Literally, just ripped it out.
“Hanna?” Jack said, the sudden sound of his voice making me jump. “What’s happening? You’re making some very odd noises.”
I was? I swallowed heavily, then said, in a somewhat normal sounding voice, “You need to get the forensics team here.”
“Ah, fuck.”
“Yeah. And it’s bad.”
“Both women?”
“Don’t know yet—I’ve only just found Francesca.” I squatted several feet away from the crimson pool on the carpet and panned my phone along her length. I didn’t describe it, simply because Jack didn’t need to hear the precise details. But maybe that was the mom in me coming to the fore, given he was only four or five years older than my son. In truth, Jack had probably already seen more than his fair share of brutal deaths, thanks to his association with the Society, even if in pictures rather than firsthand.
“You sure she’s dead?” he said.
“Very.”
There was a long pause. “Forensics are ten away. The manager has been informed of developments.”
Confirming he did get away alive, which was at least something. I rose. “Give me a heads-up when forensics get here. I’ll keep checking the penthouse and record what I find.”
“No probs.”
I found Francesca’s discarded dress, bra, and undies on the floor at the end of the bed. They’d been carefully removed rather than ripped off in the heat of the moment, which, given how expensive the dress undoubtedly was, was understandable. But why take the time to fold them all and then place them on the floor rather than the nearby chair? Was it another of those oddities that just kept on happening, or was there a darker purpose behind the placement of her clothes?
I squatted beside the pile, carefully lifted one edge, and spotted a spell stone. Or rather, the remnants of one. Whatever spell had run through it had completely shattered it; all that remained were a few broken shards. The fact they were black suggested the stone had been onyx, which was often used by humans to absorb negative energy. Dark witches tended to gravitate toward it for the same reason—when used correctly with certain spells, it could amplify that darker energy.
If there was one stone here, then there would be at least two others. While most witches created protective circles using six or more spell stones, you could technically create one using only three, as long as they were triangularly aligned. Which meant her shoes and sash were likely hiding the additional stones where they sat on either side table. I rose to investigate; the small black shards littering the right shoe’s insole were little more than dust, but the remnants under the sash were somewhat chunkier and seemed to contain some sort of rune on them. After taking a photo, I pressed a finger against one of them. While the glove prevented a direct connection, the inner gates were still open enough that I could feel the fading caress of the magic. Unsurprisingly, it held the same feel as the stuff that had culminated in this room before the shadowed stranger had barreled out at me.
But what had the magic been doing? Who else had been in here?
Someone surely had been. Aside from the fact the magic on the two men hadn’t felt like theirs, Francesca’s heart was completely missing, and the glimpses I’d gotten of the stranger’s hands had been blood free. Even if I was wrong and hehadused magic to punch through her flesh, there would have been a few remnants of it clinging to her brutalized flesh. While all magic faded with time, the darker stuff tended to linger just a little bit longer.
As I pulled my finger back, the shard disintegrated. Maybe the stone’s structure had been so weakened by the force of the spell that the slightest bit of pressure caused it to utterly collapse. Or, perhaps more likely given the dust I’d found under her clothes, whoever had cast the spell hadn’t wanted the stones found, and had woven destruction into their spell. If I’d taken a few minutes longer to get here, I probably wouldn’t have even found dust.
I hastily wrapped a nulling containment spell around the largest of the remaining shards; it should stop the continuing disintegration of the shard, at least until I found someone who could explain the runes on it and perhaps get a read on the spell. Once I’d taken a few more photos of the rune decorating its surface, I tucked it carefully into my handbag.
I replaced the sash, then left the room and walked across to the third bedroom. It held two queen-sized beds, and Marnee lay on the one closest to the door. Unsurprisingly, her death mirrored Francesca’s. I swore softly and scrubbed a hand across my eyes. While the force of the magic and the sheer size of the two men said it was unlikely I could have saved either woman had I come here first instead of going back to headquarters for the damn audit, guilt nevertheless stirred, if only because I would never be one hundred percent sure that was true.
I drew in a deeper breath, then once again forced my feet into the room to check under the neat piles of Marnee’s clothes. There were no spell stones to be found. There wasn’t even dust, which told me my guess had been right—the stones had been designed to disappear.
As I turned and walked out, the earwig vibrated. I double tapped it and then said, “What’s up?”
“The forensic team is in the lift.”
“Thanks. I’m going to search Monica’s room while I’m here.”
“Be aware that Sienna is rather touchy when it comes to people fussing about her crime scene before she’s finished.”
Sienna being the blonde. “She can fuss all she wants. Monica is still missing, and her life might well be on the line, and that gives me priority over Sienna.”
“All of which Sienna knows; it doesn’t change the validity of my statement one iota, however.”
I smiled and walked over to the door to wait.
As the two women came around the corner carrying all their gear, Sienna said, “This is becoming something of a bad habit.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What is? You two attending a crime scene?”
