because of me. It didn’t feel right to have him upset with me. Alex was usually so composed. To be able to elicit such a strong reaction from him meant he really cared about me. It felt like an accomplishment. An uncomfortable yet very pleasant accomplishment. I honestly had no idea. How was I supposed to solve this case when I couldn’t even figure out how I was feeling?

The body was left at the base of a small hill in the forest, almost thirty minutes outside Dovesport’s walls. Autumn tended to hit the city early and hard, so only a few stray leaves still clung to the naked branches looming over us. There were large rocks and the occasional tree stump to look out for as we trekked from the main road to the body.

I wrapped my arms around myself and repressed a shiver, wishing I’d worn a heavier jacket. There were four men in the small clearing, gathered around what I assumed was the body. Wright pointed out a steep cliff high enough for me to consider a mountain, saying that the Protean lived further past it.

The men narrowed their eyes as I conjured up some ghost lights to give us more visibility and their brows raised at the ball of fire I produced in my cupped hands. Screw them, I was freezing my ass off over here. They could burn me at the cross if they wanted – at least I’d be warm.

There were maybe a little over one hundred magic users that served as hunters for the Order, so their reactions weren’t unexpected. Most witches, sorcerers, warlocks – whichever term you preferred, they’re all basically the same – tended to prefer the company of their peers. The Order held them in the same regard as any supernatural entity: acceptable until they started fucking shit, and people, up. While there were more of us in the Order than demons, we weren’t anywhere near the norm. It did, however, mean that I might be able to pick up something they couldn’t.