Dark Shadow Page 4

  “They seemed confused and according to them,” he said, “saw nothing. I don’t believe it.”

  “You think they were glazed?”

  Mark winced. “Is that what you did to me?”

  I said nothing.

  “Is that what your friend did at Mt Eden Prison?”

  Samson. He was talking about Samson. Samson hadn’t glazed him or used Sanguis Vitam; Mark had a natural defence of some sort against that kind of thing. Which, now that I thought about it, was damn good. It might just save him from me. But what Samson had done was very Dark. He’d altered reality for Mark. Changed his perception of what had transpired completely. It couldn’t be counteracted; the Dark is powerful. Sanguis Vitam and glazing can be; Mark is evidence of that. What Samson did, though, was permanent.

  But Mark did know his reality had been changed; he just didn’t know who had done it.

  I was keeping it that way.

  Even the Dark Shadow agreed with me.

  He is ours, she said simply.

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

  “Georgia,” Mark said with a sigh. “You’re going to have to be honest with me if we’re to have any chance of working together.”

  “Are you sure you still want to work with me?” I asked.

  “It’s not about what I want; it’s about what the public needs.”

  I guessed honesty went both ways.

  OK. So, I could wallow in self-pity for the rest of the night, wasting my mini-break from Aliath The Soul-Sucking Fairy. Or I could do something constructive with my time. I’d already established that running wasn’t an option; the High Lord would find me. But if I kept myself busy, maybe I could distract my Dark Shadow enough that I could get a handle on this new dynamic.

  I didn’t want to head back to Álfheimr before the Dark Shadow and I came to some arrangement. The next time I faced Queen Sofiq, I’d be in balance, and she’d be shit out of luck taming me.

  Agreed, the Dark Shadow said.

  I smiled. Mark stilled. My Dark Shadow retreated, sniggering quietly.

  “There are different ways the witnesses could have been influenced,” I said, getting all of us back on track. “Glazing is an option. I’d have to see the witnesses to be sure, and the effects of glazing don’t last forever, so it’s likely I wouldn’t find anything now as too much time has passed.”

  “If the glaze wears off won’t they remember?”

  “No, not always. Which brings me to the other ways Norms can be influenced by the supernatural.”

  Mark leaned forward. “Go on,” he said encouragingly.

  I had to be careful what I revealed here. I had rules I had to follow, too. Not just my own rules, but those of the Master of the City. And although I was fairly sure I could stretch the limits of Jett’s patience, what with the amor certamen he and Samson had going on, I was also fairly sure that there was a limit to Jett’s patience when it came to disobeying his rules. Even for me.

  I didn’t particularly want to find out what that limit was. So, staying within the Master of the City’s rules was still a good habit to keep. For now.

  But I could generalise.

  “Magic,” I said. “Both Fey and Shapeshifter.”

  “Shapeshifter?”

  “I did warn you,” I offered with a shrug. “There are more than just fairies and vampires walking amongst the Norms.”

  “Great,” Mark muttered. “Can you provide a list for me?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I like my head exactly where it is on my shoulders.”

  “What?”

  I sighed again. “Mark. You’re a Norm. I can help you. I can even open up a little to you. But you have to accept that there are some things I cannot discuss with you. Some things that you simply don’t need to know.”

  “If it has anything to do with this case, then I need to know.”

  “No. You don’t. And I can’t tell you.”

  “Then who do I see about it?”

  I blinked at him, nonplussed.

  “If you’re not high enough up the totem pole of supernaturals in this city, who is?”

  “Are you mad?” I asked. The Dark Shadow cocked her head to the side and studied Mark. She was not impressed with this path he was taking.

  Easy prey, she told me. No fun.

  “Do you have a death wish?” I asked him.

  “Of course not. But I need to know what I’m dealing with here, Georgia. Something messed with the witnesses’ heads, and now you’re telling me it could be someone other than a vampire, and I know fuck all about vampires and even less about what else is out there. And I need to know.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “And it’s my job to bridge that gap.”

  He paused. I pressed on. If he didn’t get this through his thick skull, he would indeed be easy prey for Jett.

  “We’re not good, Mark,” I said, leaning forward. “We’re steeped in Dark. There are Light creatures amongst us, but on the whole, most supernaturals have a hell of a lot of Dark. And Dark doesn’t stop to ask questions and make friends. Dark takes. Dark consumes. Dark kills. And it doesn’t give a fuck about the bodies it leaves in its wake.”

  “You talk about Dark as if it’s a sentient being.”

  I didn’t answer that. Instead, I said, “It’s in all of us. Humans too. But the supernaturals have more than the Norms do. Part of what makes a vampire a vampire is drawn from the Dark. All fairies, regardless of whether they are Dark Fey or Light Fey, have Dark in them. Shapeshifters too, although I’ve been told they fight it. But never underestimate the Dark, Mark. If you don’t want it to crawl into bed with you late at night, don’t pull back the covers.”

  He stared at me for so long; I thought the conversation was over.

  And then he said, “We’ll do it your way, for now, Georgia. But know this, if the perpetrator turns out to be one of yours, I want answers. And to hell with your Dark rules.”

  I scowled as he pushed up from his chair and crossed to the door to leave.

  “Are we gonna do this?” he asked when I didn’t follow him.

  “Do what?”

  “Track these bastards down and save some people.”

  It was such a Light thing to say. Such a good cause to get behind.

  Part of me still wanted to do what was right. But that part was getting harder and harder to reach. It would have been easy to turn my back on him and the Norms and deal with my own problems. But a distraction could be exactly what was needed. For me and my Dark Shadow.

  If we could function in the capacity of consultant to the police department, then maybe we could function in other capacities too.

  Hunt, the Dark Shadow said. It does not matter what we hunt as long as we hunt.

  To her, it didn’t matter that the humans abducted were innocent.

  All that mattered was she got to hunt down prey.

  I could get onboard with that.

  I stood up from the couch and stretched. I hadn’t meant it to be captivating, but Mark’s eyes followed the movement with a type of hunger that should not have been there.

  It was only after we’d stepped out of my apartment that I realised I’d used Sanguis Vitam. Even with his anti-vampire mojo, he’d felt the blood life force call.

  I needed to get a handle on this or soon the Georgia he knew would be no more.

  4

  Anger

  I didn’t recognise the house we drove up to, but something about the black sedan parked out the front seemed familiar. The house itself was a refurbished bungalow; quite common for the suburb of Mt Roskill. The garden was well maintained with strategic lighting accentuating hundred-year-old rimu trees. There were security cameras hidden under the eaves on both sides of the central driveway.

  I glanced to the left of the property and took in the bungalow next door. No security cameras, so this place was special. Mark slammed his door shut behind him as if this was the last place he wanted to be and he was taking out his frustrations on the vehicle. I shut mine more carefully as I inhaled and took in the prevailing scents on the breeze.

  White lilies and loose leaf tea. Bittersweet dark chocolate. Bold grapefruit and lime. Soggy wet wool. Stringent ammonia. That last was wafting off Mark a fair bit, but most of it was coming from inside the bungalow.

  Sorrow, fear, concern, discomfort, and anger. Quite a volatile cocktail.

  I wrinkled my nose, and inside me, the Dark Shadow sneezed.

  Mark hesitated before climbing the stairs to the front door. A uniformed cop stood off to the side on the wrap-around balcony. He acknowledged Mark but didn’t shift from where he could see the front of the property clearly.

  Mark turned to me and said, “I’ll do the talking.”

  “No good cop, bad cop then?” I asked.

  “You’re not a cop,” he snapped back.

  Touché.

  Mark knocked on the door but didn’t wait for someone to answer. He simply turned the handle and stepped into the hallway. I went to follow him and slammed right into an invisible wall; something magical making me unable to take that next step. Fuck-a-quacking-duck. I needed an invitation to enter.

  “Mark,” I hissed.

  He turned back to look at me, confusion in his blue-grey eyes. Then it clicked. His mouth fell open and rounded into a surprised O; his face paled at the reminder of what I was and what he would now have to do.

  “You are welcome inside this house, Georgia,” he said quietly so the uniformed cop couldn’t overhear. It wasn’t for my dignity. And then he added, “When I accompany you.”

  I wasn’t sure that caveat was magically legal, but I felt the pressure preventing me from crossing the threshold disappear, and for now, that was enough. I took a step and only started breathing again once I’d crossed into the house proper.

  Wooden floors with plush rugs greeted us. Artwork that my father would have adored hung on the walls at our sides. A hall table with a bowl of glass fruit carefully arranged to catch a chandelier’s light. I recognised it as something my mother had once had.

  Maybe she still did.

  Detective Grumpy Guts appeared from a room off to the side, his scowl at spotting me turning him from grumpy to crusty in a flash.

  “This is who you had to go get?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” Mark said stepping past him and not introducing me.

  I smiled sweetly at the crusty old coot and followed behind Mark into a comfortable sitting room. A woman sat crying on a plump sofa, a throw wrapped around her shaking shoulders as her trembling hands held on tightly to a cup of tea. My eyes darted to the carpet, but there were no stains. The liquid in the cup quivered with every hitched breath she made. A female detective sat beside her; she acknowledged Mark with a short, “Sir.”

  The crying woman looked familiar. She could have been part of my parents’ crowd, but Mt Roskill was a long way from Remuera. Even with the fine art in the hall. No, she seemed familiar for other reasons.

  I inhaled surreptitiously, trying to get a bead on what was setting off my Spidey-senses. White lilies and loose tea engulfed me. She was so sad.

  “Mrs Carrow,” Mark said moving towards her.

  Carrow. My eyes darted around the room until they landed on a framed photograph. I found myself beside it and was unsure if I had flashed there or not. A quick look at those in the room told me no one had noticed. I leaned forward and took in the two people standing side by side in the picture frame…with the New Zealand Prime Minister next to them.

  I stood upright again. Malcolm Carrow. Minister of Police.

  Shit.

  I turned to look back at Mark. He was watching me.

  Tricky prey, the Dark Shadow murmured.

  Three high profile disappearances; that’s what Mark had said. I looked back at the photograph. If the Prime Minister had gone missing, we’d all know about it.

  Or would we?

  I narrowed my eyes at Mark again, but he was too busy talking softly to Mrs Carrow.

  “Nobody’s called,” she said in a shaky voice. “You said they’d call. Ransom.”

  “I said they might,” Mark corrected gently.

  The woman nodded. “That was within the first twenty-four to forty-eight hours. I remember.”

  “Yes,” Mark said. “I’m sorry,” he added, and he meant it. Crushed daisy petals touched my senses; I brushed the useless emotion away. “I need to ask you a few more questions, Mrs Carrow,” he said. “Some of them might be repeated.”

  “Oh, OK. If you think it might help.”

  “Everything is important, Mrs Carrow. Everything.” Mark settled himself on the settee opposite her, I walked around behind it and checked into the room that ran off the back of this one.

  Dining room. The table was bare, but the smell of roast beef still clung to the air. Not an emotion or signature scent, they’d eaten roast beef for dinner. I wondered if Mrs Carrow had managed much. When I turned around, Grumpy Guts was watching me. He didn’t look happy. I inhaled and confirmed the emotion.

  “What time of the day was your husband taken, Mrs Carrow?”

  Grumpy Guts turned his attention to Mark and scowled.

  “It was late at night. We were getting ready for bed.” Mrs Carrow frowned slightly. “At least I think we were.”

  “What’s the last thing you remember before realising your husband was gone?”

  “I changed his toothbrush for him in the bathroom. He always forgets to do that. The bristles were bent in half. They wouldn’t have done much good for his tartar.”

  “No, I suppose not. Anything else?”

  She shook her head, a look of confusion crossing her features. “No. I don’t think so. Toothbrush and then I remember seeing the window open and Malcolm’s robe on the floor along with one slipper. And…and…the blood.”

  “On the windowsill of your master bedroom?”

  “Yes. You’ve seen it. Malcolm’s blood.”

  Mark looked uncomfortable. Grumpy Guts looked confused. The female detective looked angry. At Mark. I inhaled and confirmed the emotion. Yes, she was angry with Mark for making Mrs Carrow relive what little she remembered of that night. Young cop. New cop. She’d learn.

  “All right,” Mark said standing up. “Thank you, Mrs Carrow. I’m just going to show my associate the scene.”

  Detective Grumpy Guts huffed out an unamused breath of air and gave Mark an incredulous look.

  “Got any better ideas?” Mark whispered as he pushed past him.

  “Why don’t you check a crystal ball while you’re at it,” Grumpy said back. “Tarot card? Ouija board?”

  Mrs Carrow let out a gasp of pain at those careless words. Ouija boards were for the dead. I smiled at the crusty detective as I followed Mark out of the room and let him see a little of my undead.

  He took a step back.

  “Stop playing with my colleagues, Georgia,” Mark snapped from the base of the stairs.

  I quickened my steps, suitably chastened. He glowered at me and then started up the treads.

  The bedroom hadn’t been slept in for days. I could hardly blame Mrs Carrow for that. Mark stopped just inside the threshold of the room and watched me as I made my way around sniffing like a hound dog.

  “Was she glazed?” he asked.

  “Hard to tell,” I said. “Shock can make people vague.”

  “You’re suggesting this is a…normal crime?”

  Normal meaning human, I guessed.

  “Maybe.” I hadn’t scented anything that led me to believe otherwise.

  I inhaled more deeply and started sifting through the plethora of scents in the room. I picked out Mrs Carrow’s and what I assumed was the Minister’s because otherwise she’d been getting down and dirty with one of the cops. I smirked and looked into the ensuite bathroom. Definitely more of Mr and Mrs Carrow in there than any of the detectives.

  I returned to the main room and looked at the bed. Then turned and looked at the two bay windows.

  “This one?” I said walking toward the one on the left.

  “Yes. Can you smell the blood?”

  I could smell the blood, Malcolm Carrow, a faint hint of peaches, and something that smelled a lot like wet dog.

  “Do they have a pet?” I asked.

  “What? No. Is that significant?”

  “Maybe,” I said, shaking my head.

  I walked across the plush carpet that gave under the weight of my feet and leaned down to sniff at the windowsill. The blood had been wiped clean, but I could smell where it had been, and the bleach had followed. Fingerprint dust. Blood. Fear. Amusement. Wet dog.

  Either a very happy, scary dog abducted the Minister of Police, or a shapeshifter did.

  I stood back up.

  “Verdict?” Mark pressed.

  I needed to talk to Jett.

  I turned and looked directly at Mark. “Someone took him. He was scared. They were amused at his fear. Mrs Carrow stood over here.” I walked to where her scent permeated the carpet. “Collapsing to the floor when she was influenced.” I held up my hand when Mark opened his mouth to speak. “Don’t know how. Could be a glaze. Might not be. I need to check a few things out at work.”

  “Work?”

  “I work for the Master of the City.”

  “A vampire.” He practically spat the word.

  “Yes,” I said, sounding like my Dark Shadow.

  Mark looked up at my eyes and tried to hide his sudden fear and regret.

  Yes, don’t push the twitchy vampire.

  I asked her nicely to back down. She snarled and swiped at my insides and then retreated.

  I managed not to wince at the pain her claws created. Clearly Nice Georgia was not a favourite of the Dark Shadow.

  “You’re getting better at that,” I said.

  “What?” he asked carefully.

  “Trying to hide your emotions.” He blanched. “It won’t work with me, but it could with others. Keep practising.”

  I walked toward the door back out onto the landing.

  “That’s it?” Mark said rushing to follow me. “You don’t want to see - or smell - anywhere else? Mrs Carrow maybe? Or one of the other victims?”