“Good afternoon, Dr. Stowe,” I said while crouching down beside her. My knees popped, reminding me that my thirty-plus-year old body wasn’t as nimble as it once was.
“Evelyn.”
I grinned, knowing I’d never be able to call Dr. Stowe by her first name alone.
With a heavy sigh, Dr. Stowe leaned back on her heels. “Cursory exam of the skeletal remains, along with the clothing, indicates this is the body of a young woman. I’d say adult but most likely no older than mid-twenties. Unless it’s bleached or colored, the blond hair would suggest a white female. I’ll know more when we get the remains back to morgue and I’ve had time to take a closer look.” Glancing my way, she asked, “Any ID found?”
I shook my head. “Not yet, although we were waiting on you to get here before we went digging much further.”
Dr. Stowe grimaced. “I’ve got a feeling this is going to be a Jane Doe.”
“I’ll start going through missing persons and see if we get a hit.”
“It’s a start, but you may need to get that fiancé of yours involved in this one. Could be the only way to identify this young lady is by pulling her soul back from beyond the grave. She might be able to give us an idea of what happened too.”
Boone was always on speed dial. Thankfully, not for this reason, but it was handy having a talented necromancer in my back pocket. That wasn’t the reason I’d asked Erasmus Boone to be my husband, but it was a nice perk. Most wouldn’t see it thatway. Necromancers were considered species non grata. Most wouldn’t even touch a necromancer. I still couldn’t understand why. But their loss was my gain. If no one else wanted to touch Boone, then I’d happily take up the slack. There was absolutely nothing I loved more than laying my hands on him, feeling Boone’s skin twitch beneath my touch, hearing his relieved sighs and breathy moans.
Jesus, I needed to stop thinking about Boone that way. Getting an erection during a homicide investigation wasn’t something I wanted to be known for.
Then again, maybe there was a chance this wasn’t a homicide. “Any idea how she died? Could it be natural causes or a suicide?”
Dr. Stowe pointed a pen in the direction of some fibers sticking out of the ground. “I can’t say she didn’t kill herself, but our lady definitely didn’t bury herself or tie her hands behind her back.”
Oddly enough, being found buried in the ground didn’t automatically mean homicide. There were cases where people were unlawfully buried but hadn’t died due to nefarious means. Not everyone thought logically, and sometimes even innocent people panicked, their choices confounding but without malice. The ropes around the wrists were a different matter.
“Got it.” Standing, I cracked my back while my gaze tracked the desolate area our victim had been found. The spring sun was warm on my back, and while I appreciated its rays, the shadows they cast churned my growing anxiety. Was Tenzen Huxley hiding out in one of those shadows? And if so, was he here himself, or were the shadows his minions? I’d seen firsthand what those shadows were capable of. The broken bodies of the man and woman who’d attacked Boone earlier this year were still fresh in my mind.
“O’Hare? Is something wrong?” Dr. Stowe looked up at me from her crouched position, one hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the sun.
“I’m fine,” I easily lied. Physically, that was true enough. Emotionally was a completely different matter. My phone beeped with an incoming message. The sound told me it was from Boone.On my way home.Those four simple words relaxed my muscles and allowed me to breathe again.
Be careful, I quickly typed back.
I’ll try my best,Boone answered, a winking emoji added at the end.
Tension returned. History had more than proven Boone wasn’t always safe while driving. Not that he was a poor driver. No, it wasn’t Boone’s driving skills that frightened me; it was the disgruntled masses that seemed to think Boone’s road time was a good opportunity to make attempts on his life.
“You sure about that?” Dr. Stowe asked while standing.
It took me a moment to figure out what she was talking about. Mentally running through our recent conversation, I sighed while running a hand through my close-cropped ginger hair. “Boone’s on the road.”
“Ahh, I see.” Dr. Stowe laid a hand on my bicep and squeezed. “It’s always difficult when our loved ones are out of sight and miles away. Boone’s a sly one though. He’s wily.” Dr. Stowe chuckled, patting my arm and pulling away. “He’ll be fine. When it comes down to Boone versus anyone else, my money’s on your fiancé.”
With that comment, Dr. Stowe walked away, carefully making her way around the body so she could speak with her assistant. My chest squeezed. It wasn’t that Dr. Stowe was wrong. I’d bet on Boone too. It was the fact Dr. Stowe found it necessary to make the statement in the first place.
I checked the time before tucking my phone away. Depending on traffic and how many stops Boone made, it would take three or four hours for him to make the trip from Leander Dunn’s home back to ours in Mississippi. Hopefully, by that time, I’d be done at our latest homicide scene. Removing the remains would take time, as would sifting through the area surrounding them. I’d been a cop long enough to know that you never knew what you were going to find. This was a dump site, not the place where the murder occurred. That didn’t mean the absence of clues. It just meant we were going to have to look harder to find them.
I was used to hard work and wasn’t afraid to get my hands dirty. Discovering the truth was often messy. There were a lot of types of messy. The best kind could be washed away in the shower. The worst were the kinds that stuck like tar. Unfortunately, this mess with the Director of the Magical Usage Council, Tenzen Huxley, was the latter type. It was the kind of mess that dug deep into your skin. Sometimes the only way to purge that kind of filth was flaying yourself open. I just hoped by the time we were finished, there would be enough of us to stitch back together.
Chapter
Three
Erasmus
Home.Why was it that home always looked so good? The relief I felt when pulling onto my street and seeing my home seeped deep into my veins, filling my body with soothing comfort. That comfort would have been magnified if Franklin’s vehicle were in the driveway. Unfortunately, I didn’t see it. Not that I’d expected to. Franklin called about an hour ago to let me know he would be home late. While I was disappointed, I also understood.
Turning into my driveway, I felt Pops’s wards wash over me, filling me with a sense of safety and love. But that safety had a glaring crack. Huxley had more than proven that Pops’s wards were useless against him—or at least against his shadows. Pops changed the wards before he left the last time, weaving Franklin’s safety into the magic. Unfortunately, Pops said there wasn’t much more he could do as the wards he’d placed on my house were already the most powerful possible.
