all relatively common items, but collectively they might add up to a connection between the victims that he had missed. Or maybe he was just grasping at straws.
A soft thump sounded behind him and he spun around, remaining in a crouch as he scanned the room, his heart kicking in his chest. He straightened, trying to identify the source of the noise, and saw a hand written journal lying open on the wood floor near the book shelves on the other side of the bed.
He crossed the room and bent to pick it up, realizing it must have fallen off the shelf. He smirked at himself for being so jumpy and began reading the flowing script on one of the pages. It was a dream journal. And unlike the tempting fantasies his subconscious had cooked up about his mystery woman while he slept last night, Heather Peters had been having some pretty nasty nightmares.
An entry dated only two days before her death spoke of being trapped in a deep pit in the earth that was slowly being overrun by spiders. It sounded unpleasant to him, but apparently it had filled her with the stark, mindless terror that only a phobia could inspire.
He flipped through and saw that she’d been having similarly horrific dreams for more than a week before her death. Whereas before that, the dreams she’d recorded had been sometimes odd, but mostly mundane reconfigurations of daily existence. Albeit with a few erotic fantasies thrown in.
Grey wondered if she had somehow sensed the coming violence that had ended her life. It was an eerie thought to consider, in the stillness and silence of the room that had been her sanctuary before it had become her death chamber.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket and he jerked, cursing at his reaction. He needed sleep. His nerves were shot.
“Agent Derrington,” he barked, not bothering to check the Caller ID.
“Hey Captain America. You still at the Peters house?” came Liza’s steady voice.
Grey released a weary breath. “Yeah.”
There was a beat of silence, and then, “I heard her mom came by as they were taking her body out.”
Grey ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Yeah. It was a bad scene Lizzie. I really wish it could have been avoided.”
“I’m sorry Grey, me too,” she replied softly. “Did you find anything new?”
He cleared his throat and reached for the detached professionalism he needed to work the case. “I want you to check for any connections between the victims and the occult. Magic, witchcraft, voodoo, alternative spiritualism...check the websites and forums they visited on their computers, check their credit card receipts for new age type stores, anything you can think of. Try to find something that links all five of them.”
“If it’s there, I’ll find it,” she assured him. “Anything else?”
He hesitated and then asked, “Aren’t salt water fish tanks one of your hobbies?”
“Yep. I have three at home.”
“Well, there’s a beautiful one here. And I’m pretty sure taking care of it is the last thing on anyone’s mind. If the family wants it, of course it’s theirs. But in the meantime I was wondering if you’d be interested in trying to keep the fish alive.”
“Love to. I have extra tanks and equipment in my garage. I could come over with a couple of buckets to transport whatever’s there.”
“That’s great, Lizzie. Thanks.”
Maybe it was silly to try to save Heather Peters’ fish, when what he should have done was catch her murderer in time to save her. But it eased his mind to know that at least something she’d cared about, something beautiful and alive, would have a chance to survive.
“Do you want to meet me here after work?” he asked.
“I hate being the bearer of bad tidings again,” Liza said with an audible groan. “But there’s been another murder, Grey. I’ll make arrangements to pick up the fish, but you’re on your way back to Florida in an hour—Palm Beach this time.”
“How the hell is he doing it?” Grey murmured, torn between anger and despair.
“I don’t know, Captain America, but if anyone can catch him it’s you.”
She sounded as if she truly believed it, and Grey wished his waning confidence matched hers. “He’s escalating,” he said grimly. “That means he’s more likely to make a mistake.”
“They all do...eventually,” she replied in a bleak tone. “But you’d better get to the airport. I’ll text your trip details, but there’s some kind of convention going on down there and they haven’t found you a hotel room yet.”
“Great,” he mumbled sourly. “Maybe I can grab a cot at the local police station.”
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
When Scarlett was showered and changed, she blinked to the Peg Station at the outskirts of Seelie City. The city was a bustling metropolis, the largest urban area in the faerie realm, and home to a diverse population of immortal residents.
It was also home to the Seelie Police Station, which was why she couldn’t blink directly there. The entire district was protected by a binding spell to keep prisoners from escaping during transportation and confinement. Only high level Seelie employees, like Pat, could bypass it.
Scarlett waited her turn at the Peg Station, nodding politely at a hale dwarven woman with twin half-moon axes strapped to her leather cuirass. The stout warrior leapt onto the back of a kneeling pegasus, giving Scarlett a wave as they trotted past.
A handsome blue roan stepped forward and knelt low for Scarlett to mount, his wings folded tight to his sides. She asked him to drop her at the police station as he rose, and he settled into a comfortable canter with her astride.
Pegs never flew with passengers on their backs unless it was an emergency. Although it was undoubtedly a faster method of travel, they considered it demeaning.
At first there were only soft grasses as far as the eye could see, pegs dotting the meadows as they grazed between fares. Then gradually the city came into view. Its towering buildings of white marble and quartz glistened in the afternoon sunlight, its perpetual haze of faerie dust lending a mystical shimmer to the air.
Scarlett hadn’t been to Seelie City for ages, and she murmured softly in appreciation.
“Lovely, ain’t it?” rumbled the peg beneath her.
“It’s been a while. I’d forgotten how the buildings, and even the air itself, sparkle with faerie magic.”
The peg chuckled, the sound vibrating through his barrel chest and into her legs. “It certainly is a sight to see.”
“Is Cybele’s honey shop still on the main thoroughfare?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Do you mind if we make a pit stop there on the way to the police station? I have a brownie at home who’d love a special treat.”
He tossed his head and replied, “Not a problem. You gotta keep the wee folk happy.”
