Chapter Eleven

Griffin

Ben's face had been an absolute picture when I'd turned up on the platform of Euston Station ahead of the scheduled train to Manchester Piccadilly. He'd obviously never considered me ringing the DCS to find out the travel plans. More fool him for not realizing that I could be resourceful when I needed to be. While it had been tempting to sit this one out, the experience with Rupert and the subsequent interview with Rupert's ex, Dougie, had left me wanting, or maybe even needing, a positive outcome from this case. And out of the two of us, I was far more in touch with the world of the paranormal. It was hard not to be when I regularly communed with spirits beyond the veil. Therefore, despite being the one who'd pointed out that me being out of London might not be wise, it made sense for me to be there for the meeting with this professor guy.

My traveling companion had barely said two words to me during the two plus hour journey, pulling a book out of his bag and pretending to read. I knew he was pretending because nobody could spend that long on one page before remembering to turn it. I was fine with being ignored, laying my head back against the seat to catch up on some lost sleep. At least that had been my intention.

I found myself far too aware of Ben's proximity, though, to nod off. His scent. His body heat. His breathing. The minty taste of the chewing gum he'd started chewing without offering me any. In the end, I didn't sleep at all, my pretense that I was, probably no more convincing than him having read several chapters of his book during the journey.

We kept up the silence as we left the station and headed toward the taxi rank. Finally, I decided that enough was enough as we climbed into the back of the first available one, Ben telling the driver to head for the university. "You're going to have to speak to me at some point. You can't just pretend I don't exist."

"Try me."

I sighed. "You need to decide what you want. Whether you want me all in on this case or not. Because you can't have it both ways."

Ben turned his head to fix me with a glare. "How did you know what time the train was?"

"I spoke to Baros."

His jaw tightened. "What did you say?"

"I didn't make you look bad, if that's what you're worried about? Tempting as it was, I didn't tell him you'd thrown all your toys out of the pram."

"What did you say?"

"That you'd forgotten to give me the details, and I was having problems getting hold of you."

"Right." Ben turned his head away, hiding his expression and leaving me wondering what he was thinking. Sometimes the bond that existed between us was infuriating, and at other times, I wished mind reading was part of it. Although, if it was, it would probably have taken more than whiskey to get me through the past few years.

I did a double take when we were shown into Professor Rafferty Hart's office. Perhaps it was narrow-minded of me, but the title of professor had conjured up a gray-haired man with a beard and glasses. One dressed in a tweed suit with leather elbow patches. I would probably have had him clutching a pipe that he smoked in an evening as well.

In reality, Professor Rafferty Hart was young—no older than forty—and handsome. His dark hair bore a natural curl, and his hazel eyes were full of warmth. There was no beard. No tweed suit either, the professor's attire of jeans and a T-shirt showing off a toned body.

He shook Ben's hand first, and then mine, his grip firm, apologizing as he did so for the meeting needing to take place in the late afternoon. Apparently, he'd had lectures all morning and there was no one who could take his place. When Ben referred to him by his full title, he insisted we call him Rafe, making a joke about no one needing to use several syllables when one would do the job just as well.

When he ushered us into a pair of comfortable chairs set away from his desk, I surveyed his office, hoping to glean some clues from the pictures on the wall about what he actually taught. If Ben had been talking to me during the journey here, it would have been useful information prior to the meeting. But, as he hadn't been, I'd just have to work with what I had. Which was apparently nothing, the walls refusing to give up any secrets.

"Coffee?" he offered as he took a seat in a third chair. "I don't have a kettle in here because of the ridiculous health and safety regulations, but I can have someone run to the machine down the corridor. It works seventy-five percent of the time. The coffee gods might smile on us today."

Ben and I both shook our heads, Ben's slight lean forward in his chair saying he was keen to get down to business. I stayed silent while Ben gave the professor a brief rundown on the case. Rafe visibly perked up when Ben got to the part about the symbols scrawled on the wall. I guess there was no accounting for what some people were into. It had me curious enough to interrupt, though. "If you don't mind me asking, what is it you actually teach that qualifies you as an expert in this field?"

It would have been easy to be offended by my bluntness. Rafe, however, was magnanimous enough to offer an apologetic smile. Handsome and nice.

"Forgive me," he said. "I didn't do a great job of introducing myself, did I?" He didn't wait for a response before forging ahead. "I'm a professor of parapsychology."

"Which is?" I questioned. "And I'd be grateful if you'd explain it to me like I'm five."

He laughed. "It includes many areas of study, including historical context, out-of-body experiences, hauntings, psychic abilities, dreams, and demonology." He shifted slightly in his chair, his body language screaming how much he enjoyed talking about his occupation. "This is where some people inform me I'm teaching a fantasy, that people who claim to have paranormal abilities are nothing but charlatans. "

I held his gaze. "That would be difficult to do when I work for the Paranormal Problems Bureau. I don't know if you've heard of it?"

"I have. Of course I have." Rafe suddenly became even more animated, his eyes glittering with excitement. "I think it would be impossible not to have given the field I work in. In fact, I've been trying to wrangle myself an invitation there for the last couple of years, but I keep running into roadblocks. Perhaps once I've helped you out, you might pull a few strings for me."

"Perhaps." It wouldn't exactly be difficult. Cade would agree just to shut me up if I applied the right pressure. But I wanted to know more about Rafferty Hart and what he stood for before I agreed to it.

Ben opened his mouth, but Rafe spoke first. "What is it you do there?"

"What do you think I do?"

He leaned forward slightly, scrutinizing me thoroughly, as if eye color, lip shape, or whatever he was searching for could really showcase paranormal ability. Finally, he sat back with a look of triumph on his face. "You're a psychic."

"If I was a psychic, we wouldn't need to continue this conversation. I would already know everything I needed to know." I wouldn't. That wasn't quite how it worked, but I doubted Rafe knew that despite all the letters after his name that made him an expert.

Rafe's lips pursed, and he let out a sigh of frustration. "In that case…"

"He's a necromancer," Ben interjected, his tone bristling with irritation. "Now… if we could discuss what we came all this way to talk about. "

Ben may as well not have spoken for all the attention Rafe paid him, his gaze never shifting from me. "Really? That's…" He shook his head, a smile hovering on his lips.

"Creepy?" I suggested. "That's how most people react when I tell them. They think I spend every moment of my waking day hanging out with dead people."

The smile turned into a grin. "Don't you?"

"Well…" I scanned his office. "I don't see any here with us now. And the train from London was blissfully empty of anyone lacking a pulse as well."

Rafe laughed, the sound throaty. "I guess you need to have a dark sense of humor to do what you do. It must be a tough job."

"Could we—"

Rafe gave no sign of having heard Ben again. "I'd love to sit down with you at some point. I've never met a necromancer in person and I have a million questions I'm dying to ask."

"That might take some time," I deadpanned. "You might need to have another necromancer lined up to bring me back to answer them."

Rafe laughed again, Ben so prickly at my side that he may as well have been a hedgehog. I took pity on him. "We should probably talk about the case."

"What a great idea," Ben drawled, derision dripping from his voice. "And here I was thinking we'd come all this way for you to boast about how rare your skills are."

"They are rare," I countered.

"Very rare," Rafe offered helpfully. "There are less than fifty registered necromancers in the country."

Forty-nine then, given what Cade had told me about my annoying colleague John's current fortunes, but then that was what to be expected if you used a Victorian graveyard of skeletons as your weapon of choice. He'd never been what you might call subtle.

Rafe offered me a smile of commiseration at having to put up with Ben as Ben upended an envelope full of photographs onto the table between us. As soon as Rafe dropped his gaze to them, he became equally enthused by the photos as he had by my occupation. He produced a pair of glasses from his pocket and put them on as he pulled the photos closer. "These are fascinating," he said as he arranged them on the table so he could study them all at the same time.

"Do you recognize the symbols?" Ben asked, seeming to relax now the professor was showing an interest in the case.

"I do. Please go over where you found them again. Was it the same room as the murder? A different one? Have they been at every crime scene?"

Rafe listened intently while Ben went into more details about the symbols, occasionally noting something down in a notebook. "We were told," Ben stated, "that you might be able to shed some light on the killer's intention, why he keeps drawing these. Assuming he has one, and he's not just your regular nut job who gets off on murdering people, that is."

Rafe gave a tight smile, his gaze still fixed on the photos. "Oh, he has a purpose, alright."

"Yeah?" Ben sat up straighter. "And what would that be?"

"Communication," Rafe stated. "You didn't say, but I'm assuming they're drawn in blood?" He waited for Ben's nod. "The victims?" He winced. "Of course it is. He wouldn't leave his own DNA behind at the crime scene. You'll have to excuse me. Typically, my discussions in this vein are from a theoretical standpoint."

"You said he's trying to communicate," Ben prompted .

"He is." Rafe turned a photo around so it faced us instead of him. He tapped his finger on it to draw our attention to a certain part. "This is an ancient symbol commonly used to open the gateway between worlds. I would presume that in each case, it's the first one he draws." He lifted his gaze, but when it wasn't something either of us could confirm or deny, he carried on regardless, tapping his finger on another place on the photo. "This one is a request of sorts."

"A request?" I asked. "A request to who, and what exactly is he requesting?"

Rafe pondered the question. "The who is easy. Whoever this man is, he's attempting to communicate with demons. Or… given all the symbols are the same every time, one particular demon."

Ben leaned forward, his gaze sharp. "Can you tell which one?"

Rafe pulled a face. "It's difficult to tell without knowing more. Maybe Bizith. Maybe Gezgomar. They're the most accessible."

Ben let out a snort. "Accessible? You make it sound like you can order one off Amazon."

Rafe shrugged. "You asked for my expertise. I'm just telling you what I know. As for what they want from the demon, that's impossible to say. The oath is made between the person who raises the demon and the demon raised. How many murders have there been so far?"

"Five," Ben said. "Is that important?"

Rafe gave a slow nod. "It could be. It shows that contact is still to be made, that either they haven't satisfied the requirement for the demon's appearance, or—"

"Requirement?" I interjected.

Rafe nodded. "Demons don't just appear. It's not like snapping your fingers and calling their name. Depending on which one it is, there are sacrifices that have to be made. Some might call them offerings." He held Ben's gaze. "What is he taking from the victims?"

Ben went still. "How do you know he's taking anything?"

Rafe waved a hand over the photos. "Because without an offering, the rest of this is pointless. Like shouting into the void. So either there's something you left out of your account, or whoever is doing this doesn't have a clue what he's doing and you have nothing to worry about. Well… apart from the murders themselves, obviously."

He waited, the silence stretching for what seemed like an age. As it wasn't my case, I stayed silent, leaving it up to Ben to decide whether he said more.

Ben finally let out a sigh. "The killer's been removing the victim's fingers. Is that the sort of offering you're talking about?"

"It's not the most common," Rafe said, his voice bearing a hint of surprise. "The heart would be more popular. But perhaps your murderer doesn't have the stomach to be carving hearts out of men's chests."

The same threat that Dougie had made to Rupert. Was that important? I gave a bitter laugh. "Right, because chopping people's fingers off is far less bloodthirsty."

Rafe didn't laugh. "It is. Think about it. Which would you choose? One clean sweep with a sharp enough blade. Or needing to crack open a ribcage to get to the organ you need?"

"Neither," I said, a slight hint of nausea coloring my words.

"He has sex with the victims first," Ben said, clearly deciding that having shared the information about the fingers, there was no point in holding anything else back. "Can you think of a reason for that?"

Rafe frowned. "I can't say I can. There's no demon I've ever heard of that would require the deal to be sweetened by an orgiastic offering. I'll ask around for you, though, keeping it to a theoretical viewpoint, obviously, so it remains confidential, and I'll call you if I find out anything."

Ben nodded. "So… what you're saying is that there's a quota that our murderer needs to reach before the demon will sit up and take notice."

"That would be my best guess."

"Any idea what that quota might be?" I asked.

Rafe shrugged. "Could be ten. Could be a hundred. These things aren't an exact science, unfortunately."

"And if this demon were to appear," I mused. "What would you theorize they might want it to do?"

Rafe shook his head. "It's impossible to say. To know that you'd have to know what they desire most in the world. They'd have an awful lot of power at their fingertips if they were successful. It could be money or it could be something more personal. Either way, I would advise that you catch this man before the demon in question decides to find out what he wants."

"Great advice! If only the Metropolitan's finest weren't sitting on their arses doing nothing," Ben said in his most scathing tone.

Dark spots of color appeared on Rafe's cheeks and he inclined his head. "My apologies. I didn't mean to insinuate you weren't doing your best. That's why you're here, after all." His gaze strayed back to me. "I can't help wondering why a necromancer is involved. There are stories," he said after scrutinizing me carefully, "of a necromancer so rare that they straddle both worlds, that of the dead and the living, enabling them to not only bring back the dead temporarily, but to hold complete power over the human soul. So much so that they can manipulate it at their will."

I blinked. "And that's all they are, stories. I'm just your common garden necromancer, I'm afraid."

Rafe looked disappointed for a moment and then seemed to catch himself. "Nothing common about you, Griffin."

Ben swept the photos back into the envelope and stood. "Thank you for your time, Professor Hart. You've been most helpful. I'll be in touch if there are any follow-up questions."

"Rafe," he insisted, his eyes still on me. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a card, passing it across. "My personal mobile number is on the back." I turned it over to find a string of digits scribbled in biro. "I really would like an opportunity to sit and talk about what it is you do, whether you can organize a visit to the PPB for me or not. I'll be in London at the end of the month at a conference. Perhaps we can reconnect then. We could have dinner and you could show me some sights."

His eyes said there were other things he wanted me to show him that had absolutely nothing to do with London and everything to do with human anatomy. My anatomy, to be exact.

"I'll call you," I said, Ben already halfway out of the office without bothering to say goodbye. "I have to go."

"Of course." Rafe held out his hand, and I took it, the action less of a handshake and more of a caress. Yeah, the professor was definitely looking for more than a conversation. Was there such a thing as a necromancer fetish? I hadn't encountered one before, but I was beginning to think there might be.

I made my excuses and left, Ben easy to find when I could feel every negative emotion surging through him as if I was the one experiencing them.