Demon's Dance (Lizzie Grace 4)

“Wolf or human?”

“Human. There’s no indication of a struggle and no obvious sign of death, although the body is riddled with bite marks.”

“Of the vampire variety?” I asked.

“The only vampire bite I’ve seen was on the neck of that teenager, and she didn’t have the same sort of bruising as this bloke.” Byron shrugged. “I guess it depends on whether every vampire has a different style of feeding.”

“They tend not to,” I said. “While the length of their canines can vary—and some of the older ones even have the ability to retract them totally—the incisions generally have the same look. Unless, of course, they simply tear at the throat, and that’s usually the province of newly created vamps who haven’t gotten control over their blood lust.”

Byron blinked. “I think that’s more information about vampires and their teeth than I ever wanted.”

“Let’s just hope that’s not what we’re dealing with here,” Aiden said. “Have you talked to Ms. Jenkins yet?”

“No, but Mrs. Potts came out when I first arrived to admonish me for the time it took to get here. I dare say we’ll be getting a bad rap around their gossip table.”

So it was the same Mrs. Potts. I had no doubt she was already aware of my presence here, and that I’d be quizzed about it on Tuesday when we opened again. “There won’t be anything bad said—not if they want their usual coffee and cake.”

“I suspect the decision as to whether they prefer gossip over your cakes will be a very tough one for them to make.” Byron returned his gaze to Aiden. “You want me to dare the lioness’s den and grab a statement from Ms. Jenkins?”

Aiden shook his head. “I’ll do it once I talk to Ciara. Head home, and I’ll update you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, boss.” He nodded at me and then walked away, whistling softly as he headed for his car.

Aiden glanced at me. “Ready to confront whatever mess lies inside?”

“Whatever lies inside is not going to be anywhere near as stomach churning as a wolf that’s been skinned.”

“Which is something I’d really like to believe, but after the events of the last couple of months, I’m not sure we’ll ever be able to say that with certainty.”

“We will. It’ll just take a couple of years before the darker forces realize the wellspring is protected and there’s no point coming here.”

“A statement I don’t find comforting.”

He led the way across the parched-looking lawn. Once we’d put on the disposable shoe protectors either Byron or Ci

ara had dumped near the door, we entered the house. It was as basic on the inside as it was on the outside—there was a central hall off which there were a number of rooms, and what appeared to be a combined kitchen-living area at the far end. The air ran with hints of lavender and orange and was almost too warm, but there was no immediate sense of evil or death. Which didn’t mean anything—there were plenty of supernatural beings clever enough to conceal their presence from psychics like me. But I had no sense of a ghost, either, and that meant this death had been ordained. Unless, of course, said ghost hovered over his body. Many of them did in those initial few hours—some because they couldn’t accept what had happened, others because the manner of their death confined them to a certain area. Despite what many non-witch textbooks might say, there really were no set rules when it came to either ghosts or shades.

Aiden walked into the second room on the right. Ciara was examining a wound on the victim’s arm but glanced up as we entered. Like Aiden, she was tall and rangy in build, with short blonde hair that gleamed silver under the room’s rather bright light, and eyes that were a deep blue rather than the usual amber of a werewolf. But then, the O’Connor pack were gray wolves, a color that tended to be somewhat rare amongst Australian packs. Most were brown, red, or black; the O’Connors ran the full gamut from silvery white to a blond so dark it was almost brown.

The bedroom was basic and rather unromantic, although the patches in the plasterwork suggested they’d been in the process of doing it up. Aside from the queen-sized bed, there were two rather ratty-looking bedside tables—one of which was stacked high with romance novels—and a couple of freestanding wooden wardrobes that had also seen better days. The air here was even hotter than in the hall, and it had my “other” senses prickling. That heat wasn’t the result of a long week of above-average temperatures, of that I was sure. There was something to be found here—maybe not in this room, but definitely in the house itself.

“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?”