Page 49 of Heir

I snapped my fingers, creating a neon-yellow flame. “Kase Blackwood lives here.”

“And who is Kase Blackwood?” Drak asked.

“He’s a necromancer mage.”

Drak’s gaze narrowed and his top lip curled in disdain, but then his gaze shifted to where Omaera sobbed in Zandren’s arms. He nodded. “Call him.”

I brought out my phone and called Kase. We may not be able to get the answers that we needed from Delia now, but at least we might be able to see the last things she saw right before she was killed. If I couldn’t comfort Omaera the way Zandren was, then I could at least get her some answers and help her figure out who killed her aunt.

Normally a nocturnal creature, Kase didn’t pick up his phone right away because he was sleeping. But when I told him what I needed and who it was for, he said he’d put on pants and be over in fifteen minutes.

In the meantime, we headed downstairs into Delia’s home to see what clues we could uncover. Did the demons who killed her take anything?

Zandren should have been doing his drug-dog sniffing thing, because he had the best sense of smell out of all of us, but he was too busy with Omaera. So it was up to the vampire and me to do the digging.

We found nothing nefarious beyond a few men’s-shoe-sized footprints—that didn’t match ours—at the back kitchen door.

Not even an open cupboard or drawer.

I made Omaera a cup of tea and brought it to her in the living room, where she sat with Zandren.

“Was Delia an artist?” I asked, taking in all the beautiful floral paintings.

“She was,” she said, accepting the tea. “Landscapes and florals, mostly. But occasionally she did commissions for other things. She liked to be cheeky and sneak in a vulva or penis into her flowers whenever she could.” She pointed to a purple bearded iris. “What does that remind you of?”

“Very Georgia O’Keeffe,” I mused. I turned to Zandren. “I dated her for a while actually. After her husband died, of course. I’m no homewrecker.”

Heavy boot steps on the front porch pulled our attention. We’d left the door open to help air out the house. Kase stepped inside. He was a tall, lanky man with black hair, a slightly sunken face, high cheekbones, and a long nose. But his smile was friendly, and his eyes weren’t nearly as haunting as one might assume. But like one would assume, he wore all black. Because, of course he did. Anybody associated with death the way a necromancer, or even Drak was, wore black. It was so cliché, it’d be weird if they didn’t.

I stifled my snicker at the idea of Drak or Kase rocking up in a Hawaiian print shirt one day. Or a hot-pink tank top.

Kase gave a slight bow to Omaera. “Your Majesty. My condolences.”

“Wh-what are you going to do to her?” Omaera asked.

Kase pressed his lips together and nodded. “A necromancer mage is someone who can help those still living understand the last few moments of their loved one’s life. I will simply lay my hand on your aunt’s forehead and I will capture the last few remaining minutes of her life.” His gray eyes turned hesitant. “I must warn you though, in cases like your aunt’s where . . . she didn’t die peacefully, the last few moments can be difficult to witness.”

“For you?” Omaera asked.

He smiled. “I have seen the worst humanity and the magical realm have to offer in my nine hundred and fifty-six years. Not much fazes me now. But for you, I will tell you exactly what I see, and it may be difficult to take.”

She clenched her jaw, took a deep breath, and nodded. “I want to know.”

“Very well,” Kase said. “Come with me, please.”

I took him to the body, and Omaera and Zandren followed. Drak was already upstairs, still searching for clues.

Kase frowned when he saw Delia’s body. “I know her.”

“You know my aunt?” Omaera asked, pushing past Zandren. “How?”

“Not well,” Kase said, with a headshake. “We would bump into each other maybe once or twice a month at Fiddleman’s Apothecary. She was there for various herbs and ingredients for spells and potions—”

“So she is a mage,” Omaera said in awe. Then she turned to me. “She’s one of you.”

I nodded. “It would seem so. Though, spellcaster mages are more powerful than fire mages. She probably put a very powerful cloaking spell over you when you were born, hiding you from all other realm beings—including your father. Only when he died, and the power transferred to you, Delia’s spell was no match for that power.”

Omaera’s mouth dipped into a tight frown. “I wish I’d known this about her. I wish she’d told me the truth about who she was and who I am.”

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