Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 26781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
“Now move, and let us do our damn jobs,” Nigel grumbled, and the crowd split to allow us to pass. We passed through the gate, and entered the small, white house.
When the door shut behind us, I turned to Nigel and told him seriously, “I’m sorry I froze up. It just…it brought back a lot of terrible memories. Thank you for your help.”
“Don’t mention it,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “They’re lucky I didn’t light all their arses up…I really wanted to, but I suspect Mullins wouldn’t appreciate that.” I huffed a laugh and Nigel’s palm dropped onto my shoulder. With a gentle squeeze, he promised, “I’ll always have your back.” There was a sparkle in his eye that immediately earned my trust. I decided at that moment that perhaps he deserved a second chance.
I nodded my thanks, and Nigel was slow to remove his hand. Strangely enough, I missed its presence once he did.
The sign out front of the building left little question that this was a fortune telling business. My suspicion was supported by the dark lighting and lacy decor surrounding us, and soft, enchanting music playing throughout the room. But it was what I didn’t see that puzzled me.
“Do you think Madame Margot was legit?” I asked, looking around the foyer. “I don’t see any crystal balls or cards or anything.” Obviously, the city was filled with magical folks, but there were also people who tried to capitalize on powers even if they didn’t have any. If a customer believed Madame Margot could see their future for real, she could make a lot of money.
“That makes me believe she was legit,” Nigel replied, explaining at my confused expression, “Real mystics don’t need frills or trinkets. They rely solely on ability. Some do use vessels to facilitate their visions, but it is something personal and likely unexpected.”
Captain Mullins had told me that Nigel was very knowledgeable about paranormal beings, so while I wasn’t surprised by his expertise, I was still impressed.
“There you are,” a voice said from behind me. I turned and found Gary, a mage who worked in the Crime Scene Investigation department, standing in the doorway which led to the remainder of the house. “Did you have trouble getting past the media circus?” At my nod, he added, “Well, I’m glad you’re here now. I’ve got something to show you.”
“Lead the way,” Nigel requested, drawing Brant’s attention.
His lips curled into a smile when he asked, “And who is this?”
“This is Nigel Prince,” I replied. “He’s on loan to us from London.”
“Ah, the Brit,” Gary said, using a terrible accent that made me groan internally. He was a jokester, and nobody thought he was funnier than Gary himself. Thankfully he dropped the accent when he added, “I’ve heard quite a bit about you. I’m glad to have you aboard.”
“Thank you,” Nigel answered with a bow of his head.
“And you’re quite the looker, too,” Gary stated unashamedly. Besides a jokester, he was also a flirt. He hit on me the first time he met me, but my brother quickly shut it down, saying it grossed him out. I was grateful; Gary wasn’t my type.
I doubted he was Nigel’s type either, but the possibility of them together made my stomach turn. Am I jealous? Why am I jealous? I wasn’t sure, but I couldn’t deny it, especially when Gary took a step closer to my partner, making my blood burn.
“That’s enough,” I barked, and both Gary and Nigel gave me a surprised look.
“My, my, so touchy,” Gary teased, grinning larger. “I guess I’m not the only one who finds our Brit handsome.”
Even his use of our Brit made me clench my teeth, but I tried not to show it. I simply cleared my throat and insisted, “I just want to focus on the case.” It was true; from the little details we’d received, it sounded like this case could be connected to that of my brother’s murder.
“Very well,” Gary replied with a sly smile that told me he wasn’t buying my story. “Follow me.”
He led us into a large, open room, which was filled with people dusting the place for fingerprints, gathering items in plastic bags, and taking photographs of everything.
One man snapped a picture of a wingback chair which faced away from me, and I noticed a pair of feet beneath it. I knew he was photographing the deceased woman we were there to inspect, and when I stepped around to take a look, I let out an audible gasp at what I saw.
There sat a lady wearing a purple dress along with a shawl which was cream colored on the fringes, but the rest was soaked with bright red blood. Her throat appeared to have been slit.
But what caused my shocked reaction was the state of her face. Her mouth was agape in a silent scream, and her left eye was wide open, as if searching for help. Her right eye was missing; it had been crudely removed from her skull, judging by the deep cuts all over her skin, and the blood dripping down her cheek.