Page 2 of Deadly Lineage
I pointed to the ground. “A grave should only have one body. This one has two and its latest occupant has been in residence one, maybe two weeks.” Rubbing my temple, I frowned. “And from how pissed off they are, I’d bet whoever’s down there met an untimely, grisly end.”
“Are you implying they were murdered?”
“I’m more than implying, Aurelia. Whoever’s down there was definitely murdered.”
Chapter
One
Erasmus
Migraines sucked. Mine weren’t as debilitating as some people’s were, but they weren’t fun either. The pain made it difficult to think clearly. All I wanted to do was go home, choke down a half-dozen pain pills, and pass out on the couch. The fresh corpse Detective Franklin O’Hare was currently digging up had different ideas.
“The detective does not appear pleased,” Aurelia stated, absolutely zero inflection in her voice. I’d kind of gotten used to my djinn companion’s emotionless comments. I’d yet to determine if she truly had no opinion on matters, or if Aurelia had learned to school her emotions as a way of self-preservation.
“No, I don’t imagine he is.” I rubbed my right temple. I wasn’t too pleased either. The scathing looks Franklin kept sending my way didn’t help my throbbing brain. Inhaling deeply, my eyes slipping closed, I released my breath by slow degrees and attempted to count backward from ten. What I wouldn’t give for one of Pops’s pain charms right about now. Powerful warlocks weren’t exactly a dime a dozen. Pops happened to be one of those lucky few. Choosing to stick around and help raise his necromancer son placed him in an even smaller minority.
I’d already searched my cargo shorts and vest pockets to no avail. I’d evidently failed to notice I’d used up all my pain charms. It was kind of like running out of your meds and realizing the pharmacy was closed for the next twenty-four hours.
Slipping my phone from my pocket, I sent a quick text to Pops, asking if he could overnight the charms. Pops was hundreds of miles away in California. I’d made my home in Mississippi, close to my human mother. Pops never made me feel like he begrudged my decision to live so far away. He also made it well known that I was welcome in his home, in his life, any time. Warlock Nikodemus Holland had a reputation for being an overbearing ass. That reputation was well earned, but to me, he was simply Pops.
“The displeased human is heading this direction,” Aurelia stated. When I opened my eyes and glanced over my shoulder, she was gone.
“Typical,” I mumbled a moment before Detective O’Hare was within hearing range. Most likely he hadn’t even seen her. Aurelia had a way of doing that, of only showing herself to those she wished to see her. Let me tell you, that had been an embarrassing learning curve.
“Detective.” Though it pained me, I managed a smile.
“Boone.” I’d like to think of the annoyance lacing Franklin’s voice as akin to fond irritation, and experience told me Detective O’Hare preferred using last names. Most days I was relieved I’d been given my mother’s instead of my father’s. The Holland surname carried far more weight than I wanted to be saddled with.
“We need to stop meeting like this.” I batted my eyelashes, pleased when Franklin’s fair complexion dusted pink. The color clashed with his strawberry-blond hair but did little to take away from his good looks. Even in the wee hours of the morning,Detective Franklin O’Hare looked good. Sweat beaded on his brow, his suit jacket too much for the humid Mississippi heat. Three a.m. hadn’t lessened that heat by much, if anything. It simmered, not even a hint of breeze.
Craning my neck, I looked around Franklin’s large form. The rest of the police officers milling about wore sensible short sleeves. Detective O’Hare hailed from northern Illinois and despite living in the Deep South for well over seven years, the man still insisted on dressing for the job, not the weather.
Wearing little more than a thin t-shirt, vest, cargo shorts, and flip-flops, I was a hell of a lot more comfortable.
Instead of lightening the mood, my casual statement turned Franklin’s thin lips into a frown. “If my captain weren’t a witch, I’d be a hell of a lot more suspicious.”
In other words, Detective O’Hare had taken his suspicions to his boss and she’d set him straight regarding necromancers. I couldn’t say I blamed Franklin. The man was human, after all. Considering I was just as mortal as Franklin O’Hare, I didn’t really hold his humanity against him. Ignorance was a different matter, but I had to give credit where credit was due. Franklin might have shown up as naïve as a newborn, but he’d made an effort to learn and accept. Not everyone could say that, no matter their species.
My grin grew. “Sounds like I need to send Captain Cicely a fruit basket. Does she like fruit?” I asked. “Not everyone does.” I shrugged while considering an appropriate gift basket option. “Maybe she’d like one of those spa bath baskets.” I cupped my hands, imitating a small basket. “Something with bath bombs, bubbles, and—”
“Christ, Boone. I have no idea what the captain likes.” Franklin rubbed his temples, wiping away the sweat. It looked like I wasn’t the only one sporting a headache. Placing his fisted hands on his hips, Franklin leaned his head back and staredat the star-filled night. “Fruit,” he finally relented. “She seems to like strawberries. Grapes too.” Lowering his head, Franklin stared at the ground.
“Fruit. Got it.” I gave a cheeky salute that Franklin couldn’t see, given he was still staring at the ground.
Unbuttoning his jacket, Franklin inhaled deeply before raising his head. Shoulders rounded, he stared down at me. Considering I was at least six inches shorter, I didn’t take offense. Detective Franklin O’Hare never made me feel like he was looking down his nose at me. Eye contact was important to him, and I’d found it far too easy to fall into his hazel gaze.
“So tell me what happened this time.” Poor Franklin, he sounded one part curious and two parts exasperated. Homicide detectives were far busier than they should be, and I had no idea what his previous day had been like, when he’d finally gone to bed, or the last time he’d gotten a full night’s sleep.
Hands stuffed in my pockets, I ignored the chime of an incoming text. Most likely it was Pops wondering why I’d run through all my pain charms already. Pops could wait. Detective Franklin O’Hare couldn’t.
Experience told me Franklin would want the whole story, from the very beginning. “I had a job earlier tonight.” As I began, Franklin took out a spiral notebook and began taking notes. “It was a shit job.” I rolled my eyes as I relayed the greedy grandchildren all vying for their grandfather’s wealth. “Let me tell you, if they’d gotten their grubby little hands on that money, nothing good would have come of it.” I shook my head vehemently. Unlike Franklin’s close-cropped hair, my floppy dark-brown locks drifted haphazardly around my face. “Antony Livingston definitely did the right thing when he took his wealth with him to the grave.”
Franklin’s frown turned thoughtful. “Anyone I need to investigate?” he asked, holding his pen at the ready.
I shrugged. “Probably, although I’m not sure you’ll find much. Antony told me a lot, but I’d imagine it’s all hearsay.” Courts didn’t really like that, even when it came straight from the dead person’s mouth. Necromantic testimony still wasn’t allowed in court, probably because there weren’t a lot of necromancers out there, and even fewer who were willing to help the police. Most of us simply wanted to be left alone. Besides, not all necromancers were created equal. While I could pull a soul back from across the veil, others could not. Some necromancers simply felt and heard the echoes of lingering spiritual trauma. Some were plagued by the dead seeking them out. Some just got a bit of a chill. I was the whole package. Pops said I was unique, but I wasn’t sure if that was true or not. It’s not like there was a necromancer registry out there.
Franklin nodded with grim understanding, jotting down Antony Livingston’s name. I knew he’d look into Antony’s heirs. Detective Franklin O’Hare was that kind of man.
