Master of Fire (30 page)

Giada threw her a wild look. “Bigger?”

“And immune to magic.” Grace studied the outline. “Sherri hit it hard. Anything but a Dire Wolf would have burned like a torch.”

Arthur crouched to breathe in deeply, using his acute vampire sense of smell. “The creature was in dog form when she attacked Sam. Then she transformed to Dire Wolf to attack the Maja.” He rubbed his knuckles thoughtfully over his bearded jaw.

“Jenny,” Logan snarled. “She was the fucking K-9 all along.”

Gwen fisted her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t Smoke realize the Dire Wolf was the dog, not Sam?”

Lancelot shrugged his broad shoulders. “The mortal handled the animal so often, its scent was all over her. And hers was on it.”

“Smoke wasn’t the only one the Dire Wolf fooled.” Giada looked down at the bodies, feeling battered by her own profound failure. “I didn’t sense it either. Why the heck did Merlin give these werewolves so much power?”

“When he visited during the Dragon War, he told me he’d feared the Magekind would misuse their abilities and begin abusing mankind.” Arthur rose to his feet again, his expression weary. “Apparently it had happened before with some of the other guardians Merlin’s people created on other planets.”

“But if they watch us, who watches them?” Giada asked.

“They’re supposed to police themselves, apparently.”

“Yeah, well, they’re doing a piss-poor job,” Logan growled. His armored glove creaked as he curled one hand into a fist. “So are we going to call them in on this or what?”

“I already contacted the man they named as their ambassador. Devon said they would look into it.” Arthur frowned, brushing his thumb over his lower lip.

“Devon?” Lance looked up sharply. “The same Devon who was the father of that fucking Dire Wolf serial killer?”

“That’s the one.” Arthur shook his head. “I talked to the head of their council about the man, but he cut me off at the knees. Informed me George Devon is one of their aristocracy, the Chosen. He swears Devon’s from an ancient family, completely beyond reproach.”

“Wait—Dire Wolf serial killer?” Caroline looked at Lancelot. “The one who killed Kat’s sister? He had an odd name—Trey or Tip or something.”

“That’s the one.” Lancelot nodded. “His real name was George Devon III, which is where the Trey came from.”

Giada remembered the story all too well. Trey had been torturing and killing blond mortal women for years. One of his victims was the half sister of Lance’s daughter, Kat. When Kat became a Maja, she tracked Trey down, just in time to prevent another murder. It took Kat, Lancelot, and Kat’s lover, Ridge, to save the girl and kill the Dire Wolf.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed in calculation. “As I recall, Trey’s father, George Devon Jr., was not particularly pleased when we informed him his son was dead.”

Logan met his gaze and knew they were thinking the same thing. “ ‘Not pleased’ enough to seek revenge?”

“He made all the appropriate noises of horror and contrition, but I could smell his rage.” Arthur rubbed a hand over his bearded chin. “I thought at the time he was furious at his murdering son, but what if it was me he was angry at? It would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?”

“As in, ‘You killed my son, so I’ll kill yours’?” Lance asked.

A pause slid by, hot with growing anger. When Arthur finally spoke, fangs showed in his snarl. “I think I need to have a word of prayer with that manicured little fucker.”

“Before you whip out Excalibur,” Gwen pointed out, “remember this is a
female
Dire Wolf we’re dealing with.”

“So I’ll give him a minute to explain before I cut off his fucking head.”

“Arthur . . .”

“Look, we can fight over who does what to whom later,” Logan interrupted. “I need to call 911 to report Sam’s death.”

His father stared at him. “Logan, this is a magical murder. We cannot afford to have your detectives investigate this.”

“They’re not going to realize magic was involved, Dad. The autopsy will say she was killed by a dog bite. They’re going to assume Jenny went nuts and attacked her—which is basically what happened.”

“What about Sherri?” Arthur jerked a thumb at the burn mark on the wall. “Not to mention the outline of the seven-foot-tall monster on the wall?”

“We can remove that.” Gwen eyed the mark thoughtfully. “Along with all signs of Sherri and her blood.”

Grace nodded. “And the glass door she blew open.”

“Probably need to create some way the dog could have escaped,” Giada said thoughtfully.

“That’s simple enough,” Logan said. “We could just say the door was standing open when we drove up.”

Arthur frowned. “According to Smoke, Taylor told your lieutenant she thought you killed Davis. They’re going to wonder what you’re doing here.”

He shrugged. “I’ll just tell ’em I dropped by to talk. It’s still early enough for a visit. It’ll be pretty damned obvious I didn’t kill her.” Logan looked down at Sam’s body, his expression brooding. “No human did that.”

“Technically speaking, you don’t have to get involved with this at all,” Arthur pointed out.

Logan glowered at him. “She’s one of my squad mates. I’m damned if I’m going to leave her here to rot.”

“Of course not. But we could make an anonymous call to 911. When the officer arrived to check out the call, he would discover her.”

“That would only raise more questions. She’s obviously been dead awhile, which means it’s too late for a passerby to call because she heard screams. Which would make detectives wonder if the killer made the call. Since the killer is supposed to have four legs and a tail—not a good plan.”

“Logan, I could call the cops,” Giada pointed out. “You could go with Arthur to hunt the killer.”

He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. “What if the Dire Wolf came back after we left?”

“Why would she do that?”

“Why did she kill Sam? She’s nuts.”

“Logan’s right—he should stay with you. I don’t want to end up with another dead Maja.” Arthur looked at his knights. “In the meantime, let’s pay a visit to Trey’s dear old dad and find out what he knows about this mess.”

“I’ll stay with Logan,” Giada said. “We’ll go get his car, drive up as though we just got here.”

“I will take Sherri home and prepare her for her death ceremony.” Grace looked down at the Maja’s twisted body, sadness in her eyes. “Such a bloody, stupid waste.”

Arthur’s lip curled. “And someone is damned well going to pay.”

Gwen turned to Logan and extended her hand. Magic sparked in her palm, solidifying into a cell phone. “If you get separated from Giada, use this.”

He lifted a brow as he took it. “I gather it’s not really a CrackBerry?”

“Nope. Magic. It’ll connect you right to me, and Arthur and I will come running.”

Logan clipped it onto his belt. “I just hope we won’t need it.”

“Believe me, kid—so do I.”

“You got trouble,”
Charlie Myers said in his smoker’s rasp. “I told Arthur your husband had nothing to do with this mess, but I don’t think he believed me. Suspicious bastard—begging your pardon, ma’am.”

“That’s quite all right.” Joan Devon gripped the phone in a white-knuckled grip, ignoring the pain of her wounds. A savage joy rose in her as she listened to the Southern Clans chieftain.

This was just the opening she needed.

“I told him no Chosen would have anything to do with killin’ Latents,” Myers continued, “especially not a Devon.”

“Well, given that my son murdered all those human women, one can see how Arthur might have found your assurances a bit hollow.”

“Ah.” Myers sounded taken aback. “Yeah, but Trey was . . . well, begging your pardon, ma’am, but Trey was crazy.”

And so is my husband. Why do you think Trey went mad?
Joan did not say so out loud, however. That was not a fact to share with the likes of Charlie Myers. She did have her pride, after all. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Myers. I will deal with the situation.”

“You’ll let your husband know?”

“Of course,” she lied. “Good-bye, Mr. Myers.”

“Ah. Okay. Umm, good-bye, Mrs. Devon. You take care, now.”

Joan clicked the portable phone off and gently cradled it. She looked around the bedroom with its overturned furniture, ripped bedspread, and trail of bloodsplatter. Did she have time to pick up?

Probably not. The damage was too extensive to repair in the time she had. And anyway, they would want tea.

Her gaze caught on the portrait of her family hanging over the massive four poster. Trey and Amanda, smiling happily to either side of her, George standing behind them all, tall and strong and smiling.

He could hide so much behind that well-bred smile.

Hatred rose in her, black and choking. She’d tolerated too much for too long. Too much death. Too much madness.

And Warlock. She’d tolerated Warlock for far, far too long. Well, she was done with that.

He was behind it all, she knew. That damned sorcerer had set all this in motion, stolen her children, her pride, her husband, put them all on the path to destruction.

But she would have her revenge. She would pay for it, of course—pay in heart’s blood. Not that it mattered. In all the ways that counted, she’d lost Amanda long ago. Like George, her daughter had always seen her as weak.

She wasn’t weak. She was a woman of the Chosen, and she had more strength than the men of her class ever gave her credit for.

Sometimes being underestimated was quite useful.

Briskly, Joan rose from the bed and limped toward the hall. She needed to prepare the tea.

 

 

Sheriff Bill Jones
crouched by Samantha Taylor’s bloody body. Giada couldn’t help but notice he knelt in the same spot Arthur had occupied an hour before.

“It looks like her own fuckin’ K-9 killed her.” He shook his head, his expression weary and sick. “I let my grandchildren play with that dog.” He looked up at Giada and Logan. “So you found her like this?”

Logan nodded. “The kitchen door was standing open.”

Jones’s eyes narrowed. “So y’all just walked right on in?”

“We spotted the blood trail on the floor. Thought we’d better investigate.”

“We called 911 as soon as we found her.” Giada’s gaze dropped to the trail of bloody dog tracks that led out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen door. She’d conjured it herself, just as she’d removed the blast marks from the hallway and all traces of Sherri’s blood from the carpet. She’d also repaired the glass door and removed the camp chair from the woods.

The fact that she’d tampered with evidence in the process gave her a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Unfortunately, the only alternative had been to leave Sam to rot in her own bedroom, and Giada was no more willing to do that than Logan was.

Jones straightened. “So what were y’all doing here to begin with?”

Logan met his gaze steadily. “I wanted to talk to her.”

“About her belief you had something to do with killing Davis? I’d imagine that pissed you off.”

“I had no intention of starting trouble, Sheriff.”

“I’d fuckin’ well hope not, since if you did, it didn’t end too well for Sam.”

“So you think, what? I showed up and sicced her own dog on her?”

“Don’t be a smart ass, MacRoy.”

Anger sizzled through Giada. “Logan would never hurt any woman. Especially not a fellow cop. And the idea that he’d have anything to do with killing Mark is just ridiculous.”

Jones eyed her, his gaze cool. Though Giada could feel her cheeks getting hot, she refused to drop her eyes.

“You done?” he drawled at last.

She gave him a slight, cool nod. The tips of his mustache twitched into something suspiciously close to a smile. “Good, ’cause I agree with you.” He turned a cool, steady gaze on Logan. “I’ve known you seven years now, MacRoy, and I’d sooner suspect my own son-in-law of killing Mark Davis than you. You’re a good cop, a smart cop.” The sheriff shook his head. “But I’ve gotta tell you, coming over here was fuckin’ stupid. Sam had a temper, and she woulda jumped your ass in a heartbeat. As it is, you’re damned lucky those wounds are obviously dog bites, or you would be in deep shit.”

Logan sighed. “Yeah. But I wish to God I’d had to deal with Sam’s redheaded temper instead of finding her like this.”

“You and me both, boy.” His expression brooding, he watched as the evidence tech shot pictures of the dead woman. “Damn, I’m tired of standin’ over my people’s bodies. Just makes me sick in my gut.” He looked around at Logan and Giada again. “You two coming to Mark’s receiving tomorrow night?”

Logan nodded. “I want to pay my respects to the family, and I doubt I’ll be able to make the funeral.”

Jones frowned, obviously wondering what would be more important to Logan than his teammate’s funeral. There was no way to explain that since the service would be held during the day, Logan would be unconscious, out cold in the Daysleep.