Dark Strike, page 3
Gareth: I don’t know much about necromancers. I know just as much as you do. They like to play with the dead. I’ll call my brother and see if he knows anything. I’m closing up early. Be there soon.
Me: You better bring that tight elf ass home.
Gareth: Yes, ma’am.
I laughed and put my phone back on the piles of papers. The thought of his large, manly hands on my body sent a thrill of delicious pricks over my skin. Focus, Rowyn.
Right. The naughty thoughts of what I wanted to do to the elf would have to wait.
Moving on…
I pulled my laptop closer, opened Google and typed “necromancers and priests” in the search bar. I scrolled down the usual hits, looking for something that would catch my attention. But after an hour of going over the same bits of information, that necromancers practiced magic involving the dead, I wasn’t any closer at finding anything that would help my case.
I rubbed my eyes, feeling the burn from staring at the screen for so long and forgetting to blink.
“Rowyn?” I heard Tyrius’s voice coming from downstairs.
“Up here!” I called back.
A few moments later the Siamese cat padded into my office. “Anything?” he leaped up expertly on my desk and walked over to my laptop.
“It’s basically the same stuff written by different people.” I sighed through my nose. “How are Kora and the kids?”
The cat raised a brow. “Kaia tried to burn Krystal’s tail with a match. And Titus thought it would be fun to lock Tyson in the broom closet for two hours.”
I let out a snort. “At least they’re having fun.”
“You call that fun?” asked the cat, exasperated. “It’s like a war zone over there. Kora’s yelling and throwing things. Gran’s shouting and then drinking. You try having your dinner while everyone’s throwing around insults.”
I reached over and scratched under his chin. “You came over here for some quiet time. Didn’t you?”
Tyrius looked a little guilty. “No. I came over because we have a case to work on.”
I blinked. “Right.” Part of me knew he came here to get some peace, but I knew he also wanted to help me with the new case. God knew I needed help.
“What about the angel-borns?” inquired the cat. “They’ve got tons of info on all things supernatural.”
I shook my head. “Nah. That was a bust. They don’t know any more than we do. I did put in a request for further information, if it becomes available, but basically, they’ve got nothing.”
“Sorry, Rowyn. I wish I knew more about these necromancers, but Death magic is rare. I thought it was abolished centuries ago, to be honest. I mean, who wants to play around with the dead? All those maggots and stringy, rotten flesh? It’s really disgusting.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Yeah, well, there are lots of freaks in the world. Necromancers are just another breed.” Another breed I was going to kill.
The baal lay down over my electrical bill and stretched. “Why do you suppose they killed the priest?” He stared at my pen next to him and knocked it down with a swipe of his paw. Cats. Always knocking things down. What’s up with that?
I reached down and picked up my pen. Twirling it between my fingers, I said, “Why do people commit murder? What’s the driving force behind any killing? All murders and killings are motivated by something. Right? Usually it’s financial greed, sexual lust, or the pursuit of power.”
“You can rule out the sex part,” said the cat. “Unless the priest had something going on the side.”
I shook my head. “There was nothing sexual about this killing. We would have seen it otherwise. So, that leaves greed and power.”
Tyrius flicked his tail. “We all know the church is swimming in cash. And the priest’s office was trashed. Maybe they were looking for something.”
I put the pen to my lips. “Yeah. I thought about that.”
“Like what?” asked Tyrius as he casually knocked my yellow Post-it notepad to the floor.
“No idea. I’ll have to ask Father Thomas.” I reached down, grabbed my Post-it pad and wrote the question on it.
“If you want my opinion,” said the cat, “my guess would be power. It’s always about power. Especially with magic. You can never have enough of it. These necromancers are no different.”
Tyrius did have a point. “Death magic,” I muttered. Something occurred to me. “What about the witches? You think they would know more about the necromancers? They practice magic too. Maybe they’re like their long-lost cousins or something.”
Tyrius snorted and tapped my liquid paper bottle to the floor. “No way. I’ve lived with my share of witches over the centuries, White and Dark, good and bad. But never, and I mean never, would any witch want to be mixed in with that lot. I mean, you’ve got your White and Dark magic, your elemental magic, even blood magic. But nothing compares to Death magic. We’re talking about using the loss of life for magic—like the dead are battery-charged. It’s twisted. It’s sick. Witches don’t play with Death magic.”
I pursed my lips together. “Maybe some do.”
The cat’s jaw fell open. “Don’t you dare go see that old hag Evanora. I forbid it! You hear me! She put a collar on me and tried to bleed you to death!”
It was my turn to laugh. “I remember.” But she had also saved my life. “I was thinking of asking Gareth to pay her a visit. She loves the elf. If anyone can make her talk, he’s the guy. And if she knows anything about Death magic, it’s worth a try.”
Tyrius mumbled something under his breath. “Okay. Good. That’s good.”
My head throbbed with a sudden headache, which I recognized as my body trying to tell me to hydrate. “I need some water.” I’d been sitting at that desk for so long even my butt ached, and the right side was practically numb.
I pushed my chair back, slipped my phone into my pocket, and headed down the stairs to the kitchen, rubbing my numb ass with Tyrius padding next to me.
“Okay, so we know a necromancer killed a priest.” I opened the fridge, grabbed my Brita water pitcher, and filled my glass. “So, where do we find them? Any ideas?”
Tyrius leaped on the kitchen counter and sat. “At a cemetery maybe? If I worked with the dead, that’s where I’d be.”
I swallowed some water. “Maybe. But if that’s true, I would have seen one by now.” Cemeteries were like my playgrounds. I was in a cemetery at least once every two weeks, killing a ghoul who was feasting on the flesh of a newly buried body. It was easy money. “But maybe you’re right. We can start here in Thornville’s cemetery and ask around. See if anyone saw anything or if any of the gravesites have been disturbed.”
“It would go faster if the elf was here,” commented the cat. “How long till Gareth gets here?”
I took another gulp of water. “Not for another two hours. Depending on traffic.” The thought of the elf had my stomach in butterflies. The fact that we’d been together officially for over four months and he still did that to me was a very good sign.
My phone beeped with another text message, and I pulled it out. “Father Thomas wants to see me right away.” I looked up and met the cat’s blue gaze. “Says he’s got something from the necromancers.”
Tyrius arched a brow. “Hopefully it’s not contagious.”
I slipped my phone back into my pocket. “This is good. Who knows? Maybe we’ll have this case solved by the end of the day.”
“Ha,” laughed the cat, his tail lashing out behind him. “That’ll be the day. After what I’ve seen, these necromancers are brutal. Savages. What we need is a team.”
I cocked a brow. “And where do you think we’ll find this team?”
The front door burst open.
Layla stood in the threshold wearing a pink and black leather striped body-hugging ensemble, a bustier that pushed her breasts up to her neck, and a wicked gleam in her eyes. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a French braid, and knee-high boots with six-inch heels gave her more height. She looked like an S&M Amazon warrior princess all packaged together.
A black leather whip hung in her hand. And with a powerful thrust, she let the whip rip with a resounding crack.
“I’m ready to whip me some necromancers,” she said, beaming.
I laughed. She was the best little sister ever.
CHAPTER 4
“Looks like she thought you said you were hunting a nympho and not a necro,” commented Tyrius, a smile in his voice.
Yes, my little sis was an extrovert, a little flamboyant most of the time, and liked to dress seductively. But that was who she was, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. She’d earned the right to wear whatever she wanted. And if you had a problem with it, well, that was your problem because she looked fantastic.
My heart clenched at the memory of seeing her on the ground with her blood pooled around her. Layla had accepted Lucian’s gift, his darkness, and he’d tricked her into thinking he’d make her all-powerful, when in fact he’d planned to sacrifice her life to complete the ritual he needed to open the Hellmouth.
I’d nearly lost her.
Layla and I both worked for the angel-born Council now, which was why I’d texted her earlier. If I needed someone else working with me on this case, I was choosing Layla. Not because she was my sister—well, okay, maybe a little bit—but because she could kick some serious ass. And, let’s face it, she was fun.
Why kick butt while sporting a sour expression when you could laugh your head off the entire time?
My boots clunked on the paved walkway that led to the church’s side entrance under an arched oak door framed by lilac trees. “Is Danto working at the club?” The two were usually inseparable, practically sewed at the hip since the very first day they met. Danto owned the V-Lounge, a vampire club in New York City, which also doubled as his place of business.
Layla looked at me intently and said, “He’s stuck working out some vampire territorial problems. All I know is they want to merge the New Jersey Court with New York’s, and that’s got the vampires all riled up.”
I frowned at her. “Is it serious?”
Layla’s full lips spread into a wide smile. “Nothing he can’t handle.”
She was right about that. Danto could handle himself and then some. As the Head vampire in New York City Court, he’d certainly seen his share of rowdy vamps.
“Tyrius. You wearing your crystal?” I’d left so quickly I’d forgotten to check if the cat had the charmed collar on.
The cat’s nails bit into the flesh of my shoulder. “If you mean this gaudy, pink, Hello Kitty choker that’s giving me torticollis? Then yes. Yes, I am.”
A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “Good.” I raised my fist, knocked and pushed open the door, not waiting for Father Thomas or any other priest. Maybe I’d grown bold in my years of working for the church. Or maybe I just didn’t give a rat’s ass what they thought about me.
I held the door open for Layla, and then the two of us moved inside the church and through a small lobby with wood paneling and antique rugs.
The whole place was sparkling clean, and the air smelled of wood and musty carpets. A distant murmur of voices drifted out as I walked up the flight of stairs and made for Father Martin’s private office. The voices grew louder, and they were coming from the dead priest’s office. The bursts in sudden pitch told me it was a heated argument, but I couldn’t make out what was being said.
“They’re fighting?” Tyrius’s breath was warm against my cheek as I neared the office. He shifted on my shoulder until he found a comfortable spot. “Priests fight? What the hell do priests fight about? Who’s got the bigger clerical collar?”
“Hush, you,” I whispered. “Don’t forget who’s paying us extra for this job.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t kill the kitty,” grumbled Tyrius, making Layla laugh.
I walked into the office just as the volume of voices had reached a dangerous height.
Father Martin’s office was exactly like I’d left it, except eight priests were now assembled in it and his body was gone.
A collective silence filtered through the room as the priests all turned and stared at us. Their expressions ranged from shock and disappointment to outrage and anger.
I could deal with the usual sneers and glares of haughty disdain, but I was not prepared for what happened next.
In a blur of black cloth and silver blades, four priests crossed the room faster than I thought humans could move. I blinked at the four sharp swords pointed at my throat.
Impressive. If I wasn’t already convinced the moment I moved they’d cut me, I would have clapped.
Tyrius whistled. “I thought the Knights of Heaven were on our side.”
I felt Layla brush my shoulder and saw a wink of a silver blade in her hand as she pointed it at the nearest priest’s groin. “You touch my sister, and I’m going to castrate you, priest. And it’s going to hurt like a bitch.”
“Take it easy, Layla.” But she had it right. I ground my teeth in frustration. “Uh—Father Thomas?” I called over the priests’ heads. “I think you need to call off your dogs.” Before Layla and I cut them into pretty priest fillets.
At that, all the priests’ eyes hardened. Either they didn’t like the dog comment, or they could read my mind. Tyrius’s nails bit down harder into my flesh.
“Father Thomas asked me to come here,” I told the four priests, keeping the conversation going as my heart thrashed in my chest. “I didn’t come here to fight. But if you cut me with your pretty swords, I will defend myself. I don’t care that you’re men of the cloth. I will kill you. Don’t think I won’t.”
The priest with short red hair snarled. “Abominations can’t enter the church. They will be removed.”
I raised my brow. “Abominations? Really? Is this how it’s going to be? Name-calling?” Growing up as an Unmarked within the angel-born community, I had a master’s degree in name-calling. I’d heard them all. Granted, I had thought with my new sigil, my archangel brand, that having the blood of an archdemon running in my veins wouldn’t matter anymore. Guess I was wrong.
Waves of heat rushed to my face. “You’re starting to piss me off, Red,” I told him. “All of you. Out of my way before I make tiny priest cubes with your clerical flesh.”
Layla giggled. “Dibs on the bald one,” she said, and I heard the excitement in her voice. She was almost shaking with it. She wanted to fight. “He looks like a bleeder.”
I laughed. God, I loved that girl.
Red’s mouth twisted, baring his teeth to the gums. “You’re just a woman.”
Oh, he went there. Did he? Okay then. “Well. I’d rather be a woman than a man with the church’s collar wrapped tightly around his neck.”
Tyrius snickered. “You can’t even fart without asking for permission.”
I leaned forward until I felt the tip of his sword pierce the skin on my neck. “I’ve killed bigger, stronger men than you with my eyes closed.”
“And with her hands tied behind her back,” cheered my furry friend. “And hopping on one leg.”
“Oh—wait!” called Layla, and she pushed up her bustier making the girls lift a little higher. “Okay. I’m ready now,” she added with a smile.
“Enough.” Father Thomas appeared behind the line of attack priests. He put his hand on one of the priests’ shoulders, but he was looking at me with a kind of “stop it, Rowyn” expression. “Let them through. I’ve asked them to come.”
Tyrius straightened on my shoulder. “You heard el padre. Vámonos, estúpidos.”
For a second, I didn’t think the armed priests would listen, but then as one they stepped back and sheathed their swords around their waists, under their long, black jackets. Red took his sweet time, all the while giving me looks.
I batted my eyelashes at him. “Watch out, Red. If you keep staring at me like that, I’m going to think you want to sleep with me.” Oops. I couldn’t help myself.
Red’s face went three shades redder and he turned around, speaking in hushed tones with the bald priest Layla had called dibs on.
After making sure the priests weren’t going to pull their weapons on us again, I sheathed my soul blades around my waist and stepped into the room.
I flicked my eyes between the priests. “Looks like we missed the party,” I said to no one in particular. “Care to share?”
One of the priests, a big fellow who’d stayed behind with Father Thomas and who could have easily passed for a werewolf, scowled deeply, making his already small eyes smaller. “What are they doing here?” he growled at Father Thomas who’d been flipping the pages of a notepad in his hands.
“I asked Rowyn for help,” answered Father Thomas, giving a slight nod of his head in my general direction.
“This is the church’s business. You don’t have the right to get them involved.”
I glowered at his use of the word them, like we were diseased and highly contagious. Part of me wanted to leave and let the church deal with their own problems. That was until I spotted Layla sashaying her way around the cluster of priests, licking her lips seductively as she circled them. The priests looked like they were in hell.
Okay. I’ll stay for a bit.
“We’re going to need her help, Father Peter,” continued Father Thomas, and he snapped the notepad shut, his brow furrowed. “I’ve already cleared this with the church.”
“That’s a demon on her shoulder,” said Father Peter. “You know the church’s views on that. How could you let that happen? How could you let that abomination enter our sacred church?”
Oh. Crap. So, that’s why they were all looking at Tyrius with fury in their eyes and why their hands suddenly got twitchy for the weapons on the walls. It had a bit to do with me and Layla, but the real issue was Tyrius. No matter how cute and cuddly he looked, he was still a demon.
