I closed my eyes and breathed in the smell of the crime scene again, picking out the scents. It was hard to discern the fainter smells under all the blood, especially now that a crime scene unit had trampled through the area. I focused on picking out the strongest scent other than the victim’s. Something sweet and burnt lingered just beneath the smell of blood.
A frustrated sigh escaped me. It could very well belong to the killer, but it could also belong to the team that had analyzed the scene. There was no way to know for sure.
Once we left the crime scene, we headed to the Politia’s offices. The Romanian branch was centered in Bucharest, but each city with a large supernatural population had a station, including Cluj. And right now, Cluj’s housed our case’s evidence.
Grigori pulled the car into a packed parking lot in the middle of Cluj, and I caught my first real glimpse of what the Politia looked like outside of the Isle of Man.
The building was white with red rooftiles, just like many of the surrounding buildings, and it appeared weatherworn and fairly old. However, unlike Castle Rushen on the Isle of Man, this building didn’t seem to hold any supernatural cultural heritage. It was just … a building.
Caleb and I followed Grigori inside. A smile tugged on my lips when I noticed the similarities between the Politia here and the Politia on the Isle of Man. The same smell of coffee and pastries permeated the air, as did the buzz of activity.
Grigori nodded to people or briefly exchanged words with them in Romanian as he led us down to the basement.
I ignored the stares from people who recognized my face. I’d become infamous in the last several months, and it didn’t help that the siren in me drew people in. Too bad I’d forgotten to pack the perfume Leanne had given me.
“Gabrielle, you have a good nose on you, right?” Grigori asked as we followed him down the hall.
“Um, yes.”
“Good, good. I wanted to see if you could pull any smells from the evidence.”
I gazed at him curiously as we walked into a sterilized room. I might have a good nose on me, but so did he. What insight could I possibly provide that others couldn’t?
Some demonologist I was.
Inside the room rested a table, and on it, a cardboard container filled with plastic baggies.
Evidence.
Grigori grabbed a pair of latex gloves from a dispenser next to the door and walked over to the box. “I’ve had Evidence pull some of the items found on our victim to see if you might get a read on them.”
Caleb and I peered over his shoulder at the plastic bags. I recognized the twine rope and the white gown the victim wore. Both were drenched in blood.
Grigori reached into the box and grabbed the bag that contained the clothing item. “See what scents you smell from this.” He opened it up and placed it below my nose.
I forced myself not to stumble back as the smell of blood and rotting gore hit my nose. It overpowered all the other smells.
Remember what Andre taught you. Scents came in layers. If I could separate them, then I could distinguish them.
I slowed my breathing and let this first smell invade my senses. The scent of blood contained something otherworldly—divinity. Once I’d familiarized myself with the smell, I noticed something below it.
“Ash,” I said out loud, my eyes meeting Grigori’s. Caleb glanced between the two of us as Grigori nodded. “Our inspectors noticed the same smell, but we’ve been unable to identify the being it belongs to. We were hoping you might know.”
What he was really saying was, We were wondering if the devil’s peeps smelled like this. Some dark beings had that smoky, my-soul’s-been-frying-in-Hell smell to them. But this particular brand of damned? Nope. I hadn’t come across it.
I shook my head. “Sorry, but I don’t recognize it.”
That evening I was rifling through my notes on the case when I felt the first thrum of energy. I glanced up from the desk in my hotel room. A set of headlights flashed across my room as a sleek black car swung into the parking lot.
Andre had found me.
I set my notes aside and left my room, trepidation prickling my skin.
By the time I’d reached the lobby, Andre was already there, chatting with the woman behind the front desk. A lock of hair fell over his eyes, making him look roguish.
Based on the woman’s bubbly laughter and the way she kept touching her hair, my guess was that Andre had done his magic and gotten her to fall in love with him. He had a knack for that.
His gaze slid to me, and though his friendly smile didn’t waver, his eyes got a hungry look to them. He said something to the woman in Romanian and pushed away from the front desk.
The way he walked toward me made me half tempted to make a run for it, but I forced myself to stand my ground and face him.
He closed the distance between us and cupped my jaw. I only had enough time to blink before he took possession of my mouth. He kissed me roughly—angrily—and when he finally pulled away, his jaw clenched and unclenched. “You and I are going to go for a little car ride,” he said. His tone left no room for argument.
So, naturally, I argued. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Soulmate, you do not want to test my mood this evening.”
“Then ask nicely.”
His hand twitched, and I swore he was battling his natural instinct to haul me over his shoulder. Neanderthal.
He lost the battle.
I squeaked as he scooped me up into his arms and crossed the room. The woman at the front desk watched us with wide eyes, especially once I started pounding on Andre’s chest. “Put me down, Andre.”
In response, he kicked the front doors open. I shivered as the cold evening air hit me. Andre’s arms tightened around me and he pulled me closer to his chest.
“Are you really doing this?” I asked.
He ignored me.