| |
Maewen
I’ve been staring at this damn enchanted medallion for so long, my eyes are getting blurry. The vamp police sergeant, Luc Durand, handed it over after the attack in Hatton Grove, and I’ve been studying it in my spare moments, trying to figure out how to unlock its secrets.
Definitely infused with necromancer magic. Our calibration meter—the only one of its kind in the world designed to identify magic trace—has ascertained that much. Beyond that little snippet, the medallion has frustratingly managed to keep its own mysteries undiscovered.
The design, though, matches what we found on the bracelet of a dead necromancer last week. The guy was discovered in a back alley in the city’s north, dead seemingly of a heart attack. The only reason my team was called in was because someone noticed the purple trace swirling around the bracelet. Eventually the piece of jewelry found its way here to the lab, and our trusty calibration meter ascertained it held the same trace as the medallion.
Is that how the rogue supes attacking humans are being controlled? By a necromancer “pilot”?
Yet another night is almost over, and there are still no concrete answers as to how the supernatural abominations are being controlled, nor why. Nor even who is behind the chaos and death.
I glance up at the clock on the lab wall and discover to my shock that it is almost midnight. Where does the time go? I need to finish up and head home, before I fall asleep right here on the floor of SUDAP’s police lab in Melbourne.
The fifteen-strong members of my team already left earlier in the evening. They are generally a good bunch, accepting of having a female as their officer-in-charge. Most nights at least some of us will stay back late, depending on who caught what case, and where we’re at in our various investigations, but I am invariably the last one out the door each night.
I love my job as an inspector in Australia’s first national police Supernatural Division, but even I know that sometimes, I can be a little obsessive over cases that pique my interest.
I expect dedication from my team, but I don’t believe in working them so hard they burn out. No, you’re leaving that fate for yourself, my traitorous inner voice whispers.
As usual, I ignore my inner voice. She’s too annoying. Though I have to admit I am far more tired than I should be, tonight. The nightmares are getting worse. I don’t know how much longer I can keep taking the potion. The witch warned me there’d be consequences, but I didn’t realize quite how debilitating it would be to have the little sleep I do manage to get filled constantly with dreams of death and dying.
Plus, I’m damn hungry. I don’t think I’ve eaten since breakfast this morning. Well, I glance again at the clock and amend my thoughts. Yesterday morning.
As I put the medallion back in the reinforced glass cabinet and peel off my protective gloves and face shield, a giant yawn almost splits my face in two. Definitely time for bed.
The small lamp in my office is the only illumination left on the whole floor after I lock up the lab. I cross the hallway and head through the open-plan area where the team sits, back toward my desk. I make a mental note to ask the cleaning staff to keep the hall lights on and allow me to turn them out when I leave. No wonder my eyes are getting wonky.
I wriggle my shoulders and crick my neck, and my stomach gives a loud rumble to remind me I need sustenance. Luckily there’s a twenty-four-hour pizza place almost next door to my apartment building a few blocks from here, so I can pick up some takeout on the way home.
As I grab my bag and lean over the desk to switch off the lamp, a flash of silver light brightens the space. What the heck? I blink fast, trying to recover my vision as I scrabble for the gun on my belt. Two tall men materialize in the room.
Fae. Specifically, it is the fae warrior I met briefly several days ago—Tarrien, I believe his name was—at the cabaret club when the singer Indigo was snatched. He is accompanied by another, taller fae who I’ve never seen before.
My gun remains in my hand, pointing at the second man’s chest before they even try to greet me. “Who the hell are you?” I demand. “And what do you want?”
“Inspector Jones, please.” Tarrien shakes his head, reproach in his tone. “That’s no way to greet royalty.”
Royalty? The other fae inclines his head and studies me intently, as if waiting for something. Does he expect me to bow? Curtsy? Fall at his feet in supplication?
He’ll be waiting a damn long time, if that’s the case.
Instead I simply raise a brow, doing some waiting of my own.
To be honest, it’s a bit hard to ignore how handsome the second man is, and how much he actually does give off the air of being someone rather important. Eventually the taller fae scowls and clears his throat.
Tarrien gestures. “Inspector Maewen Jones, meet your prince. His Royal Highness, Prince Rhodri, of the Winter Court of Faerie.”
My prince? I don’t think so. I cock the hammer on the gun, enjoying the flicker of shock on the prince’s face a little too much. Careful, Maewen. You’re over-tired. Don’t play with guns. Don’t tease the royal guy.
Bet most of his subjects kow-tow to him. I can’t imagine many point a gun. Especially a gun that shoots a special type of bullet comprising a mix of silver and iron.
The prince of winter would not enjoy it, should my trigger finger spasm.
Slowly I re-engage the safety and re-holster the weapon.
The wariness in both the prince’s expression, and Tarrien’s, reduces a notch.
“Pleasure to meet you, gents,” I say. “But you haven’t answered the second part of my question. What do you want? And please, make it quick. I’m hungry, and I’m tired, and I don’t have an ounce of patience left in my body or my soul, tonight.”
Tarrien sighs, more dramatically than I think is warranted. “What is it about Renna’s children?” he murmurs.
I roll my eyes and, surprisingly, the fae prince chuckles. “He’s dating your half-sister,” the prince offers. “And I believe Indigo does not always do what Tarrien wants, nor expects.”
The warrior shuffles his feet, obviously discomfited by the prince’s explanation. A grin hovers about my lips. Well, well. Good for you, Indigo.
“I can also answer your query, Inspector Maewen Jones,” Prince Rhodri continues.
I want to tell him it’s Inspector Jones, or even just Jones, as many of the team call me. But what comes out of my mouth instead is, “Maewen. Call me Maewen, sir.” Hell. Where did that come from?
The prince smiles—a rare one that actually reaches his eyes. Most people don’t smile with their eyes. I draw in a quick breath, trying to steady myself. His effect on my senses is rather unexpected.
“Maewen,” he repeats. “Such a lovely name. I insist that you call me Rhodri in return. No formality. But, you want to know why we’re here. Tarrien, show her the necklace.”
Tarrien pulls a plastic packet from a previously hidden inner pocket in his shirt and thrusts it in my direction. “I found this on a loup werewolf,” he says. “In the Badlands, on the edge of Faerie. That’s where they were holding Indie. There was a whole conclave of necromancers there. Wizards, a couple of witches, and a whole slew of rogue supes, all readying for some kind of ritual that involved draining your sister of her blood.”
Slowly, I take the packet from him.
“She’s fine by the way,” he adds. “Thanks for asking.”
I bite back a growl of annoyance. “I know, Tarrien. Indigo called me this morning and we had quite a long chat. She wants to meet soon, and I have agreed to that.”
“Oh.”
I manage to restrain from rolling my eyes yet again, and return to study the packet’s contents. It is half-wrapped in a handkerchief, within the plastic packet, but the shape of it is obvious. “Another medallion?” I shoot him a glance, excitement punching me in the gut. Maybe this one will be easier to crack. Then a thought strikes and I frown up at him. “Did you touch it?”
“No. I used the linen handkerchief to pull it off the dead were, and then sealed it straight into the plastic. It felt...wrong, when I saw it, so I instinctively avoided touching it.”
“Good.” Gut instinct tells me these medallions are bad news, and I suspect things might bode badly for anyone who happens to touch one without a protective layer between. “Until we have more information about how they work, best not to touch them directly.”
Prince Rhodri steps up beside me and stares down at the packet in my hand. His body imparts a pleasant warmth, creating an unexpected—and definitely unwanted—shiver down my spine.
Surreptitiously, I slide away. The prince is no fool. A wry grin is his only reaction. That man is too astute for my liking. “Thank you for bringing this to SUDAP,” I say. “I’ll need to lock it away with the other talismans for now, and get the team back onto it tomorrow. Hopefully we’ll manage to extract some answers from them, soon enough.”
“Would it help if you knew who made them?” Prince Rhodri leans against the edge of my desk, looking most un-royal-like. In his casual street clothing, he could pass for an extremely handsome human male—except for those pointed ears, and the aristocratic line of his nose, and those chiselled high cheekbones. And of course, the amazing, brilliant blue eyes that remind me of the sea on a warm summer’s day... Jesus.
I shake my head. What the hell is wrong with me, tonight?
“It might,” I say. “Do you know who created them?”
Tarrien clears his throat. When I transfer my attention to him, his mouth is a grim line and his eyes are flat and steely in color. “I believe it was my father.”
Wait. What? “Your father is responsible for these medallions? But...that means...” I can’t finish. The disclosure is as unexpected as it is horrifying. The trail of carnage caused by the rogue supes is a long one, over many years. I might have a deep personal dislike of the woman who birthed me, but I can’t imagine what it would be like knowing your own parent is responsible for so much suffering and death.
Before I can ask why, Prince Rhodri speaks up, as if sensing that Tarrien isn’t in the mood to admit anything else. “We think Tarrien’s father created the medallions with the help of a group of necromancers. But he only did that, because he is working for my mother, formerly Queen Rhiannon of the Winter Court. She was banished from Faerie more than twenty-five years ago, but we believe she intends to try and reclaim her throne.”
My mouth drops open and stays like that for a few seconds too long. Eventually, I realize I’m gaping and quickly close it. Holy hell. We’re going up against a queen of Faerie?
To give myself time to process what Prince Rhodri has just said, I make my way around my desk and flop down into my chair, leaning back and steepling my fingers in front of my lips.
“That is a lot to take in,” I manage, at last. “I assumed we maybe had a mad necromancer or two on our hands. This pushes the issue into a whole other level of concerning.”
The prince nods, and leans forward over the desk, piercing me with his steady blue gaze. “We wish to join forces with you and your SUDAP team, Maewen.” He smacks the top of the wooden surface with one hand. “We want to share our information, and enlist your help, so we have the best chance of locating our parents.”
“And then?” I ask, meeting his gaze squarely.
His eyes light up with a fierce blue glow. “Then, Maewen,” he says. “We are going to kill them.”
***
Read more of Maewen and Rhodri’s story in
Banshee Power
Blood Fae Chronicles, book 3
Then see where it all began with Aleah and Luc’s story in
Banshee Cry
Blood Fae Chronicles, book 1
***
Newsletter
Sign up to Jen Katemi’s reader newsletter, to be notified when new book titles are released.
