Raised in Fire (Demon Days, Vampire Nights World Book 2)(4)

“We’re the special investigation unit.” Clarissa held out a paper badge encased in a canvas slip—the kind with a plastic viewing area and strings that could be worn around the neck. The MLE office wouldn’t even splurge for plastic badges; ours were printed via laser jet.

I didn’t bother carrying mine. It made me feel ridiculous.

As expected, the policeman rolled his eyes and stepped to the side, lifting the tape marginally. Clarissa bent with stiff joints that seemed older than her years, and struggled to get under the tape.

“Really, guy?” I pushed him aside and pulled the tape off the doorway.

“Who raised you, a pack of cavemen? Give her a break.”

“Hey!” he said, puffing up and reaching for his cuffs.

“Yes, see how that works out for you.” I grinned manically. I could get a new identity, but could he repair his shattered ego after he got beaten up by a girl? I doubted it.

He must’ve seen the crazy in my eyes: my natural urge for action coiled into a tight ball and straining for release. Wisely, he jerked his head for me to get going.

I saluted him and walked through the doorway, leaving him to worry about the tape.

“I have really stiff joints,” Clarissa said apologetically when she stopped in the entryway of the moderately sized house. “The doctor said that dropping some weight and exercising more would help. Easier said than done.”

“I hear ya.” I took in the surroundings, feeling a light buzz of residual magic. Either someone had done one or more larger spells in the area a while ago, or a lesser-powered spell more recently. From where I was standing, I couldn’t tell what kind of spell, or what the magic might’ve been used for.

Hopefully I’d get a better impression once we moved further into the house.

Clarissa scoffed and took two small orbs from her satchel. “You’re skinny, young, and eat whatever you want. How do you hear me?”

“Theoretically. Are we going to enter this place or what?”

“Yes, just a minute.” She pulled out a bay leaf and a baggie of mustard-colored powder, the two fundamentals of a spell used to determine the type of residue magic left at a crime scene. It was MLE office issued, and seemed to work pretty well for all power levels.

“Okay, here we go.” She straightened out and walked forward with her head held high, seemingly confident. Halfway through the dim interior, she turned left within the sitting room filled with older-style furniture, heading for another doorway.

I stalled. The residual magic was a little stronger in this area. I moved through the space, feeling the hum with outstretched fingers. I didn’t need a handful of spices to tell me what had happened here. I just needed to pay attention, both to the magic and to people who might notice this rare trait of mine. Feeling the magic in spells wasn’t an unheard-of talent, but only extremely powerful mages were capable of it. I didn’t need meddlesome questions that I didn’t plan on answering. More meddlesome questions, I should say.

A spell blanketed half the room. From what I could gather, it was a searching spell. But what was it looking for?

I hastened to catch up with Clarissa, who’d already stepped through a sliding double door, only one side open. Tangerine light glowed in the living room beyond. When I followed her, I found the body sitting in a chair facing a blank, boxy TV, his head leaning unnaturally to the side and blood all down his front and shoulder. His mouth hung open and his eyes only showed the whites. Residual magic thrummed through my veins, revealing its secrets.

Clarissa spoke to a detective I half recognized as the main contact point between our department and the normal human one. He was in the know as to what we really were. I suspected that was why I hadn’t witnessed him rolling his eyes. Although I hadn’t been in his company much, so maybe I’d just missed it.

Another detective, a younger guy, stood off to the side, glowering at Clarissa. As soon as he noticed me, his scowl swung my way. He clearly didn’t know our real function, and probably wanted that fake magical whack job (Clarissa) and her ridiculously dressed cosplay friend (me) to adios. He had real work to do, damn it!

I did love putting words into the detectives’ mouths. After all, their expressions were pretty clear tells.

I stepped closer to the body.

“No.” The younger detective’s hand firmly wrapped around my upper arm. “We can’t have you tampering with the evidence.”

Somewhere in his later twenties or lower thirties—I wasn’t great with identifying ages—he was an attractive man spoiled by a patronizing smirk. I squared off with him. “I’ve seen more dead bodies than you can possibly imagine. Back off. I know what not to touch.”

I’d never been very good at staying professional when I needed someone to back off. At least I stopped myself from saying I’d created more dead bodies than he could possibly imagine. Though, in my defense, they usually weren’t human, and if they were, they deserved it.

“J.M., let her take a look,” the head detective said. That was why we were there, after all.

I brushed by and leaned over the body, noticing the marks on the older man’s neck. “A sword makes sense,” I said, pointing at the wound.

“Someone used more than one strike. He was hacked at with a dulled sword.

Maybe rusty, maybe not. If you let your sword go that dull, you aren’t taking care of it. Attacked in anger, I’d bet. Passion. Not romantic passion, but the perp was possibly a loved one of some kind.”