Under a Blood Moon: Death Witch, Supernatural Investigative Unit, page 1
UNDER A BLOOD MOON
DEATH WITCH, SUPERNATURAL INVESTIGATIVE UNIT
BOOK 2
RACHEL GRAVES
Copyright © 2023 by Rachel Graves
First edition published by Wild Rose Press, Copyright © 2015 by Rachel Graves.
Previously published in 2015, this new edition of Under a Blood Moon has been revised and edited.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by: Mibl art
Decide who you are and who you will be. Don’t let other people or events decide for you.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Coming Soon - Fire in Her Blood
Chapter 1
Thank you for reading!
About the Author
Also by Rachel Graves
1
The sex witch killings faded from the spotlight in less than a month, giving me a chance to catch my breath. The lieutenant had given us a few weeks of light cases. My partner Danny and I got to do things like interview old ladies who were sure their neighbors were raising demons in the middle of the night. I even had time to organize my desk and ordered a little plaque that read “Detective Mallory Mors.” I debated about adding a second line proclaiming myself to be a death witch, but my newfound witch pride only went so far.
Most of the time, I didn’t bother to tell people what I was. I certainly hadn’t shared it with the woman who insisted her Pomeranian had fought off a werewolf. We were on our way back from her interview when the radio squeaked to life.
“All units please respond, all units to Tiger Mart at 597 Hartford, code 874, code 874, zombie attack in progress. Officer down.”
“What? I thought only death witches could make zombies?” I asked.
“I didn’t know anything could really make zombies,” Danny replied.
We were only two blocks away, but the drive felt like a lifetime. ‘Officer down’ made my heart beat fast. Most likely the zombie attack was a mistake, some kid on drugs or some idiot in a costume, but dispatchers didn’t make mistakes when it came to an officer down. Danny parked badly, leaving skid marks behind him, the nose of the car almost blocking the front door. We rushed into the building with our guns drawn.
I froze, stunned to see two real zombies. They stood in the snack foods aisle ripping open bags of chips and throwing food on the floor. When the chips were gone, one of them pushed the shelf over. The crash reveled a twitching human foot on the floor in the aisle. The sight threw us into action. Danny grabbed his gun and three shots went into the first zombie’s head. Its glazed, milky white dead eyes didn’t blink. I hadn’t had much practice with zombies, but dead is dead. As a death witch, these two should have been mine. I centered myself, drawing the power up from the balls of my feet, feeling it grow inside me, then finally throwing it out at the two of them with one word: “Stop.”
The zombies stopped, shuffling their weight from one foot then the other, strange moans coming from their chest. I had used the ‘stop’ command once before, on a vampire. Back then, everything went dark and I woke up in the hospital. Now my vision narrowed, graying out on the edges. The zombies would stay there until I lost consciousness or told them to move.
My magic bought a comforting silence, until a woman wailed and everyone started talking at once. A man stood inches from Danny screaming about his shop. Three other police entered through the door, shouting at everyone to hold still. Their guns were pointed at me. Danny barked orders at them to cover the zombies, not the detective. Gratitude rose up inside me but I couldn’t break my concentration.
“Uh, Danny? I can’t hold them forever.” I kept my voice low. It hurts your powerful death witch image if you don’t know what to do with the zombies you just commanded.
“See if you can find out why they’re here, then get rid of them.” He gave me only part of his attention—an ambulance pulled up, lights flashing. Danny had to move our car to get them in. As far as he was concerned, I had the zombies, and he would handle everything else. Sometimes our division of labor left a lot to be desired. I turned back to the two of them.
I raised a zombie once by mistake. It was someone I loved and thought I couldn’t live without. That zombie—the one that looked like my husband—had been burned to ashes by the local police while begging to stay with me. These zombies weren’t begging. They were just confused men, both slightly over six feet tall and dead for a while. One wore autopsy scars poking out from behind his burial tie. The other had no visible sign of death, just two hundred pounds of reanimated muscle.
I gathered the power inside me again, this time putting it into my words.
“Who sent you?” I kept my sentence simple. Zombies weren’t known for their brains.
They stopped shuffling and looked at each other. The scarred one spoke in a voice thick with the grave, “Madame Marie.”
Someone brushed by me and I turned to them. The EMTs had stopped, first because of the zombies, but then when they saw my eyes. That sight made them flinched backwards another step. A cop, probably a good cop, was on the floor hurt, maybe seriously, and these two wouldn’t walk forward because of my swirling opal eyes. Sometimes the world is a messed-up place. I used my anger to channel my power, pulling more of it than I needed. I looked at the zombies and hissed, “Die.”
They fell to the floor in a crumpled mass, whatever spark that illuminated them snuffed out by my word. I turned to the useless EMTs.
“Can you do your job now?” I asked, with venom in my voice. They rushed around me, far around me, but finally did what they were trained to do.
Danny walked toward me, holding a cherry slushie like a peace offering. I concentrated on details while he walked, his short dark hair, his thick but not fat body, the freckles on the back of his hand where he held the cup. When he got closer, I grabbed it and started sucking down the sweet drink. Showing off aside, I didn’t want to pass out.
“Nice work, Mal. Careful of the TV cameras.”
He pointed at the window where at least four TV crews angled for a better shot. I’d never been on the news before, but I hated the idea on principle. The owner led us into the back of his shop to a small office. He offered profuse thanks and many more slushies. Grateful for a place to sit away from the cameras, I let my mind drift, noticing the shop’s logo looked more East Asian than like our local football team’s tiger. Still, the fierce tiger’s leaping frame and wide fangs felt normal and familiar.
The office smelled like spices and felt cramped. A framed medical degree from a college in New Delhi was the only thing on the walls. I didn’t have to ask to know the degree wasn’t worth much more than the frame in the States. No one runs a convenience store if they can be a doctor instead. A few religious icons were displayed on a table beside the desk. I focused on a statue of the goddess Kali, the mother-destroyer, the goddess of death while the cherry slushie brought my blood sugar level back to normal. I caught that the owner’s name was Rakesh, but by the time I started listening again, Danny had finished the early interview questions. It sounded like he hadn’t gotten very far.
“Can you think of any reason why this happened, anything at all? Even a wild guess could help,” Danny was saying.
“No need for a wild guess. I know why. I didn’t pay.” Rakesh didn’t bother to conceal his anger.
“Didn’t pay who?” I asked in an effort to make myself useful. Both men swiveled their heads to look at me. I was fairly positive that my eyes had returned to their usual pale green, but you wouldn’t know it from the looks they gave me.
“Thugs who are more dogs than men. They came one week ago, dressed as security guards, to ask if I needed their protection. I am not some immigrant fool to be intimidated. When I told them so, they started going on about bad things that could happen to a business owner.”
“Did they mention zombies?” Danny asked.
“Not specifically. They mentioned fires, robberies, and”—he made quote marks in the air with his hands— “other things. I guess I know ‘other things’ now, hmm?”
“I’m sorry this happened,” I began, trying to diffuse the anger in his voice. “Does the name ‘Marie’ or ‘Madame Marie’, mean anything to you?”
“No. Not a thing. I saw two men, no women.”
“Did they leave a card or a number where they could be reached?” Danny was fishing, but he probably wouldn’t find much. People who demand protection money aren’t listed in the phone book. Rakesh confirmed my suspicions: no phone number, no information. We wrapped up the interview and walked out into the store.
The EMTs had taken away the fallen officer. Magic whispered to me that he hadn’t died. Rakesh’s wife, a tall thin woman in long tunic top, was already sweeping up broken chips. She smiled at us and offered her profuse thanks for saving the store. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the store wasn’t saved yet. People might go to a vampire club on a Saturday night, hire a sex witch to spice up a bachelor party, and hey, no one minded having a werewolf around when it was time to move, but in general, everyone loathed zombies. People didn’t like to be reminded that someone like me could bring them back as slaves.
We made it back to the squad room in record time. I walked through the heavy glass doors etched with Supernatural Investigative Unit and our symbol, a police star drawn hollow like a witch’s star, thinking about what came next. Instead of going to our assigned desks, we walked straight through the open bullpen crammed with partners’ desks to the Lieutenant’s glass-enclosed office at the other end. Even from across the room, you could see his office was clean, totally clutter free, and decorated with a large Marine Corps flag. For once I didn’t glance at the photos of him fishing on the lake.
“Saw you on the news, Mors.” The lieutenant was a tall, thin Black man. When he had a problem, he pressed his fingertips together. Today, his hands were so close he might’ve been praying. “I’ve got a feeling no one’s going to try to take this case from us.”
“Agreed,” Danny said, dropping into one of the chairs.
“You two aren’t due for another big case yet, but this one is meant for you.”
“Because of my criminal justice degree? Or my background in social work?” I asked.
Danny grinned and continued the joke. “Do you think there’s an Irish connection? Something I call my relatives about?”
Lieutenant French didn’t crack a smile. “Zombie attacks are rare, even for us. When I hired you, Mors, I expected you’d be able to find a decade-old corpse or maybe get a vibe on how someone died. I never thought we’d have zombies. Guess I was wrong. I’ll give you a shadow team on the night shift, but the case is yours.”
We thanked him and headed back to our desks. Getting a shadow team—a pair of detectives working the same case only on the opposite side of the clock— was serious. The lieutenant thought there was more going on here. There were only two kinds of people who could make a zombie: death witches and Bokors—voodoo priests. I was the only death witch anyone had heard of in ages, so we were probably dealing with a Bokor. Since zombies can’t lie, she probably went by the name Madame Marie.
I wanted to get out and start asking questions, but there was paperwork to file. It kept me busy until the end of the day. I barely had time to print out all the reports before saying hello to the nightshift on my way out.
Taking the train home meant I got to avoid the media coverage but not the heat. It was July, and Baton Rouge was broiling. On the subway, no one recognizes you, no matter how many photos of you with swirling white eyes have been plastered over the internet and TV news. It would have been comforting, if it hadn’t been nearly a hundred degrees. I’d never been a fan of summer. It had meant heat and boredom to me growing up. As an adult, it hadn’t gotten any better. Worse, I’m in love with a vampire, and summer’s long days mean I don’t get as much time with him as I would like. Add that to an increase in crime with the increase in heat and, yeah, summer is my least favorite time of year.
Thinking about Jakob, my vampire, provided cool respite even inside the sweltering train car. In another hour, the sun would set and he’d be able to drive over to see me. Imagining him watching my performance on the evening news, tucked safely inside his dark living room, carried me to my own building, the Eclipse. With its large lobby, marble floors, and a white grand piano on top of a zebra patterned rug, the Eclipse was all too trendy and classy. I walked toward shining silver elevators and waved my key card to get to the twelfth floor.
I’d taken my apartment after a burst of insanity made me drive away from everything I ever owned. I realized now that I’d been in a fugue state, brought on by the stress of my husband’s death and accidental resurrection. All I knew then was that I needed an apartment that was available immediately. I’d gone through all the ‘witch friendly’ apartments, and even a few that didn’t sport the ‘We do not discriminate on the basis of religion, nationality, gender, or ability’ sticker on their ads when I found myself here.
I opened my door, remembering the first time I’d walked into my huge apartment. One wall was completely made of windows. Facing it was a modern kitchen, and in front of that a long living room. To my left was a floating steel and wood staircase, reaching up to a half-floor loft bedroom. Beside the staircase, the area was set up as a dining room. The master bedroom and bath were upstairs, the gas fireplace, kitchen, and the terrace down. I’d bought everything from the dark green suede couches to the modern platform bed upstairs because really, I was buying an escape from my old life.
I cracked a Dr Pepper on my way up the stairs. Other people had a beer after work, but my mother was from Texas. I’d been conditioned young to crave that inexplicable taste. I set it down to check my answering machine while I stripped out of my detective clothes. Dealing with the zombies had left me covered in sweat. Sitting in the air-conditioned squad room had dried it, but then the train brought more sweat. I was desperate for a shower. My friends’ recorded voices followed me around the room.
“Mal-or-ee! This is Phoebe, why, oh why didn’t you tell me you could do the eye thing? I mean seriously as your best friend and closest witch, I think I should have been the first to know you could hold that much power. Instead I found out with everyone else who watches the news. Call me!” Phoebe was a spirit witch. She had been the first person who had recognized me for what I was. Leave it to her to ignore the zombies and the officer who was hurt to focus on my abilities.
“Hey Mal, nice job coming out of the broom closet on prime time TV, next time call me for fashion advice first.” Anna, my very fashionable fire witch friend, didn’t bother to leave her name. She was stunningly beautiful and slightly arrogant. I could tell my being on the news made her green with envy.
There were four other messages from people I didn’t know who wanted to talk to me. I was halfway across the room when the machine fell silent. I started to walk over to erase everything when a raspy voice stopped me.
“You take my zombies. I can forgive that. But you stay out of things that aren’t your business, or maybe next time, I take you.”
My hands were shaky as I took the tape out of the machine. Danny had insisted I get an old-fashioned tape-based machine. I was grateful as I slipped the tape, the evidence, into a holder. I’d take it into work tomorrow for everyone to listen to. I put a new tape in place and rushed into the shower. I wasn’t sure there was enough hot water in the world.
