Chapter 3

3

The breakin the case of the missing witches happened by accident.

In the days since her arrival, Clarabelle had been doing her best to investigate with little to go on. The pack refused to talk despite repeated requests. The only reason she knew about the missing werewolves at all was because of a whistleblower, who’d never contacted the coven again.

Jewel had arranged for her to check out the apartments of the missing women to no avail. Clarabelle even visited the vacant condo of a warlock—the male version of a witch, and much rarer—whose lover claimed he’d just upped and disappeared on the eve of their trip to Cuba. Supposedly, Francois had been on his way home, his last text sent before he boarded the subway. By all indications, he never got off. Given he was the most recent of the missing persons, Clarabelle tried scrying for his location, only to have to tell a grieving lover that the lack of response from the spell most likely meant he was dead.

That same scrying spell had failed as well with the witches. One showed a useless image of a tree not local to the area, and the other also indicated death.

Very concerning, and annoying. Clarabelle didn’t like being stymied. On her way back from a visit to a local restaurant where she’d hoped to find a bartender named Olive who used to date the missing half-elf, she found herself sighing and wondering if it was time to speak to Marjorie about maybe convening a circle of thirteen to contact the Lord Hades. The god of death and Hell might be able to shed some light on their case—the problem being the cost he’d demand. Finding thirteen powerful witches willing to participate and risk their lives to help others wouldn’t be easy.

At not quite midnight and almost in sight of her hotel, Clarabelle found herself surprised when a vampire stepped out of the alley. To a human, the man would have seemed normal, if pale. To a witch, the absence of life and magic provided a dead giveaway—pun intended.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my lucky night. Hello, little witch.” The vampire showed off baby fangs that would have made a cobra laugh.

It would take a lot more than that to impress Clarabelle, but rather than put him in his place, she decided to play along and pretend she couldn’t turn him into a pile of ash.

“Evening. I didn’t realize there was a clan in Ottawa.” The vampires tended to be sorted by makers, with the one doing the making heading the clan. Given most of the turned went mad quickly, the clans never tended to be too large, with the unfit quickly exterminated. No clan wanted a repeat of the bloodbath on Roanoke Island. People assumed a natural disaster led to the town fleeing. Not really. The clans cleaned up after their own and, in this case, went scorched earth to prove a point. No letting the weak roam.

“My Lord tends to keep a low profile.” He eyed her up and down. “You must be new to the coven.”

“Just here visiting,” she trilled. “Always fun to trade recipes.” She intentionally made herself seem flighty.

It worked. He licked his lips. “If you’re looking for some action, I know a place.”

“What kind of action?” She pretended as if she didn’t know of the treaty between witches and vampires, the one that banned his kind from snacking on hers, brokered at the behest of the vampires who found themselves in a bad spot when they ate the wrong witch centuries ago. At times, Clarabelle wondered why her ancestors bothered letting the bloodsuckers live.

“The kind of action your Lord Hades approves of.”

She highly doubted it given Satan didn’t like vampires since, as the undead, they’d never serve him in Hell. “Is it far?”

“Nope.” He popped the p, and his smile meant to look reassuring came off as too eager.

Could he be involved in the missing witches? A vampire could recognize not only a witch but other non-humans by scent alone. They had a fine-tuned sense when it came to blood. Of course, that would mean they were breaking treaty. Could it be this clan thought themselves above the laws? Only one way to find out.

“Sounds like more fun than I had planned. Lead the way,” she stated, still with a fake smile plastered on.

No surprise, the vampire took her through some sketchy alleys, past avarice-filled gazes, not that anyone dared accost, given who guided her.

She made small talk. “What’s your name? I’m Lara.” She changed her name in case he’d heard of her.

“Clive.”

“Have you been part of the clan for long?”

“A few months, but I’m already high up in the hierarchy.” He puffed out his chest.

She didn’t point out that rank and position came with age. Vampires truly needed time to develop their powers. The oldest ones posed the most danger given the ability to mesmerize increased as they aged. A young fellow, like Clive, basically had teeth and a bit of strength, not much more.

“Seems like Ottawa is quite the place for witches and others what with having its own pack, a coven, even some elves. And now, vampires,” she gushed.

“That’s just the tip of it,” Clive confided. “The river and sewers have some kelpies, and there even used to be a mermaid.”

“Used to?”

“She’s gone now.” No elaboration, but a hint Clarabelle might be on the right track.

They entered a sketchy part of town with hardly any lights and a few buildings sporting boarded windows. Seeing her wary glance, Clive murmured, “Revitalization area. Our leader bought the whole block. Gonna make it into a proper compound with tunnels linking the buildings underground.”

“Grandiose vision considering a city this size means the clan would have been approved for, what? A dozen?” Part of the treaty established a maximum number of vamps dependent on the city size. One vamp per hundred thousand. Too late she realized she let on more than she should know about vampires.

Clive snickered. “Yeah, as if our leader cares what the council says he can do.”

A reply that didn’t reassure. Had they broken covenant? If yes, she could be headed towards trouble. Against one vamp, she could easily handle herself. But more than a handful? She’d better hope the Dark Lord listened to her prayers.

“How much farther?” she murmured.

“Right down there.” The vamp pointed to a sloping ramp under one of the boarded buildings leading into a parking garage.

She halted. “I thought you said we were checking out the local action. I don’t hear music.”

“Soundproof walls,” lied Clive.

She knew he lied because she heard a muffled roar beyond the supposed soundproofing. Moments later, people came scurrying out the door alongside the closed roll-down one for the garage. First a man dressed in a suit and a woman wearing heels and a faux fur coat. They were accompanied by a vampire, female this time, who barely cast Clive and Clarabelle a glance as she murmured to the couple, “Of course he’ll come with the usual controls.”

Words to make Clarabelle wonder, along with what sent them fleeing.

Clive used their appearance to say, “See. Told you all the action was down there.”

“Then let’s check it out.” She saw it as a good sign the humans left without injury. Now, it remained to be seen if the same could be said of Clive. She didn’t like him and hoped he gave her a reason to end his undead existence. The treaty had several conditions whereupon she could kill him without penalty.

The keypad by the door appeared new in comparison to everything else. Clive punched in six digits that she memorized. The door clicked and gave them entry into a place that immediately gave her goosebumps. It wasn’t the smell of piss, blood, and animal that did it, but the cool tingle that warned this place had seen more than its fair share of death and violence.

She kept her hands ready to cast as she followed behind Clive, the ramp steep and the parking lot ahead empty until she turned the corner and got to see the full basement. Despite the faded lines on the floor, it held no cars, just a few cages.

“What is this? Where’s the party?” Her tone remained light.

“You’re looking at it, witch.” Clive remained blithely smirking.

She’d have permanently wiped it from his face if she didn’t have questions. “Looks kind of dull if you ask me.” As she spoke, she noticed movement in the largest cage. A man stood, a big man, familiar too. It took a second to recall she’d seen him in that spying spell she’d placed on her barrette. He’d been the guy staring at her a few days ago.

And now he was trapped in a cage.

“Don’t you worry, little witch. Things are about to get freaky.” The vamp grinned. “But being a nice guy, I’ll give you a choice. Cage on the left or the right?”

“Not happening.” She maintained her reasonable tone. “You do realize this is against the treaty between our kind.”

“Fuck the treaty.”

“Does your leader know you’re messing with witches?”

“Who do you think gave us the order to bring them in? While your kind don’t bring the highest price, every dollar counts.” He grinned widely, cocky and sure he held the upper hand.

Meanwhile, he appeared to have confessed. “You’re the one behind the disappearances of the cryptids,” she stated flatly.

“Not just me. It’s a joint effort,” he boasted.

“The capture and sale of witches is prohibited.”

“Like I said before, fuck the treaty.”

She arched a brow. “Big words. You do know that those who contravene the articles of it are subjected to culling.”

“Only if someone finds out. Which they won’t. We’ve been doing this for a while,” he boasted, sealing his fate.

“Kind of cocky of you to be admitting your crimes.”

“Who you going to tell?” he scoffed.

“Oh, Clive. You really have no idea who you’re messing with, do you?” She shook her head.

“No, you’re the one who’s in trouble.” He still didn’t get it.

The steps approaching from behind might have been quiet enough to sneak up on a human but not a witch who’d wrapped herself in a defense spell from the moment she’d met the vampire. She let their new third party continue to stalk her as she focused on the idiot in front of her.

Clive stared, his eyes turning into black pits as he whispered, “Get in the cage.”

His attempt to mesmerize her failed to have any effect.

“I don’t think so,” Clarabelle’s pert reply.

He frowned and concentrated more intently. “Get in the cage, now!”

“I’d tell you to bite me, but you’d think I was flirting,” Clarabelle stated calmly. “And to whoever thinks they can sneak up on me, be warned. Any attempts at harm will be hazardous to your health.”

“I’m going to enjoy breaking you,” Clive snarled. “Get her, Harriet.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Clarabelle sweetly replied. As the female behind her reached to grab, Clarabelle murmured a single word that strengthened her magical shield. The effect? The hand that tried to touch ignited.

Screaming ensued.

Clarabelle didn’t bother turning around.

“The bitch lit me on fire,” screeched the female as she ran past Clarabelle, whole arm ablaze and the flames still climbing.

Clive narrowed his gaze. “You think you’re so clever. Let’s see how you fare against someone stronger.”

“Are you stronger? Let’s find out, shall we?” She stared at him, her turn now to push a mental order. “Hands on your head.”

Compulsion spells were something all witches learned early on as part of their defense training. Unlike shapeshifters—who were immune to magic—a weak vampire, still close to its human roots, would be affected by them.

Clive cupped his crown and glared at her. “You won’t get away with this.”

“Funny, I was about to say the same. Come, let’s go see who you’ve got in the big cage. Then, you can tell me all about your operation.”

A stiff-legged Clive marched while the imprisoned man eyed them, silent, yet no doubt listening to every word.

“Start talking,” she ordered Clive. “Who’s your leader? What’s he been doing?”

“Theodore Beaumont rules in Ottawa. He originally belonged to the Toronto clan but was granted permission to start his own in Ottawa a few decades ago.” So still relatively new.

“Why is he selling witches and others?” she asked.

“Money. He got tired of living like a pauper. He tried asking the council for funds but was told clans build wealth over time.”

True, mostly because being long-lived meant their investments had time to mature. It also helped they could mesmerize some of their sheep into donating to their coffers. “So he decided to kidnap nonhumans and sell them?”

“There’s a market for them. People will pay big money for the rare and exotic.”

“To do what with them?” she asked, even as her stomach churned. She doubted she’d like the answer.

“Whatever the buyer wants. Most like owning them as a trophy. The mermaid’s in some indoor pool in Switzerland. An elf ended up as a house servant for some rich guy in Banff.”

They stopped by the big cage and the quietly glowering guy. Not a warlock. He didn’t have the right kind of aura. She glanced at the vampire and chided him. “Selling people is wrong, Clive.”

“Only if caught.”

She couldn’t stand to listen to him anymore. “The council will be informed of your clan’s crimes.”

“As if you’ll make it out of here a—”

She interrupted. “I’ve heard quite enough from you. I told you that you messed with the wrong witch.” Her hand lifted, and with a simple command—Push—magic slammed into Clive and tossed him against the bars of the cage.

Barely a shove, and yet he screamed and screamed, the singe of burning flesh caused by the electrified bars.

A rather toasty Clive fell to the floor, his mouth open and shutting as if gasping for air, which was funny since vampires didn’t need to breathe unless they wanted to talk.

She knelt and cocked her head. “By the power invested in me by the Dracula Treaty and the Colony Coven, I hereby find you guilty of the incarceration and sale of witches and other nonhumans. The penalty is death.” She flicked her fingers, and Clive ignited, so fast and fierce he didn’t have time to scream.

As she rose to her feet, a gruff voice warned, “Behind you.”

She didn’t bother whirling, just tossed more magic over her shoulder as the female she’d already partially roasted came rushing back—and died.

“Any more of them around?” she asked the man in the cage.

“Not currently, but I’ve counted seven different vamps since my capture. They come and go once it gets dark.”

She eyed him, his height well over six feet, broad of shoulder, jaw scruffy and blond like the hair crowning his head. A veritable modern-day Viking. “How long since they nabbed you?”

“A few days, I think. Hard to tell given how many times they knocked me out.”

“You’re nonhuman I assume.”

“Shifter.”

Meaning her magic wouldn’t work on him, but then again, why would he pose a danger to the person trying to rescue him? “The bars are electrified.” Stated more than asked.

“Yes.”

“Give me a moment while I disable it.” While Clive might have shorted them out when he landed on them, she’d rather not jolt herself finding out.

She tracked the wire from the cage to a wall outlet torn open so that the wiring could be spliced. She wrapped her hand in a magical glove before pulling the pigtails apart. As she returned to the enclosure, she noticed the man watching her.

“I’m Clarabelle, by the way,” she stated.

“Dracin.” A pause then, “You’re a witch?”

“What gave it away?” she teased with an arched brow. “So speaking of magic, I’m going to use some to open your cage. Once I do, I’d advise you to either get out of town or lie really low because I doubt the vampires will be happy with what’s transpired here.”

“I wasn’t planning on sticking around.”

“Good. Stand by while I handle the lock.”

He took a step away, and she eyed the mechanism before shrugging. She’d never been good at lockpicking magic. She blasted it instead.

The door swung open, and he immediately stepped out, but he didn’t run. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I don’t suppose you saw anyone else in the cages?”

He shook his head. “Whoever was in them was long gone before my arrival.”

“Pity.” She pursed her lips. “How did they capture you?”

“Drugged my drink, unlike you. Do you always accompany vampires to deserted basements?”

“Only when my Friday nights are boring,” she quipped.

He frowned at her. “You could have been captured.”

“But wasn’t.”

A glower went well with his grumbled, “Unlike me. Can’t believe I had to be saved.”

He took a few long strides before looking over his shoulder at her. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I need to investigate further. You’re not the only person they captured.”

“You’re a detective witch?” His brows rose impressively high.

“Of sorts. I was tasked by the coven to look into some recent disappearances, which might number more than we imagine given you never made it into my file.” Her lips pursed.

“How many have been taken?”

“That we know of? A pair of wolves, two witches, a warlock, and a half-elf. Clive also alluded to a mermaid.”

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I’m picking up more than two dozen scents alone in here,” Dracin confirmed.

“How brazen. I have to say, of all the things I expected to find, a vampire clan participating in nonhuman trafficking never made the list.”

“What did you expect?” he asked.

“Serial killer. Although government kidnapping was a close second.”

He blinked. What beautiful long lashes he had. She wondered what kind of shifter he was. Wolf? Bear? With that blond hair, maybe a rare lion?

“You mean to say you thought you might be dealing with a serial killer and still blithely followed Clive into this basement?”

“How else was I supposed to confirm he was involved?” She rolled her eyes. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see if there’s any clues as to the whereabouts of the others before I burn this place down.”

“Why burn it?”

She might have been channeling her Dark Lord a bit when she offered a low, “To let this Theodore and his clan know I’m coming for them.”