Curse It (A Peg Darrow Novel Book 1), page 2
It wasn’t until I opened a door to what I thought would be the master bedroom, based on its size, that confusion set in. The room lacked any of the bright colors torturing the rest of the house. Instead it was sterile in a whole other sense of the word. The fluorescent lights and laminate flooring created an artificial glare. It bounced off the out of place pieces of medical equipment. Yet, since Violet was an RN, what did I know? Maybe nurses liked to keep their work close at hand. Looking around and seeing no signs of foul play, I moved on to the final room in the house.
Opening the door, I finally found the master bedroom. Like all the other rooms, it had clean metal lines and bright colors. Once again, I saw nothing to suggest foul play. But as I turned to leave, one item struck me as--off. Sitting at the foot of the bed was a large metal trunk, too large for the space and not matching any other decor. Rich and warm, it was wrapped in metals of gold and bronze, decorated with elaborate scrollwork, and clashed horribly with the cold, gleaming chrome of the bed frame.
I walked toward it, mesmerized. The chest called to me. Running my hand over the delicate metalwork, I recognized it for what it was. The intricate details and delicate melding of numerous metals was the work of a talented goblin artisan. It felt like finding Renaissance art in the middle of a Modern art exhibit.
It was also strange: goblins were by no means struggling financially and didn’t sell their work to outsiders. Not even to witches. Witches once fought beside goblins in wars past, but since losing our immortality, they treated us the same way as one would treat a distant relative, with respect but no assistance. How had Violet gotten the trunk? A generous lover who was powerful enough to risk the faux pas?
Getting down on my knees, I tested the lid to see if it was locked. It wasn’t, and despite invading Violet’s privacy, I needed to open it. The pale corpse I found made me fall flat on my ass. Violet lay inside the trunk. I scrambled to my knees and reached inside checking for a pulse just in case. Her skin was cool to the touch but not completely cold yet. Fear shivered down my spine. I should have checked for auras before entering the house. Too late now.
If someone were lurking in a closet, I would need every iota of magical power I could find to keep myself safe. This bounty was turning into a bigger deal than fifty bucks would cover. I needed to call Pammy.
3
Standing up to pull my phone out of my pocket, I did a visual sweep of Violet. Her pale skin had the flawless quality only present on the young. Her medium brown hair was cut into a severe bob in direct contradiction of that youthful appearance. The light frilly pink negligee clashed with her home decor. My gaze drifted down to her hands, and I hissed in a sharp breath while my heart began to race. Willing it to slow, I placed my hand on my chest. If tonight brought me any more surprises, I wouldn't have to worry about unpaid bills because I would have a heart attack.
There, placed in her hand was a poppy flower. To humans, the bloom brought to mind the fun print used on dishes and bedding. For a witch, a poppy usually meant one thing--vampires. Cold sweat, rancid with fear, made my T-shirt cling to my skin once more. Vampires were the worst of the other supernatural races, and they hated witches with a particular viciousness. Once we became mortal and therefore vulnerable to their glamouring, we were considered fair game.
Witches were like crack to vampires. For a brief time after they drank our blood, they would have a small fraction of our powers. Shifter and fae blood had the same benefits but the donors were immortal and a lot more likely to retaliate once they shook off the blood loss. Goblins, rumor had it, had skin too thick and only minimal power would travel through their blood, so they weren't considered worth the effort by most vampires.
My hands were shaking as I dialed Pammy. She answered on the first ring, an unintelligible din playing in the background.
"What's up, Sug?"
"We have a problem."
"Hmmm." The background noise was silenced.
"Violet is dead, and she's holding a poppy."
"Well, shit on toast."
Holding back the inappropriate laugh, bordering on hysterical, I forced out, "Tell me about it."
"Haven't had a vamp murder in a while.” She paused. “You ready for your first big gig?"
Not really, but I needed money. The current fee however would not be worth risking my hide for. Callous or not, I went for honest. "Not for fifty bucks."
Pammy laughed. Apparently possible vamp murders didn't phase her much. When her laughter petered out, she continued, "The father can't afford our rates, but we can't let a murder of one of our own go unpunished. I'll call the Benefactor." She hung up without saying goodbye.
She’d call back within a few minutes. I took a deep breath in an attempt to stop my hands from shaking. I slid to the ground next to the metal box to wait. Did I want a bounty murder case? One that involved vamps? Ultimately, what Pammy came back with would be the deciding factor.
The Benefactor was an anonymous donor who paid for justice when a family couldn't. The whole no-police-assistance thing meant witches paid for our own protection. If we didn’t, or humans were involved, vigilante justice happened while the government turned a blind eye. The Wild West mentality of old Arizona had never gone away for non-humans, though the same could be said of those back East, they just didn't have the Tombstone reference.
For the most part we were considered our own nation. On the bright side, my taxes were minimal. The only reason we paid taxes at all was because the fire department would still put out our fires, so they wouldn't spread to the human houses, and we still drove on the streets, and we could still go to the library.
Pammy's ringtone snapped me out of my musings. "Hello?"
"Hon, you sure you’re ready for this?"
Nope, not one bit. "It's not so much a case of want, so much as need, depending on the price of course." I felt like a jerk reiterating it.
Pammy grunted. "Fair enough, hopefully the price will help. The Benefactor has agreed to pay three thousand plus expenses at the closing of the case."
I nearly dropped my phone. Violent bounties were lucrative, but I hadn't realized how lucrative.
Pammy spoke into my stunned silence. "The extra thousand is hazard pay; we always get the extra thou when dealing with those fucking sociopaths. You gonna take it, or should I call someone else?”
“I’ll take,” I squeaked.
The hazard pay made sense. "Should I call Bubble Bubble Toil and Trouble? And do I need to inform her father?"
"Yes, call them, and have them process the body and bill me. I'll call Dusty."
Relief washed over me. I wouldn't have known what to say. I realized I needed to break the silence. "I'll keep you updated." I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt.
Pammy grunted into the phone.
Hanging up, I hit the speed dial for Bubble Bubble Toil and Trouble, the local witch morgue and lab, grateful Pammy had given me a list of numbers to program into my phone when I’d started.
"Big Butts and TaTas, Craig speaking, how can I help you?"
"Huh?" I almost ended the call, thinking I had called the wrong sort of establishment.
"Guy's gotta have a little fun where he can get it." A cheeky voice responded before my thumb made contact with the end-call button.
"Uh okay, I have a body to be picked up that will need an autopsy."
Any remaining trace of humor in his voice vanished. "Sure thing. Who am I speaking to? Also, I’ll need an address."
“This is Peg Darrow. I’m a Fortune.” It felt weird saying that.
“Oh, the new girl.” The sound of typing came over the connection. “Am I billing this to Pammy?”
“Yep.”
The exact address escaped me, so I gave him directions about how to get to Violet's, adding that there was an electric-blue Jeep out front, and he wouldn't be able to miss it. I hung up and returned the phone to my pocket, rubbing my clammy palms on my jeans. Knowing that the cavalry was coming, so to speak, made me feel better. Whoever came would add two more witches to the picture. That was if they weren’t hidden somewhere in the house. I took a shuddering breath.
Using the edge of Violet's metal coffin, I pulled myself back to my feet. Time to earn that hefty paycheck. I hoped intelligence would trump formal training. Not that anything about taking the job screamed intelligent.
I bent to examine the body and tried to disassociate the name from what remained. The vampire association had me checking the most obvious spot first. There were no signs of any bites or bruising around her neck. I grabbed her hands, gently turning her wrists out. Full rigor mortis hadn't set in yet: they moved easily. The morgue wouldn't need the poppy, so I plucked it from her hand and set it on the dresser for the time being. I wanted to run an aura trace on it later.
Next, I lifted her nightie and looked at her inner thighs. There was some scarring on her inner thighs, but it had faded to a slight luminescence of spider webs, something that happened when scars were old and properly tended. There were no fresh bite marks, anywhere.
I found it hard to believe a vamp would kill someone and leave behind a free meal with extra-special magic vitamins.
I smoothed down the nightie, allowing Violet a little dignity.
My gaze roamed her body once more looking for clues. Nothing marred her skin. Not a scraped knee, a broken fingernail, or a colorful bruise. My best guess would be poison or possibly asphyxiation. I closed the lid on the chest looking along the edges. The chest appeared to seal completely. If it had been lack of oxygen that had killed her, she had to have been drugged. Otherwise she should have been able to open it or shown signs of trying to claw her way out. I shivered at the thought.
My leg cramped from squatting next to Violet for too long. I stood and looked around the room again, searching for something I’d missed before. When I saw a tea mug perched on the nightstand, I belittled myself for a moment. I should have noticed it right away, but I was known to have several glasses sitting on my nightstand. It seemed normal. If one took into account Violet’s pristine living environment, it didn’t make sense for Violet. Had she woken up in the morning, she would have taken her mug to the kitchen and put it in the dishwasher. Everything had a place in this home.
My legs tingled as I walked over to the nightstand to examine the cup, shaking off the cramp. The ceramic was cool against my hands. I lifted the cup to my nose and took a sniff. The overly sweet scent of chamomile made me wince. I would have the guys take the cup as well to see if there were any sleep aids stronger than the botanicals in the tea. That or permanent sleeping pills.
The medical room suddenly came to mind. Setting the cup carefully back on the nightstand, I wandered down the hall to the room in question. I flipped the light switch on in the room. Under the harsh fluorescents, I saw what I missed before. The equipment from the chairs with their side tables, the tubes, and syringes were all related to phlebotomy.
Going over to the large fridge, I opened it. Sure enough, it was filled with bagged blood. Looked like Violet had been running an underground blood bank. I'd have bet money I didn't have on what kind of blood she was supplying—witch.
A witch caught selling blood to a vampire, let alone operating a business doing so, was a pariah to our kind. If this became public knowledge, the memory of her would always be tainted. I hadn't known Violet, but I knew she had a father who was dying and loved her.
BBTT would rely on aura trace spells to gather evidence, not the standard physical evidence used by humans. So long as I could keep them out of this room, they'd never catch on to Violet's side business. Turning out the light, I left the room and closed the door firmly behind me. If the time came that the information needed to come out to anyone beyond Pammy, I would make sure it happened.
For now, I believed that desperation forced Violet into something so distasteful. I'd keep her secret, so another witch wouldn't be forced to endure the stigma associated with being an addict. I'd seen enough with my aunt, though her decision had been one of a stupid teenager. To this day she remained a shell of the woman she should have been.
My resolve faltered, and I considered leaving the door open for everyone to see. If Violet turned out to be an enabler for the vampires without good reason, I wouldn’t be happy with my choice. Then the dying father popped back into my mind. I kept the door closed, mind made up.
Since the guys from BBTT still weren’t here, I went to the kitchen to search for a plastic baggy to store the poppy in. Unprepared to handle a murder scene, I needed to use what was at hand. The first drawer had a set of keys. I grabbed them hoping they were a spare set, so I could lock up the house when I left. The bags were in the third drawer I tried, and I carefully placed the wilted flower into one. Evidence preserved, I walked through the house. This time I looked for evidence of murder. If any violence occurred here, there would be visible signs, but like Violet’s body, the house looked untouched.
The rumble of a vehicle pulling up sent my heart racing. Logic said it was BBTT, but fear and logic were not friends. Looking out the blinds, I saw the BBTT logo emblazoned on the side of the van in the driveway and blew out a breath when. The business didn’t usually spell out their full name because it would make the vehicle a lot more likely to be vandalized if one forgot to keep the protection charms fresh. My heart rate steadied, and I swallowed. I shook my head hoping the gesture would push the creeping fear back into the deep recesses of my mind.
Opening the door, I greeted the two men getting out of the van. "Hi, guys. I’m Peg. Thanks for coming.”
The two introduced themselves as Craig and Dwayne. Craig was the younger of the two, which might explain his earlier references to women's anatomy. Dwayne, on the other hand, lacked any sense of humor whatsoever. It must have made for an interesting work dynamic. Craig gave me a grin, slightly morbid given the circumstances. Dwayne simply grunted, the strong silent type.
"Where's the body?" Craig asked.
"In the last bedroom down the hallway; she's in a metal chest."
Craig and Dwayne accepted that with no comment. When you picked up bodies for a living maybe you had heard more interesting stories than a body placed in a storage container.
“Since this is a murder, I’m guessing Pammy wants the whole shebang?” Craig inquired.
“Uh, first murder here. Not sure what that would entail.”
Dwayne looked me up and down and grunted again. The grunt seemed to imply that he found me lacking.
Craig inserted himself before I could respond. “The whole shebang is body process for any evidence and an aura trace on the house for the past forty-eight hours. Plus, we can test anything else you need handled.”
“What if the murder happened before two days ago?” Although I believed Violet’s death had been well within that time frame, I wondered about the limit.
Craig shrugged, “Part of the business plan. Past forty-eight hours we would need to hire more powerful witches, and they’re expensive. They don’t grow on trees.”
Maybe I should offer my services, but I was no expert, yet. That, and they probably wouldn’t hire me. Pammy was a shrewd businesswoman, and I had no doubt that she made sure that her vendors didn’t poach the talent.
Craig grinned again “We don’t hire Fortunes. Pammy would kill us.” He said it as a joke, but what I’d learned in the last three weeks was that the fun woman I had taken tequila shots with at the bar was a façade. The woman was ruthless.
“I came to that conclusion. Please do the forty-eight hour aura trace.” It would give me one less thing to do, considering I would need to do one on the poppy and perhaps the chest as well. “Also can you test a mug of tea I found? I think it may have been poisoned or drugged.”
“Definitely.”
“Oh, and you will check her body for curses in the autopsy, right?” I asked as an afterthought.
“Of course.”
With that the guys went to the back of their van and pulled out a plastic body bag. I led them into the house and pointed to the bedroom. They disappeared down the hallway. I wasn't sure if they used magic instead of a stretcher when transporting bodies, or if they considered hauling bodies around a cheaper version of the gym. I gave them space, waiting in the living room off the front door.
They walked out ten minutes later, breathing a bit with the effort, each holding on to a strap on either end of the bag. That answered one question. Violet couldn't weigh more than one -ten. Perhaps they didn't want to waste their magic.
I followed them out to the van and remained silent while they loaded Violet in. It didn't seem appropriate to make small talk with the guys until the job was done. Once they closed the back of the van, I asked them to follow me back to the bedroom. Once inside I pointed to the mug I needed to have tested. The guys produced some plastic containers and plastic bags to transport the teacup and its contents.
I looked over at the chest. "You guys want to take the chest?"
Dwayne grunted, and Craig grimaced. "That sucker's too heavy and too big to fit in the back of the van. Besides, it's empty. We'll leave it here."
I walked them outside, ready to head home myself. I heard the van rumble to life as I pulled the set of keys I found in the kitchen. The third key on the ring was a winner and slid easily into the front door lock as the van pulled away. With the two other witches being gone, the uneasiness returned, and I glanced over my shoulder. I nearly jumped out of my skin.
A girl stood across the street. Under the halogen streetlight, her long dark hair had an orange tint. I couldn’t make out any other details, but when she saw me staring, she turned and started to run. What the hell?
