The Morrigna (The Maurin Kincaide Series, A Paranormal/Urban Fantasy), page 1
The Morrigna
A Maurin Kincaide Novel
Rachel Rawlings
Copyright © 2009 Rachel Rawlings
All rights reserved.
ISBN:1453617752
ISBN-13:978-1453617755
DEDICATION
For my husband, who not only said I could, but that I should. I never would have finished this book without your support, encouragement and belief in my writing. Thank you for finding the typos, lending your insight and for all of the R&D. But most importantly, thank you for loving me. You have all my love as always.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Huge thanks to Cory, who read the first version and all of the rewrites (and miraculously never got sick of reading it), and spent countless hours scouring the Internet for me. Thank you for believing in these characters and their story.
To Liz Check Riggieri, my editor (no pun intended, that’s actually her name)- Thank you for taking this book to the next level. You’ve been amazing to work with. I can’t wait to get started on book two.
1
I’d been leaning up against this wall as if I was the only thing holding it up for twenty minutes. Not even at work an hour and my feet were already screaming about my choice of knee high black leather stiletto boots. They looked better with my skirt than the sensible heels I usually wore, I tried rationalizing to my feet. ‘What the hell was taking Masarelli so long in there anyway?, I wondered.
A few minutes ago I rapped on the door to remind him I was still out here and not going anywhere no matter how much he wanted to do this interrogation by himself. I fought the urge to step back when I heard him stomping toward the door. “Five minutes”, he all but growled at me before slamming the door shut in my face.
So there I was again, stuck in the hall waiting for him to open the door so I could finally have access to the interrogation room and the man in for questioning. Not to mention a damned chair. If I stood here much longer, these torturous boots were coming off. I’m not exactly sure what these boots were made for, but they obviously weren’t the ones Nancy Sinatra sang about and standing sure as hell wasn’t their manufacturer’s intention either.
I glanced at my watch. Six minutes. ‘Times up’, I thought. Patience may be a virtue for some, but I sure as hell don’t have any. I could hear Masarelli’s temper rising through the door. Surely that was more from his lack of progress than my lack of patience. I may not be his favorite person in the world, but we’ve always managed to work well together before.
“That better be your friggin’ attorney, because if it’s not I’ve got some pretty creative ways of making you talk!” He practically spat the last few words in my face as he opened the door.
Lucky for him I wasn’t an attorney, or he might be facing some charges. Any other day I might have backed down from his lack of control over his temper, but not today. If he wanted to slip on my stiletto boots and stand out in this hallway for almost half an hour, then we would see how many times he knocked on the door.
At five foot eight his height was average, but he knew how to fill a doorway. I smoothed the front of my charcoal gray skirt and did my best to ignore his glare. At my five two it wasn’t that hard to do. I stared at the stains on his tie, avoiding eye contact, and pushed my way past him. He might not want me to question this suspect, but it was my job, and come hell or high water I was going to do it. He’d just have to swallow his pride along with his shortcomings as an interrogator and let me do my work.
After three years of working with Masarelli on Salem’s Preternatural Task Force (SPTF) as the psychometric interrogator, I still couldn’t figure him out. Why would a “Norm” who’s obviously as uncomfortable around the “Others” as he is choose to work here? He seemed more like an FBI suit to me, not someone who’d be working with psychics, witches, vamps and weres. Yet here he was, getting in my way.
I wasn’t more than two feet into the room when the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. There was definitely something different about this suspect, besides his unusual size. His enormity did give me a second’s pause; however, as I noticed that he had the height of a basketball player coupled with the width of a linebacker. But it was something else that had my other senses on high alert. There was a palpable power rippling through the room and it was more intense than just my psychic energy. What the hell was this guy anyway? I figured there was no way to find out but to touch him. Cautiously, that is.
I hated to touch anyone with my shields down, especially a six foot seven, two hundred and seventy five pound stranger who was radiating a power I couldn’t quite register, but I didn’t have a choice. There was no empty cup, pack of cigarettes, or pen on the table. There was not one thing he had touched that I could use. If I wanted to follow the memory link we all leave behind in our fingerprints, I was going to have to shake his hand.
“Well it’s not your attorney, asshole, but you lucked out anyway. This is Detective Kincaide. Kincaide, this is Seamus O’Neill, summoner and general practitioner of the Dark Arts.”
I ignored the last part of Masarelli’s introduction, not wanting his opinion or thoughts to taint my reading. He mumbled something about not being able to hit O’Neill now that I was in the room, so I shot him my best ‘what the hell’s the matter with you’ look. Something had his panties in a bunch today. Maybe he was just tired of me coming in half way through his interrogations and getting the information from the detainees that he never could. No matter what he did, no matter how many times he asked the right questions, the suspect could still refuse to answer. That was a luxury that they didn’t have with me. Once I opened the mental link, I could find all the information and evidence that we would ever need. Maybe he was tired of me stealing his thunder. Well, that was something for me to worry about another day. I had my hands full right now with the giant sitting across the room.
I crossed the room to where O’Neill was sitting with my hand extended for a proper introduction - or so he thought. I was aiming for the role of the good cop to counter Masarelli’s obvious role as bad cop earlier today.
“Mr. O’Neill, as Detective Masarelli explained, my name is Detective Kincaide and I’ll be taking over the questioning from here.” My voice was calm and neutral, not giving away my uncertainty as to his identity.
The large man raised one eyebrow as he pierced me with his ice blue eyes and grasped my hand. If I were lucky, he would see what everyone else saw when they looked at me. I was short with a petite frame and curves where a woman was supposed to have them. In other words, I appeared attractive and harmless. Most people who sat where O’Neill was sitting now never knew what I was and, if they managed to figure it out, it was too late anyway. I’d have already penetrated his or her mind, found the information I needed, and slipped out again. From the power that zinged across my skin at his touch, I doubted very much that this case would be that easy.
It took almost a year working with SPTF before we figured out the types of beings that my abilities would work upon. Your bread and butter human (or Norm, as the Others call them) are obviously the easiest. Unless a practitioner of black magic has made them a familiar - then it’s damned near impossible. Their heads are too filled with dark energy. While the practice is strictly forbidden, I’ve encountered it twice so far. Witches, who were the closest relation to Norms, came in a close second. Weres are harder, but with a lot of mental effort I could usually work my way through the animal vs. man thought process that seemed to rage in all weres’ minds. Or maybe it was the nerves and adrenaline from being hauled in for questioning that caused that type of brain activity in a were. Vamps were a complete blank, although my ability worked quite well on the vamp tramps we managed to get our hands on. I just wish it worked both ways, so there was a group that I didn’t have to shield against. As it was, my mind was on lockdown twenty-four seven. Otherwise, I couldn‘t touch a doorknob without going completely apeshit.
Strangely, Seamus the behemoth didn’t feel like any of those to me. I didn’t need to hold his hand to continue the mental link. The initial touch was enough to get me inside his mind. I tried to slip my way inside his memories as I slipped my hand out of his grip, only to find shields as strong as my own in place. Did he know who or what I was, or did he always shield his mind with such strength?
So much for the silent approach. I’d be here all damned day if I tried to find a chink in his mental armor. I pushed hard against his shields again. I felt them bend very slightly before snapping right back into place. A smug smile crept across his face. Shit, he did know about me.
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. It had taken longer than I thought for word to get around about me. When I took this job I knew I wouldn’t be winning any popularity contests, but it definitely beat working at a carnival or sideshow. I couldn’t tell the future. There were no readings - palm, rune or otherwise - I could give that people would pay for. Seeing the past was not the most lucrative psychic gift I could have been given. When the SPTF came looking for me, I jumped at the chance for a legitimate and decent paying job. Now that people knew about my abilities, it just meant that the work would be harder and maybe a little bit more dangerous as time passed. Maybe I could ask for hazard pay as part of my benefits package, I mused.
Suddenly the shields were down - his and mine. Neat trick. I’d never had someone take do
When he spoke, in my head, I realized what he had done was level the playing field and end a mental stalemate. If I wanted to see inside his mind, then he would have an equal opportunity to see inside mine. Luckily for me, there wasn’t a whole lot for him to see.
“I didn’t summon the demon. This is a trumped up charge to haul me in - to haul someone in - for the demon running loose in Salem.” His abrupt words scratched inside my head.
“Mmm,” I silently replied, surprised at how easy it was to communicate with him this way.
I don’t think I’ve ever had a telepath in for questioning before. I highly doubted the charges were trumped up at all. The demon was there in his house. I’d say that’s evidence enough. Demons don’t just roam around unaccounted for; someone summons them. And from my perspective, it looks at lot like Mr. O’Neill here.
“May I point out that if you are going to think to yourself, particularly about me, I will be able to pick up on it while this line of communication is open,” he said.
‘Shit, point taken,’ I thought. I felt slightly embarrassed, not because I cared if he knew what I thought about him, but just because I’d been caught in my thoughts. I really wasn’t used to having someone poke around inside my head. I can’t say I enjoyed the role swap in this case.
“All they have is the fact that a demon was in my house. Did it ever occur to anyone on this so-called Preternatural Task Force that the demon could have been sent to my house? Was there a circle, chalk, scrying mirror? Anything that could be used to summon demons found in my house?” Suddenly he was questioning me.
“Let me ask you this: If you were going to raise a demon and set it loose, would you leave evidence of your summoning laying around? For all I know, you summoned it somewhere else and bound it to you until you got home,” I said.
“Do I feel like a witch or practitioner of the Dark Arts to you? Surely someone with your psychic gifts would have felt me out by now,” Seamus said.
“It’s not my job to determine what you are or are not. I’m not a profiler. I ask questions, that‘s what I do.”
“No, you are a petty thief,” he snarled. “A stealer of thoughts and images. Well, there is nothing for you to pilfer here. It happened exactly as I explained to the other detective. The demon was already in my house, unbound, when I got home. I was looking for a banishing spell when your coworkers conveniently arrived.”
“So you’re sticking with that story then? Can’t say I’m all that convinced. Why do you think their arrival was convenient? Without the attitude,” I added.
“Because it is too convenient. I didn’t call them. Why would I if I summoned it? So, the real question is who did and how did they know there was an unbound demon in my kitchen unless they saw it or sent it? Why is the truth always so hard to believe?” He was starting to sound tired. Tired of repeating himself, tired from sitting in this room so long.
“I’d prefer fact over your version of the truth. We both know you’re hiding something. If it really happened like you say, that you came home from a long day at work, or wherever you were, only to find a demon running loose in your house, then why don’t you drop the rest of your shields and let me have a look at what it is you’re keeping secret back there,” I suggested.
“I’m not the only one keeping things locked away. There’s something blocked inside your mind as well. Funny thing is, I’d swear you know it’s there, but don’t know what it is.” His brow furrowed from trying to figure it out.
The thing was, he hit too close to home on that one. There was something stirring in my psyche and I didn’t know what it was. My psychic abilities had been growing, but they were becoming unpredictable and they were not always working when I wanted them to. Last month, the tricky little witch who managed to keep her charms concealed and her secrets all to herself was proof of that. But when everything was working like it should, I was able to really see everything. Even my shields were getting stronger.
At least I thought they were. I didn’t want him seeing anything about me that I didn’t know. Was he that much stronger than me mentally that he could figure it out?
“I’m not stronger than you. Not even close. Just better trained,” Seamus said.
Before I could answer him, there was a knock at the door. I knew it wasn’t Masarelli just from the sound of it. He usually pounded on the door. This was a very polite ‘sorry to interrupt you’ knock. Unfortunately for me, the person who walked through the door after that knock was someone who wouldn’t feel bad at all for interrupting. Holloway. I’d seen her at work in the courtroom on more than one occasion and she was ruthless every time. She’d brought more than one tough as nails cop to tears on the stand before. She might as well carry a man-card shredder around with her.
“Well, I have to say I really have enjoyed this little chat of ours, Maurin. We’ll have to do this again real soon,” Seamus quipped.
He perked up as soon as Holloway waltzed through the door. Can’t say as I blamed him. She was good. It did make me feel a little bit better knowing that he would probably be refinancing his home to pay her retainer fee
“It’s Detective Kincaide. And we’ll definitely be doing this again. Sooner than you’d like, I‘d wager.”
I stood as Holloway set her briefcase down on the table and slammed my shields back into place. The connection was dead and he was back to that smug smile. I turned to walk away, not wanting to dignify that look with a response, only to smack right into Masarelli. He grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out into the hallway. He was holding on tight enough to bruise and was boiling mad.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” I snarled, as he closed the door behind us. “I’m gonna have your greasy fingerprints on my arm for a week.”
He didn’t let go, despite my desperate attempts to wrench my arm free.
“Perhaps you were too busy doing the mind meld with that guy to notice the actual facts in the file, but right now all we have is circumstantial. I’ve got a stack of complaints and offenses linked to this demon with no end in sight unless we find out who summoned him. I get my first real lead, the demon in O’Neill’s house, and you’re going to blow it by letting him mind fuck you?” He spat the last few words out like they left a bad taste in his mouth.
Hearing them left a bad taste in mine. But I, trying to take his feelings into consideration and be the better person, calmly said, “Go. Fuck. Yourself.”
He let go of my arm and then sharply spun on his heel and headed for the Captain’s office. This would not end well.
2
I stood there blankly for a moment, unsure what to do. I thought about forcing out some tears while I caught up to Masarelli. You know, to earn the sympathy vote. I quickly vetoed that idea. The Captain would know I was full of shit. Crying was never really my thing. I’d be more likely to storm into his office with my finger pointed and my temper flaring. That sounded like a solid plan to me. Yes, today I was going with the usual. Now I just had to beat Masarelli to the Captain’s office.
He was already halfway down the corridor. I quickened my pace, despite my boots and the screaming in my ankles, and caught up to him just as he was opening the Captain’s door. I shoved right past him into the office, grabbing the vacant seat across from the Captain’s desk.
Captain Matthison was a minimalist when it came to personal mementos. He had a family photo on his desk. Not because he wanted us to see what his family looked like, but because his wife forced him to do so. He had one ivy plant that his wife gave him that was in desperate need of water. This was a fact that I pointed out every time I was in his office, which seemed to be a lot lately. I was beginning to feel like a truant teenager in the principal’s office yet again.
