Chapter One
I nudge the crumbling dirt around the exterior of the grave with the toe of my black combat boot and peer down into the gaping hole recently filled in. The freshly turned soil is still loose and damp. It emits an earthy aroma that reminds me of gardening. A four-foot angel lay on it’s back, a mockery of the being it resembles. Its marble wings lay in pieces. Cracks run through the base of the tombstone, obscuring the messages chosen by loved ones for Imelda Agustin. The blatant disregard and disrespect for a final resting spot is cringeworthy. Chaos in a spot meant for eternal peace sickens me.
The black coffin at the bottom of the six-foot descent looks like a bomb has gone off inside of it. Splintered wood juts out at jagged angles. Scarlet drops, rapidly turning a rusty red as they oxygenate, stand out against the white satin lining. There’s no blood in a body post-mortem unless we’re talking the undead.
“I think you might’ve downplayed it when you said you had a problem,” I say dryly.
I glance over at Donald Woodman. Clad in a pair of gray overalls, the lesser earth Faerie looks completely human thanks to magic. His warm ivory skin tone, dirty blond hair, and slight frame wouldn’t turn heads at a glance until you looked closer. An angular face, upturned nose, and thick lashes framing gemstone-like sea-green eyes make him beautiful. Only, not inhumanly so. Over time, the Fae have learned how to blend in.
Like many of his kind, he chooses to pass his time in the human realm, performing a job that keeps him close to the element he has an infinity for. As a witch, I see him as he’s meant to be. From the tips of his curved and pointed-tipped ears to the unblemished porcelain skin, cupid’s bow lips, and ash-blond wavy locks, he’s perfection.
“Any clue what happened here?” I scan the area he’s roped off for signs of who or what could’ve done this. Other than a few shoe impressions, there’s nothing obvious, which tells me this is purely a supernatural problem.
“No. My crew and I finished burying the body last night around seven o’clock. We packed everything up and went home for the evening as usual. When I came in today and did a walk of the grounds, I found this.” He gestures toward the body less grave with his hands.
“Has anything like this ever happened before?”
“Nothing remotely close. We’ve gotten the occasional grave robber in, but they’re looking for jewelry, not bodies.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his dark blue jumpsuit and shrugs his shoulders.
That makes sense. Grave robbing is an outdated and obsolete practice. “I’m going to take some samples for testing. You’ll have to keep this part of the cemetery sealed off. Tell them you’re having an issue with drainage. Reroute. Postpone. Do whatever you need to, including using your gift of persuasion. We can’t have rumors about the dead reanimating and walking around.” Even if it is true.
“You know we’re not supposed to tamper with humans,” Donny says quietly. Relations between humans and Fae have always been tentative at best. The deals brokered to afford peaceful cohabitation are stringent.
“Louella Esçhete is giving you the sanction. There will be no backlash. You’re doing the community a favor.” Some perks come along with the complications of belonging to a powerful magical family.
He ducks his head. “Okay, Lou.”
“I’m going to take care of you, Donny. Don’t worry.” Crouching down, I study the impressions left in the soft soil. The dirt holds multiple sets of footprints. Unless there were two people buried in one coffin, we’ve got a serious situation brewing. Why, what, and how many, are the questions foremost in my mind.Vampires?
It’s rare to have a vamp attack go unmonitored. Younglings aren’t known for restraint. Having baby vamps bursting through the soil like daisies and attacking people would blow their cover. It’s a code among them?they handle conversions with care. After what happened last summer, they’d tightened up on the rule b
reaking, and rogues that slipped through the cracks. Unlike Bella from Twilight, they don’t come equipped with the ability to control themselves. It’s a taught trait. Still, dead things tend to stay that way unless tampered with.
“I need to have the coffin exhumed.” I want to see if something broke in, or out. I rise and wipe my clammy palms on my thighs. The first step is eliminating the obvious. I scanned the paperwork on the body before I came out. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the victim. If this was more than a body nabbing, I need to know about it. “I’ll send people to take care of it.” Lifting the Cannon camera around my neck, I begin to take shots of everything.
We’ve upped our game over the past six months as we iron out the kinks in our business. To appease everyone involved, we’ve come up with a blend of modern and magical techniques to solve our cases. Plenty of skeptics remain out there ready for Sacha, Felicite, and I to fail. Others have begun to come around to what we do. We’re the youngest generation. Our changes are bound to make waves. Witches are so used to being closed off and exclusive, we don’t know how to reach out to other supernatural beings for help. If Witch for Hire can act as a bridge between everyone, I’ll consider it a success.
Replacing the lens cap after pictures, I approach the black case I set aside earlier, pop the silver buckle, and pull out the plaster mix and a bottle of water. The older cemetery is secluded. In the middle of an underdeveloped area surrounded by woods, it’s the perfect place for the crime. The tombstones are aged, but well-cared for. The grass is neatly trimmed, and the dirt rows are defined.
A decent number of graves have flowers or other trinkets left in remembrance. Casting the molds, I call the office while they dry.
“Witch for Hire, Sacha speaking.”
“Sach. The disturbance in the cemetery was a gross understatement. I’m going to need all hands on deck.”
She whistles. “What happened?”
“If I knew the answer, I’d be a lot less worried. We have a fresh grave disturbed, a body missing, and nothing left behind other than faded footprints, a few drops of blood, and a shit ton of property damage.”
“What the hell would do that?”
“That’s the million dollar question. I’m having the coffin brought over to Cristobal’s for Miles to run forensics on it. I sincerely doubt it was a baby vamp.”
“We’d have heard about an attack by now. Vamplings are ravenous when they first wake,” Sacha mumbles.
“Exactly my thought. I’m waiting for my molds to dry. I wanted to capture them to bring back with me before the prints degrade any further.”
“Do you want us to close the office and meet you at Cristobal’s?”
“Yes, as soon as you finish going over the info Donny sent over on the body. This case takes top priority. Humans might be prone to denial, but theft of dead bodies is going to be noticed sooner rather than later. Donny’s damage control can only prevent discovery for so long if there’s a rash of similar crimes.”
“Fel and I are currently looking at all things Imedla Agustin. We’ll head over as soon as we’re caught up.” I thank the powers that be, that my cousin, Felicite, said yes to joining Witch for Hire when we were getting up and running. The case load and research often required would swamp two people.
“On the plus side, we have good eats and expensive coffee at Cristobal’s.”
“When are you going to stop saying his and admit its now ‘ours’?” Sacha asks.
“Not today.” I disconnect before she can respond. Finally, I get the last word. I smirk. Simple pleasures keep me from going stark raving mad in the face of the evil we see. No one calls us in for baptisms, weddings, or house blessings. We come in after things have gone Lord of the Flies. Folks tend to try to tackle things themselves until they’re forced to wave the white flag of defeat when things become unbearable. Perhaps it’s human nature.
I press my hand to the tender area of my side. Last week a shakedown with a Werepanther went pear-shaped. Victory always comes at a price. Some are higher than others. Cristobal called my refusal of his blood stubborn, but I’m still wary of the bond we share, and the fact that death with his blood in my system would mean life as one of the undead.
I’m not ready to commit myself to that reality. Witches and vampires are total opposites. We revere life and the balance of nature. Their very existence is an affront to all we stand for. Undead, they exist by stealing life. It’s made the truce between our people tenuous at best, and now I’m bonded to the Lord of the city, and the Cortez Court. Critobal is a force to be reckoned with. A master vampire charged with a territory, Cristobal keeps the peace, governs the lesser vampires, and holds my heart.
Me, the future Matriarch of the Esçhete witches. It’s a union some see as an abomination. As I prepare to take my place as Lady of his court and my own family, we continue to deal with the changes the mating bond is causing.
I gather my things and try not to think about the tangled web of complicated situations and oddities my life has become.
***
I admire the breadth of Cristobal’s shoulders in the soft gray T-shirt as I walk into the kitchen. Following the tug low in my belly, I found him with ease, thanks to our bond. Few get to see this powerful man, dressed so casually, or in such a relaxed state. Still ruffled from sleep, tufts of chocolate-brown hair fall across his broad forehead. Golden highlights glint like silverfish in the ocean waves, winking here and there beneath the overhead lighting above the kitchen island.
I love him best like this. He flashes me a lazy smile, and my stomach drops to my shoes.