Chapter 8

Chapter

Eight

An hour later, armed with a signed contract and retainer, I backed my new-to-me gray SUV into a spot on the fifth level of a six-story garage near downtown, two slots down from where Oliver had left his car the day of the murder. According to our client, he liked to park on Level 5B so he could use the stairs twice daily for exercise. I personally found the desire to deliberately take that many stairs every day to be an utterly unrelatable statement, but to each their own.

"Realistically, what do you think we can find?" Malcolm asked as we got out. "Cuz I gotta say I'm not hopeful. Not after almost two days and a jillion cars coming through here."

"Stop manifesting negativity," I scolded. "We found trace on Oliver. If I can get a little more, I'll have enough to track, or at least have a better chance at figuring out what we're dealing with. Think positive."

He did a double take. "I'm sorry—did you, of all people , just tell me to ‘stop manifesting negativity'?"

"I am a ray of sunshine," I said loftily. "My fiancé says so. "

"Ray of something ," he muttered. "Far be it for me to disagree with Sean. So, Lil Miss Sunshine, what do you see?"

In the middle of the afternoon, Level 5B was quiet, with only a few dozen cars in slots near the elevator. Their drivers were likely at work until four or five. And we were in luck; no one had parked in spot 512. The police had probably taped it off to search the area before they impounded Oliver's car as evidence. The tape was gone now, but maybe the people who usually parked on this level left it empty out of superstition. All the better for us. As Malcolm pointed out, time and traffic were not on our side.

"Keep an eye out," I told Malcolm as I crouched in the parking spot. "Let me know if anyone's headed this way."

"I got you, boo."

Searching for residual magic on pavement wasn't much different than the process I'd used on Oliver, except the garage floor was filthy and crawling on my hands and knees here was no fun whatsoever. Tiny rocks dug into my skin, and the concrete smelled like oil and exhaust and whiffs of stale urine and rotten, discarded food. Lovely.

I swore under my breath as I crept methodically around the parking spot, my shields down and senses wide open. Without my shields in place, I felt the ebbs and flows of natural magic around me as they swirled and pulsed along ley lines and through their respective elements: the peaceful green of earth magic, the cool blue of water magic, the light and almost effervescent white of air magic, and the searing orange traces of fire magic. And most of all, I sensed the siren call and seductive promise of red and black blood magic, the closest of the natural magics to dark, occult practices.

Had I chosen—or been forced down—that path, I might have been a truly formidable occult practitioner. That version of me haunted my nightmares sometimes. The temptation was never not there, though it was easier to ignore when my shields were strong.

"Earth to Alice." Malcolm's voice jolted me out of my thoughts. "You've been checking that same spot for like five minutes. You okay? "

"Yeah, I'm good." I took a deep breath, let it out, and refocused on my task. Come on, come on , I thought as I swept my palms and fingertips back and forth over the pavement and inched forward on my aching knees. Give me something to work with here.

And then right about where Oliver's driver's side door would have been, I found what I was looking for: a snarl of black magic. It looked and felt like a more concentrated version of what I'd spotted on Oliver's foot.

Carefully, I scooped up the trace, flinching as I pulled it free. Natural magic like Malcolm's and my own felt like the silken threads of a spiderweb. This stuff hurt like pulling on piano wire. The frayed spellwork dug into my skin like tiny fishhooks. If I hadn't already known this was black magic, that would have clinched it.

As much as it hurt to do so, before I transferred the magic to a crystal, I took a moment to play with the trace between my fingers. What kind of magic was this, precisely? Black magic, obviously, but who made it? Even as incomplete and broken spellwork, it didn't feel or smell like black witch magic, which had been my first guess. Not a wizard's magic, not fae, and not sorcery. Some form of esoteric occult magic, I decided.

I took an empty crystal from my bracelet and held it close to this snarl of trace. " Enclose ," I commanded.

The crystal's spellwork flared and sucked the magic from my hand. I hissed in pain as the trace left bloody welts on my fingers.

"This magic is nasty." Malcolm floated down and halfway through the garage floor so we were face-to-face and I didn't have to crane my neck to see him. He got a close look at my wounds and flitted in place. "Jeez. That looks painful."

"It is." I flexed my bloody fingers and grimaced. "It feels like I stuck my hand in boiling water and then grabbed a handful of rusty razors."

"Very descriptive." He wrinkled his nose. "So, what do you think we've got?"

I told him what I suspected the magic might be. He frowned and studied the crystal. I couldn't see the magic when it was stored, but he could.

"Yeah, I don't think it's witchy," he said finally. "Doesn't remind me of sorcerer magic either, at least not the kind we've dealt with."

"Yup," I said.

Neither of us wanted to say the sorcerer Mira?'s name aloud. That pain still went too deep.

"So we've crossed some of the usual suspects off the list," Malcolm continued. "If it's occult, it could be almost anything. Unless you can track it to who made it, all we've got to show for our work so far is your bloody hand and a couple of crystals we'll have to magically incinerate at some point."

"Not to mention my pants are filthy." And my knees were killing me. I stuck the crystal in my pocket. "I need to check the rest of the area."

"Let me," he said quickly. "I know what to look for. It's your turn to keep watch. Use a healing spell on your hand before those cuts get infected from parking garage grime."

The pain in my fingers caused me to use some words I saved for special occasions as I rose. Malcolm continued searching where I'd left off, floating above the floor and passing his hands through the concrete.

At my SUV, I gingerly cleaned my hands and the knees of my pants with wet wipes. The cuts really weren't very deep, but they would bleed for a while and they hurt like crazy. Unfortunately, healing spells hurt too.

With a sigh, I took a light green crystal off my bracelet and held it in my injured hand. " Helios ," I said.

The low-level healing spell pulsed, sending waves of magic that felt like white-hot needles through my skin. I'd used hundreds of healing spells in my lifetime, from the very mild to life-saving seriously strong blood magic ones, and it hurt every freaking time. I'd built up some tolerance, but I still had to grit my teeth .

Finally, the spell let out two final wispy pulses of magic and faded. I pocketed the empty spell crystal. "All better," I told Malcolm.

"I guessed that when you stopped whimpering." He floated over to me. "Nauseous?"

"A little." I rubbed my tummy. "Dang healing spells always do that to me. I take it you didn't find anything else?"

"Nope. Not even the tiniest bit. So what do you think?"

I considered. "We don't have anything definitive yet, but the location of the trace matches where Oliver said his missing time began. Something could have grabbed him right at his driver's door."

He floated back and forth, clearly troubled. "Are we saying this is for real?"

"I hate to say it, since anything capable of forcing someone to kill against their will is really bad news, but I'm leaning that way." I took my bag out of the SUV and locked the vehicle. "You want to walk to the crime scene with me? I don't want to try to find parking over there. It's only a couple of blocks."

"Yeah, let's go." He floated along beside me as I headed for the elevator. "What, are you not taking the stairs?"

"No, smartass, I am not."

From ground level, it took us about ten minutes to walk from the garage to the alley just off Eleventh where Madison Fernell had died. Oliver said he'd lost about two hours from his memory. Where had he been during the rest of the missing time? This area had cameras everywhere, including inside the parking garage. No doubt Diaz and Ferguson or other detectives had already canvassed looking for surveillance footage. I needed to do the same, and quickly, before potentially helpful footage got erased or lost.

"You've got some pep in your step," Malcolm observed. "Nothing gets you going like a new case. Well, other than coffee."

I spotted a coffee shop ahead on the right. "Ooh, speaking of which…"

He chuckled. "You literally just skipped like a little kid. "

"Don't tell anybody," I stage-whispered. "I have to maintain my reputation as a badass."

He very solemnly crossed his heart. "As always, your secret's safe with me."

A few minutes later, latte with extra shots in hand, I reached the entrance to the alley. Forty-eight hours had passed since the murder, so the crime scene tape was long gone and someone had washed away all the blood. A mountain of flowers, stuffed animals, cards, signs, and candles had taken their place. We were just two blocks from Salty's, the bar where Madison had worked. Her death had clearly touched a lot of people.

Even if the memorial didn't exist, I would have known exactly where she'd died. My blood magic tingled in an all-too-familiar way the moment we reached the alley entrance. I loved the power and uses of my blood magic, but it came with a price: namely, visceral knowledge of violence and pain. The brutality of what had happened here resonated all the way down to my bones.

Two young women sat cross-legged on the concrete in front of the memorial. One had her head resting on the other's shoulder as they sobbed. Even with time ticking away, I didn't want to intrude, so I leaned against the wall at the entrance to the alley and sipped my coffee. I saw no cameras in the alley, which had made it an ideal place for a murder, but we'd passed a number of them on the way here from the garage. Surveillance cameras were a private investigator's best friend. Well, cameras and shady informants willing to rat anyone out for the right price. I habitually kept an eye out for both.

"That thing you told Gracie about putting things right," Malcolm said suddenly. "We can try to do that here. But even if we find the answers, no matter what they are, it still won't make sense. It never does."

I wanted to disagree with him, but I couldn't. I thought of something Sean had said to me after we'd found ourselves between a shifter assassin, called an ulfhéenar , and their target: You can't make sense of senseless things . Madison's murder was one of those things that would never make sense, even if we solved this mystery and ensured the right person or people were held accountable for her death.

"We still have to get the answers, though," I murmured, as much to myself as to Malcolm. "Maybe that's the best we can do. And save the lives of possible future victims whenever we can. That's our job."

"Makes me want to cut Diaz and Ferguson some slack," he said, to my surprise. "They deal with a hell of a lot of suffering day in and day out too. That's a ton of weight to carry."

I took a long drink of coffee. "Yeah, it is."

We waited quietly until the young women helped each other up and walked away down the alley, arms around each other's waists for support.

"I guess the weight's a little less when we share it," I told Malcolm.

He gave me a lopsided smile. "Careful with the sappy stuff, Alice. You can lose your badass rep even faster that way. Just be glad your business partner didn't hear you say that. And speaking of Major Killjoy, should we call her about this?"

"Later." I headed for the memorial. "Arkady's still wrapping up her insurance fraud case. If there's any trace here, we're running out of time to find it."

"You are not about to move those bears and flowers." Horrified, he flitted in front of me. "This is a memorial, Alice! If someone sees you, they'll flip out. They're not going to care if you're a PI."

"What do you want me to do? Sneak back after dark?" I frowned at him. "The trace in the garage wouldn't have lasted another few hours. If there's anything left here, it'll be gone by nightfall. The gifts are nice, but this is about getting justice for Madison."

"Just go easy, okay?" He crossed his arms. "Let's hope if anyone sees you, they're understanding about it."

I crouched in front of the stuffed animals and candles and lowered my shields again.

Because he was right and causing trouble at a victim's memorial was not a good look, I moved a few gifts at a time with my left hand, searched for trace with my right and my senses, and then put the items back before moving on. That made a painstaking process even more slow. Leaning over and crouching to do this killed my back, but I didn't have much choice.

Maybe I could persuade Sean to give me a massage later. I could probably make that happen, if I managed to keep him focused long enough before the massage turned into something else. Not that I'd mind some werewolf TLC tonight. I smiled to myself despite my grim task.

Magic trace often clung to places where violence had occurred or someone experienced strong emotions, but so far I'd found nothing. Good thing I wasn't the only person looking.

"Hey, what's that?" Malcolm floated down beside me and waved his hands over the area to my left. "You feel this?"

Frowning, I mimicked his movements. Even straining my senses I felt no magic, but I did experience a telltale icy chill and an echo of something I recognized. "A ghost? Is it Madison?"

"I don't think this is from her." Malcolm's uneasiness prickled through our metaphysical connection. He was much more attuned to anything to do with spirits and their energy. "I know what a new ghost feels like. This feels…old, and really evil. Like, something that crawled out of the bowels of the earth evil."

"Fantastic." I moved a couple more stuffed animals and candles aside so I could run my palms over the pavement.

There it was: wispy dark gray magic with a distinctly rotten feeling, like moldy bread. Definitely not the same trace that I'd found on Oliver and in the garage, but just as nasty. What the hell was going on here?

Unfortunately, there wasn't enough left to really do much with it, but I put it in a crystal anyway. Even the crystal felt unpleasant to hold once the trace was inside it. I stuck it in my other pocket and wiped my hands on my pants. This was precisely why I kept at least one change of clothes in my vehicle at all times .

"Incoming," Malcolm warned.

I rearranged the memorial gifts quickly and rose just as three people—two young women and a man—came around the corner into the alley. One of the women held a teddy bear and the man carried three prayer candles. I hoped they'd think I'd added something to the pile and simply leaned over to get a closer look at what others had brought.

We needn't have worried about their reaction, though. The moment the memorial came into view, both young women began crying and their male companion blinked back tears of his own. I moved out of the way so the newcomers could pay their respects.

Madison had clearly meant so much to a hell of a lot of people. The outpouring of grief was a very sobering reminder of just how important getting these answers was, not only for past victims and their loved ones, but anyone this killer might target next. The only thing worse than a senseless death was one without explanation or justice.

"It's so sad," I murmured.

The young woman who'd brought a bear wiped her eyes. Her face was red from crying. "She was the best. It's not fair."

"No, it's not fair at all." I crouched and busied myself with some of the stuffed animals, setting them upright while she sniffled.

"Were you friends with Madison?" the man asked.

I shook my head. "I heard about it and came by to pay my respects. Did you all know her?"

"We worked with her at Salty's," the young woman with the bear said. "I'm Kayley. I'm a server."

"I'm so sorry for your loss." I stood. "It looks like a lot of people really loved her."

"I hope they fucking fry the guy who did it," the man said, his voice tight with anger and grief. "Can you believe they let that asshole out on bail? He'll probably skip the country and do it again. Just wait."

I doubted Oliver planned to do anything of the sort, but I did believe whoever was responsible for Madison's murder and possibly the other crimes would harm others. I had no time to lose.

"Take care," I told them as I backed away. "And again, I'm sorry about your friend."

"Thanks," the girl with the bear said. Her male companion hugged her.

"Well, that sucked," Malcolm said quietly as we headed for the alley entrance.

I let out a breath. "Yup." The sooner I got away from this place, the better. My stomach hadn't stopped churning since we arrived.

With Malcolm at my side, I came around the corner, stepped onto the sidewalk?—

and nearly collided with Detective Diaz.