“You can’t use that information. I’m trying to get a complete picture so I can.” I looked into the metal bin. Normal trash. “Why didn’t they dump it into the bin like last time?”
“We don’t know. They also left a lot of evidence. Unlike last time.”
Frowning, I checked out some of that evidence. That spider-web spell wasn’t going anywhere.
“This is a woman’s tennis shoe.” I hunched down next to it. “It’s not from the victim, and I doubt the murderer left it behind. No blood.” The button was random. Something from a trench coat or large jacket. “Are you sure these are even part of the crime?”
“No. How could we know until we check them out? But the blood must be. It’s fresh.”
“The victim’s clothes?”
“We haven’t found them.”
“They would’ve completely disrobed him before starting.” I hunched down next to some of the blood. “They probably put it in a trash bin near wherever they did this.”
“That would be unbelievably stupid of them. Eventually someone will notice if they keep dumping clothes into the trash bin.”
“Number one, these people are murderers, but not in the normal sense. They are killing people as sacrifices, not for the joy or rage of killing. So they would be less likely to think about the stupidity of putting a victim’s clothing into the trash bin. Number two, who is going to bat an eye at some ratty, old, torn clothes being thrown away every few weeks? They wouldn’t have blood on them, so they’d just look like trash.”
“If we can home in on a location, I’m sure we could collect enough evidence to crack this sucker.”
“I’m working on that, don’t you worry. Their number is already down by one.”
His expression hardened, but he didn’t say anything. I doubted his MLE office had any peacekeepers quite like me, and I doubted the captain of said MLE office had as much experience covering up the accidental deaths of bad people as my captain did.
Welcome to the crash course, buddy. It’s going to be a bumpy ride before all this ends.
I pointed at the next bit of blood. “This was staged, as was the last. It wasn’t dripped or splattered—it was poured.”
“That’s what it looks like, yes.” He tilted his head at me. “Since when do you guys know about blood spatter?”
“Think of New Orleans as the magical Wild West, detective. We’re hard-core.”
“It would seem.”
I put my hands to my thighs and took it all in before straightening up and turning toward the spell. “Now for the crappy part. Run and get me that chalk, would you? The one you used to mark that evidence.”
“Why?”
“Why ask why?” I walked toward the throbbing spell slowly, feeling that strange coldness expand within me like ink in water. Something about the magic used here called to my other type of power—the one I’d barely glimpsed so far. Just like it had when that mage used the demon’s gift of magic on me.
Clearly this was part of my heritage in some way.
I thought back to all the things my mother had said about my father. The things she’d noticed, and the things he’d explained to her, however briefly. He had often used his fire to toy with my mother. They’d make a game of it—my mother would try to hex him, and my father would cut right through it, dissolving her attempt. That was how she had come to know enough about his powers to somewhat teach me.
“You okay?” I heard behind me. “Need a light?”
The blue sky still shone above me, but the shadows had lengthened, dousing the alleyway. The deep red of the wall had almost bled away into black as the light retreated.
“No, I’m good.” I put my hands on my hips and shook my head. “Just give me a minute?”
“Yeah. Can I let the others back in? We need to finish processing the scene.”
“Keep them well away from here, and if I say run, make sure they do. And fast. Drop everything and run.”
“Why? What are you—”
I held up my hand, getting frustrated. I really did hate working with other people. It slowed me down. “Just trust me.”
“I hate my job,” he mumbled, moving away. I knew how he felt.
That cold block of power sat in my stomach, squashing the power I understood. I needed to figure this out, and now, before I faced off with the demon.
I ran over the list of passed-down powers that seemed to have skipped me. My father had been able to pluck secrets out of my mother’s head, but she’d worked out a spell to keep her thoughts to herself. That had tickled him. I was stronger and faster than normal humans, like him, and I could sense magic, also like him, but he could smell where someone had been previously. I couldn’t do that. At all. Then there was the whole “moving things with the mind” thing. I didn’t remember my mother ever mentioning my dad doing that, but I bet he could.
My father had levitated often, sometimes carrying my mom in his arms as he drifted through the air. She’d loved doing that, and apparently, he’d done almost anything to make her smile. But he’d never divulged the difference in the various powers he used. Or maybe she just hadn’t thought to ask.
Whatever the reason, I could do almost half of what my dad could do, and this demon represented the half I didn’t have much access to. I was at a severe disadvantage, since the cold magic it called forth banked the power I could control, leaving me defenseless.
I shook my head. My bad luck, as always.
Pulling in a deep breath, I took out my sword, filled with my fire magic. Now struggling, I focused on my fire magic, fighting to bring it to the surface. I gasped as I felt the two powers swirl around each other, coexisting but not blending. I had no idea if that was right or wrong.
“Here we go,” I said, ignoring one of the cops when she asked why I was getting ready to stab the wall with a sword.
Edging closer, I felt that throb, beating in time to the cold power within me. The spell was amplified by the demon’s magic, dull yet vicious. I closed my eyes, focusing on the currents as they teased my senses. Getting a feel for what the spell was supposed to do. Another moment, and the intricacies of the spell revealed themselves to me.
It wasn’t what I’d expected.
The spell would explode in a rush of frost. Usually it would be a blast of heat, but the demon’s power had turned it wintry. So a smack of cold to the face that would result in temporary frostbite for exposed human skin.
They had dumped the body in clear view, ensuring it would be found immediately, decorated the crime scene with plenty of “evidence” for the police to fret over, and left a useless spell just out of the way so it wouldn’t easily be disturbed, but would be noticed by the magical person who had been sent to analyze the crime scene.
“Shiznit,” I said, backing away as a pattern emerged. I turned slowly toward the mouth of the alley where that cop still stood sentinel. “They’re trying to keep me here.”
“What?” Oscar asked, walking closer.
I put a hand out to keep him away. “They lured me here with the intent of keeping me busy.”
“Why you?”
“Because I’m the one working the case and trying to find them.” I took a few quick steps back down the alley and sliced through the spell. The magic opened up in a void, a maw of cold, potent power that raised my small hairs. It attached itself to me, like little suction cups spreading across my skin.
Fear shot through me. I hadn’t expected that little number hiding within the spell. Or maybe this was the normal effect of the demon’s magic. Whatever it was, it was not good.
My heart sped up and a sheen of fire rolled over my skin, weak because of the other power but thankfully still effective. Bye-bye, magical suction cups.
“What the—” Oscar half fell over himself in his eagerness to back up.
“Do you feel the suction on your…” I let the words trail away as I realized his eyes were glued to my exposed skin. He’d seen the fire. “Ah. Yeah, that. That was a spell. An experimental one that my cousin created. The Canadian cousin. Haven’t I told you about him? Anyway, don’t worry about it. It’s illegal.”