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  Murder by Magic

  Catherine Vale

  Copyright © 2017, Growling Romance

  Website: http://www.CatherineVale.com

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  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, brands, incidents, and places are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication/use of these trademarks is not associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  Murder by Magic

  As the youngest detective—and only—woman in the homicide unit, Jessica Sharpe, quickly discovers that being promoted to lead Detective isn’t all that she thought it would be. When a series of gruesome murders take place, she is solely responsible for finding the killer before they strike again.

  Crime reporter by day, and Gatekeeper to a world of magic by night, Euros Desard thinks he’s seen it all. That’s all about to change when he discovers that dark magic is behind a series of brutal murders, and that the portal between the two worlds is about to be blown wide open.

  Despite a history of bad blood and broken hearts, the two of them must come together if they stand a chance of protecting their worlds from the darkness that threatens to invade. Time is running out, and if they don’t learn to work together, not even magic will be able to save them.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  About The Author

  Other Books by Catherine Vale

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  Chapter One

  The sleek tabby cat ghosted through the thick shrubs at the edge of the park, his ears pricked forward, listening to the faint sounds of a mouse scurrying ahead through the falling leaves. The mouse suddenly stopped, and the cat did as well, every muscle tensed, waiting, patient. Nothing moved, except the tip of the cat’s tail, just ever so slightly.

  The trail ahead glowed bright, in the dark shadows of the night. To a human, it would have gone unseen, but to the cat it was a misty, shimmering ultraviolet trail leading directly to its prey. The cat waited, analyzing its dinner. The mouse would move; they always did; it was just a matter of time. The wind stirred overhead, but otherwise, the world was still. Time ticked on.

  Then everything changed, and the world around the cat came alive, in a chaotic rush of bright light and sound, a gust of wind swirling leaves and garbage around the tabby. It flattened its ears and hissed angrily, but it wasn’t sure of exactly what it was hissing at. The sound was beyond human hearing, but painfully sharp to the cat who hissed again, its back arched, fur standing on end, tail becoming a full feather duster of agitation.

  For a moment, the cat held its ground, eyes narrowed against the light, pupils contracting down to narrow slits. The space between the stones filled with light, shimmering, blinding, growing brighter, but only the cat saw this, saw the wavering incandescent pulsing between the stones. It gave up hissing, and instead growled, low, a sound not quite threating, but touched with fear. Static filled the air, crackling and hissing, sparking off the cat’s wet nose. It blinked, grimaced, and backed away, whiskers twitching. The mouse was quickly forgotten.

  Then the cat knew it was no longer alone. Every sense the cat possessed was focused on the being that materialized from the bright white light of a portal. For a second, the cat could only watch, transfixed by the form that was suddenly emerging from this unusual place. But all that changed in a heartbeat, and a surge of adrenaline stiffened the cat's muscles, hair rising in a ridge along its back, sensing the danger that was making its way from the doorway of darkness.

  The being turned its head, its gaze meeting the feline’s. It looked at the cat for a moment, and the tabby watched as the form moved and changed, pulsing with the same ultraviolet light that the mouse left behind. But while that trail had excited the cat, this...thing...terrified the animal.

  The swirling, pulsing light shifted, condensed, the mass moving closer to the ground, swiftly taking a shape that was somehow also familiar to the cat, but much more frightening.

  It was a predator, one the cat recognized instinctively, even though it had never encountered this kind before. But genetic, or ancestral memory, kicked in, and the nascent fear in the cat bloomed hot in its veins.

  For a moment, the stranger held the cat’s gaze, and in that moment, as predator looked at predator, the cat felt the power shift between them. For a moment, it knew it was, like the mouse, nothing more than prey. Fear fueled flight, and it turn silently, and disappeared into the dark.

  The strange being finally resolved into a solid form. It looked back to where it came from only briefly, and then moved away from the portal, leaving a trail of magic in its wake, before disappearing into the darkness.

  The mouse knew the predator from its scent. The little creature had watched in wonder, sitting quietly from beneath a pile of dead leaves. Only now, after the creature and the cat had left, did it dare to move. It placed each tiny paw carefully ahead of the next, advancing toward the shimmering light.

  Whiskers twitching, it sniffed the air, a thrill running through its tiny, furry body. The swirling light was beautiful, irresistible, but it was fading fast.

  Then cautiously, the mouse walked forward, passing through what remained of the dim, shimmering silver light, disappearing through the portal, to the Other side.

  Chapter Two

  The shrill chirp of her cell jerked Jessica Sharpe out of a restless sleep. The room was too light, soft and gray around the edges, everything in her room visible, but indistinct. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she spent on curtains and shades and blackout drapes, light from the outside still seeped in, outlining the edges of the window in bright amber. She came awake, or at least awake enough to fumble for the phone on the bedside table.

  “Sharpe.”

  There was a pause. “Detective Sharpe?”

  “Yeah.” She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Maybe she wasn't as awake as she thought. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Yes, Detective Sharpe. Who is this?”

  “We have a possible homicide. You're up for lead.”

  Of course, she was. And odds were, it was more than a possible homicide, or dispatch wouldn't be calling her at...what time was it? She opened one eye, trying hard to focus on the digital clock on her bedside table. The green numbers read 2:17AM. Calls like this always came in the wee hours of the night, or in the middle of a good dream.

  Even though she'd only been a homicide detective for a little more than six months, she was beginning to sense a pattern. She'd been second in command on over a dozen cases, and all the calls came after midnight. Murder after midnight. This was her first time being the lead detective, and she couldn’t lie to herself – she was more than a little nervous.

  “Where?”

  “You’re not going to like this.”

  She took a breath, biting back the first thing that came to her mind, and instead, saying the second.

  “I already don’t like this. Where?”

 
; “2241 Woodlawn Avenue.”

  Damn. The Mayor’s residence. The list of possible victims—and suspects—who came instantly to mind, made her stomach do a slow roll, and her head ache. Top of that list, and the name she refused to even think of, was that the Mayor himself was murdered.

  This was going to be a hard case to be the lead on, and one hell of a publicity nightmare. And most likely a forensic night mare as well. Her first high-profile case, and it hit very close to home. The Mayor's office, and the Chicago PD where she worked, were linked in so many ways, many she didn't even want to think about before sunrise. Starting with her boss, another name she didn't wish to invoke before coffee.

  “Right. On my way.” She’d already pulled the phone away from her ear, when she heard the tinny voice of whoever was on the other end.

  “Detective?”

  She brought the phone back up. “Yeah?”

  “It’s…there’s something else you should know.”

  Jessica was suddenly more awake than she wanted to be. “Yeah. What?”

  “The victim…it’s the Mayor. Jason Lansing.”

  The genie was out of the bottle; the name she was trying not to think about now practically screaming in her head. Pushing the covers off, the chill in the room making her shiver, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was cold, too cold. Idly, she thought she should probably have a rug there.

  “Yeah, Okay. Thanks.”

  “Just wanted you to be prepared, Detective.” Behind the neutral tone of the male dispatcher, she thought she caught the subtle hint of a smirk.

  She ended the call, and tossed the phone onto the bedside table.

  Prepared? How the hell could you ever be prepared to walk through the scene of a murder in the middle of the night?

  * * *

  Even though it was only early October, it felt like winter had already come to Chicago. The windshield of Jessica’s Toyota had a thin layer of frost, but instead of using the scraper from the trunk of her car, she hurriedly tried to clear the frost with her gloved hand. The sky was the deep dark of night, the witching hour they called it, and she shivered, despite her jacket and gloves.

  Dammit, I don’t have time for this.

  As she futility scratched at the frost, she wiggled inside the warmth of her jacket. She felt off, somehow. Not just from being awakened in the middle of the night, or knowing that she was walking into a shit-storm. It was something deeper, like something was off with her world, and she felt caught off balance. Her mother would have said her edges weren't aligned; her Kentucky grandmother would have said everything was cattywampus, like a picture hung crooked on a wall. That's exactly how she felt; crooked, like she was bumping into things, both with her body, and her mind.

  “Fuck this.”

  Her hand was freezing, so she got in the car, started the engine, turned on the defroster and wipers, and then for good measure, gave the windshield a squirt of washer fluid. The frost turned translucent, and the wipers smeared frost back and forth. But as soon as the defroster started kicking out heat, the frost gave up, and melted.

  Finally able to see enough out the windshield to drive, she pulled into the street. As she headed away from the security of her apartment building, she flicked on the light on the dashboard. For a moment, she considered turning on the siren, but then thought about her neighbors, and left it off. The car was cold, a chill sinking into her bones that the heater couldn’t dispel. Wishing she’d made coffee, she headed toward her first major case as a lead homicide detective with the Chicago PD.

  This was going to be one hell of a day.

  * * *

  The blue dashboard light cut through the darkness of narrow side streets, flashing over the front of apartment buildings. Then the streets grew wider, as she traveled from her neighborhood into the quiet streets of the Kenwood neighborhood where the Mayor’s home was, the houses getting bigger, set further back from the streets behind boxwood and privet hedges, long driveways offering seclusion and privacy.

  Jason Lansing’s house was hidden behind more than privet and boxwood. Not long after the election had ended, the property had been enclosed by a six-foot high brick wall, the spikes at the top subtle, but still visible. Lansing had received death threats during his campaign, and was terrified of being assassinated. Jessica had followed most of the controversy surrounding the election, but even she’d gotten exhausted by the continual barrage of negativity from both sides. The threats had continued after the election was over, and Lansing had hired round-the-clock private security. While the barrage of calls to the precinct reporting vandalism, or intruders at the Woodlawn address had decreased, she knew the incidences hadn’t lessened. There was just as much activity, but the private security company he had hired seemed to be dealing with it. Or so she thought.

  The street was cordoned off at the end of the block, keeping out the scattering of cars, and a few pedestrians, but as Jessica eased through the parked cars, a patrol officer stopped her. She rolled down her window, held up her badge, and he waved her through, parking her car where he had directed her to go. She was glad to see someone had the foresight to set up the yellow tape almost a block away. She parked her car and started walking, the cold night air wrapping around her, chilling her to the bone. The wind whistled off the lake, only a few blocks away, and it carried an edge to it that cut through her leather jacket, made it feel like she was wearing just a t-shirt, rather than a turtleneck sweater. She jerked the collar up on her jacket, bent her head, and trudged toward the driveway.

  “Sharpe.”

  Jessica glanced up, grimacing in the cold. Detective Derek Carter was standing on the sidewalk, halfway between her and the Mayor’s home. He’d been promoted six months before she had, and even though she wouldn’t consider him her friend exactly, they’d shared a sort of coming of age in the department. Until she’d been brought up to Homicide, Derek had been the youngest detective on the force. Now she was the youngest, the newest. And the only woman.

  “Carter.”

  He nodded at her. “You ready for this?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  He fell into step beside her, as they walked in silence down the sidewalk toward the wide driveway. The silence seemed wrong, somehow. Someone should be talking, explaining what was going on, what had happened. It took her a minute to get her head around the fact that this was her investigation, that she was the one who should be asking questions, and directing people. She straightened, scanning the cluster of emergency vehicles that were gathered near the end of the driveway.

  “Who’s all here?”

  “Crime scene guys are already inside, and EMS is out here waiting. The patrol who called it in is over there.” Derek gestured with his head in the direction of the small group of people who were standing to the side of the property. “The guy’s name is Sullivan.”

  “He had enough sense to stay out of the crime scene, I hope?”

  “Yeah. He held on to his breakfast long enough to make it outside. I’ll give it to him; he did a good job of securing the scene, at least. Strung about a mile of yellow tape out across the property. He probably has traffic cones set up on the North Shore.”

  As Derek spoke, she caught the sharp scent of vomit. She glanced over to see a whey-faced young guy in blues standing beside a squad car, the cold artificial light catching his wide eyes. He met her gaze, and those eyes widened further. She’d have to talk to him, but for now, she wanted to see what was inside.

  She shoved her hands deeper into her pockets to warm them up. Being lead detective for the first time was new, too new, for this early in the morning. The weight of everyone waiting for her to tell them what to do finally sank in - or rather hit her square between the eyes. A headache was starting to throb in her temples, and she closed her eyes to block everything out, and try to refocus on the task at hand. This was a serious matter, and while this was her first time being lead detective, she knew she was more than capable of handlin
g it. She’d worked on many cases with Derek, and knew exactly what to do. She just needed to remember that this was exactly what she wanted since the first day she’d decided to join the Academy.

  “Right. Okay.” She took a deep breath. Aside from the smell of Sullivan’s puke, the air somehow smelled more affluent here. Richer. Even the leaves on the ground smelled more like fall, than they did on her street. There, they just smelled wet.

  “Is Ross here?”

  Michael Ross. Captain Michael Ross. Her superior officer. The man whose shadow seemed to loom over everything she’d done since her promotion. The man who made it clear that if he’d overseen things when she’d been promoted, she wouldn’t have been made lead anything. Ross had been brought in by the Mayor with his new regime. She sighed; the connections and threads in this case promised to be complicated, far-reaching, and very tangled.

  “Not yet. Someone said they thought he was out of town, coming back by private jet.”

  Great. She knew when he finally showed up, he’d be dressed in his custom-made three-piece suit, looking like he’d just stepped out of a salon, primped and polished. And she knew she looked like she’d just rolled out of bed. Because she had. She’d grabbed the clothes off the floor, and scrambled out here as fast as she could. She didn’t care how she looked. She only cared to do the best job she could, and to be taken seriously by her team.

  “Let me know when he gets here.” She knew damned well he’d find her anyway, that she’d be working hard, and suddenly he’d be standing behind her, peering over her shoulder, silent, expression not giving away anything that was going on behind the perfectly composed face.

  “Right.”

  One of the EMS guys stood inside the yellow tape, by the back of the ambulance, smoking a cigarette. She glared at him, ready to tell him to either take it outside the tape, or butt it out. He held her gaze for longer than she was comfortable with, then ground the cigarette out on the sole of his shoe, before stuffing the butt into his jacket pocket. She took a breath, lips parted to speak, but Derek put a hand on her arm.