Falin shrugged. A slightly pink tinge crept over John’s expanding bald spot, and he turned back to the door. He shoved the key card into the lock a little too hard, jerking it back fast. The light flashed red. It didn’t unlock. He cursed under his breath and tried twice more before the door beeped, flashed green, and unlocked.
As he fought with the lock, I gave the paperwork a cursory scan. I’d been on retainer for the police for years, so most of the paperwork was the boilerplate form we’d established when we’d initially worked out the terms of my retainership. The finer details had been hastily added with a ballpoint pen, but considering the circumstance, that didn’t surprise me. Everything looked to be in order, so I signed both copies and handed one back to John.
He took it without comment, waiting in the open doorway.
Falin leaned down, his words a whisper meant only for me. “You up for this?”
I wasn’t sure if he meant the scene or if I was strong enough for the ritual. Maybe both. I nodded again and hoped I was right.
I started forward but John held up a hand before digging out gloves and covers for my boots. I accepted them and pulled them on, the three men doing the same. Yeah, this was going to be a bad.
“You know I’m going to have to disturb the scene to draw a circle, right?”
“It’s already been photographed,” Falin said, sliding on a bootie over his dress shoes. “That doesn’t mean we should track in unnecessary trace.”
Okay, he had a point.
“So why aren’t we doing this back at the morgue?”
“Because we’re in a disagreement over who has jurisdiction and it was agreed you would be the fastest way to settle it. Besides, in all likelihood you’d end up on the case anyway. This expedites things.” John didn’t sound happy about it. Nice to be wanted. But I guess I couldn’t really blame him. The FIB and NCPD didn’t have a great track record of working well together.
Roy and Icelynne floated ahead of us into the room. I still couldn’t see what was beyond the door, but Icelynne made a sound somewhere between a scream and a gasp. I couldn’t quite make out what Roy said in response, but the rhythmic sound of his murmuring made me think he was comforting her. Apparently they’d become fast friends.
John motioned me forward, but I hesitated, thinking about what he’d said about the scene being up for debate on who had jurisdiction. If the victims were fae, it would be clear-cut, so it must have been the killer the police were uncertain about. Okay, maybe I was stalling stepping into the room, but from what I already knew by Jenson describing the scene as a locked room mystery and John’s explanation, it appeared we had a murder with no apparent means of unmonitored egress. Unless, of course, the killer slipped out when the maid entered or while the police were there.
“You think it’s possible the killer was using an invisibility charm?” I asked.
John nodded. “We scanned the room once we arrived, but personal charms don’t leave a trace once the witch has left the premises.”
The other option was glamour. That didn’t even need to be said. So it would come down to what the kids’ shades said to determine if the FIB or NCPD would be taking lead here.
“Ready?” Falin asked, his hand moving to the small of my back. The touch surprised me. I tried to believe it was just a friendly urge to get this over with, but the heat that lifted in my cheeks betrayed me. I hurried forward, almost stepping on John’s heels as I followed him into the room.
The curtain covering the wall-length window in the far corner of the room had been drawn aside, letting in the late-morning light. All the lamps were on and a few extra work lights had been brought to the scene, but despite the fact there was adequate light in the room, my eyes refused to make sense of what I was seeing. At least when trying to take in the room as a whole. I frowned, trying to focus on one piece of the room at a time.
There, closest to the door, was an armchair toppled over, stuffing exploding from it in long vertical slits. Beyond that was a desk, the wood scarred by a gash that nearly bisected it. My eyes moved farther over the wall, where it looked like someone had pressed their hands in red paint before running them over the otherwise neutral wallpaper. I knew it wasn’t actually paint, but I didn’t stop to dwell on it, instead letting my gaze move on to the bed, only slightly disheveled and still covered with a teal comforter. A figure knelt at the end of the bed, leaning against it heavily. It was a male, as soon as I saw him my grave magic told me that much. Young, maybe eighteen. Blood had dried in a dark stain where it soaked the carpet around his legs, almost blending in with his black tuxedo slacks. At first I couldn’t tell if he still wore a shirt or not, there was too much blood, but I decided he didn’t and the flayed material hanging from his back was flesh.