Blood Kissed (Lizzie Grace 1)

Her fingers were trembling as she took it from mine, and grief replaced the slight edge of annoyance in her expression. She didn’t say anything for several seconds, and then she took a deep breath and said, “Karen’s bedroom is the second door on the left.”

The inside of her house was everything the outside was not. The long, pristine hallway was decorated with rich tapestries and ornately framed paintings, the mahogany timber flooring looked freshly varnished, and there wasn’t a speck of dust evident—a hard thing to achieve in flooring like that, I knew—and the coat stand to my right was a gorgeous old antique. Maybe Marjorie was concentrating on getting the inside right before she bothered with the outside.

I entered Karen’s bedroom and was confronted by chaos. There were clothes, books, and God knows what else all over the floor. The bed was unmade and sheets looked as if they hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine for months. I glanced around. “I take it the rangers didn’t do this?”

Marjorie snorted. “They’re responsible for the white dust, but everything else is pure Karen. I gave up trying to get her to tidy up, and simply shut the door.”

“Teenagers, huh?” Which made me sound decidedly older than I was, but then

, I’d also been forced to grow up and look after myself a whole lot faster than most teenagers. I stepped carefully around a pile of clothes and take-out containers. “Did the rangers have anything to say this morning?”

“No.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. The wave of grief that washed over me suggested she very much needed that support to keep her upright. “They took her laptop and a couple of other bits and bobs, but I have no idea if they’re any closer to catching the bastard. All they’re saying is that it’s too soon to know what killed her.”

“Which it is,” I said gently. “You can’t expect miracles, either from them or from me.”

“I know.” She rubbed a hand across her face, smearing momentary tears. “But I won’t be able to rest until I know who he is, and why he chose to murder my baby girl.”

Because he’s a vampire, and because he got off on it. But I kept the comments to myself. Despite what I might have seen and experienced while caught in Karen’s mind, there was no proof as yet that we were dealing with a bloodsucker—nothing other than my instincts and the odd uneasiness in the spirit world, anyway.

I picked my way through the mess and stopped at the bed. The rangers might have taken anything even remotely tied to Karen’s murder, but she’d never met her older lover here, only talked to him via her computer. If there were something to be found, then it would be something innocuous—something he’d given her that wouldn’t raise any sort of alarms. And if he also happened to be a practicing blood witch, then that something would undoubtedly have magic attached to it.

There was no such thing near the bed, however. I frowned and walked across to the window. There were fingerprints visible on both the glass and the frames, thanks to the dusting of white powder, but I had no doubt they belonged to Karen rather than our predator. I’d seen her climbing out, not anyone climbing in, and there’d been no sense of anyone waiting close by.

I crossed my arms and studied the backyard. It was rather small and the grass was heavily overgrown, but there was little else in the way of shrubbery or even trees that would have provided a hiding spot. Behind it, its roof and towers dominating the skyline, was a large, red brick church. Most vamps tended to avoid holy ground, even if they weren’t directly affected by it, so he probably would have waited for her out in the street. It was doubtful any of the nearby neighbors would have noticed, especially given the time Karen had climbed out of her window. And a small town like Castle Rock wasn’t exactly overrun with security cameras, even in the main shopping strip.

I swung around and studied the room again. Where would a teenager hide something she wanted to keep out of immediate sight but within very easy reach? My gaze went back to the bed—or rather, the pillows, which were lying on the floor near the bed rather than actually on top of it. Given the fact Marjorie had sworn off coming into the room to even change the bedding, it was as good a hiding place as any.

I walked over and picked one of them up. It didn’t feel any heavier than a pillow normally would, but I nevertheless opened the pillowcase’s flap and rather warily peered inside. There was nothing more than used tissues to be seen. I tossed it to one side, picked up the second pillow, and repeated the process. This time, in amongst all the used tissues was the glitter of gold. I pulled the case free of the pillow and dumped all the rubbish onto the bed.

The chain tumbled out. It was rather fine and obviously expensive, and attached to it was a bloodstone pendant—which was not only a rare and expensive stone these days, but also somewhat appropriate given what we might be dealing with. It was, however, an unusual choice for a dark sorcerer, given bloodstones were traditionally a symbol of justice, and in some cultures believed to ward off those with the evil eye.

I reached for it, but the wash of… not corruption, not exactly, more an utter lack of compassion and humanity… stopped me. Until I was feeling stronger and had more than just the simple ward hanging around my neck to protect me, there was no way I was going to touch the thing.

I looked around on the floor and spotted a pen, which I used to scoop up the necklace. “Do you recognize this?” I asked, holding it up.

Marjorie frowned and walked closer. “No,” she said. “But it might have been something her father gave her.”

“I was under the impression she didn’t see her dad all that much.” I spotted an envelope near the dressing table and walked over to grab it.

“She didn’t, but he did occasionally invite her over to his place when it was her birthday or at Christmas.” Marjorie’s voice held a bitter note. “She valued his meager offerings far more than she ever did anything I might have done for her.”

“Because she blamed you for the breakup.” I slid the necklace into the envelope then folded it over to seal it.

“Yes. Her father might have had an affair, but it was all my fault, according to her.” That edge of bitterness was joined by a mix of anger and grief. “I know they were close, but her refusal to see—to understand—nevertheless hurt.”

“I can imagine.” I continued walking around the room, but there was nothing else that spoke to me. Nothing that suggested it might have come from her killer. “Does your ex still live in town?”

“No, he moved back to Melbourne a while ago.” She frowned. “Why?”

I shrugged. “If he was still living within the reservation, I’d have liked to talk to him.”

“You don’t think he had—”

“No,” I said quickly. “But if he’d had some contact with her recently, she might have said something to him.”

“He won’t talk to me at all, but I can give you his phone number and address, if it helps.”

I nodded. “I have no doubt the rangers will have already talked to him, but I might try, just in case.”