But what about my unconscious powers? Those I used on an almost daily basis—mostly to get information from suspects. But they also impacted every situation I ran across that involved other people. I couldn’t be separated from the aura that differentiated me from the average sexy woman, giving me that touch of other. It was built into me, into my very DNA.
Could the witch actually be messing with that part of the succubus power as well?
I stopped spinning, an abrupt wave of nausea washing over me. Even the idea of taking the powers of another person was sickening. Might as well take their skin and wear it like some sort of creepy serial killer. Only not as obvious, and infinitely more difficult to trace.
How could such a witch be tracked down? The Covenant wouldn’t give us any information about members without an ironclad warrant, and no way would a judge give us one that would encompass the entire organization’s roster. Chances were the witch wasn’t Covenant, anyway. They monitored their members too closely.
I swallowed the last of my ginger ale and tossed the can into the trash bin next to my desk.
A group of witches made sense. They would have more power than a single witch, and if they were led by some sort of twisted magical genius...
I frowned. Grabbing my bag, a feeling of dread and dismay overwhelmed me. Was it possible? I took out the single file remaining in my bag. Astrid’s case.
An otherworlder had been burned by either a witch or a salamander or a firebird—but most likely a group of witches. How likely was it that more than one powerful witch, or group of them, was running around Chicago?
Could the cases be connected?
Costa looked little worse for wear the next morning, and in fact, appeared annoyingly well rested. He sat across from me in the booth of my favorite breakfast place and flashed me a hesitant smile before nodding at the waitress when she asked if he wanted coffee.
“My, aren’t we perky,” I muttered bitterly.
That got me a real smile, which I promptly glared at.
“Not much rest, huh?”
I shrugged and he nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have expected you to.”
The waitress delivered my hot water and an array of teas, along with Costa’s coffee.
“What can I get y’all?” she asked.
“Fruit and yogurt. Oatmeal,” I said.
“Give me your ham and cheese omelet.” Costa gave the waitress his menu and took a sip of his coffee.
“So,” I said, plopping an Earl Grey tea bag into the hot water. “I have a theory.”
“Oh?” His eyebrows rose.
I pulled my tea bag in and out of the hot water. “Well, not exactly a theory; let’s call it a loose idea.”
He snorted. “Okay, what is it?”
“Astrid and I have a case—well, it’s really her and Claude’s case, but he’s out of town so I’ve been helping her.” How to explain it? The theory had sounded so reasonable to my muddled brain the night before, and it still made sense. But getting it out in a way that didn’t sound nuts was difficult. “Remains have been found, but they’re so badly burned they required Astrid’s skill as a sensitive to even be able to identify them as otherworlder.
The person who was burning them seems to have done a marvelous job. If they hadn’t been interrupted, the body probably wouldn’t have been identifiable as human within a few more minutes.”
His grip tightened around his coffee cup ever so slightly. “Yes, I remember the case. And?”
“And after consulting a witch, we’ve narrowed down the species that could do that sort of thing—there aren’t many.”
I took a sip of my tea and watched him over the rim.
He was tense, almost imperceptibly, but it was there. Were there other things he wasn’t telling me? Did this fit some theory he already had, some evidence he’d already found?
“We’ve narrowed it down to a very powerful witch, a salamander, or a group of less-powerful witches. A firebird or shaman is also a possibility, but they’re a little less likely. The scene was too neat for a firebird, and our witch source thinks that a shaman probably wouldn’t be strong enough.”
His jaw clenched tightly but he kept his expression only vaguely interested.
I watched him closely. “A powerful witch is unlikely, and salamanders aren’t uncommon. She thinks it’s likely a group of witches. Maybe the same group that’s kidnapping these succubi.”
A hint of amusement touched his features. “Your witch hasn’t met that many shamans, apparently.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’ve met a few through cases I’ve worked on. They can be pretty damn powerful. But no Covenant witch is going to want to admit how powerful they can be. It’s a matter of pride.” He rubbed his face. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see how the cases could be related. Just because the same group or person might— might—be capable of both crimes doesn’t connect them. It’s a huge reach.”
We fell into silence for a few minutes. He ignored my glares, and I tried to think through my theory. It fit. Sure, it wasn’t ironclad, but that didn’t mean we shouldn’t explore it. Finally, the waitress broke our standoff as she delivered his omelet and my healthier meal.
I tried to drop the subject, but it pressed against my mind, my tongue. And Costa seemed to be enjoying his omelet far too much for how angry I was. “What do you mean, that’s a huge reach?” I hissed. “When the list of potential suspects is so small, and both crimes are happening in my city at the same time, that’s a good reason to think they might be connected.” I scooped up a bite of fruit and glared. Granted, there was only a small chance that the crimes were connected, but even a small chance was too enticing to ignore when we had so few leads. Besides, that didn’t make the theory a huge reach.
A stretch, sure. But he was making it sound like I was grasping at straws.
“I mean that it’s a reach. Sorry, Marisol, but it is.” He took a sip of his coffee and then looked down at his omelet.
I didn’t reply, and instead ate my oatmeal on autopilot while trying to think. This wasn’t a silly lead—and if it was a reach, it wasn’t an outlandish one. Heck, we didn’t have any other great leads to follow.
“You don’t want to follow up on this because you really don’t see a possible connection, or because it might get one of your buddies in trouble?” I asked. I knew Costa couldn’t be directly involved, the dates just didn’t line up.
He wasn’t in Chicago in time to have burned our victim in the alley.
He let out a short laugh. “Yes, because all salamanders know each other. Just like you know all the other succubi.”
I waved my hand. “Point taken. Okay, if you don’t think there’s a connection, maybe you could still help me out.”
“Do tell.”
“How difficult would this be for a salamander?
Burning a body—bones and teeth and all—in a couple of hours.”
He leaned back in the booth and sipped his coffee.
“Not easy. I’m not sure I could do it, and I’m no slouch in the fire production department,” he said, voice matter of fact. No arrogance touched his tone. Interesting.
“Salamanders are like most oh-dubs. They vary in power and ability. Me, for example…”
“What about you?”
“I’m pretty strong in the fire creation area—probably ninety-fifth percentile, if one measured such things. But I have very low resistance to fire.”
I raised an eyebrow at that and took a sip of my tea.
“Oh, I’m not saying I’m quite as susceptible as a human, but I’m pretty weak compared to other salamanders.” He leaned forward and stared at me with his dark and intense gaze. “If you light me on fire…”
My breath caught in my throat. Realizing I was leaning toward him, I grimaced and moved back. “So you burn.”
“Yes, which is depressing for someone so good at making fire.” Amusement traced his expression and I barely refrained from rolling my eyes at him like Elaine had done to me so much lately.
“Sorry that your pyromaniacism is so limited.”
The mock sadness that touched his expression made me grin. I finished my breakfast and drank the rest of my tea.
Costa glanced at his watch. “We need to get going.”
“Where to?”
“I got us an appointment,” Costa said. The waitress took the bill along with Costa’s credit card. I tossed some cash on the table for the tip and made a mental note to cover our next meal.
“An appointment, huh? Sounds nefarious. With whom?”
“The local head vampire. The Magister.”
Chapter Seven
Costa drove his rental while I played with his radio and thermostat settings. He glanced at me a few times, and even though it was difficult to see his expression behind his sunglasses, I would have sworn there was amusement in his eyes, despite his annoyed tone when he asked exactly how old I was, and if I really thought a woman so close to thirty should play with buttons like a twelve-year-old.
By the time we reached our destination, I was playing with the buttons for the express purpose of annoying him.
“Okay, put your big girl pants on,” he said as he pulled up next to a large building that was under construction.
The skeleton of the building was incomplete, and men worked on the ground to put together large steel frames.
I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him, and grinned, instead. “Do you really think the Magister is going to know anything useful? Not like the man manages his own operations, and I’m pretty sure whoever was in charge of that St. Louis fiasco is…retired. Vampire-style.”
I glanced at the building material–ridden piles around us.
“And why are we meeting him at a construction site?”
“It’s worth a shot to see if he’s rented any warehouses in Chicago.” He took a deep breath and intoned, “And we’re meeting him here because apparently, one meets the Magister wherever the Magister will deign to meet.”
