Read Online Heartache (The Twenty-Sided Sorceress Book 5) by Annie Bellet - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Annie Bellet
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cause. I’ve been on this job too long to judge things by their reputation anymore. And the worst I’ve seen? It was done by humans to humans. The normals do more damage to themselves than the supernatural ever could.”
Supernaturals could be pretty damn bad, but I didn’t say that aloud. I thought about Bernard Barnes and the rotting wolves he’d been magically freezing and using as batteries, and shivered, rubbing my hands along my arms. The latex gloves snagged on my sleeves weirdly and reminded me I was at a crime scene. Sitting in a house with a dead woman who used to hate me.
“So the wire, you said it was magic?” Hattie said after a couple of silent minutes.
“It was when he used it on… my friend.” I had trouble getting Steve’s name out. It felt too real to say it aloud, like invoking his death. “I tried to get in the way, and it went right through me. I think it has to be driven by his power, and only works on the target. Made my throat raw as hell, though—I could barely talk for hours.”
“Tried to get in the way? So he threw it, not used it like a garrote?”
“Yeah, it just flew through the air.” I touched my neck. “Right through me.”
“He could have killed you then?” Hattie had her inscrutable cop face back on.
“I think so,” I said. I hadn’t mentioned Wolf. No point even trying to explain that part. It didn’t matter. I’d been so weak, so distraught. I’d almost wanted to die just so it would end. Not a thought I wanted to dwell on in that moment. Or ever.
“He said he wasn’t ‘bored enough yet,’” I added. I caught her gaze with mine and leaned forward. “He’s evil, detective. Pure selfish evil.”
Salazar came down the stairs with an annoyed look on his face. He waved off our questioning glances and pressed his lips together. “Let’s get the coroner in to handle the scene. Crime scene folk have arrived, too. Is there any magic around we should be aware of?”
I pulled on my magic, letting my senses stretch out. The broken wards were fainter now. I sensed none of Samir’s sickly sweet magic.
“I think it’s safe,” I said.
Hattie let the deputy and coroner back in. She started questioning the deputy about the scene while Salazar looked around for Peggy’s phone. I hung out in the kitchen, feeling useless and tired. I decided to call Harper and went to get my phone from my jacket where it was hung in the hall. I would see if Alek was back yet, and make sure everyone was okay, but as I pulled out my phone, Hattie reappeared with the deputy in tow.
“What was the name of that friend of the victim’s?” she asked.
“Joyce Summers, I think, why?” I slid my phone into my jeans pocket. Please don’t say she’s dead, please don’t say she’s dead, please don’t say it .
“Yeah, that’s the one,” the deputy said, running a hand through thinning his thinning hair.
“She’s the next-door neighbor. She’s over there right now waiting to give an official statement,” Hattie said. “Joyce Summers is the one who found the body.”
Joyce Summers wasn’t someone I’d said more than four or five words to in all the years I’d been in Wylde, but I’d known who she was because of my dealings with Vivian Lake, the local vet, and because Harper had a serious soft spot for stray animals. Joyce was in her fifties, with brown hair that was too evenly colored to have gotten that brown by natural means and skin so pale the veins in her cheeks showed through like rivers on a map. Her eyes were puffy as she greeted us with the perfunctory stiffness of someone going into mild shock and showed us where to hang our coats.
From the smell alone, it was easy to tell that Joyce loved and owned a lot of pets, but while it was noticeable, it wasn’t that overwhelming. It smelled like a house where animals ruled with decorum, musk and coffee underlying the hint of air freshener and mint. Her house was cluttered with comfortable furniture and cat
Supernaturals could be pretty damn bad, but I didn’t say that aloud. I thought about Bernard Barnes and the rotting wolves he’d been magically freezing and using as batteries, and shivered, rubbing my hands along my arms. The latex gloves snagged on my sleeves weirdly and reminded me I was at a crime scene. Sitting in a house with a dead woman who used to hate me.
“So the wire, you said it was magic?” Hattie said after a couple of silent minutes.
“It was when he used it on… my friend.” I had trouble getting Steve’s name out. It felt too real to say it aloud, like invoking his death. “I tried to get in the way, and it went right through me. I think it has to be driven by his power, and only works on the target. Made my throat raw as hell, though—I could barely talk for hours.”
“Tried to get in the way? So he threw it, not used it like a garrote?”
“Yeah, it just flew through the air.” I touched my neck. “Right through me.”
“He could have killed you then?” Hattie had her inscrutable cop face back on.
“I think so,” I said. I hadn’t mentioned Wolf. No point even trying to explain that part. It didn’t matter. I’d been so weak, so distraught. I’d almost wanted to die just so it would end. Not a thought I wanted to dwell on in that moment. Or ever.
“He said he wasn’t ‘bored enough yet,’” I added. I caught her gaze with mine and leaned forward. “He’s evil, detective. Pure selfish evil.”
Salazar came down the stairs with an annoyed look on his face. He waved off our questioning glances and pressed his lips together. “Let’s get the coroner in to handle the scene. Crime scene folk have arrived, too. Is there any magic around we should be aware of?”
I pulled on my magic, letting my senses stretch out. The broken wards were fainter now. I sensed none of Samir’s sickly sweet magic.
“I think it’s safe,” I said.
Hattie let the deputy and coroner back in. She started questioning the deputy about the scene while Salazar looked around for Peggy’s phone. I hung out in the kitchen, feeling useless and tired. I decided to call Harper and went to get my phone from my jacket where it was hung in the hall. I would see if Alek was back yet, and make sure everyone was okay, but as I pulled out my phone, Hattie reappeared with the deputy in tow.
“What was the name of that friend of the victim’s?” she asked.
“Joyce Summers, I think, why?” I slid my phone into my jeans pocket. Please don’t say she’s dead, please don’t say she’s dead, please don’t say it .
“Yeah, that’s the one,” the deputy said, running a hand through thinning his thinning hair.
“She’s the next-door neighbor. She’s over there right now waiting to give an official statement,” Hattie said. “Joyce Summers is the one who found the body.”
Joyce Summers wasn’t someone I’d said more than four or five words to in all the years I’d been in Wylde, but I’d known who she was because of my dealings with Vivian Lake, the local vet, and because Harper had a serious soft spot for stray animals. Joyce was in her fifties, with brown hair that was too evenly colored to have gotten that brown by natural means and skin so pale the veins in her cheeks showed through like rivers on a map. Her eyes were puffy as she greeted us with the perfunctory stiffness of someone going into mild shock and showed us where to hang our coats.
From the smell alone, it was easy to tell that Joyce loved and owned a lot of pets, but while it was noticeable, it wasn’t that overwhelming. It smelled like a house where animals ruled with decorum, musk and coffee underlying the hint of air freshener and mint. Her house was cluttered with comfortable furniture and cat
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