Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

GRIFF

T he streets of New Orleans were deceptively quiet as Griff pulled up to the scene of his latest case. His Harley rumbled beneath him, but the usual comfort he found in the powerful machine did nothing to shake the tension tightening his chest. The humid night air clung to his skin as he parked and swung his leg off the bike, the distant wail of a police siren blending into the background noise of the city. He could sense it, a low hum in his bones—the energy of dark magic still hanging heavy in the air, invisible but potent. Something was very wrong here.

As a dragon-shifter and a seasoned detective, Griff had seen his fair share of gruesome scenes, but this one felt different. He'd been tracking this kind of darkness for weeks now, and the closer he got, the more it felt like the shadows were reaching out to him, calling him deeper into their fold. His father's face flashed in his mind, his unsolved murder had been a weight on his shoulders for years. The connection was too strong to ignore.

"Broussard," a voice called from behind the police barricade. He turned to see Officer Daniels waving him over, his face grim under the dim streetlights.

Griff nodded, ducking under the yellow tape that cordoned off the area. The scene was tucked away in a narrow alley off Bourbon Street, a place Griff knew all too well. The air was thick with the smell of blood and something far worse, a tang of burnt flesh that made the dragon inside him stir uneasily. He could feel it, coiled and waiting just beneath his skin, ready to take over if necessary.

The alley was a mess of flashing lights, uniforms, and forensic techs snapping photos of the body. Griff's dragon-sharp eyes took it all in as he made his way to the center of the chaos. The victim lay sprawled in a pool of blood, the body contorted in unnatural ways. Griff had been to far too many murder scenes, but this one was off. There was a difference to it that was almost palpable. His instincts screamed at him to tread carefully.

Captain Evelyn Moreau was already on the scene, her arms crossed over her chest, a permanent scowl etched into her face. She turned as Griff approached; her expression unreadable.

"Broussard," she greeted tersely. "Glad you could join us. We've got a situation here, and I need this wrapped up quickly."

Griff nodded, his eyes scanning the victim. "What do we know?"

Moreau sighed, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Not much. The victim's name is Travis Mitchell, local bartender. Found by a passerby about an hour ago. But it's what's been done to him that's the problem."

Griff crouched down beside the body, careful not to disturb the scene as he studied the injuries. Mitchell's skin was marred with deep, jagged lacerations, but that wasn't what caught Griff's attention. No, it was the strange, shimmering residue clinging to the wounds—a dark, oily substance that seemed to pulse with its own energy. Magic. Dark magic.

His gut twisted. This wasn't a normal homicide. He could feel the residual power in the air, like static electricity clinging to his skin. It was the same kind of magic he'd felt with Phoenix earlier in the night, the same dark energy that had nearly choked him.

"What the hell is that?" Griff muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

"That's what I want to know," Moreau said, her voice low. She stepped closer, lowering her voice so only Griff could hear. "Look, I know you've got your… unique way of handling things, but we don't have time for some of your more out-there theories. I need this case closed, and fast. The higher-ups are breathing down my neck, and I don't want any more questions than necessary."

Griff's jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation flashing through him. Moreau had always been pragmatic to a fault, more concerned with keeping the peace than digging into the unknown. But this? This was beyond the ordinary and pretending otherwise would only make things worse.

"Captain, this isn't some pedestrian attack. Look at the wounds. This isn't some random act of violence. I get wanting to get it closed as quickly as possible, but if we don't address what's happening in the city, we're going to see even more bodies like this."

"You don't think this is one off?"

"Unfortunately, no."

Moreau's eyes narrowed, her mouth a thin line of displeasure. "I haven't seen anything like this cross my desk, Broussard."

"Exactly like it? No, but a lot of similarities… more like a thread running through things. We've closed most of them, but I still think they're connected."

"Connected or not, what I care about is results. So, do your job. But keep your theories out of the official report, understood?"

Griff bit back a retort, knowing it wouldn't do any good. "Understood."

She gave a curt nod before turning on her heel and walking away, leaving Griff standing over the body, frustration gnawing at his gut. He couldn't just walk away from this. Not when everything in him screamed that this was bigger than anyone realized. And not when it reminded him so much of his father's unsolved case.

Griff stood up and motioned for one of the forensic techs. "Get me a sample of that residue," he ordered, pointing to the dark substance on the victim's skin. "I want it tested for anything unusual."

The tech nodded, already moving to gather what was needed. Griff turned and made his way back toward his bike, pulling out his phone as he walked. He knew someone who might have answers—or at least be able to tell him what the hell kind of magic he was dealing with.

Dr. Geneva Duvall, one of Phoenix's younger sisters and the assistant medical examiner for the city, was one of the few people Griff trusted with cases like this. She wasn't just good at her job—she knew the world beneath the surface, the one most people pretended didn't exist. She'd helped him more times than he could count when magic and death intersected in ways the normal authorities couldn't explain.

"Geneva, it's Griff," he said as soon as she picked up. "I'm at a scene. We've got another body, and it's bad. I'm sending you a picture of the wounds. There's some kind of residue. Looks magical."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Geneva's voice came through, calm but concerned. "I'll be at the morgue in twenty. Bring the body directly to me, and I'll take a look. But from the sound of it, we might be dealing with something new."

"New?" Griff's frown deepened. "What do you mean?"

"Something Phoenix mentioned at dinner. I'll be able to give you a better idea once I see it in person," Geneva replied. "Just get it to me as soon as you can."

Griff hung up, his mind racing. Geneva's tone had been careful, but he could hear the undercurrent of unease in her voice. If she and her sister thought this was something new, something worse than what they'd already seen, then they were in trouble.

He strode back to Moreau, catching her just as she was finishing up with another officer. "I'm having the body sent to Geneva…" he said, his voice firm.

Moreau rolled her eyes. "That's not protocol…"

"You want results, or you want protocol?"

Moreau snorted. "You know the answer to that."

Griff nodded. "I'll ask her to get you a preliminary report by morning."

Moreau gave him a long, hard look, but after a moment, she nodded. "Fine. But don't drag this out, Broussard. We don't need another mess on our hands."

Griff didn't bother responding. He turned and headed back to his bike, feeling the weight of the case with every step.

T he morgue was cold and sterile, the scent of antiseptic clinging to the air as Griff entered, accompanying the body as they wheeled it inside on a gurney. Geneva was already there, her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, her eyes sharp and focused behind her glasses as she prepared her tools.

"Griff," she greeted, nodding toward the body. "Let's see what we're dealing with."

Griff stepped back, letting Geneva work as she peeled back the sheet covering the victim. Her brow furrowed as she studied the wounds, her gloved fingers lightly touching the residue.

"This is…" Geneva trailed off, her expression tightening. "This is like nothing I've ever seen before. The magic in this is… ancient."

Griff frowned. "Ancient? What do you mean?"

Geneva glanced up at him, her eyes serious. "This isn't your run-of-the-mill dark magic, Griff. This is something older, something more dangerous. It's the kind of magic that hasn't been seen in centuries. Whoever did this, knew exactly what they were doing."

"Family knowledge?"

The Duvalls knew more about the supernatural underbelly of New Orleans than anyone. Their father had hailed from one of the oldest and most revered families in the city. The girls' mother and aunt were practically royalty in the fae world. Geneva's mother had been banished from the fae realm when she'd refused to give up her human lover. Her sister, Maeve, the girls' aunt, had refused to condemn her and so had suffered the same fate. Maeve had raised the girls when their parents had died, training them to be the most formidable warriors the fae had ever seen.

Geneva grinned. "Something like that."

Griff's stomach churned. The idea of some one or some thing wielding that kind of power in the middle of New Orleans was enough to make his dragon roar with frustration. He'd known this case was bad, but this was worse than he'd imagined.

"Can you tell what kind of spell it was?" he asked, his voice tight.

Geneva shook her head. "Not yet. But I'll run some tests. It's going to take time, though. This isn't something I can rush."

Griff nodded, his mind already spinning with possibilities. "Keep me updated."

As Geneva continued her examination, Griff's thoughts turned back to the night his father had been murdered. He'd been just a kid at the time, but he remembered the scene all too well. The strange markings, the way his father's body had been twisted and mangled beyond recognition. And now, standing here, looking at Travis Mitchell's body, Griff couldn't shake the feeling that this case was somehow connected.

The parallels were too strong to ignore. The same dark magic, the same inexplicable injuries. It couldn't be a coincidence. Someone—something—was stirring up old magic in the city, and Griff was determined to find out who.

Geneva looked up from the body, her eyes meeting his. "Griff, you need to be careful with this one. Whoever did this… they're playing with dangerous forces. Phoenix had a run-in with something earlier tonight…"

"She handled it." When Geneva arched her eyebrow at him, he continued, "I saw her from up high. She handled it."

"Yeah, she's going to bring some of the ash home. Like you, she thinks something bigger is going on, and whatever it is, isn't going to stop."

Griff nodded; his jaw clenched. "I know. But we need more info before we can figure out what it is and get it stopped. I can't just let this go."

Geneva sighed, removing her gloves and stepping back from the body. "I didn't think you would. You're almost as relentless as Phoenix. Do you think it's connected to your dad?" When he shot her a look, she smiled. "The Duvalls aren't the only ones whose roots run deep."

H e was headed back to the precinct when he picked up the prickling sensation of magic—a little bit off-kilter. He almost missed it as the similarities to tonight's murder had brought the haunting memories of his father's death back to the forefront of his mind. He hadn't been able to save his father, hadn't been able to solve the case. But this time, things were different. This time, he had Phoenix, Geneva, and the rest of the Duvalls on his side. Parking his Harley so it wouldn't be easily spotted, he found the barest wisp of magic and began to follow it.

He followed the faint trail of magic and entered a room where some kind of ritual or at least a meeting was going on. This was the type of situation where having Phoenix along could help. She could shroud their presence within fae magic. He started to get closer when his phone vibrated. Pulling it from his pocket, he glanced at the text message. Speak of the devil, or at least of the fae—it was a message from Phoenix.

Need to talk. Something's not right. Meet me at The Thorny Rose.

Griff's heart raced as he read the message. He had a feeling she was about to drop another bombshell on him, and if tonight was any indication, it wasn't going to be good.

He wasn't sure when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, Phoenix had become more than just another supernatural in his world. On more than one occasion she'd been his unofficial partner, regardless of whether either wanted to admit it. And if anyone could help him figure out what was going on, it was the Duvalls.

He shoved his phone into his pocket—Phoenix and The Thorny Rose would have to wait. Whatever was happening in the city, whatever darkness was rising, he knew one thing for sure, he and the Duvalls—especially Phoenix—were in it for the long haul. Together, they were going to solve the puzzle that seemed to be threatening to unravel the Crescent City.