Jenson’s jaw locked, his lips screwing together in a scowl. I met the expression with my own level stare. Until I knew more about what was going on, I wasn’t raising any shades. I didn’t like the situation. It felt wrong. And the hurried secretiveness worried me.
Our silent stare down lasted only a moment before Jenson growled, a low rumbling that didn’t sound like it should have emerged from anything human-shaped. Then he shook his head and let go of the gurney.
“There is no paperwork, and there can be no witnesses. As you might have guessed, I didn’t invite you down here for a sanctioned ritual.” He sighed. “I walk a fine line here, Craft. And this case . . .” He shook his head.
“You think fae are involved?”
He winced and looked around as if afraid someone might overhear. “Let’s just say I have a bad feeling, but I hope I’m wrong. You going to raise this shade or what?”
I frowned at him. Jenson was not quite asking me for a favor. One that could be dangerous on several levels. Without approval of the family or authorization from the cops, raising a shade at the morgue was illegal. Also, I was attempting to limit myself to one ritual a week for the sake of my eyesight. The previous day’s ritual may have ended up being a short one—the police tended to respond quickly to shots fired—but even a truncated ritual did a number on my eyes. I’d be willing to break that self-imposed—and rather new—rule of one ritual a week to begin mending fences with NCPD, but for an unsanctioned ritual for Jenson . . . ?
“Does John know about this?”
Jenson shook his head. “My fears aren’t a human concern.”
Right. Great. I worried my bottom lip. Jenson could get into as much trouble as I could if we were discovered, so clearly he thought questioning this particular victim was important. And goodness knew the firm could use the money.
“Okay . . .” I trailed off and took a tentative step into the room. Jenson didn’t strike me as a big risk taker, so I had to admit to a certain amount of curiosity. Reaching ever so lightly with my senses, I let that part of me with an affinity for the dead stretch to the corpse on the gurney. It was a female, a couple of years younger than me, but if I wanted to know more about who she’d been or how she’d died, I’d have to raise her shade. Or ask. “Why her? What is it about this case?”
Jenson’s frown deepened. “Things aren’t adding up at the crime scene. No sign of a breakin. Doors and windows locked from the inside. No disturbance or blood outside the apartment, but dozens of bloody tracks inside that don’t lead to any exits.” He stared at the sheet-covered figure, as if she might sit up and explain what had happened. Which, if I performed this ritual, she would. Or at least, her shade, a collection of all the memories from her life given shape by my magic, would.
“The killer could have had a key and locked up after he or she left. Maybe showered before leaving?”
Jenson’s head shot up. “Don’t you think we’ve considered that, Craft? Something is off about this case. I should alert the FIB, but no one wants the case hijacked over speculation. And besides, we don’t need any more bad press in this city.”
It took me a second to realize the “we” Jenson referred to was the fae, not the police. And he was right. The fae, or really any of the magical community, definitely didn’t need another mysterious case laid at their feet, which was exactly what would happen if the media caught wind of the FIB—the Fae Investigation Bureau—taking over a murder case.
In the last several months Nekros had seen the mysterious death of a governor, grisly ritual murders, rips directly into the Aetheric plane, disembodied body parts, ghouls, and a series of murders disguised as suicides. The city was teetering on a precipice. One more blow and the whole city might topple into chaos. Well, maybe at this point, it would be better to say further chaos.
“So if her shade indicates the fae are involved . . . ?” I started.
Jenson met my gaze. “I’m duty-bound to alert the FIB, but let’s hope that’s not the case.” He looked tired, but earnest. If this was anything other than what he’d indicated, I’d seen no hint of deception from him. “Now what do you want in exchange for raising the shade?”
“I have a standard fee if you want to hire me.” I’d even be willing to do it at the rate I charged the Nekros City Police Department, which was less than a ritual for private clients, but I didn’t add that. Not yet.
At my words, Jenson’s eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise, and for the briefest moment he cocked his head to the side as if he was the one looking for a catch. Then his features went carefully blank—the expression of someone who thought he was cheating the other out of a good deal. Digging his wallet out of his back pocket, he pulled out several large bills.