Phantom Kiss (Chicagoland Vampires 12.5)

Mallory and Catcher met us in Ethan’s office in front of a spread of pizza boxes on the conference table.

“We have exonerated Mickey Riley!” she pronounced, slice of pepperoni in hand.

“And managed dinner, apparently,” Ethan said.

“Malik ordered it,” she said, wiping grease from her fingers. “Decided the team needed a refuel.”

It wasn’t Saul’s, my favorite Chicago chain that offered my favorite pizza—cream cheese and double bacon—but it was laden with pepperoni and still gleaming with heat and grease. My stomach rumbled with hunger, and my self-healing vampire arteries rejoiced.

;  I nodded, wondered if that signified anything.

She stopped when we reached a new pile of dirt, a new rectangular hollow beside it. The same type of metal marker, this one bearing 4-CCU78-443. The bones were jumbled in their wooden coffin but didn’t seem to have been moved around, or at least not overly so.

“I interrupted him,” Annabelle said.

“Talk about burying the lede,” Jeff said, eyes wide.

“You interrupted him?” my grandfather prompted.

“I was concerned the magic would create a spiritual cascade—call back even more spirits than they’d intended. So I was patrolling the grounds again.” She pointed to the east, to the crest of a low hill. “I came over that hill, saw the dirt, realized the grave had already been dug up. When he moved to climb down into it, I called out. I figured he was about to start stealing.”

My grandfather nodded. “Quite likely. Did you see any accomplices?”

“I only saw one man, and I didn’t see much of him. It was dark, and he was wearing dark clothes.”

“You’re sure it was a man?” my grandfather asked.

Annabelle blinked. “Good point. I assumed it was a man—short hair, dark pants and a jacket, I think. The build seemed masculine, but I didn’t see his or her face.”

Pretty much the same description CPAN had given.

“Did you see his vehicle?” I asked. “The white sedan?”

Annabelle shook her head. “No.”

“What happened when you called out?” my grandfather asked.

“He stopped what he was doing—kind of waited for a minute to see who I was—and then he started running.”

“He doesn’t like confrontation,” Ethan said.

“No,” my grandfather agreed. “He doesn’t. If he’s got any magical skill, or even physical skill, he might have stood his ground.”

“Or if he’d wanted it bad enough,” Jeff said. He crouched down to get a better look at the remains.

“Exactly,” my grandfather said. “He’s not a fighter and likely not especially skilled—or experienced—with magic.” He glanced at Annabelle. “Did you feel magic this time?”

She frowned, considering. “I was pretty amped-up on adrenaline, but I don’t remember feeling anything. I don’t think he got that far.”

My grandfather looked at Jeff. “Jeff’s made some headway on the magic the perpetrator might have used.”

“No kidding?” Annabelle said.

Jeff nodded, rose from his crouch. “We had to go into the Dark Web to find it, which took some time. I still want to let Mallory and Catcher take a look when they’re back from the ME’s office, but I think we’re close.”

“Dark Web?” Ethan asked.

“Long story short,” Jeff said, sticking his hands into his pockets, “the Internet’s dark and filthy alley. Encrypted, unindexed, and nearly impossible to find without the right information and software. We found a market—a darknet—where spells and charms already kindled by magic are available to the highest bidder. And this one was recently sold,” he said, pulling out his phone and pulling up the information.