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It was only when Dr. Harris moved to Portland that the killings started.
And the odd smell coming from the small refrigerator? It had leaked out from a container that had Dr. Harris had neglected to completely close, and which contained some of the fatty body parts my boss had removed from his victims.
Hadrian tells me the the most likely reason all those parts had been torn off by hand was to mislead the police and make them think their missing serial killer wasn't handy with a scalpel.
Despicably cunning, my former boss, and a complete disgrace to his fellow anthropophagi, which the evil old doctor actually told me the truth about.
His race did live among gods once upon a time, and it had been the bane of their existence that cannibalism had been the only way for them to enjoy extraordinarily long lives. And for a time, they had done just that...until the Holy Crusades.
When the entire race converted to Christianity, the practice of cannibalism was subsequently banned...but not forgotten. And it was why, upon being diagnosed of Stage IV pancreatic cancer, Dr. Harris had decided to save his life at the cost of others.
With the help of several books on the black arts, Dr. Harris had managed to come up with the requisite formula for his recovery and closed shop to move to Portland.
As for the women he had summarily chosen to kill and consume, the police had sadly failed to dig deep enough to uncover two common denominators.
Firstly - these women had all been spur-of-the-moment walk-ins at Dr. Harris' clinic, albeit at different times and dates.
Secondly - they were all exceptionally healthy, their blood free from drugs and alcohol, i.e. the complete opposite of the "commercialized" women of Beverly Hills, and thus the exact thing a cannibalistic doctor ordered.
And for a while, his formula had seemed to work, but when his latest diagnosis had shown his cancer had once again worsened to Stage IV, it was then Dr. Harris decided to retweak his formula. Since all of his books on black magic preached of greater evil resulting into greater gains, why not consume his victim's flesh while she was alive, and do so in a way that her torment would last for as long as possible?
And yes...
That was to have been my fate...if not for the ambrosia in my blood, which Hades' ex-queen considered a 'deus ex machina' and had consequently filed an appeal in the Olympian High Court to question the validity of my ascendancy as the new (and dare I say better and cuter) Lady of the Underworld.
So...yeah.
Not quite the happy-ever-after for Hadrian and me, but I was choosing to be positive, despite my own reservations. Zetes told me the court was likely to junk Persephone's suit, but honestly, I was still a little worried. Then again, I haven't gotten around to asking Google what 'deus ex machina' means, so who knows?
Maybe Zetes was right, and I had nothing to be worried about.
Oh, and in case you're wondering...
No, it was not Zetes that had been stalking me, and he had been rather offended that I would even think such a thing. As a skilled and experienced court watcher, it would have been the greatest shame for him if I had felt his presence in any way.
So those times that I felt I was being watched?
Those were the ghosts of Dr. Harris' victims. Having seen me being interviewed for a job, they had followed me home, and upon realizing that I could see ghosts, they had "joined forces" in order to communicate with me through my dreams.
If - like Dr. Harris had said - the spell had been cast by a more experienced witch, they might not have been able to reach out to me. But since it had been a rather amateurish, loophole-ridden spell, the ghosts had been able to work around its magical conditions. Since the spell had only forbidden them to mention their killer's name and be anywhere near Dr. Harris, all they had to do was wait when I was alone or unconscious before haunting me.
Anyway, all's well that ends well. The ghosts were at peace, Dr. Harris now had his own suite in Tartarus, and the only blip in the horizon was what he Goddess of Law's final judgment would be on Persephone's lawsuit.
But for now...
"HOLA, QUERIDA."
I fought against blushing when Joaquin bent down to kiss my cheek before taking the seat opposite me. It wasn't that I still had a crush on him or that I was being unfaithful to Hadrian. Rather, the broodingly handsome Spaniard was just so rakishly charming it was impossible - really, truly impossible - not to feel the tiniest thrill at the knowledge that a man like him found li'l ole me...attractive.
"I'm sorry I'm late," he murmured.
"It's fine." I was, of course, pretending to talk on my phone again. Even though there were only a few other people inside the cafe, it was always better to be safe than sorry. Also, I needed to set an example, now that I was, you know, the Lady of the Underworld.
