Blood and Kisses - By Karin Shah Page 0,38
smell was worse. Poole had already left, unable to stand the stench for another moment. She wondered if he were outside, puking on those Italian shoes he favored. And they said women were the weaker sex. She swallowed, regaining her equilibrium through sheer willpower. She couldn’t afford to vomit. The men she worked with would never let her live it down.
The crime scene investigators had already done their work, but she stepped gingerly into the room for a better look, placing her feet with care.
The body had been removed. Unlike the others, this was the first they’d found inside. And despite the blood spatter, it had already been determined through blood typing that the victim had been killed elsewhere and brought to this location, a derelict house in a neighborhood that had long since finished the treacherous slide into decay. Was the murderer changing his pattern? She should be so lucky. A pattern killer whose pattern changed often got sloppy.
Like the others, the vic had been drained of blood. So the sixty-four thousand dollar question was, whose blood spattered the dingy walls? A sample would be sent out for DNA comparison, but she held little hope it would yield results. The average person rarely showed up on a DNA database, and without DNA to compare to the sample...
Cole started as her cell phone broke the eerie silence. “Cole here.” She nodded as she recognized her boss’ voice. “Sergeant Bryant,” she said in greeting.
“We’ve identified the latest victim. Her name is Dorrie Thompson. She worked at the Bell, Book, and Candle.”
Cole snorted. “Big surprise.”
“There’s more. We just found another body of a young girl in the High Falls District. Looks like your perp has struck twice.”
“We’ll be there.” Cole shook her head and closed her phone against her thigh. Was the smell getting worse? Probably. No doubt the result of the last evening sun heating the house through the boarded-up windows. A sudden sound spun her toward the door. The creak and pop of the elderly floorboards set every nerve on end. Someone climbing the stairs, or the normal cries of a settling house?
“Poole?”
“I’ve called you here because we all have a stake in this,” Heath said to the crowd in his living room. He ran a hand over his bare scalp. Witches and mages packed the cozy space. Those that didn’t fit on the furniture, or the rows of metal folding chairs he had set up, lined the walls.
“Is that a pun?” a gray-haired witch named Karla Gibson asked. Her creased face folded into an ironic smile.
He ignored the remark and the vampire jokes that followed on its heels, his face a mask of displeasure. Slowly the occupants of the room seemed to pick up on his anger and the laughter faded. Outside the window, the red evening sun went behind a cloud and the room felt suddenly dark and cold. A young witch in the front row rubbed her arms as if to warm them. A June bug pitched its tiny body against the light fixture in the ceiling, intermittently clicking on impact and droning as it fell back and made another attempt to penetrate the glass.
A young mage wearing a rock concert T-shirt spoke into the unnatural hush. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. It’s not like the vampire is a danger to us.”
“Of course, he’s a danger to us.” Karla shifted in her chair. “Don’t you see that if the pettys knew that vampires were real and a threat, they might realize that witches are real, as well?”
The young man rolled his eyes. “This isn’t the sixteen hundreds.”
“Sixteen hundreds, two thousands. People don’t change.”
“She’s right.” Heath shook his head, and took a few steps closer to the blue-jeaned mage, hazel eyes intense under his heavy brows. “It’s human nature to destroy what’s different. We’ve survived out in the open because the pettys no longer believe in magic.”
He scanned the diverse crowd. Seeing the comprehension on the faces before him, he switched gears, strolling back to the center of the room where everyone could see him.
“We’ve always had a Champion. And no one can argue that the Champions we’ve had in the past have been witches and mages of remarkable power and insight.” A wave of nods circled the room, but perhaps quashed by the stern expression on his face, no one said a word. “We have grave doubts about the present Champion, however, and that, as you know, is one of the reasons for