Demon's Fury: Part 1 of the Final Asylum Tales
Author: Jocelynn Drake
Date: 2014-10-14 00:00:00+00:00
Description: Jocelynn Drake continues her successful Asylum Tales urban fantasy series with Demon’s Fury , set in a world where elves, faeries, trolls, werewolves, and vampires walk free alongside humanity. Powerful warlock and tattoo artist Gage has managed to escape the magical Ivory Towers who terrorize the rest of humans and monsters—but at a price. Now he must join forces with his nemesis, Gideon, to stop an unknown entity who is using old magic to commit gruesome murders. And as if that’s not keeping him busy enough, an investigator recruits Gage to help her track a killer … who may be targeting tatt
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers

Dedication

To All My Personal Demons

We’ve made some good books together.

Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Acknowledgments

Announcement page for The Final Asylum Tales

About the Author

Also by Jocelynn Drake

Copyright

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

I looked like a fucking banker. The shirt and jacket were confining and the tie was threatening to choke me. I tugged at the French cuffs with the onyx cuff links for the fiftieth time as we walked down the empty sidewalk, fighting the urge to break something just to let off some steam. This had to be why the guardians slaughtered people on sight. Not to protect the sanctity of the Towers. They did it because the uniform sucked ass.

“Stop fidgeting,” Gideon said as he walked beside me. The black-haired warlock had always dressed in these tailored suits, and he actually looked comfortable in them. Of course, it was rare for Gideon to show any kind of emotion beyond mild irritation. The bastard was polished black ice.

“You can’t tell me you like wearing these monkey suits,” I grumbled, feeling even more like an idiot as I walked beside him. Next to the warlock, I was a phony, a fraud, and it showed for all the world to see when we were together.

With my hands shoved into my pockets, I glared at the ground. I didn’t want to see my surroundings as the setting sun cast everything in a rosy glow. I had no idea where we were, but that didn’t matter. The handful of people who stuck their heads out knew who we were. You could tell by the terror twisting their faces seconds before they darted in the opposite direction. The Towers had come to town.

Not that I could blame them for their fear and hatred. The Ivory Towers had wiped Indianapolis off the map just a few short months ago with no warning and no known reason. Some small part of me died to be counted as a warlock.

“The suits are tailor-made to fit you perfectly and are embedded with charmed threads that help increase protection against glamour and various forms of attack,” my companion recited, sounding like he was reading from a freaking manual.

“Yes, but do you like wearing them?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Gideon snapped, coming to a stop in front of a three-story apartment building. “You’re here to do a job—one that you agreed to do for the council. If you stop bitching, this might prove to be less painful for everyone involved.”

I frowned, swallowing my next complaint. He was right. I made a deal with the Ivory Towers council to work as a guardian in an effort to help protect the Towers as well as protect the rest of the world from the Towers. But becoming a guardian meant going back to the Towers, leaving the acidic taste of bile burning in the back of the throat. I had fought and nearly died to escape. Ten years later, I’m right back where I started, feeling as if I’ve lost everything.

Gideon would be the first to remind me that I was still alive and I had a better chance of secretly helping people than I had before. But standing in that damn suit while the rest of the world cowered and despised the sight of me made it hard to remember those little victories.

Shoving aside my disgust, I lifted my head to survey the region again. The sooner we got this task completed, the sooner I could return to Low Town. “What’s the job?”

“Something . . . different.”

I motioned for Gideon to continue as he stared up at the plain white apartment building. The narrow, worn street we stood on was lined with old buildings sagging in the fading light. A trickle of sweat ran down my spine while more gathered at my temple. It was way too hot for early December, but the palm trees that stirred in the faint breeze led me to believe we were likely in South Florida.

Several of the apartment windows were open to let in an evening breeze, causing curtains to flutter and dirty plastic blinds to flap. No one looked down at us. “I’m guessing that ‘different’ doesn’t come up too often,” I continued when he remained stubbornly silent.

“No, it doesn’t.” His thin lips were pressed into a hard line and his silver eyes were unfocused. He wasn’t staring at the building any longer, but lost in some strange thought that sent a wave of dread through me.

Gideon blinked twice, snapping back from wherever his mind had wandered and glared at me. “Are there any protection spells? Any defensive wards?”

I directed my attention at the building and started to close my eyes so I could focus my attention on my other sense—the one that was tuned toward magic energy—but I caught myself. Since becoming a guardian, Gideon had been working as something of a mentor to keep me alive while quietly expanding my magical knowledge. Closing my eyes to focus on magic left me vulnerable to attack. Gideon had been kind enough to show me just that on more than one occasion. The bastard took too much pleasure in knocking me around.

“There’s something here. Faint.” I reached out my right hand to feel the air in front of me. A faint tingling pricked my fingertips as if I could actually feel each individually charged electron as it spun about, charging the air. “There’s definitely a magical energy, more organized than just the usual latent energy, but it’s not actually organized into a specific spell or a ward that I can identify. More like a heavy residue left from a massive spell.”

“Good. Can you tell what the caster was?” Gideon’s voice dipped low, as if he were afraid that someone would overhear his comments, not that there was another soul within a hundred yards of us.

“What do you mean?”

“Was the spell caster human? Elf? Pixie? Leprechaun?”

My eyebrows bunched together as I concentrated harder on the feeling hanging in the air. With each passing second, the energy grew a little fainter, making it harder to pick out details, leaving me more with just a vague feeling. “Not . . . fey,” I slowly said.

The fey—elves, pixies, faeries, brownies, and all of that dangerous nature-based lot—had a distinct flavor to their magic. There was almost a sugar-sweet aftertaste in my brain from fey magic. For an incubus or succubus, it was sort of musky, while a phoenix was, unsurprisingly, like burning wood from a campfire. Warlocks and witches created a fresh, clean scent like a spring rain when they used magic.

Outside the apartment building, it was . . . different. Different from anything I had ever encountered before. “It’s different.”

“Which is why we’re here.” Gideon reached inside the black robe he wore over his dark charcoal-colored suit and pulled out his wand, adding to a buzz of energy in the air. “Two nights ago, the New York Tower detected an explosion of magical energy. It could be described only as something different, something we couldn’t remember encountering before, but it was powerful. Despite its initial strength, it faded quickly and we had some trouble tracking it.”

Reaching inside my jacket, I pulled out my wand as well. It was new, after my first had been broken by Reave. The hawthorn wand gave me excellent control with a nice boost in power, but we were still becoming adjusted to each other. With every wand, there was a breaking-in period, and considering that I didn’t go out with Gideon often, there weren’t many opportunities to break in my wand.

“Could it have been a New One?” I asked.

Gideon shook his head. “This was too much power for a child, even for a late bloomer of twelve. And like you said, this is different.”

Most humans revealed their natural talent for magic between the ages of seven and twelve. Referred to as New Ones by the Towers, they were quickly swept off for training upon discovery. It was the safest, though unhappy, thing for everyone.

“What about a hybrid or half-breed? Human mother and fey daddy?”

The dark-haired warlock motioned toward the building. “Does that in any way feel fey to you? Or even partially human?”

“No, but what else is there?”

Gideon’s face was blank as he walked toward the building, but I saw his hand tighten on his wand. “Maybe it’s something that we thought was dead.”

For a moment, my feet were stuck to the cracked concrete sidewalk as I stared blindly after him. My heart thundered in my ears while my mind tried to sort through that comment. “Are you talking about someone from the Lost Peoples? Are you fucking kidding me?” I jogged after him, catching him as he pulled open the glass door to the small, grimy lobby.

“What else could it be?”

“Damn it, Gideon! Are you suicidal? I’m not going in there if we’re walking into the lair of the last fucking dragon on the planet,” I said in a harsh whisper, which was stupid, because if this was a dragon, the creature definitely knew we were there.

“It doesn’t have to be a dragon,” Gideon replied in a blasé voice, as if facing down dragons in their own home was an everyday occurrence for him. The warlock stood next to the metal railing that lined the stairs, looking around the first floor. After only a brief pause, he started to climb the stairs.

I growled, fighting the rising nausea in my stomach. “I’m definitely not going after a unicorn either.”

During the Great War that pitted the Towers against the world, two races were slaughtered to extinction: dragons and unicorns. Two of the most magically powerful races outside of warlocks and witches, they had to be removed if the Towers were to ever be protected from them. The Great War had left several others barely clinging to life.

Gideon stopped on the landing and looked down at me. “You want me to report to the Towers that you refused to complete a task?”

“Fuck! I didn’t agree to be a guardian to commit suicide now. The two of us can’t handle a dragon and we definitely can’t handle a unicorn if either is anything like what I studied.”

“There’s nothing to handle. This is an investigation. The council has not ordered an execution.” Gideon could sound as rational and calm as he wanted but this was insane and he knew it.

Against my better judgment, I climbed the stairs after him, not feeling the least bit reassured. “Yeah, well, if we are faced with a unicorn or dragon, I really doubt either is going to be all that happy to see us.”

“That is probably true,” Gideon murmured as he reached the second floor. Again, he paused, looking down the hall at the four wooden doors that led to the second-floor apartments. The brown carpet was stained and looked sticky, but I wasn’t willing to check to see if I was right. One of the overhead fluorescent lights was out, while the second was making an ominous noise as if it were a wheezing cancer patient on a ventilator. The shadows only helped this place.

Gideon continued on to the third floor after his quick inspection and I followed, holding my wand tightly in my right hand. The magic had grown thicker in the air as we crossed the landing and trudged up the last set of stairs. It crawled across my skin through my suit and prickled against my face. The closer we got, the more I could define the feel of the energy, but at the same time, the further it moved away from what I was familiar with.

The magic made me feel queasy and sick. It was getting in past the protective barriers created by my suit. My head swam as if I were developing vertigo. There was an odd taste on my tongue, like I had swished graveyard dirt around in my mouth.

“I think we should wait. Call in for reinforcement,” I said, stopping one step before the third floor. “I know my way around a protection spell, but this feels nasty. You need better backup than me.”

“While I appreciate your concern, we’re going on,” Gideon said with a wry smile before turning to walk down the dingy hallway.

Both of the overhead lights were out here, but there were windows at either end of the hall, letting in the faint glow from the nearby street lamps. There were no sounds of people moving around in their apartments. No sounds of cooking, conversation or the monotonous blare of a television. The apartment dwellers knew we were here and they were hiding, praying we didn’t notice them.

Pushing that thought and so many others aside, I followed Gideon down the hall to the second apartment on the left. The warlock stood with his right hand hovering before the door while his left clutched his wand. A faint curl of magic swirled out from his right hand, dancing over the scarred wooden door before bouncing back toward him and me. There was no spell on the door, barring us or even threatening us if we dared to enter.

Quickly making a fist as if he were trying to capture the energy, Gideon rapped on the door. My entire body flinched and I jumped back a step at the loud noise. A crack of laughter leapt from Gideon, slamming into me so that I flinched again.

“Nervous?” Gideon chuckled.

“Me? Nervous? Why would I be nervous? You’ve only brought me to a crappy apartment oozing strange magic while talking about the Lost Peoples. I can’t imagine why I might be nervous about having my head blown off,” I said, ending with a snarl.

Gideon was still smiling, amused with my anxiety, as he knocked a second time. No one answered the door. There wasn’t even a sound from the interior of the apartment. Either no one was home or they were hiding in hopes that the local Tower thugs would go away. Not likely.

Gideon stepped back, his smile gone. “Open it.”

My mouth fell open with a bitter protest on the tip of my tongue, but I quickly closed it again. Arguing with him was a waste of time. It wasn’t going to get me out of entering the apartment. The sooner we went in, the sooner we could get our answer and leave. I started to lift my wand to the lock on the door and stopped myself. The urge to break something still throbbed in my chest and I was potentially missing a great opportunity.

Taking a step back, I kicked the door as hard as I could right next to the doorknob and deadbolt. The door vibrated and rattled loudly in its jamb, but didn’t budge. The jolt jumped up my leg and hammered my knee with pain. Frowning, I stepped back to regain my balance.

“Well, that’s disappointing,” I murmured. “They make that look much easier in the movies.” Gideon rolled his eyes at me and let out a sigh. Grinning at him, I kicked the door again. This time, the doorjamb splintered as the deadbolt broke through the wood and the door swung open, slamming against the wall. The heavy scent of death surged out of the apartment, sending me reeling back several feet as I gagged.

“I guess the person didn’t survive whatever spell they had cooked up,” I said as soon as I could draw a breath of clean air.

Gideon cautiously stepped into the apartment. “We should be so lucky.”

Pulling the handkerchief from my front breast pocket, I pressed it over my nose and mouth before stepping over the threshold. A glance in the tiny kitchen revealed bags of rotting takeout along with jars of bloody animal parts that looked as if they had been pulled from the creatures rather than cut.

I continued down the hall, stepping over nasty, charred globs of flesh that I didn’t want to identify as I made my way to the living room. The only furniture was an occupied chair. The place had been run-down and grimy before the addition of the headless corpse. The body sagged, held in place by the limbs bound to the chair. The head looked as if it had been blown off the body, whether by small explosive or a giant gun at close range, I didn’t know. The only positive was that it was likely a quick death.

My eyes were drawn to a backpack leaning against the wall. It was relatively clean and looked out of place among the carnage. The worn brown carpet crunched with dried blood as I crossed the room and picked up the bag. Unzipping one section, I found chemistry and pre-calculus books along with a couple spiral-bound notebooks.

“Fuck!” I dropped the bag with a heavy thud while shoving the useless handkerchief in my pocket. It was doing little to block the smell. “The killer grabbed some high-school kid either going to or leaving school.”

“Interesting,” Gideon murmured.

“Interesting?” I repeated, swinging around to see the warlock inspecting a pile of small dead animals rotting in the corner. “Some kid gets snatched and violently killed, and all you can say is ‘interesting’!”

Gideon turned and glared at me. “Allowing emotions to cloud my mind would not help us to locate the killer faster. In fact, it would slow us down as we would likely miss important details.” He pointed to the animal corpses spread about the room in various stages of decomposition. “Such as the fact that the killer practiced, working up to something as large as a human.” When Gideon looked up at me again, there was a hard glint to his eyes, giving me a glimpse of the rage that he was fighting to hold in check.

I should never have doubted Gideon. Polished black ice. Cool. Smooth. Dangerous.

“Sounds like some psychotic serial killer who accidentally got a blast of unexpected energy. That’s the realm of the police—not the Towers.” I frowned, trying to look anywhere but at the dead body, but the death-strewn apartment wasn’t giving me a lot of options. My only recurring sane thought was that I was a tattoo artist, not one of those hot-shot CSI detectives with their dark sunglasses and latex gloves. Next Gideon mission, I was stuffing some gloves in my pockets.

“This wasn’t an accident.” Gideon called from the next room.

Shaking my head, I tried to brace myself for whatever new horror he had found. I wasn’t ready, but at least it wasn’t another decapitated teenager. The tiny bedroom was empty of furniture, but the overhead light glared down on the four white walls completely covered in strange writing scrawled in black magic marker.

“What does it say?” I whispered. There was something ominous about the writing, as if the script itself could be evil.

“I can’t read it.” Gideon replied with some frustration. He walked over to a part that had been scratched out and rewritten slightly different. “But I think these are notes. Trial and error. Look here,” he said pointing to a series of symbols that had been drawn, scratched out, and redrawn over and over again before the killer had decided on a final version. “Methodically experimenting.”

“At what?”

“I don’t know, but I think the person achieved the desired results because all personal items are gone. The killer is done with this location and this part of his experiment. He’s moved on to his next target.”

I shoved my hands in my pockets, my eyes locked on the symbols as my brain strained to put some order or definition to it all. “I’ll give you this is bad, but does it involve the Towers?”

“I thought you’d jump at the chance to help your fellow man,” Gideon smirked.

“Yeah, well my life isn’t so great right now and I really don’t need to add this kind of fun to it.”

Gideon arched one eyebrow at me and I shook my head. I didn’t want to talk about it since it was the usual shit, just more of it. We were busy at the shop, Low Town was getting dangerous as the local mafia thugs continued to fight it out after the death of their leader, Reave—not that any of them actually missed the dark elf. On top of that, Trixie was giving me the cold shoulder, hiding something from me. Of course, I hadn’t told her about the whole Towers/guardian thing, so I wasn’t feeling so hot about that as well. I needed to tell her, but it was a conversation I was dreading since it was something I was just getting a handle on myself.

“It involves magic so this is a Towers matter,” Gideon said, drawing my thoughts back to the problem at hand. “We need to discover who the killer is and what they are attempting to do.” He stepped up to one of the walls and ran his fingers over the surface. A frown creased his face as he drew his hand back and rubbed his fingers together.

I took a step closer, looking at his fingers. “What is it?”

“Soot.”

“Huh? Phoenix magic is the only one that creates soot.”

“This wasn’t a phoenix. Different feel entirely.”

I could almost hear the wheels turning in Gideon’s head as he tried to puzzle out the writing, soot, and the dead.

“Take pictures of all the walls,” he said with some frustration, and then marched out of the room.

Grabbing my cell phone, I quickly snapped pictures of each wall before heading back into the living room, but Gideon wasn’t there. I poked my head into the main hall to find the warlock descending the stairs with a look of intense concentration. Stuffing the phone in my pocket, I followed.

“Should we call the police?” I asked as we reached the first-floor landing. The warlock halted sharply and looked at me over his shoulder like I had lost my mind. “Right. Towers. Who cares about the rest of the world?” I muttered.

“We have enough problems.” Gideon continued down to the main floor and out the front door. “The killer is just getting started.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because he’s still experimenting, working toward his ultimate goal.”

“Which is?” I demanded, getting more frustrated by the second.

“Nothing good.” He stopped suddenly and turned to look at me. “I need to think. Send me the pictures. Show them to no one else.” And then he disappeared.

I groaned, feeling tired and dirty. I had no idea where I was and there was a lunatic on the loose who was killing people for some magical purpose that I was tasked to uncover for the Towers. But what bothered me the most was that the longer I stood in that apartment, the more the magic started to feel familiar to me. I couldn’t place it yet, but I would, and, as Gideon said, it was nothing good.

Chapter 2

“Gage, this is embarrassing,” Trixie complained as she stepped out of the tiny bathroom at Asylum and walked down the short hall toward me. I twisted in the tattooing chair I had been lounging in to look at her as she glared at me with her hands on her slender hips.

Dressed in green tights and a green-and-red tunic, she was the classic image of Santa’s elf, right down to her green shoes with bells on the curled toes. She’d dropped her usual glamour disguise in favor of her true appearance of blonde hair, green eyes, and pointed ears. The outfit might have looked silly, but she was as sexy as hell.

“You look great!” I shouted, clapping my hands together.

“I look ridiculous! What idiot got the idea an elf would dress like this? And I’m supposed to live at the North Pole wearing an outfit like this?” She stomped over to where I was sitting, the sound of little bells ringing with her every movement. “I’d freeze my ass off.”

“And it’s such a cute ass,” I teased, but she didn’t crack a smile. I was seriously pushing my luck. Clearing my throat, I ducked my head, dropping my gaze to the cracked linoleum floor. “It’s an old folktale. Maybe someone from the Winter Court got drunk and was sneaking through a village with a fat man in a red suit.”

“Doubtful,” she said as the back door opened and shut, announcing that Bronx had finished getting changed in the apartment above the tattoo parlor. The troll appeared a couple seconds later in the tattooing room wearing a bright red suit with furry white trim.

“Whoa,” I said, sitting back to take in his appearance. He was the biggest Santa Claus I had ever seen.

“Damn, Santa,” Trixie murmured. “You got big.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Bronx blandly said, looking about as thrilled in his costume as Trixie.

“Actually, it’s Ho! Ho! Ho!” I corrected.

The troll turned his narrowed gaze on me. “I can understand how Trixie and I ended up in these outfits, but why aren’t you dressed up, when this was your idea?”

“Don’t worry, Santa. I’ve got your sack to carry,” I said.

Bronx hooked his thumbs on the wide black belt wrapped around his pillow-padded stomach. “I don’t think you’re man enough to handle my sack,” he drawled, his wide grin partially hidden behind a large white beard.

“Oh, funny,” I said.

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” Bronx said in his best Santa imitation, which was pretty damn impressive.

Trixie gave an unexpected snort of laughter and I flipped them both off, which got Bronx truly laughing as well.

“Now that everyone is in the Christmas spirit, let’s get going. The kids should already be arriving.” Pushing out of the chair, I handed Trixie her coat before we followed Bronx down the hall and out the back door to where I had parked my SUV. Earlier in the afternoon, I had packed it full of toys, food, and clothing donations I had collected from the other shops near Asylum.

Shortly after All Hallows’ Eve, the Christmas spirit kicked me hard in the gut. It was most likely a need for something positive after I had sold my soul to the Towers in September. I organized a massive collection of food, winter clothes, and toys with all the shops and restaurants near Asylum. Tonight was the Feast of St. Nicholas when Santa Claus would appear at a special dinner to give away the toys.

“Do you think Bronx’s size will scare the kids?” Trixie asked from behind me once we were in the road.

I glanced over at the troll beside me dressed in red. He’d initially balked at taking the passenger seat but it was more comfortable for him over the backseat because of his size. My battered SUV just wasn’t made to accommodate trolls. “Maybe some of the really young ones, but most will just see him as a gateway to toys.”

The drive to James Garfield High School was relatively short and the parking lot was nearly full when we arrived, but we managed to find an open spot behind the school, near the loading docks for the cafeteria. As I walked around to open the trunk, a door to the school opened, throwing down a bright square of light that outlined a thin little man in black.

“Gage?” the man asked.

“It’s me, Father Barnes. I’ve got Santa Claus and his helper with me,” I called, stepping into a nearby pool of light from a parking lamp. “I’ve also got another load of donations for you.”

The little man scurried over to the car, though he paused for a moment at the sight of Bronx. He peered into the trunk and then smiled up at me. “God bless you, son. You’ve been a saint! You’ve nearly doubled our annual haul.”

“Just trying to spread some good cheer, Father.”

“Let’s grab the toys and hurry in. I’ll send some volunteers out for the rest. Everyone is nearly done eating and is anxious to see Santa Claus.”

Bronx shifted a heavy sack of toys over his shoulder and adjusted his beard before heading inside, followed by Trixie. The priest and I grabbed armfuls of donations and went in as well to see all the amused and stunned faces that greeted the troll as he passed through the kitchen to the main dining hall.

I had barely managed to set my items down on an empty table when Bronx’s loud “Ho! Ho! Ho!” was met with an explosion of cheering. Rushing out of the kitchen, I laughed to see Trixie and Bronx swarmed with kids of every race and species, all vying for just a second of Santa’s time. While Trixie was looking somewhat overwhelmed, Bronx’s eyes shined with joy. He may have looked like a scary troll on the outside, but Bronx was pure marshmallow on the inside.

After helping them get a line organized to the large throne they had set up for Santa, I dropped off my coat where Trixie had left hers in the kitchen.

“I thought that was you I saw with Santa Claus,” Gideon said to my back.

My stomach jerked into a hard knot and I felt my soul shrivel up. He’d found me again—sought me out for another Towers job. I needed this night of peace and good cheer. Not more blood, death, and violence.

I was slow to turn around, but the sight of Gideon stopped all thought for a second. Instead of his usual dark suit and black cloak, the warlock was in a pair of faded jeans, a cream-colored cable-knit sweater, and loafers. His black hair was in a short ponytail and he wore a pair of trendy, black-rimmed glasses.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a friendly tone for anyone who might have been listening, but there was a cold warning in his eyes.

“Helping,” I replied dully, my brain still trying to understand what I was seeing.

“I see that.” Gideon smirked. “Come. I’ll introduce you to my wife.”

I walked with the warlock out of the kitchen and along the back wall where the crowds were the thinnest.

“What’s with the glasses, Clark Kent?” I asked as we hit an empty space.

Gideon shook his head, appearing as if he were trying not to smile. “Ellen says they make me look harmless.”

“Oh yeah. Like a wet kitten.”

A soft chuckle escaped him but his mood turned grim when we stopped halfway across the cafeteria and he began to search the crowd in earnest. After several seconds, a pretty blonde’s hand shot up and she waved to us. She steadily made her way through the crowd of parents until she was standing beside Gideon, smiling broadly up at me.

“Ellen, this is an old friend, Gage Powell. Gage, this is my wife, Ellen,” Gideon said.

“It’s an honor,” I said and I meant it. No one from the dark side of Gideon’s life had met his wife. It was a gesture of trust and it humbled me after Gideon and I had spent so many years at each other’s throats.

Ellen switched the large camera she was holding from her right hand to her left before shaking mine. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you. After all the stories he’s told me, I feel like we’re old friends.”

Smiling, I shot a look over at Gideon, who was frowning at his wife. “He’s been telling tales about me?”

“Only because you’re a walking natural disaster,” Gideon grumbled.

Ellen hit him in the center of his chest. “Be nice!” she admonished and then smiled. “Better yet, go take pictures of the girls.” She held up the digital SLR in front of his face until he took it. “I’m too tired to wade back through that crowd and the girls are getting close to the front of the line.”

“Are you okay?” Gideon’s stern expression immediately became a mask of intense concern as he laid a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder.

She waved her hand at him while keeping her eyes locked on me. “Fine. Fine. Now go. I want pictures of them with Santa.”

Gideon hesitated, staring at me as if he was uncertain about leaving his wife alone with a walking natural disaster. “Watch over her,” he said and then started to the long line of kids waiting for their turn to speak with Santa.

“And don’t glare at those boys anymore! Paola is handling them just fine!” Ellen called after her husband, who raised one hand in a halfhearted wave to acknowledge he had heard her. “He’s not listening to me,” she muttered, voicing the very thought running through my head. Her scowl instantly dissolved when she looked up at me again. “Gideon didn’t tell me you were going to be here.”

“Probably because he didn’t know. I offered to help with the donation drive and then talked some friends into being Santa and his helper.”

She laughed a loud, joyous sound and I instantly understood why Gideon loved this woman so much. She didn’t take any crap from the warlock and was filled with happiness.

“I’m guessing you were just as surprised to see Gideon here.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

She giggled softly. “I’m a nurse. I help out here and there with the Shining Hope Foundation when they give some parenting or first-aid classes. I come to this every year because they like to have a nurse or doctor on hand just in case. I’ve never been needed, but it doesn’t hurt to be safe.”

I could understand the Foundation’s preference for having a nurse on hand. A werewolf or troll child plays too rough with a human child, and someone is bound for the emergency room.

“How’s Paola? Is she adjusting?” I asked when my eyes finally tripped over the young woman standing in line next to Gideon’s daughter Bridgette. She was smiling down at the girl, a look of affection on her face. Paola was one of the runaways. She along with four others had escaped from the Ivory Towers, where they were training to be witches and warlocks. It had taken a little bit of arranging, but Gideon and his wife had agreed to take in Paola, while three others were settled in other homes. Alice, one of the five, had been killed before she and her younger brother James could reach a new safe haven.

“Wonderful. Despite the ten years between her and Bridgette, they’ve really taken to each other. She’s a little quiet at times, but I think she’s homesick and missing Étienne.”

“Really?” I arched a brow at her in surprise. Étienne was the oldest and had been the leader of the little band. The young Frenchman was now staying with my parents along with Tony.

Ellen gave a little snort as she looked back toward Paola and her daughter. “You men don’t notice anything.”

“That’s true. How’s Bridgette? Gideon hasn’t . . . mentioned . . . anything recently,” I said haltingly, trying to be somewhat vague since I was sure this was a potentially sore topic. In September, Gideon admitted that he was concerned that his daughter was going to show a similar magical talent, which would draw the immediate attention of the Ivory Towers.

The pretty blonde gave a sigh, dropping her voice closer to a whisper. “She’s good. Nothing has happened yet, but we’re all keeping a close watch. Gideon has put some protection over the house so that she can’t be detected, but the concern is if it happens outside of the house.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, feeling bad for her. “If something should happen and you can’t reach Gideon, do you know how to reach me? I can give you my cell—”

Ellen laughed and looked up at me with shining eyes. “Oh, Gage. I’ve got your number and address already. Gideon gave it to me years ago, just after we married. He gave me a list of people to contact if there was ever trouble and your name has always been at the top of the list.”

Shock coursed through my veins, tensing all my muscles. Gideon trusted me with his family? Hell, Gideon trusted me? The man had put on a good show of hating me for close to ten years. It was mind numbing to hear that I was the person he trusted to protect his wife and daughter.

She gently patted me on the arm. “That man has said nothing to you, has he?” I shook my head and Ellen gave a little roll of her eyes. “Stubborn. Gage, he worries about you and he trusts you.”

“Thank you.”

Sliding her arm through mine, Ellen stepped close but her eyes were on her husband as he snapped pictures of both Bridgette and Paola sitting on Bronx’s lap. “He told me what happened this past fall. I’m very sorry. I know he doesn’t show it, but Gideon has been torn up about it. He feels guilty that he wasn’t able to do more.”

“There was nothing else he could have done. We just have to make the best of a bad situation. I’m adjusting.” As I spoke, I could feel some of the weight on my shoulders lift. Just the idea that Gideon had wanted to do something to help made me feel better. Working for the Towers was far from an ideal situation, but it gave me access to their plans as well as better enabled me to help people who could be threatened by the witches and warlocks. I just had to remember to be careful.

“How’s your girlfriend adjusting?”

I flinched at her question, though I tried to hide it. It didn’t matter. She had felt it.

“Have you told her?” Ellen pressed.

I closed my eyes, frowning. “I haven’t been able to talk about it. Things were too . . . raw for too long.”

“I understand, but you have to be fair to her.” I opened my eyes to see Ellen smiling at me, but there was a look of sadness in her wide brown eyes. “This is a difficult relationship to be in and the only reason Gideon and I have made it is because he talks to me. When things go bad, he tells me because he shouldn’t have to go through it alone. Neither should you. But it’s a burden for the other person and they have to make the choice to wade through the darkness with you. Right now, your girlfriend is trying to wade through the darkness but she doesn’t know why it’s dark.”

“Don’t you worry about the danger to you and your daughter because of Gideon?”

“Of course I do,” she said sharply, glaring at me. “But I won’t let that worry ruin our life. We take precautions and I trust in Gideon to keep us safe. In the end, life happens. I love Gideon and he loves me. We love our daughter. We are all happy together. I think it’s selfish to demand more than that.”

A bark of laughter escaped me. There was something so wonderfully practical about Ellen, and maybe that’s how she managed to thrive in a forbidden relationship with a warlock. It gave me a little shred of hope for Trixie and me.

“Thank you. I’ll talk to her.”

“Soon?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” The smile had returned to Ellen’s face and she relaxed again. Turning her attention back to the crowd before her, she let a contented little sigh escape her. I followed her gaze and found Gideon kneeling before his daughter as he talked to her and looked at the board game she had gotten from Santa Claus. The camera hung around his neck and he had one arm across the girl’s slim shoulders. At the same time, his other hand was holding Paola’s hand as she clutched what looked to be a box with a chess set. Even from this distance, I could tell the young woman was fighting back tears, but they looked to be happy tears.

Something inside my chest ached for her and the other runaways. How long had it been since any of them had received a gift or celebrated a holiday in a warm, loving atmosphere? For some, it was close to ten years. Paola was safe and loved in Ellen’s home.

As I looked up at Bronx and Trixie surrounded by kids, the sexy elf caught my eye and winked, putting the smile back on my lips before she turned her attention back to the task of soothing a frightened child. The last of the darkness that had a hold on me faded. The good will and cheer I had been desperately trying to find with this holiday party had soaked into my parched soul. I knew it wouldn’t last, but it would get me moving forward again. It would help me get my relationship with Trixie back on track again.

I just needed to tell her what had happened that night in the Towers.

Chapter 3

Checking the time on my cell phone, I stuffed it into my back pocket and turned the heat down on the spaghetti sauce. Trixie would be arriving any minute and I was proud to say that everything was ready. The bread was out of the oven and the salad was chilling in a bowl in the fridge. Stepping out of the kitchen, I surveyed the apartment one last time. The place was mostly clean and anything that wasn’t had been shoved in a closet or under the bed. Candles flickered on the card table covered with a new heavy linen tablecloth.

I frowned as I looked at the setup. The whole thing screamed “forgive me.” It was what I was going for, but it didn’t need to be this damn obvious. For other couples, it might have passed for romantic, but I wasn’t known for grand romantic gestures. Romance was usually offering to pick up the pizza while she chose the movie we’d watch.

Two days had passed since my talk with Ellen and I needed to live up to my promise to her and myself. I couldn’t put if off any longer. Trixie had to know, but I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.

A sharp knock at the door sounded through the apartment and I nearly jumped. This was not a good sign. I needed to relax, reassure her that everything was okay, but some part deep down knew it wasn’t. There had been no fights, no shouting match where words bounced off our thick skulls. But the silence was getting deeper and I could feel a distance between us that hadn’t been there months ago.

Smoothing the worry from my face, I forced a broad smile and opened the door. Trixie smiled weakly back, looking tired but lovely. She still wore her glamour cloak, making her appear as a brown-haired human rather than the blonde elf that I loved so much. She didn’t need the disguise any longer now that the king of the Summer Court was bound to his wife, but the people of Low Town had come to know her as the brunette, so the disguise stayed for the sake of time and ease.

“Mmmmm. Something smells good,” she said as she kissed me. I stepped back to let her enter. “Did you order from—” Her words broke off sharply and I found her staring openmouthed at the table. “You cooked,” she finished in wonder.

I snorted, shutting the door. “Don’t get your hopes up too high. It’s spaghetti. You know, boil water. Don’t burn the bread.”

Trixie dropped her purse on the coffee table and tossed her heavy wool coat on the couch. “What did you do?”

“What do you mean?” I quickly replied. A little too quickly.

“You don’t cook. I honestly thought your oven was broken. You never clean. And is that an air freshener I smell? You’re either breaking up with me or you did something you need to apologize for.”

For a couple of seconds, I thought about teasing her and batting her questions away but I’d only prove her right in the end. Why insult her intelligence?

I sighed. “There is something we need to discuss, but I think any potential breaking up will be in your hands.”

Trixie took an involuntary step backward, fear flooding her wide eyes. “You’re going to tell me what happened in the Towers that night.” Her vibrant voice had become dull and flat, as if she had already started to steel herself against the horror of my words. I couldn’t tell if she was asking or making a statement so I just nodded. She had never asked about that night beyond checking on my physical well-being and I never volunteered any information. Of course, it had taken about a month for me to get past the impotent rage and hopelessness that consumed me.

“How bad is it?” She had wrapped her arms around her stomach and pulled in as if to protect herself against what I was going to tell her. I felt like shit and I had yet to open my mouth. This was going to be a bad night.

“It depends on a lot of things. Why don’t we eat and relax for a little while? Then we can talk.”

She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

I had a feeling this would happen. “Sit. I’ll be right back.” As she moved to the sofa, I jumped into the kitchen to turn off the spaghetti sauce, cover the bread, and grab two beers out of the fridge. Trixie frowned as she saw me approach.

“Can I just have water?”

Spinning on my left heel, I put one beer back and grabbed a bottle of water instead. When I sat on the couch, I was on the far end from her despite the fact that I’d have rather pulled her into my lap and held her tight, but I figured that she could use a little space. With my elbows on my knees, I leaned forward, staring at the coffee table without actually seeing it.

“You know I went for Reave,” I started slowly as I dredged up memories of that night in September. The dark elf was threatening the safety of the world. He had gotten the exact locations of seven of the Ivory Towers, the homes of the witches and warlocks, and he was threatening to sell the information. The warlocks and witches were in a panic, killing people off left and right, as they searched for the culprit. Every living creature in Indianapolis had been destroyed because of Reave’s plot. I had gotten dragged into the mess because Reave decided to use my older brother Robert as a courier, and because the Towers had begun to fear that I would reveal the locations of the hidden Towers. It became a fucking mess.

“I remember,” Trixie said evenly.

“I took Reave to the Towers in hopes of striking a deal with them. They were determined to kill me because I was seen as a threat.”

“A threat? Why?”

I looked up at her and smiled at the anger in her voice. “I stood against their ideology. They also realized that I could tell others of the Tower locations. I was a potential security leak. The best way to plug that leak was to kill me.”

Trixie sat back against the sofa, relaxing a little bit more. “Obviously you managed to strike a deal with them since you’re sitting here alive and well.”

Alive? Yes. Well? That was a matter of opinion. There were nights I woke up screaming from nightmares that were old memories from my years in the Towers that had been dragged to the foreground of my mind. When I walked down the street, there was a little voice whispering in my head, warning me that if the people of Low Town discovered that I was a warlock from the Towers, I was dead. Before, I had been a former warlock-in-training who had escaped. Now I was a spy.

“What was the deal?” She gasped suddenly, clapping her hands over her mouth in horror. “They didn’t make you kill your brother, did they?”

“No,” I said with a relieved sigh. At least there was a scenario that was worse than the reality. Robert had been given the coordinates of the seven locations by Reave, but with a bit of magic and several potions, I wiped his memory, gave him a new identity, and sent him far from me.

“Then what? What was the deal?”

“I had to go back to the Towers,” I said softly. The words became acid burning away the back of my throat. At sixteen, I escaped the Towers and got my freedom back after nearly losing my life. I had refused to be a cold, heartless killer like them. The world was not something for me to stand on so I could achieve my own goal of gaining more power.

Trixie leapt to her feet and backpedaled away from me as if I had lunged at her with a knife. I didn’t move. “What are you talking about? What do you mean you had to go back?”

“I convinced the Towers that they were out of touch with the people of the world. I convinced them that there were going to be more Reaves if they didn’t act. I . . . offered to be a spy for the Towers.” Trixie’s gasp was a lash tearing across my back, but I pressed on. “The position gives me value so they won’t kill me. It allows me to stay here rather than returning to live in the Towers.”

“You would turn the people of this world over to the Towers? Your friends and neighbors?” she demanded in horrified tones.

“Of course not!” I shouted, leaping to my feet as my temper snapped. “I’d rather die than turn an innocent person over to those bastards. But if I’m standing between these people and the Towers, I can act as a buffer. As one of their guardians, I know what’s going on in the Towers. I can better protect people. Before, I was operating blind and couldn’t do shit. Now I know what’s happening, what they’re thinking.”

Trixie shrank back into herself at my burst of anger. “What about Reave?”

“What about him?” I asked warily, my voice dropping close to a whisper.

“You handed him over to the Towers.”

“Reave wasn’t innocent,” I growled. “Not by a long shot. He was going to get everyone killed by auctioning off that information. We both know a war with the Towers can’t be won. Handing in Reave was the only way to save us all.”

“Then where does that leave you now? What do you have to do?”

The anger left me in a rush and I flopped back down on the couch. Leaning back, I propped one foot up on the edge of the scarred table. “That’s still a little vague.” I mumbled. “I’m regarded as a guardian, though I don’t have all the rights and privileges that go with such a title.”

Trixie edged back over to the sofa and sat on the corner. “What does a guardian do?”

The urge to hold her was overwhelming. I needed to hold her, but she was looking at me with such wariness that I was afraid to move, afraid to face the rejection that was waiting just around the corner. Closing my eyes, I forced my voice to become as calm and even as possible. “Guardians are the ones that you see when the Towers attack. They do the dirty work. They head up investigations and hunt down people of interest for the Towers. They’re like the FBI, CIA, and Special Forces, all rolled into one.”

“And you’re one of them?”

My eyes popped open at the incredulous sound in her voice. I smirked, feeling a little of my usual dry humor start to return. “I’m more of a distrusted junior member. They’re sending me out with another warlock to investigate strange things. I’m allowed to use magic in a limited capacity. The Towers are keeping me on a short leash for the time being.”

“But you’re considered . . . one of them?”

I swallowed a sigh and my smirk died on my lips. “Yeah. I’m a warlock again.”

Trixie looked down at her hands tightly clenched in her lap and rapidly blinked her eyes as if she were trying to hold back tears. I couldn’t blame her. Leaving the Towers meant that I had reached for something better and achieved it. Going back felt like a betrayal to all the people who still lived in fear. It was a betrayal to the four Tower runaways who were living in hiding and using me as a symbol of hope for a better life. Going back was failure.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t tell you sooner because I was still trying to adjust to the idea myself. I can’t change what I am. I was born to be a warlock and wield this power. What I can try to control are the people I hurt and who are hurt by the Towers.”

“What would have happened if you didn’t go back?”

“I would have been killed on the spot.”

The silence stretched between us. I stared at my untouched bottle of beer sweating on my coffee table, willing Trixie to say that she was glad that I hadn’t chosen death. I needed to hear that she could understand what I had done and that she was glad that I was still here with her. But she didn’t speak.

A huge number of her people had been hunted and slaughtered during the Great War. Their numbers had dwindled to a fraction of what they had been. It was all done by the Towers. And I was now a warlock. A killer without conscience. One of them.

I could easily remind her of everything I had done for her. Everything I had done to protect her and her people, but the memory of the Towers loomed between us.

The unexpected knock on the door was a welcome interruption breaking the silence. I jumped up, inwardly praying that it wasn’t Gideon on my doorstep with a new task that needed completing for the Towers. Now was definitely not a good time to go running off to my other life.

A woman with short brown hair and light brown eyes smiled nervously at me when I opened the door. “Gage Powell?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I replied, leaning against the door. She didn’t look like she was selling anything and I couldn’t recall anyone moving into the building recently, so she wasn’t a new neighbor borrowing a cup of sugar. There was no magic energy signature around her, so she wasn’t from the Ivory Towers. She was a rare creature—a normal human being.

“My name is Serah Moynahan and I’m a special investigator with TAPSS.”

She flashed her badge at me in one of those leather wallets, but I didn’t care. Her mention of the Tattoo Artists and Potion Stirrers Society (TAPSS) had me closing the door in her face. The government agency that monitors and certifies all tattoo artists had been a regular pain in my ass over the years. I had a feeling that it was because a handful knew that I wasn’t exactly your run-of-the-mill tattoo artist and they were hoping that I’d finally leave the industry. Not fucking likely.

“Not interested,” I said.

She stopped the door from shutting by putting her shoulder into it while I pushed. “Please, Mr. Powell. I’m not here about Asylum!”

“Gage,” Trixie said in warning.

Frowning, I released the door and stepped back. Serah took advantage of the break and quickly stepped across the threshold as if it meant that I couldn’t throw her out. We’d see about that. Serah flashed a grateful smile at Trixie, who was standing beside the couch. Trixie didn’t smile back. The elf may be willing to hear what TAPSS wanted, but she wasn’t going to pretend to be happy about it.

Serah’s smile disappeared as she looked at me while tucking her badge in her pocket again. “The vamps warned me you’d be difficult,” she said in a low voice before taking a deep breath and starting again. “I was hoping that you’d be willing to consult on an investigation.”

“What investigation?”

“There’s been an incident at the Tattered Edge.”

“Then you should probably speak with Bronx down at Asylum. He worked there for a short time,” I said dismissively at the mention of the tattoo parlor on the north side of town. I wasn’t interested in doing TAPSS any favors, particularly if it got Kyle in trouble.

“Someone is already speaking with Bronx.”

This made my heart stop for a second before all my protective instincts came surging to the foreground. I stepped closer, backing Serah up. She hit the door, closing it behind her so that she was now trapped between it and me. “Bronx hasn’t worked for Kyle Wight in years. You’ve got the wrong troll if you’re looking to draw him in on whatever dirt you’re bringing against Kyle.”

“Kyle Wight is dead,” Serah announced.

I stopped cold. My brain locked up on those few words.

“What?” Trixie asked when I couldn’t.

“Kyle Wight was discovered murdered in his shop,” Serah said, looking straight at me. “Bronx isn’t a suspect. We’re talking to him to get information on Kyle. We think he was killed by a customer he had just tattooed. I was hoping you would come with me to the parlor and look over the remains of the ingredients and the design. Tell us what he did for the killer.”

Stepping away, I ran one hand through my hair. I hadn’t been close to Kyle. We made polite chitchat whenever we saw each other at industry functions or around town. He was an extremely talented artist, but a little too scattered to run a business. Bronx had told me years ago that Kyle wasn’t keeping up with his potion supplies and that was why the troll left, before he got drawn into trouble with TAPSS. I had always thought that it would be TAPSS that ended Kyle’s career. Not something like this.

“Yeah, I’ll help,” I murmured. I started to go for my coat in the closet when Trixie’s voice stopped me.

“I’m going too.”

“Trix—”

Trixie stepped forward, pinning Serah with a piercing stare. “My name is Trixie Ravenwood and I’m a tattoo artist for Asylum. I’ve been tattooing for several years longer than Gage. I want to help.”

“Um . . . yeah. Sure,” the TAPSS investigator said, still leaning against the door. “We’d appreciate the help.”

“Trixie, you don’t have to do this.” Stepping into her line of sight, I gently cupped both of her shoulders. “You’ve already had a long, bad day.” Thanks to me, I mentally added. “Stay here. Eat something and relax. I’ll be there and back again in a couple hours.”

“Are you trying to say that I can’t handle this, Gage Powell?”

A bark of laughter jumped from my throat and I dropped my hands back to my sides. “You’re the most capable woman I know. If you’re looking for a fight regarding my opinion of you or your abilities, you’re not going to get it.”

“Asshole,” she grumbled.

I leaned forward and gently kissed her cheek. “I love you too.”

The anger dissolved from her face in an instant and her shoulders slumped with weariness. She looked more worn to me now than when she first came through the door.

“Without being a sexist asshole, I am suggesting you stay here and rest. I know you’re tired. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m going because I knew Kyle. Not well, but I knew him. I also know a lot more about potions. I can help.”

I smiled at her, wishing I was looking into the blonde beauty I loved rather than her glamour twin. “I welcome your help.”

“Have you two lovebirds got this worked out now? Some of us would like to get home tonight,” Serah said, breaking the tender moment, which was probably for the best.

“I’m sure your cats can survive a couple more hours without you,” I said as I went to the closet and grabbed my heavy winter coat. When I turned back, Serah was glaring at me and Trixie was trying to glare at me but was failing miserably.

Serah said nothing as she led the way out of my apartment and to her car with Trixie and me trailing behind her. After telling Trixie the truth, this was not how I had expected to spend my evening. I didn’t know whether I had been granted a temporary reprieve or if she was storing up her anger for a later date.

Either way, we were headed to the north side of town, where I was potentially going to see my second dead body in a week. I just hoped he still had his head.

Chapter 4

Tattered Edge was located in a decent neighborhood about a thirty-minute drive from Asylum. It was on the end of an older shopping plaza next to a place that specialized in Far East remedies and curios. There was also a hair salon, community bank, liquor store, and greeting-card shop. At just past midnight, only the liquor store and hair salon were still open catering to all the nocturnal customers, but the police had the entire area blocked off. Their red and blue lights splashed garishly over the area, sending shadows darting and lunging under cars and around corners.

As I got out of Serah’s neat Honda sedan, I pulled my coat closed and stuffed my hands in my pockets against the bitter cold. Winter had moved into the area after All Hallows’ Eve and had not let up. We hadn’t gotten much snow, but the temperatures rarely ventured above freezing and never for long since the start of December. Glancing around, I spotted an ambulance parked past a scattering of emergency vehicles. Apparently, the paramedics had also drawn morgue duty. What was disturbing was that they were leaning against the ambulance chatting with two people wearing coats with “CORONER” written in large yellow letters across the back. It gave me a sneaking suspicion that they had yet to remove Kyle because they were waiting on us. Fabulous.

For half a second, I thought about warning Trixie, but I kept my mouth shut. Why have my concern thrown back at me as a challenge? I was in enough trouble already and we still had to get through this.

As Serah neared the yellow police tape, a cop reached over and partially lifted it for her. “Thanks, Carl,” she said, ducking low. “How are Patricia and the kids?”

“They’re good. Everyone’s looking forward to the holiday break.” Carl’s dark eyes swept over Trixie and me, while his arm lowered. “These your experts?”

“Yeah. Trixie and Gage from Asylum, on the south side,” she said. The cop nodded and let us duck below the tape. His eyes lingered on me and he took a step back as I walked by, but I ignored him as best as I could. He’d recognized my name and it didn’t give me a good feeling.

We paused at the entrance, where Serah directed us to put on some latex gloves and little covers over our shoes. “The police have already been through, dusting, collecting, and photographing, but we need to preserve the scene. Try to touch as little as possible.”

Following Serah in, I was disappointed to find that it wasn’t much warmer inside than outside. They had turned off the heat and opened doors to keep the smell down. It wasn’t working. Kyle’s rotting corpse and final bowel movement could be smelled in the small waiting room filled with worn chairs and ragged magazines. A couple large photo albums were left open on a table, displaying an assortment of tattoo designs.

Lifting a gloved hand to my nose, I breathed in the latex, giving my stomach a break from the other gut-twisting scent filling the space. “When was Kyle discovered?”

“About seven o’clock this evening.” Serah looked back at us, her brows bunching over her nose. “Coroner estimates that he’s been dead three days.”

“Three days?” Trixie repeated in horror. “How could no one notice for three days?”

I shook my head, frowning down at the tattoo books. “Doesn’t he have anyone else working for him?”

“Two artists actually.” Serah paused and pulled out a little notebook from an interior coat pocket. “Nicole Quelsen and Ben Breen,” she read when she’d found the right page. “Both have been in San Diego since Tuesday at the Ink Pot Convention.” Serah started to continue to the main workspace, tucking her notebook in a pocket, but suddenly stopped. “Is it strange Kyle didn’t go with them?” she asked, looking at me.

“No. Kyle hated to travel. He attended only those cons that were within two hours’ drive of Low Town.” That and the Ink Pot Convention wasn’t a big tattoo artists convention. Most on the East Coast used it as an excuse to go out to the West Coast for a vacation under the guise of work.

As we stepped into the main tattooing space, my first thought was at least he still had his head. Unfortunately, Trixie immediately lost her stomach. By the sound of it, Trixie ran out of the room and grabbed a small wastebasket along the way. I was more disturbed by the fact that I didn’t get sick. But years of living in the Towers and fighting to survive had pretty much killed my gag reflex. I was growing more detached from it all, as if the violence couldn’t touch me.

Kyle’s body sat up against a tall mirror that had spider-webbed when he hit it. A large black pool of blood had dried beneath him while his guts were spilled into his lap from where his stomach had been cut open. Kyle’s face also was beaten and bruised badly from where the killer had taken a meat tenderizing mallet to it before dropping it at Kyle’s feet. What struck me as strange was that the mallet was in the tattooing room, when it normally would have been kept in the back for crushing certain potion ingredients. But then maybe it wasn’t so strange. The whole room was a chaotic, haphazard mess of items that had been tossed aside when they were no longer needed.

But the worst for me was seeing Kyle stabbed in the heart with his own tattooing gun. Was this the act of an angry customer? Had Kyle’s carelessness finally gotten him killed? If so, he wouldn’t be the first and probably not the last. Tattooing was dangerous business.

“Have Ben and Nicole been contacted?” I asked when Serah returned. She had chased after Trixie while I stayed locked to the spot.

“Yes. They’re flying back in the morning. Ben is part fey and doesn’t travel well at night.”

I nodded. Why rush? It’s not like they could help Kyle now.

At the sound of Trixie’s footsteps, I turned to see her slowly come back into the room looking paler and a little unsteady but determined to see this through. Her eyes flicked to the body for a second before finding my face. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a peppermint and handed it to her.

She managed a weak smile as she took it with trembling fingers. “You’re always prepared, aren’t you?”

“I try.” I didn’t tell her I used a tiny spell to summon a peppermint from the bag of peppermints sitting on the nightstand in my bedroom. It wasn’t important. The peppermint would help with the nausea and the smell.

With Trixie on firmer footing, I turned to Serah. “You had something for us?” The sooner we answered Serah’s questions, the sooner I could get Trixie out of this nightmare.

“The design is here.” She directed us to a counter with a couple pieces of paper on it. The first was Kyle’s original sketch, which was about half the size of a standard sheet of paper and was largely an abstract piece with bold and swirling lines. There were some images, like a knife, embedded in it but it didn’t make much sense to me.

“This isn’t good,” Trixie said in a low voice. Serah and I both looked over at her to find her chewing on her bottom lip in worry as she stared at the design.

“You recognize it?” Serah asked.

“It’s used in Alpha Conversion potions.”

Using the tip of my index finger, I carefully turned the paper slightly, taking another look at the drawing. My stomach sank as some of the lines finally tugged some memories free in my brain. It was an old and basic technique to change a chunk of a person’s inner core, their sense of self. I had done something similar but far more delicate and subtler to my brother. The difference between the two was like the difference between a jackhammer and a chisel. Trixie was right. This wasn’t good.

“What’s an Alpha Conversion?” Serah asked. She was holding a pen and small notepad now, ready to take notes.

“Most people in the world can be divided into two groups: alphas, which are the bold aggressors and risk takers, and the betas, which are the cautious followers,” Trixie explained.

“Like Type A and Type B personalities?” Serah supplied.

Trixie looked at me and frowned. Trixie was an elf and she dealt in nature’s laws, not Serah’s human constructs of human psychology. When Trixie spoke of alphas, she was talking predators.

“In a basic sense, yes,” I jumped in to keep things moving. “The design is important, but the types of ingredients used determine the degree and power behind the change.”

“Can this tattoo be prepped and completed quickly?”

“No.” I looked down at the design, smeared with Kyle’s blood. “The client would have contacted him and discussed it days ago. Probably met at least once prior to tattooing the person.”

“How long have you worked for TAPSS?” Trixie asked. I was beginning to wonder that myself. Not all TAPSS investigators have a detailed knowledge of tattooing and potions, but most have a solid working knowledge. Serah was asking some pretty basic questions she should have known the answers to.

“Four months, but I was a cop for five years before that. I know how to run an investigation,” she said through clenched teeth. I couldn’t blame her for getting pissed, but we wanted to see Kyle’s killer stopped and that was unlikely to happen with someone who didn’t know the pointy end of a tattooing needle.

“Shouldn’t you have a partner or something? Someone with more tattooing and potion knowledge?” Trixie continued.

“I do and even he didn’t recognize the symbol.”

I shrugged. “Alpha Conversions are extremely rare and aren’t taught during an apprenticeship. A lot of tattoo artists probably couldn’t do one. Not an effective one at least.”

“My partner also refused to work with me when I mentioned your name,” she said, looking very pointedly at me. “None of them wanted to work with me if I contacted you.”

Trixie lifted one questioning eyebrow at me, as if to ask what I’d done to deserve that reaction.

“Don’t look at me like that. Bronx was the last one to give TAPSS any kind of shit. Not me.”

“I’m sure you didn’t help matters,” Trixie said with a smirk.

She was right, of course, but I bit back my snide comeback in favor of pressing forward. Spending the evening standing in the dried blood of a deceased acquaintance wasn’t my idea of a good time.

“Where’s the potion?” I demanded.

Serah led the way to the next room, which wasn’t much larger than the bathroom in my apartment. A large cabinet stood open with a chaotic array of ingredients that were stored in jars, bowls, and envelopes, while others just lay out on the shelves with no labels. It was a tattoo artist’s worst nightmare. Effective potions for tattoos required fresh and properly preserved ingredients. You couldn’t just throw a bunch of unknown shit in a bowl and expect it to work.

The table used to stir the potions didn’t look much better. The surface was covered with so much old flotsam and random crap that I couldn’t be sure what he’d used to make the killer’s potions and what was left over from potions he’d stirred weeks ago.

Trixie shook her head, standing beside me. “This is a fucking disaster.”

“Yeah, but we can throw out these bowls,” I said, waving my hand at two crucibles and a butter bowl growing mold and collecting dust. They hadn’t been used recently. Carefully picking up the chipped ceramic bowl closest to me, I ran my finger along the interior and then sniffed the residue left behind on the glove. I held it up to Trixie, who also sniffed it.

“I can definitely pick out Woodruff and Saint-John’s-wort,” she said. She stepped back as if she wanted to mentally examine what she had just smelled without any interference.

I nodded, grateful she had come along. My sense of smell was that of an average human’s, while Trixie’s elf senses were much keener. She’d have a chance of picking out the exact ingredients.

Peering closely at the remains of the potion in the bowl, I tried to identify the rest of the items. Woodruff was a common herb used as a catalyst for significant changes, while Saint-John’s-wort was used for invincibility. “I thought I smelled holy thistle,” I added, which was used for strength and protection. It was likely that Kyle had also thrown in a black market item or two such as werewolf sinew or ogre spleen, but I didn’t want to mention it and send Serah running after the black market vendors. I had no desire to piss of the guys from whom I still got goods.

“And to bind it all . . .” Trixie picked up a bundle of oak branches that had been bound together with twine. Kyle would have lit one end and let the ash fall into the mix. Not a good sign. Oak was a heavy hitter in the natural world. It was used for a burst of inner strength and power. It was the reason that oak was linked to powerful kings and conquerors through history.

“So, how bad is it?” Serah asked. Her pen was poised over her little notepad, ready to take down my opinion. She wasn’t going to like it.

“We’re fucked,” I said, pulling off my gloves and shoving them in my coat pocket.

“Why?”

“The ingredients were strong, assuming most were somewhat fresh, and the binding agent made it permanent,” Trixie said. “The person is now extremely aggressive and focused. Seeing as this isn’t the person’s nature state, it’s likely that it pushed their mental state off balance.”

“Kyle created a monster,” Serah said.

I sighed and pushed my fingers through my hair, sending it standing on end. “Yes and no. This person had to have the desire or . . . predisposition toward murder already. He probably just lacked the courage to do it.”

“Until now,” Trixie added. “The tattoo gave the killer that final shove over the edge and most likely unhinged his mind in the process.”

“And he’s going to keep killing,” Serah murmured, staring down at the notepad in her hands.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t already,” I said. Serah said nothing but I noticed her hands grip her notepad a little tighter, her knuckles turning white. “You think he has already!” I stepped closer and her head popped up.

She opened her mouth and I think she was going to deny it, but then closed her mouth. Her eyes darted thoughtfully from me to Trixie. “Kyle’s the first death, but not the last. I think the bastard has killed twice since leaving here. We found two women, one last night and one tonight, with their stomachs slashed the same as Kyle. Both were in their last trimester of pregnancy.”

Beside me, Trixie let out a horrible cry. I turned to see her knees buckle and she started to collapse. Catching her, I scooped her up and sat her on the only stool in the crowded little room. She gripped my arms with fierce, trembling hands and raised tear-glazed green eyes to my face. For the first time since I’d met her, Trixie involuntarily lost her glamour spell. Serah was staring at her in shock, but I ignored the human.

Cupping Trixie’s cheek with one hand, I kept the other on her shoulder to hold her steady. “Are you okay? Do you want me to get the paramedics?”

“No,” she said in a squeak. She cleared her throat and repeated it with more force. “No. I’m just overwhelmed. First, Kyle dying like this and then those women.” She paused and looked at Serah. “Did the babies survive?”

“No, I’m sorry,” she said gently.

Trixie squeezed her eyes closed. A tear escaped, slipping down her too-pale cheek. “I need to go home.”

“Agreed. We’re out of here,” I said, wrapping one arm around her shoulders as I started to help her to her feet.

Trixie pressed a hand to my chest as her head snapped up. “No! You stay. Help the police and TAPSS. You can help them.”

A frown tugged at the corners of my mouth. What she meant was that I could find the killer because I was a warlock. I wasn’t too sure what I could do using my special warlock powers with Serah on my heels, but I’d figure something out. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ll get a taxi to take me back.”

“I can get a police officer to take you back,” Serah offered, her soft voice startling me. For a moment, I’d forgotten that she was even there.

“I can’t trouble them . . .”

“Trust me, it won’t be any trouble. A few outside are ready to get out of here.”

“Thank you,” I said on a relieved sigh before Trixie could argue.

“You just might . . . want to . . .” Serah awkwardly said, motioning toward Trixie’s face.

The elf looked at me in confusion and I smiled. “You lost your glamour.”

“Son of a bitch,” she whispered in frustration, but the brunette was back in place in the blink of an eye.

I pressed a kiss to her forehead before releasing her. “I’ll see you back at my apartment soon. I’ll bring Bronx with me.”

Trixie nodded and then followed Serah back to the parking lot while I walked into the main tattooing room, where a trio of men struggled to get Kyle into a body bag. Not the easiest of tasks with his innards slipping out and threatening to flop all over the place. If I hadn’t liked the guy, I might have suggested using a shovel. Of course, I can’t say I was overly fond of him. Kyle had gotten sloppy and bad potions made us all look bad. Even so, the guy didn’t deserve to go like this.

Watching their slow progress, I saw something that could be useful, but I didn’t think the police would let me just walk off with evidence. “Here, let me help,” I offered, kneeling down by the body. Dried blood brushed off onto the knee of my jeans, but it wasn’t the first time my clothes had acquired bloodstains in the service of others, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. I was getting damn good at laundry since I could afford to replace my clothes every time things got messy.

One cop gave me a brief, grateful smile as I slid one hand under the corpse’s left knee, while the other was under its back. I quickly stopped my brain from trying to identify the crunchy and cool gel-like substances my bare hands were encountering. I was an idiot for taking off my gloves and a bigger idiot for not putting them back on.

It was awkward and we were all trying not to breathe deeply as we worked, but we got the body bagged on the first try. As they rushed to get Kyle zipped up, I sat back on my heels so that my body hid the small wastebasket closest to the tattoo chair Kyle had been using when he worked on the killer. In the blink of an eye, I snatched up a blood and ink-encrusted paper towel and stuffed it into my pocket before standing.

The paramedics stood and solemnly marched out of the room, their shuffling feet releasing flakes of dried blood into the air. The cop followed, his head down, looking pale but also relieved. His night in this grim place was almost over.

The tattooing room had always been a place of new beginnings, second chances, and adventure. But this one screamed of death and violence. It was ugly and mocked everything that had drawn me to becoming a tattoo artist in the first place.

Serah moved out of the entrance to let them pass, coming to stand beside me. “Trixie is being taken back by Carl and Ernie. They’re good guys and will see to it that she’s safe in your apartment before leaving.”

“Thanks.”

“I had no freaking clue she was an elf,” she continued in a low voice despite the fact that we were alone in the parlor. She shook her head as if she trying to dislodge the last of her shock.

“That’s how glamour works.” I grinned down at her. Serah couldn’t have been more than five feet five in her low heels, making her seem positively tiny next to Trixie, but there was a spunkiness to the woman that kept you from brushing her off.

She rolled her eyes and then turned serious. “I promise not to tell anyone.”

“She’d appreciate it. She’s not hiding any longer, but everyone knows this disguise, so she keeps it just to make life easier.”

“She was in hiding?” Serah said, but I was already shaking my head at her. The TAPSS investigator didn’t need to know about Trixie’s past. I was already cursing myself for that stupid slip.

“I’ve not spoken with many elves. Are they usually so sensitive? I wouldn’t have expected that.”

In general, that was a big NO. From my experience, elves were indifferent to humans because we were inferior. Luckily, my girlfriend had a different opinion. But her reaction was unexpectedly strong. The Summer Court seemed to be the most sympathetic of the three different clans. The Winter Court was cool, distant, and definitely frightening, from my limited experience. And the Svartálfar, or dark elves, were murderous assholes looking to kill or control everyone around them. They weren’t quite as bad as the Ivory Towers, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying.

“Until recently, the elves have had some reproduction issues. I think Trixie’s a little sensitive about babies right now,” I said, hoping that was the reason. During my quick visit to see Mother Nature in September, I convinced the old girl to set the elves right again. Of course, there were days I still felt hollow and raw from that visit. Mother’s Nature’s home had put me at peace and holding my son had been the best experience in the world, but I couldn’t stay. There were still too many things I needed to do here.

“Do you have any more insight you can offer on the tattoo or even the killer?” Serah asked and I was grateful she dropped the subject of Trixie and the elves.

Stepping back over to the counter that held the original sketch as well as the copy used for the inking, I tucked my hands in my pockets to keep from touching anything. “Kyle reduced the size so it can easily be tattooed on an arm or just about anywhere on the body. With this potion, it would need to be on the left side. Preferably on the arm or shoulder—as close to the heart as possible for this to take effect.”

“What about on the chest over the heart?”

“Possible but less likely. Kyle hated tattooing on the chest and generally avoided it. Chest tattoos are a pain in the ass because the customer keeps breathing.”

“Anything else?”

I shrugged. “Just the basics—check fingerprints, Kyle’s schedule, phone records, and the paperwork the client had to sign before the tattoo was done.”

“Police are working on it, but I doubt they’re going to find much on the paperwork side. I’d heard there are some artists who tattoo without filing the proper paperwork,” Sarah added wryly as she tucked her notepad in her pocket. She didn’t glance up at me, but I kept my face blank and my mouth shut. Most of us took an off-the-books client every once in a while for the extra money. It was highly illegal and could cost an artist his license if discovered, but we always told ourselves that we were careful. Too few of us every caught any trouble from it. But Kyle was proof that careful didn’t count for shit in this world.

Serah’s narrowed eyes scanned the room as if she were searching for that one clue the other thirty people had missed when they traipsed through. “Nothing else?”

My shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Sorry. I’m a tattoo artist, not a miracle worker.”

“Then why don’t you give back that bloody napkin you grabbed out of the trash?” she said as her gaze rose to my face.

My expression remained unchanged as I scrambled for a reply while silently cursing my clumsiness. I had been so focused on not getting caught by the men moving Kyle that I didn’t notice her return. Obviously becoming a thief was out of the question if the tattooing thing didn’t work out.

“The police are already checking the blood samples from the tattoo,” she continued when I didn’t speak. “They say it’s a waste of time. The soap, ink, and potion have likely destroyed the DNA. They doubt they’ll even be able to identify the species of the killer.” When I still didn’t speak, she crossed her arms over her chest, making her look like an angry marshmallow because of her puffy winter coat. “Can you do better?”

A smile finally lifted my lips. I could do better. I might not be able to get a clear image of the person, but I could get something. There was a spell or two I could use that had nothing to do with DNA.

“Listen here, Powell,” she said, poking me in the chest with her index finger. “You’re not going after this sadistic fuck because your friend was killed. This is my case, my collar. Just give me the info.”

It was interesting that she said “my” rather than TAPSS or the police. I wasn’t the only one with a personal interest in this. Sadly mine wasn’t about avenging Kyle’s death. Trixie’s tear-filled request was driving me. Of course, I didn’t think Serah’s reasoning figured justice for Kyle either. Poor Kyle. Killed by a client and no one’s promising justice in his name. It was tough being a tattoo artist in Low Town.

“I’ve got a couple ideas. I can get back to you—”

“Nope. Ain’t gonna happen.” She poked my sternum a second time to emphasize her point. “Where that sample goes, I go.”

I hesitated, temptation gnawing at me. With magic, I could wipe her mind of this conversation. She’d forget and I’d be safe to pursue Kyle’s killer alone. But Serah could give me easy access to police information. Her memory could always be wiped after the killer was caught. And it wasn’t like I was bringing more danger into her life. She was enthusiastically seeking it out when she pursued this case.

“Fine,” I said and started for the door.

“Wait!” she called, following quickly on my heels. “That’s it? Fine?”

“Yep.”

“I’m beginning to understand why the vampires don’t like you,” she muttered, as we paused to pull off the little paper booties and we stepped back onto the sidewalk.

The ambulance and most of the police cruisers were gone. Muddy lamplight washed over the lot rather than rotating red and blue lights, allowing the shadows to return to their proper homes. Smoke curled up from the few cars idling, while people huddled before the heating vents and discussed Kyle’s gruesome death. Or maybe they were all talking about their holiday plans, eager to forget about one man’s violent death.

For a moment, I wondered if this very scene was waiting in my future. Between my dealings with the Towers, the local mafia, and the fact that I was a warlock trying to live among the people, my life hovered on the edge of a violent end. Were these same people going to be discussing my blood-splattered death scene over a mug of coffee while inwardly wishing they were already home with their spouses and kids? And what were the chances that it would just be my body lying there in pieces? Not good. I couldn’t stomach the idea of Trixie or Bronx being killed because of me.

“Why did you contact me?” I demanded a little sharper than I had meant to, as I tried to pull my thoughts back from that dark abyss.

“Because you’re one of the best tattoo artists in the area,” she quickly said, but refused to look up at me. She kept her eyes lowered and concentrated on pulling off her latex gloves and pulling on fleece winter gloves.

“One of. I can think of two damn good artists who live here on north side. You could have just gotten Bronx. He worked here and knew Kyle better than I did,” I pressed. “Do you have an axe to grind that I need to know about?”

“Of course not!” she nearly shouted.

I snorted, a blast of white fog jumping from my nose in the bitter cold. “Yeah. You ignore your mentors and every vamp at TAPSS when they tell you to stay away from me. What’s the deal?”

Serah glared up at me, her hands balled into fists at her side. I found myself cringing slightly as I waited for her to explode. “You have a sealed file at TAPSS!” Bumping me with her shoulder, she stomped toward the car, seeming to talk to herself. “No one has a sealed file. I can access basic things like training and certification, but all other information is locked up tight. And it’s not just that the vamps don’t like you. They seem . . . scared of you. And nothing scares them, except maybe the Towers.”

“So . . . what? You got something to prove?”

“Yes!” she hissed. She shoved her fists into the pockets of her coat and stopped in the middle of the parking lot. Turning back to me, she looked like she was struggling not to scream. “I spent five years on the Low Town police force and I was a damn good cop. But these fucking vampires treat me like some snot-nosed rookie who doesn’t know shit.”

I couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up. “And you’re building your street cred with me?”

Serah shrugged, some of the anger draining from her frame as she started for her car again. “Well, that and the cops have started whispering about you as well.”

Grabbing her shoulder, I spun Serah around, forcing her to look at me. “What about the cops?” The sealed file wasn’t a surprise. TAPSS knew some details about my past, but that was supposed to be locked down and kept secret from most of the agents. The cops weren’t supposed to know anything about me.

“There have been rumors recently. Started this past summer.”

“Rumors about what?”

“Magic.”

My heart stopped for a second and then started painfully again, racing in my chest. This was not a good thing. “You think . . . what? I’m a warlock?”

Serah’s head fell back on a laugh. The sound was like little bells ringing in the crisp air. “A warlock?” She laughed again and this time she snorted. She slapped her hands over her mouth, her cheeks turning red in the dim light. “Now you’re just being ridiculous. You’re a warlock and I’m queen of the pixies.”

Pulling her keys out of her pocket, she unlocked her car and got in while I walked around to the passenger side. Relief made me light-headed, but a small nagging part of me was insulted. I’d spent most of my life trying to prove to the Towers and myself that I wasn’t like the other witches and warlocks. They were only cold-hearted killers focused on gaining more power while crushing the world. But it was the perverse part of me that didn’t like being told that I didn’t have it in me to be something. Why couldn’t I be a warlock? I shrugged before pulling open the door. My aura must have been wrong. Gideon and the others exuded scary.

Boy, was I about to prove Serah wrong.

Chapter 5

Pink Floyd was trickling out of the speakers at Asylum when we arrived, causing my stomach to clench with guilt and worry. “Wish You Were Here” was usually saved for when the troll was troubled. The album A Collection of Great Dance Songs had been played a lot in that first month after I’d been drawn back into the Towers. I’d never gotten around to telling Bronx what had happened, but then I hadn’t been my usual cheerful self during that time either, so he knew things hadn’t gone well.

The troll looked up as we came in the front door and gave a soft grunt of acknowledgment before reaching under the counter to turn down the music. “TAPSS got ahold of you,” he said, though I think it was meant to be a question.

“Yeah.” I shrugged out of my heavy coat and tossed it onto the wooden bench that ran along the back wall. “I’m sorry about Kyle.”

He grunted again, though this one sounded a little more thoughtful. “I hadn’t talked to Kyle in a couple years, but . . . to go like this. I was just starting to think that the Towers were the only thing that we needed to worry about.” He turned his piercing gold eyes on the woman standing in the middle of the lobby, looking undecided as to whether she wanted to be there.

“Bronx, this is Serah Moynahan, an investigator with TAPSS.”

As he rose to his feet, the troll’s relaxed demeanor disappeared like a wisp of smoke in the wind. I could see the muscles in his hard jaw tighten as if he were grinding his teeth. He didn’t offer her his hand, which was unlike Bronx since the troll’s manners usually put Emily Post to fucking shame, but Serah was TAPSS and no tattoo artist liked the regulatory agency.

“I’m sorry about Kyle,” Serah said as she shrugged out of her coat. She didn’t seem particularly put off by his cold demeanor, though she was keeping a good distance between them. At over six feet, Bronx was an intimidating figure of muscle and menace. It also didn’t help that Trixie had drawn dancing skeletons along Bronx’s bare arms using greasepaint. Since a troll’s skin was too thick for tattooing, Bronx had Trixie draw different images on his arms every night so that it appeared that he had some tattoos.

“Are you almost done for the night?” I asked, breaking the awkward silence that had settled in the room.

Bronx reluctantly tore his eyes off Serah to look at me, his expression softening. “No more appointments and I’ve only got another hour of my shift. Sunrise is in three hours.”

“No shit?” I twisted, looking out the front window as if I could use the moon to judge how late it was. But then, the moon was hidden from where I stood and I couldn’t use it to tell time even if I could see it. No matter. Between the trip out to Kyle’s shop, the investigation, and the drive back, the night had wasted away, when I had hoped to spend it in a more enjoyable manner. Or at the very least, a productive manner in terms of my relationship.

I shook my head in disgust. Life had a way of getting in the way of my plans. “On your way home, would you check on Trixie at my apartment?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“She was with me at Kyle’s shop. It wasn’t pretty.”

“She took it bad?”

“Yeah, and that wasn’t the first bad news of the night,” I muttered as the look on Trixie’s face when I told her I was once again an agent of the Ivory Towers flashed through my brain. I’d never forget that look for as long as I lived. The horror, the fear, the disgust, and disappointment threatened to drown out rational thought. Despite knowing why she couldn’t, I wanted her to understand my choices, needed her to understand.

“You finally talked . . .” Bronx’s deep voice drifted off meaningfully.

“Yeah.” My own voice had become rough with emotion. I wanted to fucking throw something as frustration welled within me, but a temper tantrum wouldn’t fix shit. It would only waste time I didn’t have. I just kept telling myself that my relationship was still fixable. “She can tell you or we’ll talk later. Check in with her before heading home if you don’t mind.”

“I got it.”

“I appreciate it.” And I did. I knew the risk he was taking. Trolls were vulnerable to sunlight, turning to stone at the first touch of the sun’s rays. It was a death sentence for them, but Bronx had risked himself for me time and again. My only hope was that I’d be able to return the favor one day.

“You need any help?” Bronx asked me, but was pointedly staring at Serah with a grim expression. I don’t know what the troll was offering, since he wasn’t the violent type despite his frightening appearance, and would never raise a hand to a woman.

“No, I got this,” I said, feeling the first hint of a chuckle in hours. “We think we’ve got a little of the attacker’s blood and we’re going to see what kind of information I can get out of it.”

Bronx’s narrowed gaze jerked back to me and he moved to block the entrance to the tattooing room when I stepped forward. “How?” he growled and I was warmed by his protectiveness.

“Using the bad stuff.”

“In front of her?” Yeah, he thought I’d officially lost my mind at last and I certainly couldn’t blame him.

Serah snorted. “I’m still here and can hear you,” she said in a loud voice vibrating with her annoyance.

Bronx ignored her outburst, keeping his eyes locked on me. “You don’t have to do this. You weren’t close to Kyle. Let the cops and TAPSS do their job.”

My weariness seeped back in and I shook my head. “Trixie asked me to.”

The troll frowned and I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. “Why? She wasn’t close with Kyle.”

What Bronx wanted to say was This isn’t your fight, and I had to agree with him. I’d been dragged into Trixie’s problems with the Summer Court and a fight with the Towers that might have worked out better if I’d just stayed out of the mess to begin with. I wanted to walk away, but the look of fear and desperation in Trixie’s eyes was enough to put me on this path. If only to restore her faith in me again.

“Apparently Kyle wasn’t the killer’s only victim.” Learning against the wall, I crossed my arms over my chest and looked at my closest friend. “Based on the evidence at the crime scene, the police think the same person has also murdered two pregnant women. It’s likely the person would never have struck without the tattoo. We need to find out who this is and why he’s targeting pregnant women.”

The troll’s expression grew even darker and he swore softly under his breath. “Any leads?”

“None so far,” Serah admitted with some frustration.

For the first time, Bronx’s expression softened toward Serah. “Have you tried the goblins?”

“Why the goblins? What could they have to do with this?” Serah asked, taking a tentative step forward.

“The area goblins run the baby black market,” Bronx volunteered.

The small woman’s mouth hung open for a second in shock before her face flushed red with anger. “And people know this is happening and aren’t doing anything about it?”

“They’re not stealing and eating babies,” I said and quickly bit my tongue.

Well, supposedly they weren’t stealing babies anymore. In the old days, goblins were quite fond of stealing human children from their cribs. Apparently, young humans are a delicacy. But as times changed, the goblins discovered they could make more money selling babies on a black market. Despite the significant progress we’ve made in recognizing most races as citizens and giving them access to proper health care, many lawmakers aren’t as open about adoption, particularly interspecies adoption.

“The goblins pay women quite well to have babies and give them over for adoption,” Bronx explained when she didn’t look convinced.

“There are a number of vampires as well as interspecies couples who can’t have children and aren’t allowed to adopt, so they go to the goblins,” I said.

While I’d never personally visited the goblins regarding their wares, I’d learned that once you became involved in purchasing goods in one black market, you tended to be aware of what else was going on in the underground. You never knew when turmoil elsewhere was going to impact your own livelihood.

“You don’t think that the goblins are behind the murders, do you?” I asked, drawing my tired eyes up the troll’s frowning visage.

“Probably not,” Bronx said with a shrug. “They’re fond of money and wouldn’t do anything to hurt their supply. More likely, they’ve already started looking into the matter and might be able to give you some information.”

“Could be someone they’ve crossed in the past?” Serah suggested.

“Possible. I’ll dig around and see if I can locate a contact after we finish with tonight’s little escapade,” I murmured.

The troll looked like he was going to argue with my decision to burrow deeper into this mess when I needed to step away from it, but after several seconds, he closed his mouth and nodded. Lines of tension still stretched from his eyes. He was worried.

“If you need anything . . .”

“You’ve got my back,” I finished when his voice faded.

Bronx stepped back and I cut through the empty tattooing room. I kept my head down so that the three chairs skated briefly through the periphery of my vision. The three of us had worked together for nearly three years. Laughter had almost constantly echoed through that room as we tattooed the people of Low Town. Crude jokes, strange misadventures, and unexpected revelations filled that room and a part of me worried that it was on the cusp of ending.

Pushing aside my personal worries, I concentrated on the soft patter of female footsteps as Serah followed me down the narrow hallway that connected the main tattooing room with the windowless storage room at the back of the building. When she entered, I closed and locked the door as I usually did when I planned to enter the basement. My eyes jumped to the back door, to find that it was still double-bolted.

“What are we doing back here? You know a potion to pull information out of the blood?” Serah demanded. Her voice had grown colder and harder with her increasing anxiety. My veiled conversation with Bronx had only raised her suspicions about me and the situation wasn’t going to get any better.

Taking her winter coat out of her arms, I tossed it on the padded table I used when I needed someone to lie flat for a tattoo. “Hand over the gun,” I said, holding out my hand.

Serah frowned and took a step backward. “Why?”

“So accidents don’t happen.”

She didn’t budge beyond her gaze hardening on me. “I don’t trust you.”

“Good. We have something in common. I don’t trust me either.” I tapped down the urge to use magic to make the gun disappear, but that wasn’t the way to win this person over. “Hand over the gun. We’re leaving it here.”

“Where are we going?”

“Basement.”

Her eyes darted from one locked door to the other as she thought it over. “Anyone else have a key to those doors?”

“No.”

While not pleased with the idea, Serah removed the gun from shoulder holster under her right arm and popped the magazine from the grip before placing the weapon on top of her coat. The magazine she shoved into the back pocket of her jeans.

“You’re left-handed,” I observed, talking mostly to myself.

“Yeah,” she said slowly, looking at me as if a few of my marbles had just rolled out of my ears.

I flashed her a crooked smile. “I’ve not met many left-handed people. Parents used to believe that kids who were left-handed would turn out to be a witch or warlock so they tried to train lefties to use their right hand.”

She rolled her eyes and muttered, “Superstitious bullshit.”

It helped to break the tension a little bit. With a deep breath, I knew it was time to get down to business.

“I’ve got to set some ground rules before we continue.”

“And now I’m worried again,” Serah said. Her voice carried some levity as if she was trying to meet me halfway, but it was fading fast. “Why do we need ground rules?”

“For both our protection.”

“You know, Gage, if you’re going to use some kind of illegal potion, it’s unlikely I’m going to recognize it. I want to catch this bastard too.” Ahh . . . dear Serah. Already willing to bend the rules for me. Of course, she was right. If I’d decided to use a little pixie liver in a spell she wouldn’t be able to recognize it. While the ingredient was illegal, she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between it and a shriveled up lima bean.

“It’s not a potion.”

“Hacking software?”

“No.” When Serah looked utterly confounded, I continued, knowing it was better to push ahead than to let her imagination run wild. “First rule is that you will wait here until I call you down into the basement.” When she opened her mouth to argue, I pulled the blood-soaked paper towel out of my pocket and held it out to her. “Since you don’t trust me, you’ll hold this until you join me.”

Serah wordlessly closed her mouth and took the paper towel, holding it carefully in her right hand. It was a fair trade. She could be sure that I wasn’t trying to pull a fast one on her while I was out of her sight.

“Second rule is that you will remain calm no matter what you see.”

“How much illegal crap you got down there?”

I just frowned at her. The shit I had down in the basement wasn’t even on TAPSS’s radar. Warlocks could do some seriously fucked-up shit, but it often required some really strange and rare items. There was plenty down there that could be considered illegal if all the rule makers ever considered what a person could get their hands on. For now it wasn’t illegal simply because they hadn’t thought of it yet.

“Fine. I’ll stay calm,” Serah said in a huff.

“And third, you’ll give me a chance to explain anything you don’t understand before you consider breaking Rule Number Two.”

“Got it. Stay here. Stay calm. Give you a chance to snow me.” Serah ticked off each rule on her fingers while glaring at me. “Can we get this going now? I would like to crawl into bed before the sun comes up.”

Resisting the urge to flip her off, I turned and pushed a rolling table off the trapdoor in the floor, moving it to the far corner of the room. I didn’t care if she was irritated with me. There was a huge potential for disaster by taking her into my secret lair, and I wanted to at least try to cover my ass before descending into this nightmare. I glanced over my shoulder at her one last time to see her still standing across the room with the tissue in her extended hand before turning my attention to the yawning darkness at the bottom of the warped wooden stairs.

Common sense said this was a mistake and I was having trouble remembering why I was doing this, but the die was cast and it was time to get this show on the road.

Chapter 6

With ease, I quickly descended the creaking stairs and hit the compacted dirt floor. I blindly grabbed the beaded pull chain overhead and gave it a hard yank as I walked into the center of the room. Grimy yellow light washed over the low-ceilinged room with exposed concrete walls. Deep shadows instantly retreated to peek out from around the three large cabinets that lined three of the walls. The fourth, far wall was empty except for a large symbol I’d spray-painted there. The air in the basement was thick with the scent of dirt, burned ozone, and some other, subtler scent that I had come to associate with the scent of my own magical signature.

Standing in the center of the room, I threw my arms out and then swiftly brought them in again before thrusting them out toward the dark symbol. A rush of magical energy stirred in the room, surging toward the wall, while a separate energy shifted, seeming to make the black paint undulate as if something large were crawling beneath it. Over the years, I’d spent hours staring at the symbol trying to decipher the meaning. Encased all in a large, unbroken circle, there were several other symbols running through it. At times, I thought it looked like a name and that frightened me more than anything else.

The defensive spell I had placed over the basement was a dangerous thing. It attacked with lethal force anyone who entered the basement that wasn’t me. It was also a fickle thing, not liking to be turned off as I learned when I let my friend Sofie descend into my private domain. While it hadn’t attacked her, the spell hadn’t gone into magical sleep mode, which was more than a little unnerving.

It was never a good thing when a spell stopped obeying you. In fact, spells weren’t supposed to have a mind of their own, but something was different about this one. I’d used this protective spell for several years and I was beginning to wonder if storing all these magical items near the spell was starting to have a negative impact. It was time to consult Gideon for a new protective spell.

When the last of the magical energies in the room finally settled down, I breathed a small sigh of relief. At least the spell wasn’t going to kill us when Serah came down into the basement. I was just hoping the woman wouldn’t try to kill me. Walking back over to stand at the bottom of the stairs, I called up to her.

Her footsteps creaked across the wood floor until she appeared at the top of the stairs with a questioning look on her face. “That didn’t take long. Finished hiding your stash from the big bad TAPSS investigator?”

“Get your ass down here,” I muttered.

As she slowly descended the stairs, I walked over to the high table that was pushed against one of the walls. Its surface was cluttered with random bits of junk that I had collected for use in random spells and potions. A series of crystals hung from ribbons and leather strings along the wall just above the table, while a stack of hardbound journals was piled in the corner. It was a mess, but it was my mess and I knew where everything was. Grabbing my wand out of the carved wooden box, I quickly shoved it up my sleeve. My hope was to ease Serah into this to keep her panic down to a minimum, and wands were panic-inducing things. I scooped up a battered box of wooden kitchen matches and a baby-food jar filled with sea salt, and then paused as my brain ran in circles, trying to figure out anything else that might help give this spell some kick.

“Gage?” Serah’s tremulous voice rose up in the silent air. For the first time all evening, she sounded unsure and more than a little afraid. While the room housed cabinets that looked like they contained your typical potion ingredients, the padlocks on the front of each made you second-guess it. The black symbol dominating the far wall also didn’t help. Even if you didn’t understand magic, the thing held a sinister air as if it was a gateway to something evil. It didn’t take an expert in magic to know that she was treading on dangerous ground.

I smiled broadly at her when I turned around to find her standing on the dirt floor near the foot of the stairs. “Almost ready,” I said, trying to sound reassuring as I shoved the jar of salt into my pocket.

“What is all this?”

“You remember Rule Number Three?” I asked as I stepped over to the cabinet nearest her. Turning my body so that I blocked her view of what I was doing, I picked up the padlock and ran my thumb across the back while pushing a tiny burst of magic through the mechanism. A chunk echoed through the room as the lock popped open.

“Something about letting you explain,” she said, still sounding as if she was about to bolt for the door.

“Yep. Here, hold this,” I said, slapping the box of matches into her free hand before I turned my attention back to the cabinet. I squatted down where several plastic jugs were lined up along the bottom shelf with dates scrawled across them in black marker. Grabbing the fullest one, I stood and closed the cabinet doors with my foot.

“What’s that?” she asked, eyeing the jug suspiciously.

“Water.”

“Isn’t starting a fire in the basement a little dangerous, even with water on hand?”

“We’re not starting a fire,” I said as I carried the water jug over to the middle of the room and put it on the floor.

“Fine. So what do you have to explain?” Her mind didn’t sound particularly open and her tone wasn’t what I’d call inviting.

A little voice in my head screamed, This is a mistake! But I was already on this course and I’d made enough mistakes in the past by hiding important things from the people I was depending on to help me. It was time to be honest. Unfortunately, a TAPSS agent wasn’t the best place to start.

“I want to tell you why my file at TAPSS is locked.”

Serah immediately perked up and I had her full attention. She was going to get her hands on something that would give her a bit of clout over some of the other investigators who were giving her shit. Fantastic. She was going to hate that she couldn’t tell another soul.

Taking a deep breath, I just spat it out. “I’m a warlock.”

She stared at me for a second, her eyes wide, before a burst of laughter jumped from her open mouth. The tiny woman was nearly doubled over as she staggered to the side in her mirth. Well, she seemed tiny to me, but then I’m surrounded by six-foot-plus creatures all day.

Shaking her head, she straightened and looked at me. “Geez. You had me going for a minute. I thought you were going to actually tell me something,” she said around lingering chuckles.

“I’m being serious.”

“Whatever. You’re not a warlock.”

This had been a lot easier with Trixie, but then Trixie recognized when there was magic shit about that had nothing to do with potions. Serah didn’t stir, so she thought my hidden stockpile was for potions, or at worst, she thought I was running a black market for illegal goods.

“Fuck,” I mumbled. I had wanted to do this without scaring the shit out of the woman, but she refused to make it easy for me. Reaching up my left sleeve, I withdrew the wand I had hidden there while keeping my eyes on her. Serah stubbornly kept the smile on her face, but it had become a little more forced and sickly. Fear clouded her eyes and I knew I was now edging onto dangerous ground.

“Funny, Gage. Let’s quit the joking and get down to business,” she said, her gaze locked on the hawthorn wand like I was holding a poisonous snake in my hand.

“Stay calm, please.” Pointing the wand at the ground, I murmured some words for the binding spell and a red laser-like beam shot from the end of the wand, which I used to draw a large circle in the dirt. When it was complete, I waved my hand over the circle and a series of swirls and symbols were drawn around the circle as if a dozen invisible children were seated in the dirt doodling.

Serah screamed. I turned back to see her drop the blood-soaked tissue and box of matches. In one fluid motion, she reached behind her and pulled her gun. It trembled, but I had no doubt she could put a couple slugs in my chest at the blink of an eye.

“Stay back!” she shouted, still trying to sound authoritative while slowly edging toward the stairs.

Apparently she didn’t trust me enough to leave the gun upstairs. I knew I should have taken the damn thing instead of leaving it behind. Fear tightly clenched my stomach. I wasn’t worried about her shooting me. I could stop a bullet. No, terrified people waving guns around while rational thoughts flew from their brains led to disastrous things happening. I’d asked her to leave the gun behind to protect herself—not me. “Serah, you agreed to the rules. You said you’d stay calm and let me explain.” I prayed my own calm voice would help her. It didn’t.

“I’m calm.” Her voice jumped in panic and the trembling became more pronounced in her gun. “I’m in a basement with a warlock. I know your secret and now you’re going to kill me. How could I not be calm?”

I sighed and was almost overwhelmed by a wave of frustration and hatred . . . and helplessness. The Ivory Towers had fucked with people over the centuries. They destroyed families, businesses, and hope so that all that was left now was fear. “If I was going to kill you Serah, I would have done it already.” But even as the words left my lips, I knew I hadn’t said the right thing.

She snorted. “Like I’m going to believe that.”

Kill her.

The low voice rumbled through the basement, sending a chill up my spine. Serah swung her gun around, searching for the unseen assailant. She stopped trying to edge toward the stairs and was now focused on defending herself.

She’s a threat. Must kill her.

“Gage!”

“Hold still!” I snapped. My heart was thudding in my chest like a freight train, threatening to explode. I knew where the voice was coming from, but didn’t want to believe it. The once-dormant protection spell had awoken when Serah had pulled her gun and was now actively pushing against its restraints in an effort to get to her. This was an unexpected development. But then, this was the first time I had invited someone down, vouching for them, only to have them later threaten me. Apparently my protection spell was more sentient than I had thought.

Fearful that any movement toward her on my part would set her off, I had to quickly defuse the situation from where I stood. Pulling in as much energy as I could from the air around me, I first turned my attention toward strengthening the binding on the defensive spell so that it couldn’t lash out at Serah. Once I was sure that it wasn’t going to strike my guest, I extended my hand toward the small woman. Despite her tight grip, the gun jumped from her hands and landed on my open palm.

“What the hell!” she said and lurched after her gun until she saw where it landed. She froze, tears glistening in her eyes. Bitter anger rose in my chest to see such fear directed at me. Those looks followed me no matter where I went. I might not have earned them for my actions, but there was no doubt that her life had been touched by the Towers. No one escaped the Ivory Towers.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said slowly and in the most soothing voice I could muster.

“But . . . the voice . . .”

“The gun pissed off my security system.” I forced a little smile as I shoved my wand into the back pocket of my jeans with the hope that its absence would help her relax a bit. “It’s a little protective and not very discriminating.”

“Oh,” she whispered.

Holding up the gun, I took several steps backward and placed it on the table along the far wall, putting out of our reach for the time being. “We’re just going to put this here for now. So we’re both safe.”

“So . . . so . . . you’re a warlock.” She violently blinked back her tears, fighting to keep them from falling. I admired her for trying to get her emotions under control and it wasn’t an easy task. Her face was frighteningly pale and her hands were shaking, forcing her to ball them into fists at her sides so that I wouldn’t notice.

“Yes. I am a warlock.”

“Do the Towers know?”

A surprised laugh escaped me. I liked the idea that I might have slipped past the Towers’ notice all those years ago; not that it was at all possible, but it was a nice thought. “Yeah, they know. I studied in the Towers when I was a kid before escaping. I’ve been trying to lay low and avoid their notice but it doesn’t always work out too well.”

Some of the fear eased from her eyes and her body relaxed as I spoke. “Are they looking for you?”

“No,” I said quickly and then scrunched my face up as that didn’t exactly feel like the full truth. “Well, some might be, but they’re not supposed to be.” I groaned and rubbed my face. I was exhausted and the story of my escape was not a quick one. Or an easy one. “Let’s just say I got away, but not everyone is very happy about it. I’m here in Low Town pretending to be an average tattoo artist. I’m not supposed to be using magic, but I thought you could use some help to stop this sicko.”

“And you’re not going to kill me?”

Sadly, that was not the first time I’d been asked that question. “No, it’s not my thing.”

“Does your girlfriend know?”

Nor was it the first time I’d been asked that question. “Yes, Trixie knows,” I said, though there was a little bit more of an edge to my voice. I wanted to get home and snuggle in bed with my girlfriend. That was assuming that my lovely Trixie had decided to stay at my place rather than retreat to her own apartment. Fuck, this had been a long night!

“Shall we get on with trying to identify Kyle’s killer so we both can return to our respective homes before the sun rises?”

Serah jerked at my question as if suddenly remembering why she had come back to Asylum with me in the first place. She twisted around, looking for where she had dropped both the tissue and the box of matches. Scooping them up, she hesitantly joined me back at the circle I had drawn in the dirt.

“What are you going to do?” The soft waver was still in her voice, but she was fighting hard to bounce back from shock.

“It’s an identity spell. I’m afraid that the blood might be too damaged for an actual tracking spell, but we might be able to get a glimpse of what this bastard looks like.”

Reaching over, I plucked the box of matches out of her hand and tossed them onto the ground next to the jug of water. Pulling the jar of sea salt out of my pocket, I unscrewed the lid and handed her the jar.

“Sprinkle the salt over the tissue, but be careful not to get the salt in the circle.”

Stepping back from the circle, Serah held the balled-up paper towel out with the tips of two fingers and very carefully sprinkled a few salt crystals on it. I rolled my eyes at the sight. She was acting as if I had just handed her a dangerous acid that was going to dissolve her fingers.

“It’s sea salt. It’s not going to hurt you if it touches you,” I said blandly.

Her narrowed eyes snapped to my face. “I didn’t know that! You said you’re doing magic. I thought this was dangerous shit.”

“Magic can be dangerous, but I’m not going to give you something dangerous after you just held me at gunpoint. Now really put some salt on that thing, please.”

After making a face at me, Serah put the paper towel in the palm of her hand and liberally poured the salt over it. “Why am I doing this?”

“Salt is good for nullifying potions and some spells,” I explained as I knelt on the ground and unscrewed the lid of the water jug. “Kyle’s potion is in that blood and I need to hinder as much of it as possible if I’m going to get to the blood’s owner.”

“Yeah, but why am I doing this?”

“I thought you’d want to help,” I said with a smirk. “That and I don’t want the salt on my hands. It could mess with my control of the spell.”

“And that’d be bad.”

“Real bad,” I muttered, watching the salt slip through her fingers and rain onto the floor. I’d have to go through tomorrow and try to pick up most of the salt. I didn’t want to risk it coming back to bite me in the ass later when I was casting down here. “That should be enough. Hand me the jar and carefully shake any remaining salt out of the paper towel.”

Screwing on the lid on, I shoved the half-empty jar back into my pocket as Serah rejoined me at the circle.

“What are you going to do?”

“Build a killer,” I said with a smile that she didn’t return. Picking up the jug, I held it out so she could see it. “All living creatures have at least three basic elements. Earth.” I paused and pointed to the nice, fresh dirt within the circle. The shit was expensive. It took me two years to have it all shipped in from a remote island in the Pacific. “Water.” I held up the jug of water, which had started as snow. This snow water was from the first snowfall of 2011, which turned out to be a heavy snow year. Pouring the water into my cupped left hand, I then sprinkled it over the dirt within the circle. I repeated this three times while whispering the first words of the spell. After a moment, the drops stopped falling and were captured in the air, becoming a mist.

“Whoa,” Serah whispered, taking a tiny step backward. “And the third is the blood,” she said, holding out the paper towel toward me.

I shook my head, but smiled encouragingly at her. It was a good guess. Putting the jug back on the ground, I grabbed the box of wooden matches and withdrew one. “Nope. It’s energy. The closest I can come to reproducing that same energy without blowing the roof off this place is fire.” Striking the match, I let it burn for a second so that the flame was as large as I could get it and then dropped it into the center of the circle. Like the drops of water, the burning match stopped falling a couple feet from the ground, flickering within the thickening mist.

The magic energy within the basement thickened, and a strange breeze stirred the hairs on the back of my neck. This spell tapped into something deeper, more basic than what most warlocks and witches ever bother with. It was as close to the old magic as any of us ever got. Old magic, the stuff of the big bang and the start of life, was wild and untamed. It didn’t like to be controlled, and the inhabitants of the Ivory Towers were all about control.

I took one last glance up at the back wall and the protective spell that had nearly attacked Serah just minutes ago. It wasn’t completely dormant but appeared content to watch us. I was really gonna have to find a new security system for down here.

Plucking the wadded-up paper towel out of Serah’s open hand, I whispered the last words of the spell and dropped it into the center of the circle. The air shifted and stirred within the circle as if I had created a mini tornado. The dirt, water, and fire mixed together, spinning around so that the bloody towel was at the center. What I hadn’t told Serah was that the blood contained the tiniest bit of the killer’s soul and I had just added it to the pseudo-person I had created. Unfortunately, I’d never had a reason to use this spell and I wasn’t quite sure what the blood was going to carry into my creation.

After a couple of seconds, the swirling mist started to clear and we could see the beginning of some form. The creature had two legs and two arms, which didn’t help to narrow down the species much. Color flushed its pale skin, revealing a human-like complexion, which narrowed the field a little further. The killer was proving to be slighter in frame than I had been expecting, considering it had overpowered Kyle, beaten him to a bloody pulp, and stabbed him in the chest with his tattooing gun.

“Holy shit,” Serah whispered.

Following her gaze, my own mouth dropped open. “Fuck.” Whoever this was had a really nice set of breasts. I was not expecting a woman to be Kyle’s killer. After seeing such brutality, I had been sure that it was a man who’d killed him.

The creature within the circle stirred, lifting its featureless face. Glowing red eyes focused on me and my heart jerked in my chest. The creature was conscious in some way, which shouldn’t have been possible since it was little more than a shadow of the original person. But it was aware of me. This was not good, particularly since my protection spell had noticed it as well. Was the protection spell going to think that a third person was now in the basement? Really not fucking good. “Serah, I want you to go calmly and quickly up the stairs now.”

“Why?”

“Please, do it now.”

Too late.

Something had finally snapped within the creature I’d summoned. Its face contorted, as though it was screaming, but no sound came out. It launched itself at me and slammed into the invisible barrier that rose up from the circle. Lurching back, it pounded its fists and clawed at the binding spell, fighting to get at me. At the same time, the defensive spell broke free, ready to shred the creature that was trying to attack me. Unfortunately, the spell was prepared to go through me and Serah to get at my would-be attacker.

Diving into Serah, I tackled the small woman into the dirt, covering her as best as I could. Pain slashed across my back near my shoulders like someone had taken a hot blade to my flesh. I swallowed back a scream, tightening my hold on the woman beneath me. A black mass circled the bound creature I had summoned. They slashed again and again at each other, but neither made contact because neither was technically there. Only Serah and I were at risk of being killed.

As soon as I could draw in a breath through the pain, I shouted the counter-spell to lock up the protective force in the symbol again. The black mass gave a high-pitched scream of frustration that scraped across my eardrums before diving back into the symbol. The creature in the circle pounded on the wall of its cage a couple more times, but with less force, before disappearing as well. The water and fire were spent. All that was left was a fine ash hanging in the air. Sadly, the killer’s features had never fully resolved, so we couldn’t make a positive I.D.

Fuck. While the effort hadn’t been a waste, it certainly wasn’t as fruitful as I was hoping it would be, particularly considering that we had nearly been killed in the process.

With a groan, I rolled onto my side so that Serah could move free of me, while being careful not to press the open wound on my back into the dirt. Dirt was good for spells; bad for gaping, bleeding wounds. Serah didn’t move. She stared up at me with wide, stunned eyes; her face was stark white except for a smear of dirt across her cheek.

I tried to smile, but I was suddenly too tired. Muscles twitched and trembled from exhaustion. It had taken a considerable about of energy to summon the creature and hold it within the circle. A second helping of energy had been required to shove my so-called guard dog back in its kennel. I was ready to sleep right where I lay. “Sorry about that,” I mumbled, trying to pull myself together for the poor human who was having a rough night.

“Yeah . . . ummm . . . thanks.” She sounded shaken, but was holding it together a little better than when she first discovered that I was a warlock.

Clenching my teeth, I pushed to my feet, struggling to ignore the pain that was screaming across my back. “No problem. I’m sorry we didn’t get a better look at the face, but I think it’s a pretty safe bet that the killer is a human female.”

“Maybe. Were the eyes supposed to be red? Is she possessed?”

I stood staring at the circle where I had cast the spell. The ash was starting to settle, but there was still a smell hanging in the air, part burnt ozone and part . . . something else. “No, they shouldn’t have been, but she’s not possessed. She wouldn’t have looked human if she had been, but more like the creature possessing her. The red was a reflection of her soul, her rage. I’m guessing that the potion Kyle tattooed her with has only amplified her strength and her anger.”

“Are you sure she’s human?” Serah took a step closer to the circle and then appeared to think twice about it as she rocked back on her heels. “There are a number of races that look very similar to humans but technically aren’t. Sirens and succubi. Maybe even an elf.”

“Maybe.” I shrugged and then winced as pain cut across my wounded back. “But there’s something about the woman. Just feels human. I’m sorry I can’t explain it.”

“You sure it doesn’t have to do with her boobs?”

I glared at Serah and she glared right back. Sure, I’d noticed the creature’s boobs, but then I’d been shocked that they were there in the first place. That’s what I got for being sexist when it came to acts of violence.

“Anyways . . . I think we’ve got a start, though not as big of one as I’d hoped.”

“I’m not sure what we can do next.” Serah shoved one hand through her mussed short hair. “It’s not like we got a good look at her face to get an ID. I also don’t think you want me going to the police, describing how I know that it’s a woman we’re after.”

A stiff grin twitched on my lips. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

“Then what do we do?”

“I need you to do two things. One: try to get another sample of her blood. I want to see if I can come up with a tracking spell.”

Serah nodded. “I think I can come up with an excuse to get my hands on another sample. Two?”

“Use your contacts with the police to keep you in the loop on this.”

“With the crime being a murder, they have jurisdiction. Not TAPSS.”

“I know, but you’ve still got plenty of friends on the force, right? You can pull some information out.”

Her eyes narrowed and she slowly shook her head at me. “That’s why you told me. You need me to give you the information that the cops have.”

I started to shrug but stopped myself rather than strain the seeping wound. “I can do it myself, but my magic use might catch the attention of the Towers and we need the Towers involved.”

“Yeah,” she breathed. She turned away from me, her eyes skimming over the basement with a new understanding. This wasn’t the realm of a tattoo artist. It also wasn’t the realm of the Ivory Towers, but of one rogue warlock. She was somewhere no human had ever tread and lived. When she turned back, I could see all the questions colliding in her brain, fighting to jump off the tip of her tongue first.

Lifting my hand to stop whatever she was going to say next, I smiled weakly at her. “Can we hold off the questions for another time? It’s really fucking late and my back is killing me.”

“Can I have just two questions?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I didn’t want to answer any more questions, but I figured she had earned them considering how poorly the night had gone.

“Why are you doing this? I mean, I know you said that you’re doing it because of Trixie, but is that really the only reason?”

I scrubbed my hand over my face, sure that I was now rubbing in dirt but I just didn’t give a damn. For Trixie, I would do anything, but Serah was right. The elf wasn’t the only reason I was standing in the basement just a couple hours before dawn bleeding. “Something she said, that I was the only one who could do this, stuck with me. You’ve got a killer who has been created based on a powerful potion. You’re going to need someone versed in a little magic to track this person down and I don’t see anyone else from the Towers volunteering.”

She made a little noise of acceptance in the back of her throat and nodded. “When this is over and the killer is caught, are you going to kill me?”

“No, Serah, I’m not going to kill you,” I groaned, more than a little agitated that this topic kept coming up.

“I’m serious!” she snapped, looking as if she really wanted to stomp her foot in frustration. “You’re trusting me with a big secret. You don’t know me.”

Anger bubbled from the petite woman, but the protection spell didn’t stir, so I took it as a sign that she wasn’t violently upset with me. “No, I don’t know you, but I trust you not to tell anyone while we’re working together because you don’t want to see me lynched.”

“And when it’s over?”

“I’ll wipe your memory.”

Her face bunched up a bit at that pronouncement as if she were weighing the alternative, which was definitely death in her mind. “Will it hurt?”

I chuckled as I walked back over to the table in the far corner and picked up her gun. I’d clean up this mess tomorrow. I was too damn tired now. “No, it won’t hurt.”

At my urging, she preceded me up the stairs. I turned off the light and returned the protection spell to its normal active status before ascending the stairs to the tattoo parlor.

A quick glance at the clock revealed that we’d been down there less than a half hour but it felt like it had been far longer than that. Dawn was only a couple hours away and I was eager to get to bed for a few hours. There really was no chance of salvaging the evening.

“Get some sleep,” I said, handing her gun back.

Serah clicked the safety back on before shoving it into her shoulder holster. Reaching in her back pocket, she pulled out her wallet and withdrew a little card. “Here. Call me if you hear from the goblins. I’m going with you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said with a smirk as I shoved the card in my pocket. She was adjusting to the knowledge that I was a warlock pretty fast. But then, most people in Low Town adjusted fast. There was too much weird shit here and if you didn’t adapt, you were likely eaten . . . or you just went insane.

Chapter 7

Gravel crunched and pinged against the undercarriage of Bronx’s Jeep as he slipped off the old narrow road onto a weed-choked pull-off that might have once been someone’s driveway. After spending the majority of the day leaning on my few contacts with fingers in illegal activities, I finally had the address to a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. It was supposedly the goblins’ base of operations. Dropping in unexpectedly wasn’t smart, but goblins weren’t the friendliest of creatures. They weren’t going to be happy to see me even if I was there on business, and trying to go through the right channels to schedule a meeting would have taken days if not weeks.

Of course, I wasn’t in the best of moods either. Trixie hadn’t been waiting for me at my apartment when I returned last night. She’d kindly put dinner into old butter bowls and placed them in the fridge before leaving me a note stating that she’d gone home after talking to Bronx. It had been tempting to go over to her place and slide into bed next to her, but instead I stretched out on the couch and glared at the ceiling until sleep claimed me. She needed her space. Between the news of my return to the dark side and Kyle’s death, Trixie could use some time to herself.

I was even proud of the fact that I’d managed to refrain from rushing over to her place first thing in the morning, but rather waited until noon to call her. Her lovely voice drifted through the phone to me, sounding strong but wary as she promised to return to my place that evening to get an update on any progress made in finding Kyle’s killer.

But all that self-control had left me edgy and pissed.

The troll turned off the engine and killed the lights. The heavy silence of winter consumed the night, threatening to suffocate us. There were no chirping crickets, no howl of the wind, and no distant hoot of an owl. Just a vast nothingness and the cold gleaming snow set against a black sky.

“How do you want to handle this?” Bronx asked. His seat creaked as he turned to look at me in the passenger seat. Serah’s coat rustled softly as she moved closer, ready to join in our little adventure.

“I thought we’d just talk to them. Nothing too strenuous,” I said, my eyes skimming over the large white three-story farmhouse rising up like a forgotten sentinel against the darkness. Nothing moved and there was only a faint glimmer of light peeking out of a heavily shaded window on the second floor.

Serah scoffed and flopped back against the backseat. Glancing over at Bronx, I found the troll frowning at me, his yellow eyes narrowed.

“Have you dealt with goblins before?” Bronx said, sounding more than a little skeptical.

“No. Not directly.”

“This won’t go well,” he muttered.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that they’re a pain in the ass, but they can’t be entirely unreasonable.” Lifting my left hand, I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. A dull ache had started along the bridge of my nose and was creeping through my skull. “They run an underground business. How can you ever hope to have customers if you can’t talk with them?”

“The goblins started this little enterprise because they’ve discovered that they love gold more than they love eating human babies,” Bronx explained. “They don’t give a damn about seeing that childless vampires are able to have a family of their own. They don’t even care if these children go to good homes. They want the money these desperate people are willing to pay.”

“And when you’re desperate, you’re willing to put up with a lot of shit,” Serah chimed in from behind me, her soft voice pricking my conscience. Was I some of the shit she was willing to put up with just so she’d get a little respect from her coworkers? Wonderful.

“Look, we find the ringleader and we ask if they’ve heard anything about these murders,” I said sharply as I grabbed the handle on the door. “That’s it. Once we get our answers, we leave. I’ve got other things I’d rather be doing tonight.”

Without waiting for my companions to agree with my poorly thought out plan, I shoved open the door of the Jeep and climbed out. A small wave of relief swept through me when I heard two more doors open and close behind me. I preferred to have Bronx with me during this encounter. He had a knack for pulling my ass out of the fire. I wasn’t as confident about Serah. She might have been a police officer for five years, but there was no telling what kind of experiences had filled those five years. Had she ever been in a high-stress, shoot-or-be-killed situation? I wasn’t ready to bet my life on that.

“I’m sure I probably shouldn’t ask,” Serah said as she walked with me on my right.

“Then don’t,” I snapped.

“But is there any chance you can use your hocus pocus to speed this along?” she whispered.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Despite her attempts to be quiet, I was sure that Bronx had heard her. The cold, still air carried her words too easily, but at least she was attempting to keep my secret to herself. When I rolled off the couch this morning, I was partially expecting to find a lynch mob waving torches and pitchforks outside my window. I was mildly disappointed when they weren’t there.

“No, I will not be using any hocus pocus, hoodoo, or voodoo to get us through this interview,” I growled, not caring who heard me.

“No abracadabra?” Bronx pushed.

“No.”

The silence was punctuated by the crunch of the frozen snow under our feet as we marched up the winding drive to the farmhouse. A couple inches of fresh snow had fallen that afternoon, coating the world in a twinkling blanket of white. It was like living in a cheap, dime-store novelty snow globe. A thin layer of snow underfoot, black sky above, and cliché Norman Rockwell winter scene in the foreground. Of course, I doubted that old Norman ever imagined goblins on the other side of those windows. But I could be wrong.

“You ever try to pull a rabbit out of a hat?” Bronx asked, surprising a laugh out of Serah.

Glancing over my shoulder, I glimpsed the tiny smirk that was lifting one corner of the troll’s fat lips. “Keep it up and I’ll a rabbit out of your ass.” But my threat fell flat because I was struggling not to smile as well. Bastard. Bronx always knew how to put a stop to my sulks whether I wanted him to or not.

While trolls were unattractive from a human point of view, I’ll have to say that they could have passed for supermodels when compared to goblins. Covered in pasty greenish gray skin that always looked greasy, the goblins possessed long, spidery limbs and narrow torsos, as if they spent the majority of their lives teetering on the edge of starvation. Their sunken milky orange eyes glowed, reflecting the light as if you could see the fire of madness burning in their souls. You just prayed they didn’t smile, revealing a mouthful of crooked, jagged yellow teeth.

Goblins were the stuff of nightmares and were what you thought of when it came to the monster under your bed or hiding in your closet. If you were unfortunate enough to have something under your bed as a child, there was a good chance that it was a goblin rather than the extremely rare boogeyman. He just wanted to steal a couple years of your childhood. The goblin wanted to strip your flesh from your bones while you were still alive.

Taking a deep breath, I pounded on the front door. A goblin just a few inches shorter than Serah jerked the door open and stared at us in confusion. “Appointment?” he demanded in a high, squeaky voice that sounded like he was dragging his pointed teeth along a chalkboard for shits and giggles.

“No, we don’t have an appointment,” I replied, wincing. It felt like my eardrums were starting to bleed.

The door slammed shut in my face before I could catch it.

“I believe that was the wrong answer,” Bronx said blandly.

Flipping my friend off with my left hand, I pounded on the front door with my right. The door was pulled open a couple seconds later by a different goblin. This one was my height but he was missing his right eye. Unfortunately, he wasn’t wearing an eye patch so you could clearly see the poorly healed hole in the creature’s head.

“Appointment?” he demanded in a rough voice. I was willing to guess that whatever had taken his eye had also tried to rip out his throat.

“No, we need information,” I quickly replied. I took a breath to explain that I wished to speak to their boss, but I didn’t get a chance.

“This ain’t a library,” the one-eyed goblin announced before slamming the door shut.

“Strike two,” Serah murmured, earning a chuckle from Bronx.

Oh, this was just fucking dandy! I was so glad that my companions were having fun while I was getting the door slammed in my face. Magic was starting to look appealing, but I’d already proclaimed that I wasn’t going to use magic. Growling, I reminded myself that I didn’t need it for every little damned thing, and pounded on the door again.

We waited longer this time before the door was pulled open by a third goblin. Taller than his other companions, his large lower lip was split down the middle from where it had been cut and never properly sewn up. What bothered me was the faint light of intelligence that sparked in his eyes, unlike the other two.

“Appointment?” he said.

“Yes,” I said with a hearty sigh. My right arm shot out and wrapped around Serah’s shoulders before I jerked her against my side in a tight embrace, earning a surprised squeak from her. “We’re the Smiths. Gage and Serah Smith.”

The goblin’s scraggly eyebrows rose on his sloped forehead and he sniffed the air slightly. “You smell like cops.”

“Nope,” I quickly replied, upping the wattage of my smile in an effort to look even more harmless. “I’m a tattoo artist in Low Town and my wife is a postal clerk.” I felt Serah stiffen under my hand but I squeezed her arm through her coat and she flashed the goblin a somewhat manic smile.

“And him?” The goblin jerked his pointed chin toward the troll standing behind me.

“Enforcer for Jack and the Low Town Pack,” Bronx explained before I could come up with a viable excuse as to why a desperate human couple had brought along a large troll to a black-market baby dealer. “If you can help them, the pack gets a finder’s fee for pointing them in your direction.”

“You work for Reave?” the goblin demanded, still sounding more than a little skeptical.

Bronx grunted. “Till the dark elf was snatched by the Towers.”

The troll’s answer sounded convincing. Of course, Bronx had been a member of the underworld once and had worked for the mob boss Reave, but that had been a long time ago. . . . Well, sort of. He’d given it up until I’d fucked up his life and dragged him back in when he’d saved my life. Yeah, that’s what friends are for.

The goblin stepped back, opening the door wide enough for me to enter the farmhouse first, trailed by my companions. From the foyer, I could see the dining room on my right and the living room on the left, while a narrow staircase led to a dark second floor. The furniture in the living room was ragged, with the stuffing poking out through the rips in the stained fabric. There was a table and a trio of chairs set up in the dining room. A scattering of paper covered the table, indicating that it likely served as some type of office. The rooms I could see were lit by a collection of candles and old kerosene lamps, creating a thick nest of shadows and a low haze of smoke about the place.

“Wait,” the goblin ordered, pointing toward the chairs in the dining room.

I nodded, grabbing Serah’s hand and pulling her along with me while trying to maintain an appearance of nervous fear and hopefulness. It wasn’t hard. Serah just looked anxious, which worked for our lie. I couldn’t see Bronx as he continued to stand behind me, but I was confident in his ability to look intimidating. With the mass of a small mountain, the troll had “frightening” down to an art.

“A postal clerk?” Serah demanded in a harsh whisper as soon as we were alone.

“Sue me. I blanked. Be grateful I didn’t say swimsuit model or telemarketer.”

“Asshole,” she grumbled under her breath.

I ignored her comment and turned my head so that I could see Bronx from the corner of my eye. “How many are here?”

“More than three?” Bronx offered.

I was about to snap at him when Serah spoke. “Between two and three dozen on the low side. Goblin clans tend to be very large when they have the space and assurance of safety. This location would have likely been outside of Reave’s reach unless they had some kind of special arrangement with the dark elf. Either way, we’re massively outnumbered.”

I didn’t question how she knew about Reave. It was likely that she would have heard about the bastard while she worked as a cop. What surprised me was her knowledge of goblins. They weren’t your average criminal and were pretty good about avoiding the notice of the local law enforcement, even if their main business was illegal. In short, goblins wouldn’t have been required reading for surviving Low Town’s streets.

The TAPSS investigator looked up at me with wide, expectant eyes. “Is it true? Was Reave grabbed by the Towers?”

Even though the dark elf had been killed three months ago, his death wasn’t common knowledge yet. There had been no grand announcement, news report, or celebration. To most, he’d simply disappeared—possibly returning to the bosom of his own people, the Svartálfar, but some knew the truth.

“Yeah, he’s gone,” I mumbled, leaving out the part about how I’d been the one to kill him at the request of the Towers’ council. Turning to look at Bronx, eager to forget about Reave, I asked, “Would they keep their supply here?”

Bronx frowned. I was treading carefully here. I didn’t want to get involved in the baby black market. Don’t get me wrong: I didn’t like the idea of babies being in the hands of goblins, but the upside was that these kids were going to people who couldn’t have children and didn’t have legal options. It had taken the world centuries to give same-sex couples the right to adopt. Vampires were still fucking years away, as well as a number of mixed couples. Who said a banshee and an incubus couldn’t be great parents? Or a were-bear and a leprechaun? Hell of a lot better than the Towers.

“Unlikely,” he said with a slight shake of his head. “They’d keep them separated from prospective parents in case negotiations went south. Why?”

“In case questioning goes south,” I said, turning toward the foyer at the sound of approaching footsteps. If things went bad, I didn’t want to worry about the safety of any children who might be on the premises. Even with Bronx’s assurances, I was still worried there was a baby hidden somewhere.

Of course, I would have to worry about that later, as footsteps thundered across the bare hardwood floor, sounding larger in number than what should be approaching us.

“Got any more ideas?” Serah asked, taking a couple steps away from me and reaching under her coat to her back. She pulled out the gun she had hidden in the back of her pants and flipped off the safety with her index finger.

“Keep that hidden for now,” I said, waving her behind me. “Let’s see if we can still talk our way out of this.”

That proved to be wishful thinking on my part. A six-foot-tall goblin strode in, surrounded by more than twenty goblins of all shapes and sizes. The leader’s orange eyes glowed like beady fires in his wrinkled face, and pointed at me. “You lie!” he shrieked.

“Whoa! Hold on a second!” I shouted back, holding my open hands out toward him while putting myself between my companions and the goblins. “We’re just here to talk. Nothing more.”

“You bring a troll and a cop into our nest and you say this is only talk? Lies,” he hissed, taking a step closer. Around him, the other goblins brandished knives and vicious claw-like weapons that would do incredible damage if sunk into the flesh.

“Pregnant women are being killed in Low Town by some maniac. We only wanted to ask you if you’ve seen anything. Have you heard anything?”

“The killer? The baby killer? You know of this person?” the leader demanded, sending a ripple of unease through the gathered goblins. They had stopped speaking English and were chattering amongst themselves in a guttural, sharp language that I couldn’t understand, but with each passing second the group was growing more excited.

I took a wary step backward as several started screaming and waving their weapons again. This was really bad. They weren’t listening and the situation was quickly slipping out of my control. Or rather, I was finally coming to the realization that I had never really been in control of this situation. I’d gone looking for a shortcut and I was about to pay the price. And in my recklessness, I’d dragged two innocent people along for the ride.

“Look, we’re just looking for some answers!” I shouted over the growing noise.

“Have you led the killer to us? Threaten us? Threaten our business?” the leader shrieked.

“No!” I screamed over the din, but no one was listening to me now. The horde of goblins charged, pouring over me to surge toward my companions and fill the room.

For a moment, there was just a tangle of teeth and claws converging on us. They scattered briefly when Serah fired her gun in the air once, but they hesitated for only a breath before convincing themselves that their overwhelming numbers would win in the end.

Dropping down into a crouch, I launched my first attacker over my shoulder, sending him crashing into the table in the center of the room. The wobbly structure collapsed under his weight, scattering paper and pens. The lamp on the table clattered to the ground, splashing kerosene across the floor. The light went out, casting everyone in deep shadow as the faint glow from the next room could only stretch thinly to where we were pinned down.

I grabbed the chair closest to me and swung it into the face of the next goblin to reach me. An ugly crack echoed above the shouts and the wood frame shuddered in my hand, only to give way completely when I brought it down on the back of a second goblin.

Swinging the chair like an enraged lumberjack, I mowed down my opponents, forcing them back as I tried to reach Serah. I glimpsed four goblins writhing on the floor, clutching carefully placed wounds as they howled in pain. The swarm was giving her a little more space. They slowly stalked her, searching for an opening.

“An escape plan would be nice!” she shouted above the din before squeezing off a round into the groin of a goblin who had gotten too close.

I flinched as he went down, his low keening sending the remaining goblins scrambling away from her and over to me. The remains of the chair shrank in my hand with every swing until I was left with a jagged stake. We had been pushed back, while the horde of goblins didn’t seem to be waning. For every one that fell, two more popped up to replace him. They were wearing us down.

Dodging another goblin who had lunged at me, I thumped him in the throat before kicking him away. In a second I had between opponents, I found Bronx had been pushed back toward the front window. We had our exit.

“Bronx!” I shouted, catching the troll’s attention. “Behind you!” As the massive creature turned sharply, his elbow hit a goblin about to strike, knocking him into the window. The tinkle of glass was a pleasant sound. Bronx smiled and picked up his would-be attacker. With a low grunt, he tossed him through the window, where he bounced across the front lawn.

Stepping over another goblin, I grabbed the sleeve of Serah’s coat and jerked her toward Bronx. Unfortunately, I pulled her off balance. She knocked into small side table that had been hidden from my view. Two flickering candles fell to the floor. One went out. Time slowed down as we all froze, watching in growing horror as the flickering candle rolled to the spreading pool of red kerosene that was soaking into the old hardwood floor.

“Shit!” I muttered before pushing Serah ahead of me to the window. The whoosh of the growing flames nearly drowned out the screams of panic. I shoved Serah out the window, hoping she avoided the jagged teeth of the broken glass. Diving after her, I kept rolling for several feet across the frozen ground to give Bronx some room to follow me.

When I stopped to catch my breath while lying on my back, I looked at the house to see that a good chunk of the lower level on the right side was already engulfed and the flames were spreading to the second floor. Panic riding hard behind the rush of adrenaline, I fought hard to slip into my inner center of calm as I gathered together the magical energy in the surrounding air. A quick whisper of words gave me insight into the occupants of the house—they were only goblins. Bronx had been right. They weren’t keeping any of the babies in the farmhouse.

The relief that swept through me brought the sting of tears to my eyes and my hands trembled. Most of the goblins were escaping into the woods to the south, heading away from us. Some would die in the flames, but I couldn’t summon up the remorse I was sure I was supposed to be feeling. I was just too grateful that we hadn’t accidently killed any children in our poor attempt to contact the goblin black market.

A soft laugh dragged my gaze from the burning structure to find Serah on her knees in the snow, staring at the house. Her laughter grew until she was shaking her head and holding her stomach. Sitting up, I found Bronx watching her with an equally quizzical expression. When she caught our confused looks, she smothered her laugh and pushed to her feet.

“I get why the TAPSS vamps are scared of you now,” she said, as I came to stand beside her. When I didn’t quite get what she was alluding to, she waved her hand to the burning building just a couple yards away. “We’re just going ask a few questions,” she said sarcastically.

I looked back at the house. Both floors were ablaze now, creating a massive orange-and-yellow ball of fire in the middle of the open field, pushing the darkness back. The kerosene lamps spread around the old building were speeding up the process, so that we were now sweating in the bitter cold as waves of heat poured from the farmhouse. The roar of the flames had become a ravenous monster set loose on the house, consuming anything within its path. God, I hoped this wasn’t a bigger fucking metaphor for the things in my life.

“I guess we should have started smaller,” Bronx said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. He lifted one bushy blond eyebrow as he looked down at me. “Just grabbed one goblin for questioning instead of going to the source.”

I gave a jerky nod, frustration eating away at my patience. I was accustomed to going to the heart of the matter rather than sneaking around. When I had questions, I went directly to the person who had the answers. Obviously, the direct approach had been the wrong tactic when it came to dealing with goblins. Unfortunately, I was too eager to have this wrapped up so I could turn my full attention to putting a smile back on Trixie’s lips. It just wasn’t going to be that easy.

“I’ll have to remember that,” I murmured.

Serah stood and dusted the last bits of snow and dirt from her jeans. “What do we do now?”

Shoving my hands into the pockets of my coat, I led the way back to Bronx’s Jeep. We were far enough out in the middle of nowhere that it was unlikely any neighbors would call in the fire, but I didn’t want to be around when someone decided to investigate. “We keep digging. I’ll see if I can find a new way get info from the baby black market. You need to see if your cop buddies have discovered anything useful.”

“And me?” Bronx’s keys jingled softly when he drew them out of his pocket as he fell into step beside me.

I paused, trying to think of any possible avenues of information that we hadn’t explored yet, when an idea hit me. “Contact Jack.”

“Werewolf Jack?” Bronx said, his brow furrowing at my suggestion. “I thought he didn’t like you.”

“He’s gotten over it. Well, mostly.” You turn a guy into a chihuahua and he doesn’t like to forgive you for it. However, this past All Hallows’ Eve I helped his pack out at the risk of Trixie’s life. We were square. It also didn’t hurt that I got his pack out from under Reave’s thumb and put him in control of the Low Town underworld.

Pulling open the passenger door when Bronx unlocked it, I raised my voice so he could hear me over the vehicle. “See if Jack’s people have heard anything. A psycho killing pregnant women has got to have stirred up some chatter.”

Taking one last look at the house as Bronx drove down the deserted country road, I prayed that tonight’s botched attempt to get us closer to the killer didn’t result in a massive waste of time. The longer it took to find this insane bitch, the higher the likelihood that more people were going to die.

Chapter 8

When Trixie walked into my apartment later that evening, my frustration was pushed out the window in favor of gut-twisting anxiety. We hadn’t talked about my grand reveal from the night before and I didn’t have anything positive to relay from my adventure with Serah and Bronx out to see the goblins. All in all, I was feeling pretty damn useless.

Her smile was strained and uncertain when she stripped off her winter coat and tossed it over the arm of the sofa. And for the first time since we had started dating, I hesitated to hug her. I looked at her and I couldn’t tell if she would welcome affection from me.

“How was your day?” I asked, shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans just so I didn’t do something stupid with them like reach for her.

“Long. Boring,” she said with a shrug as she dropped onto the sofa. The shop was closed on Sunday, but I think she would have preferred to have been working so that her mind wasn’t drawn back to the ugly truth. She was dating a warlock. “How about you? Learn anything interesting?”

Shaking my head, I sat on the center cushion of the couch, close to her so that I could easily reach out to touch her, but still with some space between us. “No. The whole fucking thing was a disaster.”

“You . . .” she started, but her voice drifted off as she looked at me funny for a second. “That fire I heard about on the news wasn’t from you guys, was it?”

I flopped back on the sofa and covered my face with my hands. “That wasn’t my freaking fault. We just went in to ask them some questions. They’re the ones who decided to launch an attack on us. There were like fifty of them against the three of us! What the fuck! Things got crazy and the fire started accidentally.”

My hands dropped at the sound of her soft laughter. She smiled at me, a look of sympathy and amusement dancing in her eyes for the first time in too long. “I’m sure you never meant to burn the place down.”

I groaned. “If I had, I’d at least have the balls to admit to it.” I dropped my head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling as the comfortable silence settled into the room at last. “Serah is trying to get information out of her police connections. Bronx is going to talk to Jack. Maybe the pack has heard something. It’s moving slowly, but with any luck we should have a lead on this woman.”

“Woman?” Trixie said with a horrified gasp.

I winced, suddenly remembering that I hadn’t yet told her of the spell I had cast in the basement of Asylum with Serah. As quickly as possible, I ran through the events while reassuring her that I planned to wipe the investigator’s memory as soon as this was all settled.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Trixie said, chewing on her lower lip.

“What? Let her keep that knowledge? It’s a big risk.”

“Yes, but if you think you can trust her, maybe her knowing would get Asylum a little more slack from TAPSS. We both know they love to come down on you.” The elf gave a little shrug, her wide green eyes drifting away from me. “But you don’t have to listen to me. It’s your secret.”

Reaching out, I placed my hand against her cheek and gently turned her head so that she was looking at me again. “It’s not just my secret anymore. You’re impacted by those who know about me. It’s a matter of your safety as well.”

Trixie took a deep breath, her expression growing sad. “And exactly how safe am I, with you back at the Towers?”

“You’re safe,” I said firmly. “As a member of the guardians, the witches and warlocks don’t have a reason to hunt me like they once did. I do a job for them every once in a while. Then I come home and forget all about it. They aren’t going to come after me and I won’t let anyone come after you.”

“But doesn’t that mean you’ll be forced to kill people for the Towers? That you’ll have to hand over people for interrogation? How can you live among these people, pretending to be one of them, only to betray them later?” she demanded, her words growing more desperate so that they tumbled over one another in a rush to escape.

I stared at her, watching her chest rise and fall with each heavy breath, as if she had been running a race. Her words hadn’t been tinged with anger or disgust but with fear and worry. She was scared for me, for my safety, and I think even for my soul and sanity. I was living a double life, and the likelihood of failure was high.

“I know there will be times that I can’t avoid doing the will of the Towers, but I think most of the time, I’ll be able to act as a buffer for the people of the world. I can do a better job of protecting them as an insider than I ever could while I was hiding from the Towers.” Trixie started to shake her head, but I grabbed one of her hands in both of mine. “I can. Gideon has done it for years. He was tasked with watching over me, but his real orders were to find an excuse to kill me for breaking the agreement I made when I left. God knows I gave him plenty of opportunities over the years, but he hid the truth, protecting me. It’s time I returned the favor.”

“But you’re a target,” she whispered. “Because of who you are, you’ll always be a target.”

I tightened my hold on her hand. “It’ll pass. We’re just in a bad time right now. Things will settle down soon.”

I hoped I was right. God, I needed to be right about this. The past year had been pretty damn crazy. Between the Grim Reaper, Simon, Reave, the Ivory Towers, and even the incident with the Wild Hunt this past fall, we were constantly rushing from one disaster to the next. Every time I thought things were going to go back to normal, something new popped up to drag me back into the thick of things.

“Would you mind if I lay down for a little while? I’m starting to get a headache,” Trixie asked, already pushing to her feet.

“No.” I hovered close as I followed her to my bedroom. I remained in the doorway, watching as she kicked off her shoes and slid under the blankets.

Trixie was nearly as tall as me and had always been this beacon of shining light and strength, but something had changed recently so that now she felt so much smaller and more vulnerable to me. When she was hunted by her brother, she’d been afraid and hurting, but there had always been an underlying strength and a fire of determination. Something had put out that fire and I was starting to suspect that it was me.

Refusing to let her go without a fight, I started forward with the intention of climbing into bed with her when my cell phone started vibrating in my back pocket. Trixie graced me with a weak smile, indicating that it was okay that I answer it before I joined her.

Stepping out of the bedroom, I paced to the living room. “What?” I snapped into the phone. Any distraction that took me from Trixie was unwelcome, but I was also hoping for some kind of good news that might lift her spirits.

“Well, aren’t you just a chipper fellow?” Serah mocked.

“I’m a little busy at the moment. What’s up?”

“I talked to a friend at the station. They haven’t been able to get anything from the blood and they’re very doubtful that they ever will. However, they seem to think they might be able to identify all the ingredients for the potion. I was wondering if that would help you in tracking the killer.”

I frowned at the sliding glass doors, watching the haggard man glaring back at me in my reflection. I looked like shit. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but it doesn’t hurt. Have they found anything in Kyle’s records that identifies who his most recent clients were?”

“No. The man kept horrible records. It also looks like the killer might have been smart enough to grab any identifying paperwork before she left. They’re still digging.”

“I would—” Trixie’s scream halted the words in my throat and squeezed my heart in a vise. Instantly dropping the phone, I raced to my bedroom.

I stopped on the threshold of the room to find a goblin struggling to pick up Trixie as she fought him while a second goblin was climbing in the window. They’d followed me. I’d been so focused on getting home to Trixie that I hadn’t noticed that I was being tailed by goblins. Scooping up one of the hard-soled shoes I wore while out with Gideon, I launched it at the goblin climbing in the window. It smashed into his ugly face, knocking him back so that he was hanging by his claws on the window frame.

The other goblin roared in pain as Trixie plunged her fingers into his eyes. He released her to cover his face, but she couldn’t escape because her legs were tangled up in the blankets still. Leaping over her onto the bed, I grabbed the goblin by his large pointed ears and threw him into his companion in the window. Their collision knocked the one in the window loose. His scream echoed through the silent night as he fell three stories to the parking lot below.

The goblin who had attacked Trixie snarled at me as he threw one leg out the window. “You started this war when you attacked us! You stole members of my clan. I will take her from you.”

I jumped down to the floor, keeping my body positioned between Trixie and the remaining goblin. “I didn’t start this! I just wanted to ask you some questions! You attacked us,” I shouted back.

He thought about this for a second before narrowing his bright orange eyes on me. “We are not satisfied.” And then he was gone.

Rushing over to the now vacant window, I looked down to find him helping the other goblin to his feet before they disappeared in the thick shadows of the parking lot. Great! Not only was I trying to track down a serial killer, but I had managed to piss off the local goblin clan. Shutting the window, I stared at the wood frame for a second. I needed to lay down some better protective spells. The ones I had used were too specific, aimed at magic users and vampires. I needed something broader that would keep out goblins as well.

With a weary sigh, I turned back to find Trixie sitting in the center of the bed, the sheets a twisted mess around her, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. Dropping onto the bed, I pulled her into my arms.

“Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?” I demanded, my voice rough with worry.

She shook her head against my shoulder as she clung tightly to me. As we sat there, her crying grew worse instead of better, as if the incident were finally sinking in. I held her tight, my hands rubbing up and down her back. “I’m sorry, Trix. I’m so damn sorry. I never thought they’d follow me,” I murmured in her hair. I felt like shit, but I could still fix this. “I’ll put better protection spells around the apartment and then I’ll go to your place and lay them down there. I’ll put them down at Asylum as well. Those fucking bastards will never get close to you again.”

“I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered in a choked voice as her tears slowed.

Pulling away slightly, I looked down at her face, my heart stopping in my chest. “What do you mean?” I choked out as my throat started to close on me.

“I can’t stay here.”

“At my place?” I demanded, but some deep, fear-tinged voice said that she was talking about something far worse.

She shook her head and then raised haunted eyes to my face. It wasn’t just my heart that was breaking. “Low Town. I’m . . . I’m going back to my people.”

I released her with a hiss of air and jumped off the bed. Panic pumped through my veins and clouded my thoughts. With a wave of my hand, the overhead light came on so that I could clearly see her now. I stalked away from her to the opposite end of the room, trying to get a grip on my emotions. “Because of the goblins? I can protect you from the goblins. I’ll go to them. Settle this misunderstanding. They won’t bother you again.”

“That’s not it.”

“What? Because I’m back with the Towers. You’re leaving me because of the Towers?” I demanded, my voice rising despite my attempts to remain calm. “I had no choice. It was go back or die. Which do you want me to have chosen?”

“I want you to live,” she said, pushing off the bed. She violently brushed away the tears that had streaked down her cheeks. Some of the spark had returned to her vibrant green eyes. “I hate that you’re forced to be among them again, but I want you to live.”

“Then why?”

“I have to leave because of what you are!” she shouted.

It was like she’d shoved a knife through my heart. I had to swallow twice to get the words past the lump in my throat. “I thought you loved what I am.”

“I do.” Her voice wavered and tears returned to her eyes. “I love everything about you, but things have changed and I can’t stay.”

“What’s changed? We can fix this. Just tell me what you need.”

She shook her head, looking away from me as if she’d already given up. “You can’t.”

“Please, tell me. We can fix this!” I repeated, desperately clinging to the hope that there was still some way I could mend this rift between us.

“I’m pregnant.”

All thought halted with those two words. The world swam and my knees became jelly. I blinked and the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the floor in the middle of my bedroom. Trixie knelt in front of me with a worried expression on her lovely face.

“Breathe, Gage. You need to breathe,” she said, holding my face in her hands.

“How?” I wheezed because my brain wasn’t completely online yet. I knew the mechanics of how people created children but we had always been careful. Kids weren’t in our current plan—not that we really had a plan.

“Sometime after you had your little chat with Gaia,” she said with a gentle smile. “It seems our precautions were for nothing. I’ve heard that most elves are currently pregnant. I guess Gaia’s trying to make up for lost time.”

Dear Mother Nature had gotten me. I’d gone to her months ago to get her help for the elves after a witch’s spell had made them infertile. I thought she’d just make them fertile again, not nullify all attempts at contraception. It was even more startling to find that a human and an elf had successfully bred, since there were very few instances of it in history.

I stared at the woman kneeling beside me. Synapses started firing again. She was carrying my baby. Our baby. Trixie was having our baby. Joy filled my chest, blotting out all prior feelings of despair. We could do this. She was having our baby.

“That’s wonderful,” I breathed. I grabbed one of the hands cupping my cheek and pressed a kiss into her palm.

Trixie sat back on her heels and stared at me in shock. “You’re not upset?”

“Upset? No. I’m stunned and a bit muddled still, but not upset. I’m thrilled actually,” I said with a laugh as I pulled her into my arms. “We can do this. We can move in together. Get a bigger place. Maybe something in the suburbs with a yard. We—”

“No!” Trixie sharply cried, pushing violently out of my arms. She stumbled as she got to her feet and moved to the other end of the room. “Don’t you understand? I have to leave because of the baby.”

“No, I don’t understand. You think you have to go to your people because the baby will be half elf? We can raise the baby together here just fine.”

“No, I have to go back because it isn’t safe to stay with you!”

The rush of pain that returned to my chest left me breathless for a second. This roller-coaster ride of joy and pain was making me nauseous. She was alternately giving and stealing away hope with every sentence she spoke.

“Of course it’s safe to stay with me,” I said, pushing to my feet as well.

Trixie said nothing, just pointed at the window where the goblins had climbed through only minutes earlier. My stomach twisted and I swallowed back the rise of bile.

“That was an isolated incident,” I said evenly, tearing my eyes from the gouges in the wood from the goblins’ claws. “I know the proper protection spells. I can keep anything you can think of out of our home. Name it and I can block it out.”

“The goblins are an isolated incident, but how many isolated incidents have there been since we’ve known each other? Vampires attacking and the damn Low Town mafia. The Svartálfar and even the Wild Hunt. And that’s all without mentioning the Towers! Even if you don’t consider the Towers, there will always be something.”

“No. I won’t get involved. I—”

“You can’t actually believe that,” she scoffed, shoving one hand through her long blonde hair. “It’s who you are, Gage. It’s the man I love. You help people who are hurting. They’re drawn to you because they sense that you can help them and you can’t say no. But the problem is that the danger follows you and it hits the people closest to you.”

“It won’t. I’ll stop. I’ll just be a tattoo artist and nothing more. No getting involved. I’ll protect you and the baby,” I countered in a rush, desperate to convince her that I could be strong and responsible. I could keep her safe.

“What about the Towers?”

I backpedaled, my brain desperately searching for an answer that would convince her that she was safe with me. But I didn’t have one for the Towers. I couldn’t escape the Towers, not so long as I was alive. They would always be a part of my life. “I can shield you from the Towers. I wouldn’t be the only warlock to have a child or spouse. I can hide you, protect you.”

“But there would still be a great risk. . . .”

“Of course there’s a risk. There are no guarantees!” I shouted, my temper finally snapping. She wasn’t giving anything. She wanted perfection and I couldn’t give her perfection. “You’d have to worry about the Towers no matter who you were with. Everyone has to worry about the Towers! There are dangers out there that everyone has to deal with. You can’t escape that!”

“Yes, but it is worse because of who you are.” Her lovely voice was calm and even, unmoved by my rising hysteria. But then, she’d had plenty of time to think about this. She’d had time to work out all the arguments in her head. “You’ve had people within the Towers hunting you and it will happen again. When I chose to be with you, I knew that I was a target if they ever discovered our relationship. I happily accepted that risk for myself, but I can’t do that with our child.”

“Please, don’t do this, Trixie,” I said softly, but I couldn’t put any force behind it because I understood her argument. I couldn’t blame her for wanting to protect our child from the danger that followed me like a black shadow waiting to cast its dark pall over those I loved.

“I love you, Gage.” Her voice broke and the tears started down her cheeks again. “I love who you are and I’m so proud that you can help people with your gifts. I would never change that about you, but I think this is the sacrifice that we must make for your gifts. I’m sorry.”

I stood staring at her for several seconds, my brain locked in a useless loop of trying to find a way around her arguments. I needed a solution, a guarantee that she and the baby would be safe. But there wasn’t one. So long as the Towers existed, so long as I was cursed with this gift for magic, I couldn’t give her the safety she demanded.

“When are you leaving?” I asked, my voice was raw and rough as sandpaper.

“Soon. Eldon is coming to get me.”

A bitter, sarcastic laugh escaped me. “I’m sure your brother was thrilled to hear your news.”

“Eldon doesn’t hate you. You fixed it so that I am welcome among my people again and your actions have resulted in his wife being pregnant with their second child.”

I nodded because I was simply out of words.

“Our child will be happy and safe, I promise you.”

“But I will never see you or our child.”

Trixie didn’t respond because I was right. To keep her and the baby safe, I had stay away from them. I would never hold my son or daughter. I would never see their smile and their first steps. I would never hold Trixie again.

“Will you let me see you one last time before you leave?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I don’t know which of us cracked first, but in the next second she was in my arms, my face buried in her hair while her nails scored my back in her attempts to get as close to me as possible. Drawing in a shuddering breath to get a handle on my emotions again, I lowered my mouth to hers, but at the first touch of her lips, I knew it wasn’t going to be enough. Clothes were torn away, leaving us pressed skin to skin. That night, we made love again and again. Sometimes it was fast and violent, filled with rough and desperate caresses, as if we were in a rush to be merged at last. Other times, it was a slow exploring as if each of us were trying to memorize every inch of the other person so that it was imprinted forever on our brains.

It was shortly after dawn when I lay on my side beside Trixie. She was deep in sleep, her lovely face wiped clean of worry. I placed my hand over the slight mound of her abdomen where my child was growing within her. Was this Squall sleeping inside of her? When I met the little boy’s soul at Gaia’s, I’d instinctively known that he would be my son one day. I just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. Was this him now, so close to me and yet on the cusp of being stolen away?

A small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. I’d find a way to keep them safe. Even if I had to tear down each of the Ivory Towers brick by brick with my bare hands, I’d keep Trixie and my child safe and at my side.

Acknowledgments

There was a time when I didn’t know if this book would ever see the light of day. But when I sat at the computer, I knew that Gage had one more story that he had to tell the world. One last warning. One last lesson.

I want to give a big thanks to the Harper Voyager crew who has seen me through nine books. Pam and Jessie, you’re always there to cheer on my books and I will always be grateful. A big thanks to Diana for taking a chance on a dreamer addicted to the written word. We worked on eight books together and I’ve learned so much from you. And a big thanks to Kelly for being there to safely escort Gage into the waiting arms of readers one last time.

Last but far from least, thank you to all readers who have taken a chance on a guy determined to find his way through a strange world while protecting those he loves.

Don’t miss the next two parts of the Final Asylum Tales!

Demon’s Vow

Part 2 of the Final Asylum Tales

On sale October 21, 2014

Inner Demon

Part 3 of the Final Asylum Tales

On sale October 28, 2014

About the Author

Jocelynn Drake is the New York Times bestselling author of the Dark Days series, and lives in Florida. When not at her desk, she is most likely to be found playing video games, watching movies, or hanging with her family.

Vist www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

Also by Jocelynn Drake

THE ASYLUM TALES

The Asylum Interviews: Bronx

The Asylum Interviews: Trixie

Angel’s Ink

Dead Man’s Deal

THE DARK DAYS NOVELS

Nightwalker

Dayhunter

Dawnbreaker

Pray for Dawn

Wait for Dusk

Burn the Night

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEMON'S FURY. Copyright © 2014 by Jocelynn Drake. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPub Edition OCTOBER 2014 ISBN: 9780062351531

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