Blood Magic by Laken Cane

Chapter One

I shoved my expensive, extremely comfortable chair back and stood, walking away from my new desk. I turned in a circle, studying my office, slightly awed.

Mayor Hedrick had given me this office in downtown Jakeston, along with two employees whom he was determined to pay until I started making real money. One of the employees was muscle—he stood in the outer office or walked around the building—both inside and out—prowling and scowling, and probably hoping someone would try to cause me harm so he’d have an excuse to pummel them with his mighty fists.

His name was Joe Patrick and I believed he was ex-military. Just something about the way he carried himself. He didn’t tell me anything about his past and I didn’t ask. He wasn’t the talkative sort. He was around six feet three inches tall, bald, and bulky with muscle. Lucy was in love—lust, rather—and made sure to drop by at least once a day with a box of pastries for me, she claimed, though more often than not the box was nearly empty before it found its way to my office because she stopped and offered them to Joe first. Apparently, he liked to eat nearly as much as I did.

The other employee was a guy named Max Pepper. Despite the fact that he was either my age or a year or two older, I had trouble thinking of him as anything but a kid. He was an odd one, awkward and cranky but sweet and funny all at the same time, and he tended to occasionally put a question mark at the end of his statements. He was my office manager/assistant/receptionist, and he seemed capable so far. Not that there was much for me to judge him on, seeing as how everything was so damn quiet.

Two weeks ago I’d been too busy to take a breath but now, it was like the city had gone to sleep. No one called me to cleanse their homes, no spirits came to visit me, and Detective Moreno had pretty much stopped talking to me since the reporters had decided he and I were having an affair. Even Lucy’s dreams, while not stopping, had no clues or locations to help us investigate them.

That’s what I was—officially now, thanks to the mayor. The discreet sign on my door proved it.

Kait Silver, Investigator of Preternatural Crimes.

My business cards stated that I specialized in cleansing services at $145 an hour. There was no mention of speaking with the dead or finding kidnapping victims, because I would have been overrun by desperate people and quite possibly picked up by government officials and taken to a secret lab hidden somewhere remote and scary.

Even though I consulted with the police at times, only one cop really knew what I did, and he would never talk about me. He barely even talked to me these days. Probably for the best.

There were other offices in this huge, tall building, but I hadn’t introduced myself to my neighbors. The building housed attorneys and CPAs and even a bank, and they looked askance at a “medium” or “psychic” or whatever they were calling me taking an office in their building, but so far, none of them had approached me.

Max said he heard a group of people talking about thewitch who’d moved in, and the next day, Lucy said she heard the word ghostbusters three times before she made it from the main entrance to our space.

It was sort of funny, really.

I kept late hours mainly because I’d long ago gotten into the habit of working when it was dark and sleeping at least until noon or later, depending on my night. Also, supernatural trouble seemed to come mostly at night. Still, I managed to make it to the office around three or four p.m. so there was a bit of overlap in the time when I arrived and the others left.

I hurried back to my desk when my phone buzzed, hoping the call was for something more interesting than Lucy bringing donuts. “A Mr. Paul Ferguson wonders if you might have time to see him without an appointment?” Max said.

“Uh, yeah,” I told him. “I do seem to have some free time on my hands.” I wondered if he could hear my eyes rolling. “Send him in.”

I stood when the door opened and Max showed Paul Ferguson in. “Can I get you some coffee or a cold beverage?” he asked, before withdrawing.

“No, thanks,” Ferguson said.

“Please,” I said, gesturing at one of the chairs in front of my desk. “What can I do for you, Mr. Ferguson?”

“Paul,” he told me. He fell silent, staring at his hands, apparently trying to decide what to say.

I studied him while he groped with his decisions, noticing the bags under his eyes, the trembling of his fingers, and the way his clothes were a couple sizes too large, as though he’d recently lost weight.

Finally, he lifted his stare to mine. “A vampire took my wife.”

The words rushed out and even as he spoke them he flinched with embarrassment. He darted his stare away and half stood, then with a hopeless look around the room, he sank back down onto his chair. “I’m not insane, Ms. Silver.” But his words were whispered, and he wouldn’t look at me.

I flipped open a notebook and grabbed a pen. “Did you see him take her? Start at the beginning and tell me everything.” I poised my pen over the paper and waited. “And I’ll need a description, Paul. Everything you can think of. Height, weight, hair color…”

“I can show you,” he said, tentatively pulling his phone from his pocket. “I got pictures.”

I gaped at him for a few seconds, then began laughing. Oh, the awesomeness of modern tech. He laughed with me, and for the first time since he’d entered my office the stiffness left his body and the hopelessness left his eyes.

I gave him my number. “Send everything you have to my phone.”

“You’ll take the case, then?” he asked.

I was happy to see that the dullness had left his eyes. “Yes. My assistant will go over my rates with you, and you’ll have the option of—”

“I don’t care what it costs, Ms. Silver. It’ll be worth everything I have to get Brenda back. It’s worth it just to have someone believe me.” He hesitated, then met my stare. “You do believe me?”

“Absolutely, I believe you. Most humans don’t understand such things exist because they never have to face them. I’m sorry you and your wife were forced to.”

He pressed his lips together. “Thank you.”

“Tell me about Brenda. How would she have gotten noticed by vampires? Usually, they go after the homeless, runaways, people who won’t be believed even if they remember they were bled by a monster.” I took a minute to calm myself as my temper began to rise. Wolves and vampires were natural enemies, and I was looking forward to grabbing my kill kit and going after the one who’d taken a human.

But I didn’t believe this was a rogue vampire I needed to hunt and stake. Stealing human women was not something rogues did. No vampire wanted to be noticed, but especially rogues, who didn’t have the protection or support of their clan. As a matter of fact, the clans would kill a rogue faster than I would, so it was vital for him to avoid attention.

I was going to have to meet with the vampire county master—if I could find him—and I would rather have been sprayed by a busload of skunks.

“We fell in love eight years ago.” Ferguson smiled, remembering. “I knew immediately that I’d met the love of my life. It hasn’t always been easy. She’s older than me.”

I nodded as I scribbled on my notepad. “How old is she?”

“She’s fifty-seven. Older than me by twenty-four years.” He put his phone away and crossed his arms. “Does that bother you?”

I frowned at him. “Why would it bother me?”

He shrugged. “Most people are judgmental assholes.”

“Most people should mind their business. What do the police think happened to your wife?”

“They think she left me.”

“Why?”

“Before she was taken, we’d had an argument. One of the neighbors heard Brenda say it would be best if we separated.” He rubbed his face. “God, what I wouldn’t give to be able to argue with her now.”

“What was the fight about, Mr. Ferguson?”

“Her mother, as always. The woman treats Brenda like shit, to be blunt. She beckons, Brenda runs—and gets beat up every single damn time. Oh not physically, but…” He sighed. “Her mother is a narcissist. Brenda knows it but doesn’t feel she can abandon the old bat. Her mother has no one else to torment.” He waved a hand, impatient. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve always argued about that woman. Brenda wasn’t really going to leave me and go back home to her mother. She was simply tired of being pulled and yanked by me on one end and Cheryl—her mother—on the other.”

“I’ll need Cheryl’s home address and phone number.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“I’ll need to talk to everyone, Mr. Ferguson.”

He gave it to me, but reluctantly. “Be prepared. The woman hates me.”

“I see. So she’s saying that you had something to do with her daughter’s disappearance?”

“She’s saying I killed her and disposed of the body somewhere,” he said flatly. “I loved Brenda, Ms. Silver. I would not have hurt her.”

I sat back in my chair, saying nothing. He didn’t seem to be aware that he’d spoken of his wife in past tense, as though he believed she was already dead. And maybe she was. The only thing I knew for certain was that people had secrets, and Paul Ferguson was likely no different.

“Where were you when you took the pictures?”

“In my house.”

“And the vampire?”

“Also in my house.” He clenched his fists. “She let him in. Said he was a friend from work, but I knew she was lying. I also knew she…”

“What, Mr. Ferguson?”

“She couldn’t help herself. I think she believed she was telling me the truth.”

I nodded slowly. “Why did he want in?”

“I don’t know. They didn’t talk about anything…strange. I think he simply wanted an invite in so he could come and go as he pleased.”

“What made you believe he was a vampire?”

“You’ll see in the pictures. One of them is a close-up of her neck. She was bitten and though the marks were faded, I could see them. It wasn’t just that. There were lots of things. He only came at night, he wouldn’t touch food or drink, and he had a particular look about him. Listen, Ms. Silver. This has been going on for weeks. Strange things. And always, the guy in the picture is front and center. She changed, my Brenda. I can’t say how, exactly, but…” He blew out a long breath and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

Finally, he lowered his hands, and though he looked exhausted, he also looked relieved. Someone believed him, and someone was going to help him. “I need you to bring her home to me.”

“I’ll do my best.”

After I asked a few more questions, I told him I’d be in touch and sent him out to speak with Max. And finally, I brought up the pictures he’d sent me. Would I recognize a vampire from a few images? No. I’d recognize a vampire by his scent—or by his absence of scent, I should say.

Vampires had a lot going for them when it came to avoiding detection. No scent, they were fast—some of the extremely old ones could even fly for short distances—and they were strong. Worst of all, they had the horrifying ability to “shade” their human victims. It was how they survived. They fed, but they put the humans into a state of forgetfulness for as long as the feeding lasted. The human would not remember being bitten. They wouldn’t remember having their blood sucked from their bodies. There would barely even be a wound left afterward, because the vampire licked it away. Simply licked it away. And he could make it a sexual thing, if the victim were unlucky enough, for whatever reason, to remember.

God, how I hated the parasitic monsters. I rubbed the side of my neck, shuddering, staring at the images Ferguson had sent me. The images were clear. There were three of them.

Brenda Ferguson was a small brunette with kind eyes and a wide smile. The man who sat beside her was slender, well-dressed, and very pale. But it wasn’t the paleness that told me he was a vampire. Not all vampires were pale, of course.

It was the look Paul Ferguson had captured in his eyes. That dead, yet somehow feral look that most vampires carried. They hid it well, but when caught unaware—by a sneaky photographer, for instance—a person could see something savage and ancient deep in their peculiar eyes.

Again, I shivered.

Fuckers.

“What the hell,” I whispered, “did you want with Brenda Ferguson, you son of a bitch?”

“I’m here with cookies,” I heard Lucy announce, and then I heard an instant flurry of activity as both Max and Joe were all about the cookies.

I got up and jogged from my office, not because of the cookies—though I’d certainly be getting my hands on those puppies before the two men gobbled them up—but because I needed to ask Ferguson a question before he left.

I gave my dog a quick pat as I jogged past him. Lucy brought him each time she came, and he was quite spoiled by all of us. I’d kept him at work with me a couple of times, but if I needed to take off to chase bad guys, I didn’t want to have to take him into danger with me. “Mr. Ferguson,” I called, and he turned at the door to wait for me.

“I had a question while you’re here.”

“Okay.”

“What did this man say to you? What did he talk to you about?”

“That’s the thing, Ms. Silver. He never spoke a word to me, not even when I said something to him. He completely ignored me, as though I were a fly buzzing around and he couldn’t be bothered—not even in my own house.”

“Did you ever—”

“Get pissed and slug the asshole?” He didn’t wait for my nod. “Only once. I shoved him, and it was like shoving a tree. He turned and looked at me, and I have to tell you, I nearly pissed myself. I called the police once, as well. Brenda was completely puzzled and very annoyed. She told them he was a friend and apparently her husband believed he owned her and she could not have male friends. I’m sure they were laughing at me as they left.”

I let him go, then, and walked back into the reception area to grab a couple of cookies before they were all gone.

I had a new case to solve, and that made me happy.

And hungry.