Gift of Curses, page 2
“Don’t fire!”
“Arshad!”
The anger in Rowan’s voice was something I would have to deal with later. Right now, all I focused on was the burn starting in my hip. The heat wove itself over my skin in a familiar pattern with the precision of a scalpel in the hands of a master surgeon. With the heat came the rise of a barrier being pulled behind it. Glowing purple lines not unlike the electricity flickering around the witch appeared on my arms in the form of Arabic calligraphy. When they reached my fingertips, a translucent barrier about half an inch thick formed against my palms. I raised my hands up and pushed the edges of the barrier together.
I was close enough to the witch now that shocks of electricity bounced off the barrier. The shocks travelled through the purple shimmer, leaving me feeling like I’d touched someone who had rubbed their feet on a carpet. I jerked my hand back, and the barrier wavered. A second jolt hurt much worse.
“Khara al methabek!” I swore.
I resisted the urge to stick my finger in my mouth to soothe the pain and instead flattened my palm back against the barrier, gritting my teeth against the pain.
“Arshad, get back here!” Rowan shouted.
I didn’t look back at him, but from the closeness of his voice, it seemed like he was trying to decide whether to get himself to safety or drag me out of there first. I dug my heels into the ground in case he tried the latter.
There was no getting through to the witch. He was too far gone, that much was beyond clear at this point. The streetlights and the signs from nearby shops flickered. If he wasn’t contained, he could cause a power outage. I inhaled sharply and threw the barrier out to form a dome around him. He was huddled and shaking on the ground. Squeezing my eyes shut against the pain of the shocks growing more frequent and more painful didn’t stop me from hearing the screams. My heart stuttered, and I hoped it was from sympathy and not from electrocution.
With a final violent jolt of electricity strong enough to heat my rings, the witch collapsed. I let out a startled yelp and held the barrier until he was no longer a threat. Only when the sparks stopped did I crouch next to him, pulling the barrier down with me. I hoped the motion looked natural enough to hide the sudden weakness in my knees. A quick glance at my calloused hands showed surface burns where my rings met my skin. It wouldn’t heal on its own in a few days.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Rowan demanded, suddenly very much in my personal space.
I leaned away from him and held a hand in front of the witch’s face. Warm breath ghosted over the backs of my fingers. The relief of it was enough to drown out the sharp tingling in my hands. I prayed silently that he hadn’t done any permanent nerve damage to me.
“He’s still breathing. Officer Velasquez, get me an ambulance. Now, please!”
Officer Velasquez jumped as though suddenly remembering where she was and picked up her radio transmitter from her belt.
“It’s dead, Detective. I think he fried it.”
“Then use the radio in your car!”
She seemed like a nice enough woman, she really did, and I felt bad for yelling. An apology would be due later. Time was of the essence. I didn't know what impact losing control like this had had on the witch, and I didn't know what kind of medical attention he might need, but I wanted to make sure he got it, even as I cuffed his hands behind his back.
A large hand landed on my shoulder and wrenched me to my feet. I spun around to face Rowan. At 5’10”, most people had to look up to meet my eyes. Rowan only had to tip his head slightly. He was marginally above average height for a human man, but below average for a dryad. The shorter stature did nothing to minimize his obvious anger. His sharp jaw was set, and his nostrils flared. Another barrier scratched the underside of my skin.
“If you ever,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “pull a stunt like that again, I will make sure you are tied to a desk for life faster than you can say abracadabra. Are we clear?”
I was pretty sure Rowan didn’t have the authority to make that happen, but I didn’t say so. My ringing phone kept me from having to give any response. The words Medical Examiner’s Office took up most of my screen. I held up a finger, which only seemed to make Rowan angrier, and answered the call. At least he could express one emotion.
The anger seemed to fade into curiosity and concern as I frowned, listening to a woman I didn’t recognize speak. The call was a brief, two-sentence exchange. It looked like I would have to trust Officer Velasquez to make sure the ambulance showed up.
“What’s going on?” Rowan asked.
There was still some irritation in his voice. I dropped my phone into the pocket of my blazer.
“The medical examiner is ready for us.”
Chapter Two
The Toronto Forensic Services and Coroner's Complex was only a few minutes’ drive from the 12th district precinct, which meant that after getting thoroughly chewed out by Sabine for putting myself in danger with the storm witch, I could still drive down the street in time to make it to the autopsy. Most detectives didn’t get to sit in on autopsies, even when they wanted to. I’d never been able to before. Apparently, Special Crimes got special treatment in that regard. I had to admit, I liked the excuse to be here.
“They like us to be on hand for weird autopsies in case something weird happens,” Rowan explained. “Sometimes, we see things they don’t.”
I had the urge to argue that the medical examiners knew what they were doing, but he had a point. It wasn’t just about the medical examiners, either. Everybody brought a different perspective to the table. As a barrier witch and former Homicide detective, I saw things differently than Rowan, a dryad and former Sex Crimes detective. We both saw things differently from the rest of our team, and from the rest of the world. It was what made intersectionality so important in our line of work. Few things had annoyed me more about working with Homicide detectives than their refusal to seek outside help, even over the simplest things. Hours would be wasted chasing down explanations that one simple question to the right person could have answered.
The examiner’s office was in the quiet lull between the post-lunch and pre-end of day rushes. Rowan and I didn’t run into many people as we made our way to the autopsy room. Nobody bothered us or made more eye contact than necessary.
“Do you know who is doing the autopsy?” I asked Rowan as we paced through the halls.
Watching him, it was impossible not to pick up on the way his eyes kept sweeping over the hall. Every time we passed an emergency exit, he seemed to take note of it with a slight nod of his head.
Observant or paranoid? Paranoid or up to something?
I didn’t know him well enough to make that assessment yet.
“Deva Jhaveri and Brody Kaufman,” he said.
I couldn’t help the twinge of disappointment in my chest. They were the best doctors to avoid a conflict of interest, but I’d still been hoping for the excuse to see a different doctor entirely.
The disappointment must have only shown on my face for a brief half-second at most, but Rowan still caught it. He was observant, then.
“What?” he demanded. “Something the matter with them? You can’t possibly have an issue with Deva, she’s the best examiner in the city. Kaufman’s all right, too.”
There was a huge difference between ‘the best examiner in the city’ and ‘all right.’ I didn’t know how Kaufman was as a medical examiner. In fact, I didn’t know him at all, so I had no place to judge. But Rowan was absolutely right about Deva. She’d earned her spot as a lead examiner. I had nothing but respect for her.
Still, his attitude made me bristle. I didn’t like being defensive. It always made me feel like I had done something wrong to need defending. In this case, though, I hadn’t. I hadn’t even said anything. People told me Rowan Oak was abrasive at best but even with the head’s up, it was still grating.
“Did I say anything was the matter with them?” I snapped.
He blinked and almost shrank back. Then, of all the things he could have done, he grinned. It was a slow, easy sort of grin that seemed more nonchalant than amused. In some species, that grin would have been a threat. From him, it looked like he was almost apologizing.
“I like Deva just fine. I don’t know Kaufman,” I said.
Rowan gave a slight, slow nod.
“So what was with that face?” he asked, his voice sounding raspier than before.
The casual tone sounded forced, as if he was trying not to make it sound like an interrogation. It wasn’t a tone I’d heard from him in the few long hours we’d known each other for.
Oh. Of course.
I should have recognized his attitude sooner. He wasn’t intentionally being a dick, he was just one of those guys who had a hard time turning off what my old partner called ‘detective mode’. If that was the case, I could go a little easier on him. I wasn’t always the easiest person to work with either, and I was sure he was doubting his ability to work with me after my stunt with the storm witch. Part of me didn’t blame him. Nobody wanted to work with somebody they couldn’t trust to act sensibly. I’d worked with Oscar long enough that he’d known to expect that sort of thing from me. This partnership with Rowan was new. I would have to ease him into my thought process. Likewise, he would have to ease me into his.
I gave him the smile usually reserved for friends. I could forge some semblance of civility with him. A partnership went both ways.
“My girlfriend is an Assistant Medical Examiner,” I said. “Doctor Ariadne Stapert.”
He gave me a quick sideways glance that I almost missed. It was too fast for me to identify his expression. Reading faces was hard enough for me at the best of times. With Rowan’s permanent scowl, I might as well have not even tried.
“You’re gay?” he asked. He opened the door to the autopsy room and held it open for me. “So is Kieron.”
I knew that, actually. It wasn’t a secret. In fact, I’d first met Detective-Sergeant Kieron Harper and his long-term boyfriend at Pride the previous year. Ariadne hadn’t felt comfortable going, so I’d spent the afternoon with Kieron and his family.
Kieron had worked in Guns, Gangs, and Covens before Special Crimes and after five years in the Irish military. Everybody who knew him said he was a good man and a better detective. His reputation was half the reason I’d accepted Sabine’s offer to join Special Crimes. Her reputation was the other half. It was important to me to work for people who served and protected people above egos.
Plus, Ariadne worried about what working Homicide was doing to my health and our relationship. I’d also had an offer from the Emergency Task Force. Barriers came in handy in an emergency. Sabine’s offer had been more appealing. Most of those Emergency Task Force guys had big egos.
“You know it’d be a massive conflict of interest to have your girlfriend do an autopsy for a case you’re working on,” Rowan continued.
Was he being accusing or casual? His entire delivery was so even, it was hard to tell. I gave him the benefit of the doubt. We didn’t need to be best friends, we just needed to get along during work hours. If I had to pretend I wasn’t second-guessing the intention behind everything he said, so be it.
“I know that. I just like to see her, that’s all.”
Some weeks, I saw her more at work than outside of work. It was mostly my fault. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t take any chance I got to spend even just a few minutes with her.
Rowan’s lips twitched into that almost-smile. I was really, really going to have to get better at reading faces if I wanted to have any kind of conversation with him.
The autopsy room was as pristine and clinical as I expected it to be. As soon as we stepped into the room, Doctor Deva Jhaveri was at our side with surgical masks and latex gloves. Though she barely reached my elbow, her presence seemed to fill the entire room. I went through the practiced routine of tying my hair back, pocketing my rings, and pulling the gloves on. The raw spots on my fingers from the storm witch’s electrocution stung at the contact. Fixing the surgical mask over my face with the white side facing out gave me a suitable distraction from the sharp pains. The elastics didn’t want to stay behind my ears.
“The woman’s clothes have been sent to the labs for processing,” Deva said.
“Did you find any identification? Or a phone?” I asked as I used a pair of bobby pins to keep the stupid elastics in place.
“No. No phone, no identification. I have taken dental and fingerprint impressions, but there is no record of her in the provincial system. We are checking the federal system now. It will take more time.”
I wasn’t sure what they expected me to do here, so I followed Rowan’s lead and stood just close enough to see what was happening but far enough to be out of the way. Curiosity wasn’t enough to tempt me to do anything that might compromise the examination.
“If you see something weird, say so,” Rowan said from behind his own mask.
As if there was anything about this that wasn’t weird. Everything about this body, about this case, rubbed me the wrong way. What was somebody dressed for the beach or a park doing in an abandoned office building? Could she have been going to meet a realtor? She could have been looking to purchase office space. The place had been empty for as long as I had lived in the neighbourhood. Rent could have been dirt cheap. It wasn't a terrible neighbourhood, either. It wasn't even a terrible building.
"Do you know why nobody works in that building anymore?" I asked.
Knowing why it was empty could give us a clue as to why she was there.
Rowan shrugged with his arms still folded across his chest. His eyes were on Deva and Kaufman. The fluorescent light cast odd shadows across his sharp cheekbones. He reached up to scratch at his smooth jaw, giving me a better glimpse of the tattoo on his forearm.
I had nothing against tattoos. It wasn't the black ink itself that made me resist the urge to grimace. My girlfriend, Ariadne, had the cutest bird on the back of her neck, and I loved it. It was my favourite tattoo in the world. I even liked it more than my own two tattoos: a cedar tree on the back of my right shoulder and a maple tree on the back of my left shoulder. It seemed an appropriate way to honour both my homes and my dual citizenship.
A large tree covered each of Rowan's forearms. I assumed it was an oak tree, but I only knew cedar trees well enough to identify them. They were everywhere in Lebanon. The dead branches of Rowan’s tattoo wove together to form a skull up near the crook of each elbow. Even I had to admit, the work was brilliant. In the harsh light of the autopsy room, the lines were clear and crisp, clearly done by somebody with experience. But I didn't understand why he would have them so visible. Both my tattoos were completely hidden unless I was swimming. And skulls? They weren’t exactly professional.
Rowan noticed my glance before I could look away. His lip twitched.
"Got an issue with ink, princess?" he drawled.
I clenched my teeth together at the nickname. He was probably trying to get a rise out of me, just like the Homicide detectives who'd thrown it around. Well, I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
"Not at all. I was going to ask who did them. Prince."
A muscle in his jaw jumped a little. His expression tightened for such a short flash, I might have missed it if I hadn't been watching for his reaction. So he didn't like being called 'prince.' Issues with authority? Or did he just not like me turning the tables on him? He let out a half-laughed breath as if saying, 'Fair enough.'
"Sure you were." He nodded back to the autopsy. “Building’s been out of use for a few years. Lots of freak accidents. Electrocutions, things falling, that sort of shit. A couple people hung themselves in the washrooms."
"Oh my God."
"Yeah. They started saying the place is cursed. Eventually, everybody cleared out. I think the city owns it now. There was talk of tearing it down, but nothing ever came of it."
"Do you believe it's cursed?" I asked.
I couldn't help it, I was curious.
Rowan's snort was more than dismissive enough to be an answer. I didn't see why it was so difficult to believe. If objects could be cursed, why not buildings? Though the power required to curse an entire building for that long was a little out of the realm of what the average curse worker might be able to pull off, it was still doable. I made a mental note to look into it at some point.
Deva spoke as she worked. Female siren of presently unknown age. Complexion suggested she was a New World siren, and most likely white. That only narrowed her identity down to one of a quarter million people. Even though New World sirens only made up 10% of Toronto's population, in a city of nearly three million, it was not an insignificant number.
Dating an assistant medical examiner and working as a Homicide detective for three years had given me enough of a medical vocabulary to follow what she was saying. I always read the autopsy reports myself in case there was something important that didn't make it into the summary. I wasn't sure if Rowan was following, though. His expression gave nothing away. It never did.
"So there's no outward trauma to the body," I said, trying to make it sound like I was just thinking out loud instead of explaining.
Rowan gave a slight nod. "No trauma, no sign of a struggle. What does that leave? Drugs? Other chemicals? Natural causes?”
It was my turn to snort.
"Does that look like natural causes?" I asked.
"That looks like fucking weird causes."
That was a good way of putting it. I hoped that was what Deva listed as the official cause of death. I bit the insides of my cheek and faked a sneeze into my arm to hide the laugh. Rowan grinned, evidently not fooled by my charade.
"If you're wondering," Deva said curtly, "the technical term for 'fucking weird causes' is heart failure caused by spontaneous muscle atrophy and dehydration. Scalpel."
Kaufman handed Deva one of the scalpels sitting on the metal tray beside him. It looked much longer than the scalpel a surgeon would use, but I didn't know enough about them to know for sure. There were details to the process even I didn't care enough to know about. All I cared about was what the examination found, not how it was done. Still, I was morbidly curious enough about the process to tip my head up to get a better view. Who knew when I would get to watch another autopsy? Hopefully, it wouldn’t be for a long time. Deva moved to cut the woman open.
