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As her thoughts left mine, I paused and studied the rear living area. The kitchen to my left was brand-new, and yet it looked like something straight out of the sixties—the cabinets were canary yellow with round, white plastic knobs that matched the color of the counters; the tiles were a mix of both. Even the large fridge was yellow; in fact, the only modern-looking appliance was the freestanding stainless steel cooker. The rest of the room was L-shaped, with a dining area immediately in front of the kitchen and the living area to the right. Folding glass doors ran the full width of the room.
I walked over. The doors were all locked and there was absolutely no indication of physical, magical, or supernatural interference.
I frowned, but nevertheless did a full circuit of the room. Again, there was nothing that even remotely stirred my psychic or magical senses—nothing other than the fact it was noticeably cooler here than in either the hall or the master bedroom. But that might well be a result of there being such a large expanse of glass in the room—it not only let heat leach in, but also the cooler night air.
I spun and backtracked to the laundry. Byron had said there was no sign of a break-in, but he would have meant physical evidence rather than the other kind.
I stopped again just inside the doorway, and couldn’t help but note the sudden rise in air temperature. It was even hotter in here than in the hall or bedroom, and it had me wondering if we were dealing with some sort of fire spirit. It would certainly explain the abrupt variations in temperature.
I grabbed a pen out of my handbag and used it to flick on the light. While I doubted Kyle Jacobson’s killer would have been stupid enough to leave any prints behind—presuming, of course, he or she even had fingers—it was still better to avoid spoiling evidence or adding mine to the mix.
The laundry was large and surprisingly modern, with a lot of built-in storage as well as all the usual appliance paraphernalia. There were two doors—one to my left led into a toilet, and one directly ahead that led out to what looked to be the side driveway. Beside this was a small window, through which I could see the fence that divided this house from Mrs. Potts’s. My gaze returned to the door and its handle, and a prickle went down my spine.
It was the source of the wrongness.
Or, rather, the keyhole underneath it.
And yet, both the door and the keyhole looked untouched, and there was nothing to suggest it had been magically interfered with.
I stepped closer and reached for—but didn’t quite touch—the keyhole. I didn’t need to. The closer my fingers got, the more they itched and burned; whatever had killed Kyle Jacobson had left via the keyhole. And that very much ruled out vampires. Despite what Hollywood and fiction might have people believe, they couldn’t change shape or become nothing more than mist and shadow. If a vampire disappeared before your eyes, it was because they were in your mind altering your perceptions rather than changing their shape.
I headed back to the bedroom. Ciara glanced up as I appeared.
“Aiden’s gone next door to take the girlfriend’s statement. He said you’re to take his truck home, and he’ll drop by in the morning to collect it.”
“Keys?”
“In it.”
“Good.” I hesitated. “Would I be able to take a couple of photos of the wounds? We’ve a number of illustrative books that discuss different type of demons, and I’d like to see if I can match the bite to the creature.”
She waved a hand toward the body. “Let it be noted that I find it rather disturbing you possess such books.”
I grinned. “Technically, I don’t. Belle inherited them from her grandmother, who was something of an authority on spirits, demons, and all things that go bump in the night.”
“I don’t find that comforting.”
“You should. It was those books that gave us the means of tracking down the soul sucker.”
She grunted, but her expression remained dubious. “Did you find anything else in the rest of the house?”
I pulled out my phone and opened the camera app. “Whatever did this left through the keyhole in the laundry door. Combine that with the heat in the three rooms, and I think we could be dealing with some sort of fire spirit.”
“Great,” she muttered. “Just what we need in the middle of a very hot summer.”
“Yeah.”
I took several photos of the wounds on his arms, then quickly snapped one of his face. After saying goodbye, I headed outside. Part of me hoped Aiden would appear to kiss me goodnight, even though I knew he had a job to do and wouldn’t ever jeopardize a case by running out to say goodbye to his latest bedmate.
I climbed into his truck, adjusted the seat, and then drove off. But I didn’t immediately head home. Maelle was the only person currently within the reservation who could immediately confirm whether we were dealing with a vamp or not; she was also our one chance of hunting the vamp down quickly if we were.
I found parking in a side street close to Émigré and walked back. It was a rather strange-looking building, and definitely not something you’d expect to find in the middle of the Victorian countryside. The matte-black walls were decorated with weird, alien-looking, biomechanical forms, and the strategically placed green and purple lights gave the entire building a surreal feel. In fact, it looked like something that belonged in a science fiction movie.
The bouncers standing in the front of the airlock-shaped doors opened them the minute they saw me. Roger, who was Maelle’s servant—or thrall, as they were more commonly known—had ordered I be allowed inside no matter what the time or the inappropriateness of my dress. The jeans, T-shirt, and sandals I currently wore definitely weren’t on the club’s suitable attire list.
Roger had obviously been advised of my presence, because I’d barely stepped into the main room when he appeared out of the shadows and stopped in front of me.
“Lizzie Grace,” he said, all effervescence and warmth. “What a delightful surprise.”
