There were civilized hours for phone calls, and it didn’t take the bright numbers on my phone burning their way into my eyes to know this wasn’t one of them. “Hello?” My voice cracked, and I cleared it three times as the person on the other end waited.
“Agent Pine?” asked a feminine voice.
“Speaking.” My voice cracked again. “Or trying to.”
“Agent Mitchell.” Shouts filtered across the line, but she didn’t answer them. “I’m standing at a crime scene that needs your expertise.”
“Where?”
“South Nashville.” She hesitated, knowing that wasn’t terribly descriptive.
“Send me the address. It shouldn’t take me long to get there.” Not at four-thirty in the morning. I tossed the phone onto my bed, where it chirped and flashed an address.
I mapped it out while I munched on a protein bar. The area wasn’t far, about fifteen minutes at this time of day. The kettle whistled, and I filled up a travel mug, grabbed my purse, and headed out.
Randolf paused from tending the roses under the moonlight. “Early morning for you.”
“Police business.” I saluted him with the mug. “Boss hasn’t ruined everything yet. Living the dream.”
He laughed and waved as I drove away.
The dream it might be, but it would’ve been helpful to know what awaited me. Sometimes they forgot that I wasn’t like other officers, that I might need things that weren’t in my car or on my person.
Unlike forensics, there wasn’t a standard witch kit. We all did things a little differently, and every agency had their own ideas of what we should be able to do. Right now, everything I thought I was likely to need fit comfortably into a backpack, with two overflow bags of just-in-case items carefully stowed in my trunk.
The item I most needed, my wand, was nested in a sheath strapped to my thigh. That had played tricks on my trainers who didn’t know what do with my gun, so it sat in a cross-draw holster on the front of my left hip.
Magic, not equipment, was what I really brought to the table. Plenty of races had their own magic, but most of them couldn’t do magic. Witches could. A professor in college had said our bodies were different, storing and channeling amounts of energy that would kill most creatures.
That was why I’d refused Floyd. Under the right circumstances, I could probably make a shield that would stop some bullets (there was always a more powerful bullet), but that would take a lot of power. Depending on how much I put into the spell, it could take days for me to recover enough magic to be able to do my job properly.
As I pulled into the parking lot of CJ’s Machine Shop, I put Floyd out of my mind. Smith would take care of him. Tonight, I was here to be a police witch and give them answers to magical problems.
The metal-clad warehouse was nearly identical to its neighbors, with flat roofs and aged siding. The small parking lot was overflowing with cars from the Nashville Police, TBI, and several unmarked vehicles like mine. Two forensics vans had gotten as close to the door as they could. What I noticed was what wasn’t here. No ambulance. Either they’d come and gone or this was going to be a different type of scene entirely.
With my badge showing clearly, and the TBI jacket keeping the morning’s chill away, I slung my pack over my shoulder and headed for the front door. An officer outside the door checked my credentials.
Being a witch didn’t give me fantastic night vision or an extraordinary sense of smell, but I could scent blood and the putrid odor of bowels.
“Booties and gloves are next to the door.” He stepped aside to let me in.
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“Thanks.” I slipped my other arm through the backpack’s strap. I didn’t want it to shift around or fall, and I really didn’t want to go back out to the car if I needed something.
Behind the officer was a small entry, with a second door propped open a few inches. A table with boxes of booties and gloves sat next to a big trash bag. It only took a moment to slide into the booties and gloves. Before I braved whatever was behind the door, I stuck an extra pair of gloves in my pocket.
Sucking in a deep breath, which was probably a mistake because I got another whiff of whatever horrors were behind the door, I pushed it open and stepped inside.
Not even the dozen people crowded near the door could distract from the interior. Big machines filled the warehouse. Even now, they hummed with electricity, and lights blinked both on the machines themselves and nearby computers. To my right, a section was walled off, likely for an office.
What held the officer’s attention was impressive in its own right. The floor was painted in heavy streaks and small pools of blood. One particularly thick streak vanished down a lane between two machines. Whatever was at the end of the trail had the collection of officers looking anywhere but there.
A tall woman turned and headed toward me. From the back, she had looked human, but she was a dark elf, with gray-brown skin, large eyes, pointed ears. Her white hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her hands rested comfortably on her belt. “Agent Pine?” She held out her hand. “Agent Mitchell.”
I shook her hand. “Here and ready to assist, though from what I’ve seen it looks more like a job for forensics.” My head tipped toward a pool of blood.
“There’s more.” She swallowed hard. “This way. I hope you aren’t squeamish.”
Growing up, I’d done my share of hunting and preparing the meat. But this wasn’t likely to be a neatly butchered deer. As she led me between two machines and along the thick streak of blood where all the officers wouldn’t look, I figured I was going to find out my exact level of squeamish.
The bright overhead lights didn’t hide much, which was a bonus for investigators. Even when the streak went from thick to slender lines, it was easy to follow around a shelf laden with sheets of steel. On the floor was a mess that had once been humanoid.
“Tell me if you think it’s a matter for witches now,” Agent Mitchell said.
Rather than focusing on the remains, I squatted down and took a closer look at items scattered around. On the un-bloodied sections, I could make out wood grain and etchings. One even had an herb embedded in the surface. Since they had the look of charms, I closed my eyes and relaxed a mental guard.
Then I saw the world as few creatures could. Traces of magic, red-orange in tone, clung to the broken charms. It was impossible to tell from a quick look what they’d been. The blood and death had intertwined with the magic, twisting what remained of the original spells.
My eyes followed a darker trail of magic through the blood and to the body. Though, I’d been better off calling it remains because it was a more accurate description. Not much was left but bone, blood, and flesh that clung to the skeleton. The intestines had been piled to the side, leaving the body cavity open. Large chunks were missing from several organs, the kidneys, liver, and lungs. Those weren’t parts many people would eat raw, and the marks reminded me of the impressions a cat would leave behind.
The head had the least damage. In life, and I guessed in death too, the victim’s hair was dyed red. One ear had a gauge that had stretched the lobe enough to distort the shape. The forehead was crushed and the skin missing, perhaps eaten. Mostly, I was grateful I couldn’t tell which.
My stomach lurched, and I made the mistake of taking a deep breath. The putrid scent of the punctured intestines settled into my nose. Bile crept up my throat. I pressed my lips together. I would not be sick at my first gruesome crime scene.
I looked at the remains in their entirety. Magic wrapped around them in fine lines. Like the other spells, blood and death had crept into this magic. Even through my shields, I could feel it reach for me. This was the kind of power evil enjoyed, gaining from pain, blood, and death. It was a terrible power, corrupting those who used it until they were as tainted as their magic.
“Anything?”
“You were right.” I turned away from the body. “Is there a theory on the bite marks?”
Her eyes darted to the body and then back to me. “Bite marks?”
“Yup.” I walked around her to get back to the rest of the personnel.
“We need you to tell us if it’s safe to process the scene.” Agent Mitchell followed me.
“It’s not,” I said over my shoulder.
“Then what are you doing?”
I ignored the question. The mixed group from different agencies watched the two of us but seemed reluctant to go back to the remains. I didn’t blame them, but I was hoping someone had the expertise I needed. Three people half-zipped into bunny suits, the forensics techs, leaned against the wall. Until they could do their job, they were on standby. Of the more police types, I doubted the dwarf knew anything. The vampire was a better choice. The rest were human looking, though that didn’t stop them from being shifters or having useful skills.
“Can anyone identify canid or felid bite marks?” A few eyes widened, and I quickly added, “I just need a theory so I can unravel some magic.”
The group shuffled as a new person pushed their way to the front. “Just what are you doing here, Pine?” Floyd marched over to me, anger radiating off of him.
Narzel blast it. What was he doing here?