Dead in the Water (Gemini: A Black Dog Series Book 1) Read online

  “She kept an eye on me while I recovered.” I kicked off my shoes. “Thanks to her—” and the warg I was most definitely not mentioning, “—I’m back at one hundred percent.”

  “I’m so proud of you,” she gushed. “You ought to invite her to come home with you for a visit.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, grateful she couldn’t see me. “She’s busy with that case I’ve been working.”

  “Well, when you two figure out who done it, she’ll be ready for a vacation.” Aunt Dot was already party-planning in her head. I could tell. “At least ask her, all right?”

  “I will,” I promised, knowing I would wiggle out of it later with a flimsy excuse.

  “When should I expect you home?” The sound of a screen door slamming would have told me she had taken the call outside even if the burst of katydid song hadn’t filled the line. “There’s no rush, mind you. I’m keeping an eye on your place and keeping your plants watered. I just like to know where my girl is when she isn’t home where I can watch after her.”

  Being called her girl made my chest tighten. She was more of a mother to me than my own had been in the years since Lori died. I didn’t know where Mom and Dad were, and I wasn’t going to ask. I hadn’t seen them in five years and hadn’t gotten a card from them in three. Aunt Dot blamed the postal service and us being on the road so often, but we had lived in Three Way for a whole year. I knew the truth, even if she didn’t want to accept it or for me to have to face it.

  “I should probably let you go.” I eyed the clock, and my stomach gurgled. “I’m about to order a late dinner and head to bed.”

  “You should have eaten hours ago,” she chastised. “Maybe you should give me the number for that friend of yours, so I can tell her to keep a closer eye on you.”

  What Aunt Dot meant was she wanted Harlow’s contact information so she could keep a closer eye on me.

  I crossed my fingers, glad she couldn’t see. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good girl.”

  I didn’t have to fake a yawn to sell how tired I still was. “Night-night.”

  “Sleep tight,” she sang. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

  I ended the call in a much better place than when it started. I even shot off a quick text to Isaac, letting him know I had finally spoken to his mom and that I would update him with my travel itinerary once I had flight times nailed down for my trip home. I didn’t wait for a response. He wasn’t a text-you-back kind of guy.

  I was right back to debating the merits of a late-night burger over a slow-roasted pork sandwich when staccato knocks had me tossing the menu aside for a second time. More cautious now, I approached the door and peeked through the hole. The quick uptick in my pulse at the sight of Graeson drew his attention to the fisheye lens. Coincidence. Had to be. His hearing wasn’t that acute. Was it? There was no going back now. I opened the door.

  “Graeson.” Determination not to be the first one who mentioned food had my fingers tightening on the doorknob. “Did you forget your room number?”

  “No.” He traced the long groove in the doorframe until he tapped the brassy strike plate with a fingertip. “I remembered yours.”

  “Nice line.” I braced my palm against the doorframe, barring him from entering the room until I decided whether to let him in. “Catch many fish with that one?”

  He feigned a wince while rotating his shoulder. “Sorry, old reeling injury. It acts up from time to time.”

  “You sure are corny for a warg.” I peered at him through narrowed eyes. “Are you sure you’re not a deer shifter or something? I don’t have a salt lick, but I’ve got a packet of salt in the bottom of my purse. I think. Maybe that was silica.”

  For a second I thought he would laugh at my weak joke and that maybe I might join in, because I was proud of having made one, but I saw the moment guilt wiped the budding grin from his mouth.

  “She would want you to smile.” How many times had Aunt Dot used that line on me? Too many. I heard its echo every time I wanted to laugh but didn’t. “She wouldn’t want you to feel guilty for moving on with your life.”

  A frown marred his forehead. “Did you move on?”

  “I’m still here.” Few people outside our breed understood the enormity of that.

  “Isn’t this the part where you spout more BS about keeping my chin up or something?”

  “Would that make you feel better?”

  “No.”

  “Then here’s the truth. The condolences get stuck in your head after a while, a string of pep talks and well wishes that loops.” My arm dropped. “The phrases don’t change. Only the faces of the people saying them do.”

  “I like you, Ellis.” The tightness around his mouth eased. “You’re authentic.”

  “There are worse labels,” I joked halfheartedly. “How did your meeting with the local wargs go?”

  “As well as can be expected.” He shrugged. “Our packs aren’t allied. Visiting to pay my respects to their alpha was a formality to preserve the peace. That’s all.”

  I smoothed my expression. “So what brings you by so late?”

  “I wanted to ask for your help.” The last shreds of possibility that he had just been running late for dinner tore away and fluttered to the carpet where his shifting feet ground my fragile hope to dust. “I think you’re the only one who can.”

  His earnestness plucked at my conscience, and I found myself asking, “What do you need?”

  His large body crowded mine, his voice pitched low. “Can we move this somewhere more private?”

  I thumped my forehead against the door. It didn’t shake loose a new verdict. Apparently I was decided. “Come inside.” He shifted his weight, and I noticed the strap of a bag he hadn’t had the last time I saw him hooked over one of his shoulders. “What is that?”

  He patted the satchel. “Evidence.”

  What could he have found that I didn’t already have access to? And where had he gotten it? Not from unallied wargs, so who? Clearly there were missing links. After all, Vause had sat in this very room and asked me not to file a report on the incident in Wink. I hadn’t realized Graeson had those kinds of connections. A shiver skipped down my spine, and I stepped to one side, ushered him inside and turned the lock.

  “You brought it with you?” Exasperation trumped my trepidation. “You were that confident I would want to know?”

  “You’re a mess of conflicting emotions.” He tapped his nose. “I can smell it.”

  “I thought I smelled like grief.”

  “You do. Sometimes.” He slung his bag onto the sofa where Vause had sat and dropped down beside it, nose wrinkling as he inhaled, probably the anti-bac lingering in the air. “But you smell different now than you did when we met. Something is bothering you. It’s more than what Vause subjected you to. You’re second-guessing yourself. Doubt carries a pungent scent.”

  “Maybe I am having doubts,” I allowed, gesturing toward his satchel. “Does that mean you still want to trust me with this?”

  “Yes.” No hint of hesitation. “If you didn’t question the system when it fails to meet your expectations, then you would either be corrupt or a sheep, and you’re neither of those. You care. You proved that in the interrogation room today. Otherwise you sure as hell wouldn’t subject yourself to Vause’s machinations.”

  Since I considered myself a decent agent, most days, I didn’t disabuse him of the notion. I did plop into the chair across from him while he woke his computer. “Okay.” I clasped my hands. “Let me have it.”

  “I fed the coordinates of each crime scene into an online mapping program.” He spun his laptop on his knees so we both had a clear view of the screen. Graeson had made the connection between the crime scenes faster than I had, but he was coming in late and had access to months’ worth of intel. “There’s a pattern.”

  “There have been attacks in Arkansas, Missouri, Illinois, Kentucky, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia and now Alabam
a,” I agreed, tracing my finger from point to point. “The deaths are occurring clockwise across the map.” I tapped the state we both currently occupied. “There is no Alabama victim. Elizabeth McKenna escaped.” I slid my finger left. “That means if the conclave wants to get ahead of Charybdis, we have two chances left. We can pick him up here in Falco if he tries again…”

  “…or in Mississippi,” he finished the thought.

  “The question is: what does the pattern mean?” I ran my finger from dot to dot a second time. “I don’t know much about spellwork, but that looks like a circle to me, and those are building blocks for all kinds of powerful magic.”

  “Kelpies are magic. They can’t practice it. Not like witches and sentient fae do.” His gaze went distant. “Animals don’t have the same capacity for spellwork as other fae or even mortals.”

  “So is the shape random, making Charybdis the kelpie?” I tread carefully, fully aware of the prickle in my lips as I skated close to the boundaries of my oath. “Or is the circle intentional, and Charybdis is a fae or witch who’s harnessed the beast in order to keep their hands clean?”

  One thing was certain. I needed to see the surveillance video Thierry had mentioned, even if I had to fly back to Wink to do it. She was certain a humanoid fae had exited the portal from Faerie, and it had the ability to become intangible. Neither of those things explained how the kelpie got involved. I had to see that tape. I was missing something.

  Graeson canted his head, studying me, and I wondered if he scented the spell humming over my skin. “What do you think?”

  “The methodology is too precise to be coincidental.” I didn’t believe it was random animal behavior for a second. “The murders happen like clockwork. I’ve kept a bag packed by the door because I knew when to expect the call.” He encouraged me by leaning forward. “The victims are taken weeks in advance from when their bodies are found. Wink was a mistake. That wasn’t his kill. Which means the schedule remained intact until the McKenna girl escaped. He would have taken her—” I battled down nausea, “—and held her captive until it was time to kill her and leave the body where it would be discovered.”

  “You think he wants the bodies to be found,” Graeson mused. “Yet Charybdis chooses secluded areas for his kills.”

  “The victims could have gone for weeks, maybe months without being discovered. Yet the conclave is right on top of them, almost like they know where he’ll strike next.” I held up a finger. “Or like he’s telling them where to look. He wouldn’t be the first serial killer to crave the notoriety. By using remote locations and then tattling to the fae authorities, he would keep humans out of it.”

  “Assuming he cares about involving humans,” he interjected.

  Most of Faerie gave about as much consideration to humans as humans did to fleas on a stray cat. Meticulous or not, I doubted Charybdis cared whether mortals or their authorities took notice of his body of work. Based on the assumption he was the fae from the portal, I was betting it was recognition from his own kind that he craved.

  “The circle…” His gaze sharpened on the laptop’s screen. “Maybe he does need those bodies found. Maybe it’s part of the ritual.”

  The thought had occurred to me, but he seemed more informed in spellwork than I was. “What do you mean?”

  “Spells of that scope are often underpinned by sympathetic magic rather than drawing direct from a practitioner. Encircling an entire state is ambitious. Drawing that much power from a single individual would kill them, but Charybdis doesn’t shy away from murder.” He appeared to ponder that. “Each death might work as an anchor point to the spell. The sacrifice might be enough to nudge the spell into consciousness. It would become self-sustaining. It would feed on the outrage and the anger, even the grief generated from that death by using the site as a focal point.”

  “The spell would feed itself?” I shivered, and it wasn’t because the central air had kicked on in my room. “That means discovery would be a critical point in the process. Perhaps not vanity but necessity.” He began massaging his jaw, scratching at his bristles, and I got the feeling he was stalling. “What’s wrong?”

  A few taps of his fingers zoomed in on the state caught in the middle of the circle. “You’ve got family in Tennessee, right?”

  “Yes.” It was a matter of public record, and I had told Harlow, so it wasn’t surprising Graeson knew too.

  “That doesn’t worry you?” He slid his finger along the route of the crime scenes, like a secondary pattern might emerge if he retraced the path often enough. “Once that circle is completed, it will enclose your home state.”

  “I’m keeping an eye on it,” I assured him. “Right now we have no reason to believe the residents are in any danger.”

  Setting the circle was ambitious, sure, and creating a magical anchor that was self-sustaining was mind-boggling, yes, but closing a spell that enormous? It would require a level of power unseen in this realm. Until we had reason to believe it could be done, asking my family to vacate their home of the past twelve months felt premature. Isaac wouldn’t mind, and Aunt Dot was itching to buy into a new zip code, but I kept dragging my heels. Requesting a new assignment wasn’t the issue. The Earthen Conclave couldn’t deny me because Gemini were drifters by nature, and they were all about accommodating the inherent needs of the fae species in their employ. What bogged me down was the unexpected pleasure I got from always knowing where to book my flights, always knowing where to go when a job ended. Putting in for a transfer meant packing up and moving. Again. It meant leaving behind all the good memories attached to our current location.

  Three Way was starting to feel like more than a pad of concrete where I parked my trailer. It almost felt like…home.

  Graeson grunted, drawing my attention back to him. “How do you know so much about spellwork?”

  “My brother-in-law’s a witch.” A few taps on his phone’s screen pulled up an image of a slender man with tan skin and black hair wearing a bored expression standing with his legs spread and arms held out to his sides. Children dangled from each of his limbs as though he were a living jungle gym. A curvy woman with the same hazel eyes as Graeson stood in the background. She covered her mouth while she laughed. “His opinions can’t be included in any official record since the conclave most likely wouldn’t hire him, even as a consultant, because of his pack affiliation, but he’s a coven leader. The man knows his magic. He’s volunteered to help with what comes next.”

  “What’s that exactly?” I asked hesitantly.

  “You lied to me and to Marshal Comeaux,” he said casually, as though he hadn’t just been inquiring about my family. The accusation punched me in the gut. I didn’t see it coming. I should have. I knew he hadn’t forgiven or forgotten that small fact. “You touched Marie.” A few more clicks. “I saw what you did with the McKenna girl. You knew her species after holding her hand.” He glanced up, and our eyes met. “What else can you tell?”

  My lips compressed into a stubborn line. When he said he had evidence to gain entrance to my room, I hadn’t realized he meant against me.

  “Conclave purse strings are tight from what I hear.” Click. Click. Click. Thick fingers punished the keyboard. “The only way the conclave is footing the bill to fly you around the country for this case instead of hiring local talent is if you’re providing a service no one else can. At least not all in one package.”

  “Classification is a rare talent.”

  “That’s not the service I mean.”

  The blood rushed from my face and left my lips as cold as the underbelly of a glacier. The backs of my knees hit the edge of the chair and buckled. I sat down hard and couldn’t get my feet under me even though I wanted to put as much distance as possible between us. “You mean Lori.”

  His absence suddenly made a lot more sense. While I was napping, he must have been doing his research, plotting the second he understood the breadth of my talent. His eagerness to use me shouldn’t have stung. He had a
ll but told me at breakfast he was tending what he saw as an asset. Lucky him, his short-term investment had paid off the second I walked into that interrogation room.

  “We’re tracking a fae who’s murdering children.” He made it sound as if it was his case, like he was doing me a favor by explaining things. “This possibility must have crossed your mind.”

  “No.” I gripped the armrests and sank my nails into the pleather. “I can honestly say the thought of using my dead sister as bait to catch a serial killer never crossed my mind. Not even once.”

  I spent hours a day careful not to think about her, so no, even as freely as I offered my other services, I had never considered using Lori. Not once. Not ever. She was a private torment made public by necessity, and that was my mistake. “I’m not some menu you can order services from.” Rage trembled in my fingers. “Magistrate Vause—”

  “Don’t try to defend her.” Gold devoured his irises until his eyes were shimmering pools of gilded rage. “I stood right beside her in that blacked-out room and watched the fucked-up show she orchestrated.” A snarl entered his voice. “What she did to you was cruel, and do you know how she felt when you walked into the room? Smug.” The laptop made a popping sound where his fingers dented the plastic. “She sprang it on you without warning because she knew you would balk, she knew you would never consider using that gift yourself, and she exploited your pain. You were suffering in front of an audience while she patted herself on the back at a job well done.”

  “Magistrates are sidhe nobles. They come from power and influence, and they’re ruthless.” Anyone who had crossed one wore the scars. I had several myself. “Vause isn’t going to offer me a teddy bear or a plate of fried potatoes for doing what she views as my job, and I don’t expect her to.”

  “Then why do you smell so wounded?” His gaze cooled until his eyes were hazel once again. “Are you hurt because I pulled the blinders off your eyes?”

  My thoughts were a runaway train of regret. I wanted you to be different. I wanted an uncomplicated meal with a handsome guy without an agenda. I wanted you to like me for me, not for what I can do for you. I had been a fool to forget, even for a second, that he entered my life when Marie exited his. Her passing linked us, not a mutual like or respect, but a job. One he expected me to do no matter the cost. I didn’t know how to put any of that into words, so I didn’t try. “I think you should leave.”