Dawn and I live active lives. When we’re not having to hunt down Magical lawbreakers and creatures from other realms, we’re busy training at the local gym, or honing our close- and ranged – combat skills alongside members of Mundane (non-magical) and Magical special forces and intelligence operatives. As such, during our down time we like to partake in small luxuries. One of which was ‘tea and a slice’, the slice being more of a wedge of our favourite cakes.
‘Pass us another slice will you Dawn?’
Dawn reached out for my plate, which I dutifully passed over. Wielding a somewhat large knife with a fancy flourish, she cut a thick slab of Battenberg cake, balanced it on the knife, and deftly dropped it onto my plate before handing it back to me.
‘More tea vicar?’ She asked.
‘Go on then,’ I said passing her my cup. Tea, in my opinion, was far superior to coffee. It was mellow, the buzz was smoother, and – again in my own humble opinion – tea was far more civilised.
It was as she was pouring the tea, that both our phones buzzed at the same time.
That was never a good sign, and we shared a look as we retrieved our phones and glanced down at the screens. It was a common rule that phones, tea, and a slice did not mix. Civilised.
‘It’s Marcus. Looks like we got a new Mark,’ said Dawn. Marcus was our Handler. In that he took Marks, from the powers-that-be, and ensured that we completed them. He also greased the wheels with the Mundane authorities and law enforcement agencies
‘Why is it every time I’m just about to settle into some more tea and a slice, that we get a job?’ I won’t say that I whined, but there was an embarrassing amount of self-pity in what I just said.
‘Well, the Marks do keep us in tea and cake,’ said Dawn.
‘Where does he want us?’
‘Half-moon.’
‘Half-moon?’ I was surprised as Half-moon was a very small hamlet on the way to Exeter. It literally consisted of half a dozen houses, a car sales showroom, and Hanlon’s Brewery. Aside from the brewery, there was absolutely no reason for anyone to ever want to stop in half-moon. It was one of those hamlets which people drove through and passed daily, without even realising. Probably the only time they have become aware that they were passing through Half-moon, was when there was an accident on the Half-moon straight, or they were visiting the garage to see what was on offer.
‘That’s what he says,’ said Dawn.
‘Well, might as well make the most of this Battenberg,’ I said hastily stuffing it into my mouth and chewing loudly, something which I knew she found utterly repugnant. Dawn groaned, so I childishly opened her mouth to show her the chewed contents of my food. It never ceased to piss her off and never ceased to amuse me.
*
It was not often that we got called to Marks in the middle of the day. The Magical community tended to like to do things in the shadows. Often literally. After all, what’s the point of murdering somebody, for you then to be seen doing it in plain daylight?
We parked our bikes, just outside of the garage. I'd decided, after having a Porsche burned out from underneath us, and our Land Rover utterly battered, that we should invest in a mode of transport that was a) bloody fast when required b) relatively cheap and easy to replace and c) allowed us to split up when required.
Motorbikes were the only solution that came to mind. Fortunately, Crediton had Union Road Moto-Velo, a truly marvellous motorcycle-shop-cum-cafe.
The owner, a true Harley ride through and through, was able to give us some advice, and help me pick a suitable ride. Something beefy, cool looking, retro, and which still had ABS.
After a week of intensive training at Westpoint, and one failed exam - which Dawn will never let me live down - we were both the proud owners of motorbikes. I had a custom Harley Davidson Softail Slim from Union Road Moto-Velo, whilst Dawn had gone for a much zippier - and less cool - Suzuki Hayabusa. And by much zippier, I mean 'so fast I pissed my pants whilst riding pillion' fast. It supposedly had a top speed of 248mph. I daren't ask if she's hit that yet.
No amount of Healing will put someone back together if they come off at that speed. I much preferred just cruising at the speed limit with all my Shield Icons activated, and maybe the odd Trollskin Charm as well.
It might have been overkill, but I was determined to remain alive and in one piece for as long as possible. I’d even invested in a Dainese D-Air vest. Which was definitely overkill, but still worth the money.
It was bad enough that other members of the Magical Community would happily rend us limb-from-limb but adding other motorists to the mix was something I knew I could counter easily. So, I did.
Marcus slowly climbed out of his red TVR Sagaris, in a way which reminded me of a predator. He was lithe and measured in everything he did. Energy was never wasted. Although young, he had an air about him that spoke of years of experience. He was one of St Bosco’s most ardent followers and was a legendary handler.
Dawn and I both suspected that he had been assigned to us as result of John’s betrayal. As such, we were always on edge around him. No doubt as we got to know him, things would settle down, but with John dead for only a few weeks, we were all still trying to get to know each other. It was like having a tame Mountain Lion.
‘Jane, Dawn,’ said Marcus, nodding to us each in turn. He turned gracefully and pointed towards the layby on the other side of the road, which led to the brewery. ‘Bit of a strange one. The Mundane police got a phone call last night, some reports of screams and barking. The caller thought it was someone who had had a run-in with a dog. They said it was odd at the time that there would be anyone walking the dog back in their field, since it’s private land. They sent out a unit, who had a quick look around, found nothing, then headed back.’
‘I’m guessing by the forensics tent, and the copious amounts of vehicles in the layby, they found a little bit more this morning?’
‘Yes Jane, probably best to show you rather than try to describe it.’
Marcus glanced left and right to make sure that there were no cars coming, then slowly crossed the road. I hadn’t seen him do anything in a hurry, it was like he was trying to preserve energy.
Dawn said that he often reminded her of a Hawk. Happy to sit in a tree and do absolutely nothing until the time came to hunt, at which point woe-betide anything that crossed it. Dawn I tagged along, as he flashed his badge at the police manning take at the entrance to the layby, not even waiting for them to finish looking at it, before taking it back.
I hadn’t seen this number of police in many years. The only reason that there would be so many, as well as a couple of news vans parked further along the road, was if there been a murder. Magical murders usually got hidden. We tended to keep things within the community and unless someone really slipped up, the Mundanes would never even become aware of such an event.
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‘Ah, you must be the consultants,’ said a man wearing a white set of coveralls. He stepped close, leaning forward to grab hold of Marcus’s hand and shake it vigorously. The look on Marcus’ face was priceless.
Releasing it, he turned to me and Dawn, and repeated the process. ‘Jolly good of you to come at such short notice. Don’t really know how to classify this right now. I’m Dominick Challacombe, Crime Scene Manager, I co-ordinate the Crime Scene Investigators and advise the Senior Investigating Officer.’ He waved a hand towards a group of uniformed and plainclothes officers who were stood having a cup of tea.
His smile, and enthusiasm, were infectious. He was the sort of person who immediately put people at ease, no matter what the situation. Even it was the scene of a suspected murder. I nodded and smiled back, letting Marcus do the speaking.
‘What exactly is the situation?’ asked Marcus.
‘Well, it’s dashed difficult to explain. I think that it’s an animal attack. However, there are certain anthropomorphic qualities in the way the body is laid out,’ he spread his arms, ‘probably best if I just show you. This way please.’
Without waiting to see if we were following, he strode off up the driveway that led to the brewery, and the field that lay behind it. Although it was early in the morning, I was very tempted to pop in and get a couple of bottles of Hanlon’s Yellowhammer, one of the best ales in the country, let alone the county. Still, shopping for booze was frowned upon whilst on a Mark. Especially one involving a death that a Mundane Crime Scene Manager for Devon & Cornwall police couldn’t explain.
‘It’s just here, in the field. Lady in the cottage over there spotted it when taking her dog for a walk’, the cottage he waved at was known to me. It was more of a traditional Devon longhouse than an actual cottage, and the owner was a member of our Community. ‘Brace yourselves, I appreciate you’re zoological experts, but this is graphic. Upset even me.’
I was surprised on two counts. The first because he thought we were zoological experts. The second because he said that he had been upset by the scene. Most people that we dealt with in the police were planted - or bought - by the Magical community. It made things easier if we didn't have to worry about people freaking out every time one of us Cast a Spell, or a Witch determined to use your eyes for a Spell popped out of the shadows.
Glancing over at Marcus I tried to raise an eyebrow. Naturally, I failed. As much as I admire Dwayne Johnson, I'll never be able to cock an eyebrow the way he does. From practicing in front of the mirror, I knew that I'd merely managed to lift both eyebrows and make myself look perplexed rather than cool. His only reaction was to gently press his hand down towards the ground. I'd have to settle for that. It wasn't as if Dawn and I weren't used to having to pretend to be something we weren't whilst working Marks.
Marks, if you don't already know, are what Mundanes - non-magical humans - refer to as contracts. Dawn and I were a cross between bounty-hunters and killers. Most Marks resulted in the death of the Mark (the person who was Marked). Sometimes, if they were particularly high-ranking members of the UK's Magical ruling class - the Merlins - they got arrested and bundled off to a nice comfortable prison in a pocket universe somewhere.
Dawn and I rarely got to deal with such things. Merlins don't like scandals, it undermines them in the eyes of the Magical peons, so they tend to keep such things private. I was perfectly happy with that. The last time I took on a Merlin was a bloody mess and ended in me having to kill my previous Handler and Mentor. I still woke up crying in the middle of night at that.
'Jane,' Dawn nudged me, breaking my mawkish reminiscence, 'Earth calling Jane. We're here.'
Here, was the fence leading to the field. A large white tent had been erected to both preserve the scene and stop the press from fucking things up by releasing photos which would give all the freaks that liked to waste police time some juicy details. A member of the CSI team handed us all-in-one suits, and special overshoes which we carefully donned. Challacombe opened the tent and then paused, turning to face us.
'Seriously, I appreciate you've seen some awful things in your line of work, but this is beyond the pale,' he gave a stiff nod and what he probably thought passed for a smile, but which was more a baring of teeth, Adam's apple bobbing up and down. Taking a breath, he waved us through, 'Mind you don't touch anything.'
We walked into a charnel house. If you've never smelt copious amounts of blood, it's hard to describe, but the best analogy I can think of is burnt iron filings. Blood has iron in it and for some reason, it really smells. Really. Before I knew it, I had clapped a hand over my nose and was trying to breathe through my nose.
'Grass is meant to be green. Grass is meant to be green!' said Dawn, her voice muffled as she spoke through her hand. Looking down, I saw what she meant. There wasn't one blade of green grass before us. It was all the dark-red colour of old blood. It was as if someone had taken the time to spray each and every blade.
'The victim was completely exsanguinated, bled out,' said Challacombe. He passed us face masks, 'Sorry, should have done this before.'
Mind racing, I tried to take everything in whilst putting the mask into place. I couldn't work out what I was looking at and said so.
'That's the head, there,' he pointed to a red, yellow and grey mass, with what looked like straw, but which must have been hair, 'that's the remains of an arm, the other arm, the legs, heart and liver, and that's a partially eaten and flayed torso.'
'Ex... gotta...' Dawn dashed from the tent. There was an awkward pause as the sounds of particularly enthusiastic vomiting came from outside.
'Please, Challacombe, do continue,' said Marcus, calm as ever.
'Indeed. Once again, I am sorry. This has all the hallmarks of an animal attack. Teeth marks, claw marks, the partially eaten remains. However, animals don't arrange the part of their victims in the shape of an Ankh either.'
Forcing myself to look again, I mentally traced lines between the remains.
'Ah. Shit.' Not my most eloquent of statements, but it summed up my feelings well.
'Precisely. It looks, and this is only my preliminary finding, like we have an animal and its owner. The animal does the killing, and the owner does the ... arranging.'
'Ritualistic arrangement of the body. Do you think that there was anything sexual in the attack?' said Marcus, kneeling to look at the remains of the torso.
'Hard to say for sure until we get the body back for examination. I'm struggling to tell if the victim was male or female. There is no clothing, and no other form of identification either. We'll know more in a few days once the body has been properly examined.'
'What do you need from us?' I asked, proud that my voice wasn't trembling. From the sound of it, Dawn had fully emptied her stomach and was now just dry heaving.
'I need to know what sort of animal did this. It wasn't a bloody Chihuahua for sure,' said Challacombe. I was sure that he was pale behind that mask.
'The claw marks are widely placed, wider than my hand, ' said Marcus, calm as ever, 'which rules out any sort of dog. Wolves too. We're looking at something which has a paw as big as a large wild-cat and claws of a similar size. However, I’m not sure if this is feline or canine in nature. Not that I can think of any canine this big. A crossbreed perhaps.
'Good grief,' said Challacombe shakily, 'do you have a registry of wild-cat owners?'
'Fortunately, I know where I can find one. I'll send the list through to you once we're back at the office. I have your card. There's nothing more we can do until you send over your crime scene photos and details of the autopsy. I take it the coroner has been notified?'
'Yes, she's ready. It's going to take a while to get everything processed, but I'll send it over as soon as I have it,' said Challacombe, handing over a business card. 'I'll also let you know if we're able to find any details of similar attacks in the UK. I seriously doubt it though. Even though there's signs that this is ritualistic, and that the killer or killers took the time to arrange the body in this way, it also looks rushed. Unpracticed, as if it's the first time they've done it. God help us if this is a first-time serial killer in the making.'
'Thank you. Most kind. We'll be in touch,' said Marcus, nodding to me that we should leave.
Dawn was stood outside, looking somewhat sheepish. Marcus patted her on the shoulder, muttering something I couldn't hear, but which put a smile on her face.
Marcus had good people skills, always able to find a way to make someone feel comfortable. A true gentleman. Once we'd stripped out of the all-in-ones and made our way over to where we'd parked, Marcus looked at me.
'Know of any Shapeshifters capable of such a thing?'
I'd been expecting the question ever since I saw the wounds on the remains, but it still unsettled me to be asked the question, especially as I could technically count as a suspect.
'No. Not from around here. UnderCity perhaps, but that's not my beat. Could be a Were.'
'Yes, I was thinking just that. Okay, I have to report back. It's definitely of Magical origin, might be a Shapeshifter or a Were. Definitely a psychopath. Or someone so filled with hate and anger that they’re essentially the same.'
'You think that Challacombe was right? That this is going to happen again?' he hadn't actually said that, but when you mention the words serial and killer, you're never speaking about just the one murder.
'Most definitely. Meet you at your place in a couple of hours. I've got some calls to make.'