Demon's Dance (The Lizzie Grace Series Book 4) Read online

  “What have we got?” Aiden stopped at the end of the bed. “Aside from a naked and very dead male?”

  Ciara grimaced. “Multiple bruising and puncture marks, but no other wounds and no immediately obvious reason for death.”

  “Do you think we’re dealing with a vampire?”

  “Hard to say without opening him up and seeing the size and location of the lividity—which,” she added, with a glance my way, “is where any blood remaining in the body after the heart stops pumping will settle in direct response to gravity.”

  “Ah.” I stopped beside Aiden and studied the man on the bed. He had a shock of vivid red hair, dark stubble around his chin, and pubic hair that was black, which suggested red wasn’t his natural color. There were multiple blue-black marks on both his arms and his inner thighs, and all of them rather weirdly resembled love bites. If this was a vampire attack, then he or she was acting outside known norms.

  I ignored the growing sense of trepidation and returned my gaze to Ciara. “Which of the bruises have puncture wounds?”

  “All of them.”

  “Is it okay if I look at one?”

  “Sure—do you want gloves?”

  I shook my head. “I have no intention of touching him.”

  I moved around the bed and bent to examine an arm wound. It wasn’t hard to see the bite marks, and they certainly did appear vampiric in nature. And yet, doubt stirred, if only because most vamps didn’t leave this type of bruising behind.

  But it wasn’t like I was an expert when it came to vampires. My experience was limited to what I’d read in the books Belle had inherited from her gran and the bits and pieces I’d learned during my encounters with both Maelle and the vampire witch who’d come to the reservation seeking revenge.

  “The wounds are definitely penetrative,” I said, “but vamps aren’t the only supernatural creatures who dine on their victims’ blood.”

  “I’m not sure I really want an answer to this,” Ciara said. “But what sort of creatures are we talking about?”

  “Off the top of my head, there’s the lamia, a type of demon who takes on human form to seduce men and then drain them when they’re asleep. There’s also a Scottish fairy that’s a cross between a succubus and a vampire.” I hesitated. “But if he didn’t die of blood loss, then we could be dealing with something like Kitsune—they don’t actually take blood, but rather their victim’s life force.”

  “How likely is it to be the latter?” she asked.

  My gaze swept Jacobson’s body again. Despite the bruising, he still very much looked like a man in his late twenties. “Unlikely. Everything I’ve read about them suggests the process seriously ages the victim.”

  “If the autopsy can’t pin down a cause of death,” Aiden asked, “is there any way to reveal what type of supernatural creature we’re dealing with?”

  “I can’t sense his ghost in the house, so other than asking Belle to make contact with his soul, no,” I said. “There’s certainly nothing within this room to suggest what might have done this.”

  Aiden’s gaze narrowed. “Does that mean you’re sensing something elsewhere?”

  “Maybe.” I hesitated. “It’s the heat, more than anything. It just seems rather unusual.”

  “We’re in the midst of a heat wave,” Ciara commented, “and these old places don’t have much in the way of insulation.”

  “I know, it’s just—” I shrugged. “Something feels off, that’s all.”

  “In what way?” Aiden asked.

  “If I knew that, I’d say.”

  “Do you want to look around?”

  “It may be nothing—”

  “Or it might be something,” he cut in. “I don’t think any of us would dare discount your concerns after the last few months. Yell if you find anything.”

  “Of course.”

  But I didn’t immediately leave the room. Instead, I walked around, skimming a hand above the various surfaces and items. Prophetic dreams and an odd ability to sense evil weren’t my only psychic talents—I was also gifted with psychometry. On a surface level, the talent let me trace misplaced items and sense emotions via touch. But on a deeper level, I could track missing people or slip into the mind of whoever owned the item I was holding, allowing me to see and experience whatever was happening to them at the time.

  The latter was not something I did very often—I’d heard too many tales of psychics losing themselves in the minds of others, and I wasn’t about to risk anything like that.

  I did have one advantage over most other psychics, though—Belle. She wasn’t only a witch, but also my familiar. It was a situation that had caused great consternation to my powerful blueblood parents—not only did I have the audacity to be severely underpowered, but I also had the temerity to have a lower-powered witch as a familiar rather than the far more acceptable cat or spirit—even though that was something I had no control over.

  But Belle’s presence in my life had saved it more than once—she was, in fact, the best thing that had ever happened to me.

  And here I was thinking that award went to Aiden.

  Belle’s thought whispered into my mind, her mental tone soft enough to suggest she wasn’t entirely awake. While telepathy was one of her psychic skills rather than mine, the ability to share thoughts was one of the many benefits that came with her being my familiar. He falls into the “best thing right now” category. What are you doing up? It’s four in the morning.

  I had to pee. What’s your excuse?

  Aiden was called in on a murder.

  And he’s dragged you along to the crime scene? Why?

  Suspicious bite marks.

  A groan ran down the mental lines. Don’t tell me we’ve another vampire.

  That I can’t say for sure as they’re not exactly traditional bite marks.

  At least the new witch arrives today. He can deal with the damn problem.

  Hopefully.

  Hopefully? I’m not liking the sound of that.

  It’s that whole thing about counting chickens. I just don’t want to jinx things.

  I finished the sweep of the room and headed for the door. There was nothing untoward here—nothing other than the heat, anyway. Which should have been a relief but instead only ramped up the trepidation.

  You can hardly jinx something that’s already a signed and sealed deal, Belle said.

  But the witch isn’t yet here. Until he is, I’ll continue worrying.

  And about more than his arrival. I had little doubt he’d get here; it was more the possibility it’d be someone we knew that worried me. There were a lot of witch families in Canberra, and the chances of that happening were remote. Extremely remote. And yet, I couldn’t escape the notion that that’s exactly what we were about to face.

  Belle’s concern ran down the line. Is this another of your premonitions? Do I need to start packing?

  I’m not running anymore, Belle. I hesitated. I’m not entirely sure it’d even be possible.

  Her concern increased. Because of the wild magic?

  For whatever reason, I’ve developed an affinity with the power of this place—and it’s an affinity that’s growing. I don’t think it’ll let me leave.

  But you’ve been beyond the boundaries of the reservation more than a few times with both Aiden and me.

  Yes, but none of them were permanent. The wild magic—or at least the portion controlled by Katie—would have been aware of that. I hesitated again. Of course, it’s possible these fears are nothing more than my natural instinct to expect the worse.

  She snorted, the sound reverberating loudly through my brain. Given the wild magic has somehow mixed itself with your DNA, I doubt it. Besides, your instincts haven’t led you astray very often of late.

  No, they hadn’t—and that in itself was somewhat scary. My instincts had been hit and miss my entire life—right up until the point we’d entered this reservation, in fact. I had no idea if the change was due to the wild magic or wh
ether something stranger was happening.

  I walked down the hall, discovering two more bedrooms, a bathroom, and a laundry but no real source for the growing certainty something other than a vampire had been in this house.

  I’ll keep all bits crossed that it’s wrong this time—at least when it comes to the new witch, she said. Especially if it turns out this place is the end of the line for us.

  Would you be upset about that if it was?

  Warmth and a mental hug briefly filled the link. Hell no. I love the café, I love this area, and I’m more than ready to settle down.

  And finally have a real life somewhere. She didn’t add that bit, but we’d been friends for so long now that she didn’t need to. Guilt slithered through me; it’d been Belle who’d paid the greater price when we’d run from Canberra. Her entire family was very close, but the situation I’d run from had been so extreme that even her mother—one of the few people we’d actually confided in—had said it would be better if we stayed out of contact.

  You didn’t force me to go with you, Belle chided softly. I might be your familiar, but I still had the choice. I did it because I wanted to.

  I took a deep, somewhat shuddery breath and released it slowly. One of these days, I’ll make it up to you. I swear.

  Her amusement swam around me. Can you really imagine me in Canberra? How long do you think it would have been before I said or did something inappropriate and ended up in the adjustment center for magical delinquents? Or worse, fall to the dark side and become just another witch on the Heretic Investigations Center’s hit list?

  I snorted softly. Yeah, your mom would really have let that happen.

  Maybe not, but you get the point. She yawned, a sound that echoed down the line. Do you need anything else? Because otherwise, I’m off back to bed.

  Go for it. I’ll fill you in on events later this morning.

  As her thoughts left mine, I paused and studied the rear living area. The kitchen to my left was brand-new, and yet it looked like something straight out of the sixties—the cabinets were canary yellow with round, white plastic knobs that matched the color of the counters; the tiles were a mix of both. Even the large fridge was yellow; in fact, the only modern-looking appliance was the freestanding stainless steel cooker. The rest of the room was L-shaped, with a dining area immediately in front of the kitchen and the living area to the right. Folding glass doors ran the full width of the room.

  I walked over. The doors were all locked and there was absolutely no indication of physical, magical, or supernatural interference.

  I frowned, but nevertheless did a full circuit of the room. Again, there was nothing that even remotely stirred my psychic or magical senses—nothing other than the fact it was noticeably cooler here than in either the hall or the master bedroom. But that might well be a result of there being such a large expanse of glass in the room—it not only let heat leach in, but also the cooler night air.

  I spun and backtracked to the laundry. Byron had said there was no sign of a break-in, but he would have meant physical evidence rather than the other kind.

  I stopped again just inside the doorway, and couldn’t help but note the sudden rise in air temperature. It was even hotter in here than in the hall or bedroom, and it had me wondering if we were dealing with some sort of fire spirit. It would certainly explain the abrupt variations in temperature.

  I grabbed a pen out of my handbag and used it to flick on the light. While I doubted Kyle Jacobson’s killer would have been stupid enough to leave any prints behind—presuming, of course, he or she even had fingers—it was still better to avoid spoiling evidence or adding mine to the mix.

  The laundry was large and surprisingly modern, with a lot of built-in storage as well as all the usual appliance paraphernalia. There were two doors—one to my left led into a toilet, and one directly ahead that led out to what looked to be the side driveway. Beside this was a small window, through which I could see the fence that divided this house from Mrs. Potts’s. My gaze returned to the door and its handle, and a prickle went down my spine.

  It was the source of the wrongness.

  Or, rather, the keyhole underneath it.

  And yet, both the door and the keyhole looked untouched, and there was nothing to suggest it had been magically interfered with.

  I stepped closer and reached for—but didn’t quite touch—the keyhole. I didn’t need to. The closer my fingers got, the more they itched and burned; whatever had killed Kyle Jacobson had left via the keyhole. And that very much ruled out vampires. Despite what Hollywood and fiction might have people believe, they couldn’t change shape or become nothing more than mist and shadow. If a vampire disappeared before your eyes, it was because they were in your mind altering your perceptions rather than changing their shape.

  I headed back to the bedroom. Ciara glanced up as I appeared.

  “Aiden’s gone next door to take the girlfriend’s statement. He said you’re to take his truck home, and he’ll drop by in the morning to collect it.”

  “Keys?”

  “In it.”

  “Good.” I hesitated. “Would I be able to take a couple of photos of the wounds? We’ve a number of illustrative books that discuss different type of demons, and I’d like to see if I can match the bite to the creature.”

  She waved a hand toward the body. “Let it be noted that I find it rather disturbing you possess such books.”

  I grinned. “Technically, I don’t. Belle inherited them from her grandmother, who was something of an authority on spirits, demons, and all things that go bump in the night.”

  “I don’t find that comforting.”

  “You should. It was those books that gave us the means of tracking down the soul sucker.”

  She grunted, but her expression remained dubious. “Did you find anything else in the rest of the house?”

  I pulled out my phone and opened the camera app. “Whatever did this left through the keyhole in the laundry door. Combine that with the heat in the three rooms, and I think we could be dealing with some sort of fire spirit.”

  “Great,” she muttered. “Just what we need in the middle of a very hot summer.”

  “Yeah.”

  I took several photos of the wounds on his arms, then quickly snapped one of his face. After saying goodbye, I headed outside. Part of me hoped Aiden would appear to kiss me goodnight, even though I knew he had a job to do and wouldn’t ever jeopardize a case by running out to say goodbye to his latest bedmate.

  I climbed into his truck, adjusted the seat, and then drove off. But I didn’t immediately head home. Maelle was the only person currently within the reservation who could immediately confirm whether we were dealing with a vamp or not; she was also our one chance of hunting the vamp down quickly if we were.

  I found parking in a side street close to Émigré and walked back. It was a rather strange-looking building, and definitely not something you’d expect to find in the middle of the Victorian countryside. The matte-black walls were decorated with weird, alien-looking, biomechanical forms, and the strategically placed green and purple lights gave the entire building a surreal feel. In fact, it looked like something that belonged in a science fiction movie.

  The bouncers standing in the front of the airlock-shaped doors opened them the minute they saw me. Roger, who was Maelle’s servant—or thrall, as they were more commonly known—had ordered I be allowed inside no matter what the time or the inappropriateness of my dress. The jeans, T-shirt, and sandals I currently wore definitely weren’t on the club’s suitable attire list.

  Roger had obviously been advised of my presence, because I’d barely stepped into the main room when he appeared out of the shadows and stopped in front of me.

  “Lizzie Grace,” he said, all effervescence and warmth. “What a delightful surprise.”

  He was a tall, thin man with pale skin, paler hair, and eyes that were a weird milky white. I wasn’t entirely sure if the coloring was natural or something
that had happened after he’d become Maelle’s thrall—a process I really didn’t know a whole lot about aside from the fact it involved magic and the consumption of her flesh, and basically gave him eternal life.

  “You’re in a rather good mood tonight,” I commented. “I take it your mistress has recently fed?”

  I didn’t bother lowering my voice. The music was loud enough here that even if there had been someone near, they probably wouldn’t have heard the comment. Maelle didn’t encourage conversation; she wanted her patrons dancing and drinking.

  Which, given the number currently on the dance floor, plenty were willing to do.

  “Indeed she has,” he said. “The replacement feeders have worked out better than we’d hoped.”

  A shudder I couldn’t quite control ran through me at the thought of willingly becoming a vampire’s meal ticket. Maelle might be a generous benefactor—as far as I’d seen, anyway—when it came to her feeders, but I was sure there were plenty of others who weren’t. I’d been bitten only once in my life—by the vamp who’d come here seeking revenge—and I had no intention of ever repeating the experience. Maelle could assure me her bite would be utterly different as much as she wanted, but it was never going to happen.

  The amusement briefly glinting in Roger’s eyes suggested he’d caught the shudder, but all he said was, “I take it—given your attire—that this is a formal visit rather than a pleasurable one?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Then my mistress will be down in a few minutes. In the meantime, allow me to get you a drink.”

  He turned and led me toward the bar. The crowd parted silently before him, though I doubted they were even aware of it. It made me wonder if there was some sort of psychic ability or even magic involved. Just because I couldn’t feel either didn’t mean it wasn’t happening. Maelle was capable of magic—she’d admitted that more than once—so it was totally possible her creature was similarly gifted. Or perhaps—given she could see and speak through him if she so desired—it was more a case of her allowing him to use some of her mind tricks and magic.