whiskey witches 02 - blood moon magick (2 page)

What could she glean from what the killer had left behind?

No significant blood loss. No visible bruises. Just a lost shoe, lacerations to the victim’s face and arms, and a mark that had been branded onto her shoulder.

The air stank of rotten trash thanks to the dumpsters a few feet away. Even with that, she could still smell the distinct odor of rotting garlic and skunk spray.

Sulfur.

Demons had followed her to Denver. She was sure of it. Being the living door to Hell could inflict a world of horror to those around her. She couldn’t deal with the demons. She had no control over the door and it seemed to draw demons to her.

She had to get the police officers to back off. She had to make sure her partner didn’t get tangled up in this one. Hell, she had to make sure
she
didn’t either. How could she handle this?

She could call Balnore, her demon teacher, but she needed to prove to him that she could do this. Also, he was busy in Portland. She didn’t know all the details, but he’d been worried the last time she’d talked to him.

Dexx. Bonafide demon hunter. He might not have any magick abilities, no shortcuts like she did, but he had knowledge.

The only way to get him across this tape would be to change his name, though. Demon hunters broke laws.

No. She needed a real solution. This had to be by the book. Too many close calls recently.

Paige rubbed the back of her neck and searched with her inner eye, looking for a trail, something only she could trace. She wasn’t sure how her demon door would react to anything a demon might leave behind. She was hesitant to even look, but she needed to find some kind of clue.

Like a red, glowing handprint on the side of a dumpster?

She walked to the wall on the west side of the alley, placing her fingertips atop the handprint.

Energy sizzled through and around her, teasing at the ragged edges of the demon door inside her soul. Ah, fuck.

An image of the demon in its human host slammed in front of her mind’s eye.

Male. Ginger. Nice suit. Red tie. Oddly familiar.

She blinked, trying to look closer, dig deeper. She needed the demon’s name, needed to see
its
face.

She had to control the vision.

The woman struggled, clawing at the man, her lips moving as if begging him to stop. People walked past the alleyway as if they couldn’t see the murder in progress occurring in broad daylight.

Not what she needed. Fast forward.

The woman lay on the ground, her limbs askew. The demon brought her fingertips to his lips and released them.

A woman stopped her stroller at the mouth of the alley behind him and tucked the blankets around her baby, completely oblivious to the horror that had just transpired beside her.

The demon glanced down the alley, the gaze of his memory vision almost connecting with Paige’s. He pulled out what looked like a business card and slipped it under the victim’s right arm. His lips mouthed, “For you,” as though he knew she’d see it.

Shit. Fucking trippy. She’d used demon handprints to see what had happened before, back in Texas when she’d had full control of her abilities. But that? That had never happened before. Had the demon known Paige would show up? Had he known she’d use the handprint to watch him?

He must have.

Which meant it was probably Sven, the only demon who knew her that well.

Paige nearly dropped the connection to the memory but, through sheer force of will, maintained her hold. She needed information.

Rewind.

The woman struggled. Her nails grew longer, developing almost into claws. She brought her knee to connect with his groin.

The demon didn’t even flinch.

The woman’s eyes flashed a blazing blue.

A bicyclist raced by.

The demon’s lips moved.

Then, the woman stopped, her eyes normal, her nails shorter than before. Her eyes lost their blaze as she stared up at him, her body slack. She just stopped fighting. She stood there, staring up into the thing’s face as it grabbed her head and—

Paige broke contact and blinked several times to readjust her vision to her physical surroundings. She needed to get that business card the demon had left for her before Barn found it.

“Whiskey.”

Paige rubbed her eye with her knuckle. She turned back to the scene and the flashing lights. The buzz of magick still coursed through her.

Fingers gripped her shoulder. Low level electricity shot through her. “Paige, you all right?”

She shook off her partner’s grip. She needed to figure out how her magick worked now that it had been released from its cage. She couldn’t afford to overreact to stupid shit like her partner grabbing her shoulder. He wasn’t stupid.

Detective Tony Guerrerro, her partner for the past five years, almost looked like a hawk in this light. Angular chin and nose. Dark eyes focused intently on her despite the obvious distractions. Predatory. Definitely predatory. “Hey, Tony.”

He leaned down, a bland expression on his sharp face. “You all right?”

Paige straightened. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it.”

She flicked her eyebrows at him and walked back to the victim, intent on retrieving whatever note Sven had left for her. “Do we have identification?”

“Elizabeth Harwood,” he said. “Age thirty-two.” He shrugged, releasing a breath through his pursed lips. “Don’t have much more than that.”

“We know how she died,” Paige said, her tone grim as she knelt beside the victim’s right shoulder again. The demon mark annoyed her. Sven hadn’t left one before, so why would he start now? And why this one? Wouldn’t his be seven tails? “Broken neck.”

“Always happy to witness keen observation.” Barn didn’t look up from his examination of the victim’s nails. He wasn’t collecting anything. CSI would do that, but that didn’t stop him from looking. “Good to see you back, Whiskey.”

“Good to see you, too.” Paige studied the victim’s nails without touching. Had she really seen what she thought she did? Her nails had turned into claws. Was she a demon as well? What demon did she know of that grew claws? None.

So, paranormal creature? Werewolf, maybe?

That couldn’t be, though. They were a myth. This wasn’t some book. Witches, demons, and angels were real. The rest?

Tony knelt beside Barn. “Broken neck? How do you come up with this crap, Whiskey? Visions?”

She ignored him and leaned down as if examining the victim’s arm.

“Without your hands,” Barn reminded.

When she’d first come to Denver, Barn wouldn’t let her anywhere near the body until he was done. Procedure. That’s how things were supposed to be. However, she’d befriended him somewhat. She knew his favorite sandwich, his favorite soccer team, and his favorite ice cream. She also followed protocol on everything else, so he trusted her.

Which was good. There were times when she needed that. Like now. She needed to know what the demon had left for her.

With Tony and Barn concentrating elsewhere, she slipped her fingertips under the victim’s bare arm and discretely pulled out the card, flipping it into her palm. “Hey, Barn. What do you make of this mark?”

He shrugged. “I’ll have to get her to my lab. Run some tests. Fake tattoo, maybe?”

She bit her lip, anxious to read the note, and sat on her heels.

Tony narrowed his eyes at her, glancing significantly down at her hand.

Shit. Tony had always been a good detective, but never this observant. Or was it simply that she had something to hide? The real world, where she worked, didn’t believe in the supernatural. A whiff of magick, of “precognition,” of visions, or anything like that, and she’d be shipped out of the unit on a mental health release.

Or worse.

She needed to be super careful with him.

“We might have the killer’s DNA.” Barn held up the victim’s hand. “Scrapings under the finger nails.”

“That’s good,” Tony said, his voice tight, his lips pulled down, his brow furrowed.

Why were Tony’s non-verbals mimicking what Paige was thinking?

Having the killer’s DNA did them no good. The person who owned the DNA under those nails was not the thing that killed the woman.

Tony couldn’t know the last bit. She’d know if he knew about demons. Wouldn’t she?

He raised an eyebrow at her. “It’d be great if he had a prior. I like it when they’re in the system.” His tone wasn’t nearly as stone cold serious as his face.

“That’s because you like ‘em easy,” she bantered back, her tone light as she kept her expression a mask. She rose to her feet, watching her partner for any other clues as to why he was acting so strangely.

He mirrored her movements, including her expression.

Shit. She walked toward the crime scene tape. Deal with Tony now? Wait?

It had only been two days. She needed more time to process.

She stashed the card in her pocket and removed her latex gloves. Finding the trash bag, she tossed them in, then ducked under the crime scene tape. Dodging the reporters, she headed toward the single open space she could find.

Tony followed her. “Whiskey.”

“Hey, Keiff,” Paige called to one of the uniformed officers keeping the bystanders away from the scene. “Got a cigarette?”

Keiff turned, his white teeth bright against his darker skin in a welcome smile. “I thought you quit.”

Her nerves were ragged. “Just need one. Spot me?”

He dug into his chest pocket for his pack. Giving her a rueful look, he handed her one.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, well, just don’t start again.”

Tony stepped in front of her. “What the hell’s up with you?”

Officer Keiff rounded his lips and backed away, his hands raised. “Stayin’ out of this one. See ya round, Whiskey.”

Paige released a long breath. Not what she needed. Under the radar. That’s what she needed. “What do you mean?”

Something tugged at the door inside her soul.

She straightened, searching the people around her. It was just a tug. The demon the door was calling to wasn’t close. At least, not close enough for the door to drag it into her.

She could hope it stayed away from her, or she could get out of there.

It could be her killer, though.

Didn’t matter. She couldn’t
do
anything with the damned door inside her.

“Let’s forget about what I just saw for a second.”

He’d been looking away when she took the card. Hadn’t he? How had he seen? And why would he be okay with forgetting it? Normally, when a person took something from a crime scene, it was to cover something up. Now, granted, that
was
what she was doing—covering up her involvement with demons who were trying to get her tied to a murder case—but he didn’t know that.

“You’ve been different since you came back from Louisiana.” He handed her a lighter. “What happened out there?”

“Nothing.” She flipped the Bic, but her flame sputtered out.

“Bullshit.” He cupped the flame for her. “You came back different.”

The door inside her tugged again.

She needed to leave. If this was Sven, he wouldn’t be so stupid as to get so close.

Except that
he
was one of the demons strong enough to resist the power of the door.

Her cigarette flared to life. Paige needed a way to end the conversation. Quickly. The smoke filled her lungs painfully. It tasted like ass, too, but the first flush of the nicotine eased the tension in her head.

“What’s that?”

Paige looked up at her partner, almost choking on her smoke. “What’s what?”

“That.” He pointed to Paige’s chest.

Fear slammed in her throat. She clasped the button tighter, cursing her boobs in a button-up shirt. “Why are you staring at my boobs?”

“I’m not staring at your boobs.” His voice was so calm. Dangerously calm. “What is that?”

There was something definitely off about her partner. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit, nothing.” He pushed at Paige’s hand, his nose inches from her chest.

She shoved his face away. “Hey, boundaries, man.”

He took a few steps back, all the playfulness of her old partner erased. Something primal replaced it, something old and powerful. “That’s a symbol.”

Paige raised her chin, her cigarette forgotten. Was he what the door was calling to? Seemed unlikely, but anyone could be possessed. But if it was him, then why would he be asking so many questions? Why wouldn’t he just know? And how could he be standing this close? There weren’t that many old and powerful demons running topside.

“That’s a
scab
of an occult symbol on your chest.”

No.
That
was the physical representation of the demon door her soul housed. “Drop it.”

His gaze lifted to meet hers. “The killer caught you.”

Paige ground her teeth together.

He rubbed the corners of his widening mouth. “This is bad, Paige. Are you harmed?”

She tried to reconcile the face of her smart-assed, good-natured partner with the solemn, serious, and predatory man standing before her.

He leaned in. “Are you harmed?” His voice rolled over her, dark and mesmerizing.

No. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Are you compromised?”

No. She ground her teeth but forced out, “Yes.” Her heart raced.

Something flashed, like a ball of light in the back of his dark eyes.

She staggered as whatever had been controlling her disappeared.

Controlling her?

He took a step back and blinked. “Go home, Paige. I’ll finish up here.” He turned to walk away.

Her body shook. She had
never
met a demon who could do what her partner just did. “Tony?”

He turned back to her, his lips set, his expression tired and pissed. “Yeah.”

She paused, gathering the courage to ask the question that could blow her cover. “What are you?”

He bit the inside of his lip. “What are you?”

Crushing her half-finished cigarette, she shoved her tongue in her cheek. How was she supposed to answer that? It seemed like he was something that could exist in her orbit. But if that was the case, why couldn’t she peg him, define him?