Blood Kissed (Lizzie Grace 1)

“I’m willing to try, but there are never any guarantees, whether we’re talking about policing, psi work, or witchcraft.”

Although, as a rule, bluebloods generally could guarantee an outcome 99.9 percent of the time. It was the reason they held so much wealth and power.

“I’ve got some business in Bendigo this morning, so I could meet you at say—” He paused. “Nine thirty? Would that suit?”

I glanced at my watch. It was close to eight thirty now, but Bendigo was only a little over thirty minutes away. “That would be great.”

“Good. There’s a little café called Beans and Greens on View Street. I’ll be wearing a blue suit.”

“And I’ll be the one with the crimson hair. Thanks, Mr. Banks.”

After quickly brushing my teeth and changing into a fresh pair of jeans and a dark green sweater, I grabbed my car keys and handbag, and headed back downstairs.

Belle handed me a coffee-filled travel mug and a cookie on the way through. I grinned my thanks and walked around to the car park that was shared by all five businesses along this section of the street. Once I’d safely placed the travel mug into its holder, I started our old wagon and headed for Bendigo. Sadly, the cookie didn’t even make it out of Castle Rock.

Beans and Greens was a small but bright café abuzz with people and filled with the gorgeous aroma of roasting coffee beans. I stopped near the entrance and looked around until I spotted a man in a dark blue suit reading a newspaper at a table near the stairs. He would have been in his midforties, with dark blond hair and a suntanned, pleasant face. I ordered a coffee and then walked over. He didn’t even glance up. Either the article he was reading was fascinating, or he was one of those people who had no situational awareness. I was voting for the latter.

I cleared my throat. “Mr. Banks? I’m Lizzie Grace.”

He finally glanced up. His eyes, like his aura, were mostly brown—a color that spoke of self-absorption. “It’s not often we see a blueblood in these parts.”

And good morning to you, too, I wanted to say, but bit the comment back. He didn’t seem the type to appreciate sarcasm. I pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him. “You’re not seeing one now. The hair is a gift from a relation decades back that had a brief but apparently fertile interlude with one while she was in Sydney.”

It was a lie I’d told so often it rolled off my tongue as easily as the truth.

“Meaning you’re not really a witch?”

I hesitated. I had no idea what links this man might have to either the council or the rangers, so I couldn’t risk admitting anything more than I already had. Not that that was ever a fault of mine—if I had one thing in common with werewolves, it was a desire to say as little about myself as possible.

“I’m capable of small magic—charms and the like—but not much more, I’m afraid.”

“Then how did you find Karen? The rangers were a little light on detail when I talked to them.”

As I explained psychometry and its uses to him, I searched his face for any sign of grief. Though both his expression and his eyes gave very little away, there were at least some splashes of black in his aura. But there was nothing on the scale of what I’d seen in Aiden’s aura.

“And this is how you’re hoping to find her killer? Via this skill?”

“Maybe, if I can find something that holds his vibes.” I crossed my arms on the table. “When was the last time you talked to Karen?”

He shrugged. “About a month ago.”

“Was it usual for you two to speak so infrequently?”

“Yeah. I don’t think she’s ever really forgiven me for not taking her with me when I left Marjorie.”

Which was the opposite of what Marjorie had said. Of course, it was also possible Karen was playing her parents off each other, using the guilt they felt around her to get what she desired. “If you don’t mind me asking, why didn’t you?”

He grimaced. “Because my work takes me away for days on end, and that’s hardly a practical situation in which to raise a kid.”

Which was a legitimate enough reason, but I very much suspected the real reason was the fact that having her around might have cramped his lifestyle.

“Can you remember anything about that last conversation? Did she by any chance mention a new boyfriend?”

He was shaking his head before I’d finished. “As I said to the rangers, it was weeks ago. To be honest, even if she had mentioned a new beau, it’s not likely I’d remember. I tended to let that sort of stuff just roll over me.”

It was so casually said, with so little remorse that he’d taken his very last conversation with his daughter so lightly, that I wanted to reach across the table and shake him. Maybe the reason Karen had gotten involved with a much older man was not so much that she was looking to fill a sudden void in her life, but rather, seeking something she’d never really had.

The waitress delivered my coffee. I thanked her and then said, “When was the last time she actually stayed with you?”