Her focus moved from Caleb to me. “What have you gathered from your research so far?”
I remembered the strange atmosphere of the crime scenes. “At least one of the murders took place near an entrance to the Otherworld. I don’t know what the supernatural community thinks of cemeteries, but to me they seem to be a place where two worlds also meet—that of the dead and that of the living.”
Maggie raised her eyebrows. “Some in the supernatural community do consider cemeteries to be a literal place where the world of the dead meets the world of the living,” she said, pinching her lower lip with her fingers. “Churches are another.”
Her brow furrowed. “That idea has been largely forgotten, even among supernaturals, since that belief is often associated with dark magic. The only people who still hold those beliefs are often those such as our second victim, the necromancer, who still practice the dark arts.”
She jotted down a note. “That’s a good lead, Gabrielle,” she said.
I tried to not let the compliment get to my head, but not going to lie, I was patting myself on the back.
For the next hour we discussed the case and the media frenzy surrounding it. At the end of the discussion I was more familiar with the crimes and the victims, but the only new piece of information I learned was that the community now considered me a suspect—just like the chief constable predicted.
It was actually a logical conclusion—I was the newest vampire and had the least control of my baser impulses. The only problem with that theory was that I didn’t happen to be a sick freak.
“That’s it,” Maggie said. “Make sure to continue to research these murders and not to discuss this with anyone outside the investigation.”
Caleb and I stood up. I grabbed the door and held it open for him before I began to follow.
“Gabrielle?” Maggie said.
“Yeah?” I paused in the doorway.
Maggie reached out—that’s how small her office was—and ran a hand along my covered arm. She stopped only when she grasped my hand.
As soon as I realized what she was doing, I jerked my hand away. “You need my permission before you go rifling through my mind,” I snapped, surprisingly unraveled by the thought of her poking through my recent memories.
“Actually, I don’t,” she said. “Not if I believe one of my officers could harbor important or dangerous information.”
I took a step back into the room and let the door swing shut. “So what is this? Am I now spying on the coven for the Politia? Because my continuing relationship with vampires seems like the only important or dangerous piece of information that the Politia might be interested in since you last touched me.”
Maggie’s eyes narrowed.
I continued. “And spying wasn’t part of the agreement I made with Chief Constable Morgan. So I think you do need my permission when it comes to this. That is, if you want me to continue to work for you.”
She smiled at me, but there was no warmth to it. “I’d suggest keeping your distance from the king of vampires. We wouldn’t want you getting too close to a man accused of dozens of international crimes.”
I turned my back to her and opened the door. “Accused, but never charged,” I said over my shoulder. I left her office before she had time to respond.
The soles of my shoes slapped against the wood floors as I made my way down the hall and out the door.
For the second visit in a row, I left the premise disturbed by what the Politia wanted from me. One thing was apparent: they were not to be trusted.
***
Rain pummeled my bedroom window. I glanced out at the monochrome view; the gray stone of Peel Castle blended into the stormy sky, which blended into the gray ocean beyond.
“You’re coming tonight, right?” Leanne asked, shoving odds and ends into her bag. “To my club’s Samhain party?” The party was the reason why she was furiously packing. She had to get there a few hours early to set up.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said, stepping over Oliver’s garish bed. We still hadn’t had time to corner Paul into de-conjuring it, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure how possible it was.
“Oh, by the way, I picked up the mail today, and you got a letter.” Leanne swiped an envelope from her desk and tossed it over to me. I didn’t fail to notice her bloodshot eyes and the purple circles beneath them. Her recurring nightmares were taking a toll on her
I caught the letter, disbelieving her. I never got mail—my mother and I always emailed each other.
I ran my thumb over the thick cream-colored paper. Sure enough, my name was written in rich, curling script, and beneath it, my address. I flipped over the envelope. Huh. There was no return address.
I hesitated before I opened it. These days an increasing number of people wanted to do me harm. Sending me an anonymous piece of mail seemed suspicious.
It’s a letter for crying out loud, and you’re a scary siren-vampire badass.