Storm Of Magick Part 11

I did what Ronan had suggested. Since we were pointing fingers, it was my fault that Connor lay dying on the floor. I walked to his lifeless body and knelt down. I touched his long red hair; it was soft, like a young child's hair.

Under his hair was a weak vibration of magick. He was slipping away and no one was helping. I don't think anyone could. All I could do was to blast him with the buildup of my power and hope it would help. It might kill him. He was dying anyway so I had nothing to lose. Sad way to look at it but it was the truth.

Before I could put my plan into motion, Connor's magick ceased to exist and sheer horror ran through me. Without thinking, I turned him over. I placed my hands on his chest. A vibration and white glow came from my hands. My power flowed into him automatically, as if it knew him.

I brushed his hair out of his face. His skin was soft and felt cool to the touch but his breathing was back to normal. Slowly he opened his beautiful eyes as if waking from a deep sleep. He looked me in the eye and horror ran through me. His eyes had changed color. They were ice blue. He didn't attempt to move but just lay there.

I leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. It wasn't attraction but relief. My heart was for someone else, I thought as I looked at Paris. Whatever made Connor a vashon felt different now, not the same as Ronan or Ailin. I waited for someone to say something that would make any sense, but in the back of my head, I knew what had happened. The dead calm was deafening. I leaned over and told him that I would be right back.

Normally a new vashon would take a little drink of magick from their creator it finished the ritual. I'd filled Connor with so much of my magick we could skip that step. It seemed redundant. I don't know how I knew that.

I got up and walked towards Ronan. The look on his face said that he was scared of me, but only for a split second. Then he composed himself to his handsome, unreadable face. I stood in front of him, trying to read his thoughts but I wasn't getting past his walls.

"What happened and why does it horrify you?"

Ronan shifted his weight and adjusted his clothes. Ailin walked into the room. He stood there for a few moments just looking around, debating whether to come further in. He looked lost, as if he'd forgot what it was that brought him into the room in the first place.

"Lt. Doyle is on the phone for you, Logan. You can use the phone in the living room," Ailin said, turned and walked back out. I don't think there was any way he was joining in on this conversation, at least not in my lifetime.

"We will have this discussion later," I told Ronan.

He said nothing, only gave a slight nod, turned and left with a lingering smell of jasmine. I walked back to Connor. He seemed to have recovered a little.

"Do you think you can stand?" I asked, holding out my hand.

"I believe I can," he answered, raising his hand.

By the time Connor got to his feet, we were the only ones left in the room. He moved as if he wasn't sure how stable his limbs were. We started down the corridor and Connor stumbled. But, to his credit he stayed on his feet, which gave him a couple brownie points for the effort. When we reached the living room, Paris was there to help Connor to a chair.

Chapter 14.

The phone sat on a table in back of the room. I picked it up. "What's up, Doyle?" I asked, watching Connor. He sat back in the chair, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.

"We just received a call, another body has been found," Doyle said. I heard the flick of his lighter.

"Where?" I asked, getting my pen and paper ready.

"One hundred Duffield St. I need you here in a couple of hours," he said.

"We'll be there," I answered and hung up. Ronan and Paris walked towards me. "We have to leave in an hour, Paris. Another body has been found," I explained.

"Before you go anywhere, we need to find out about the meeting with Palmira," Ronan demanded.

"I agree, but don't tell me what to do. I'm leaving in an hour whether you hear from her or not," I hissed. I was back in my dark place, complete with white static in my head.

I started pacing the room. It helped me think. I concentrated on the murders, names of the streets, and the names of the women, anything that would make me remember why these crime scenes seemed so familiar. I knew I had seen it before.

On about my fourth lap around the room the answer hit me.

I don't know why I didn't figure it out before. It was just one of those light bulb moments. I ran down the corridor to the stairs that led up to the Realm. I climbed the stairs and threw open the door. The air was heavy with the scent of freshly snuffed candles. It struck me as odd - no one had been in the room for hours. I had other things to worry about. I searched the gla.s.s cases.

During my frantic search, Paris entered the room. He stood back and just watched me. I stopped my search and walked pa.s.sed him. I went back down stairs, heading for the library.

"Logan, what the h.e.l.l are you doing?" Paris questioned, following right behind me.

"Will you find Ronan and meet me in the library? I'll explain it all then," I stated. I hate repeating myself.

I entered the library and the familiar scent of old books that welcomed me. Caleb sat at a table with the scrolls. He had several books open and was reading. I felt strange. I stopped so I wouldn't fall down. My vision grew dark and my mind's eye opened.

I saw a man's figure in a black cape and top hat. The smell of death accompanied the vision. I could feel his elation growing with each kill. How did the killer get a psychic link to me without me knowing?

He knew he could be caught. But, he wanted to tease me and brag about his kills. At first, he didn't realize what he had done, how he'd got inside my head without my knowledge. But, he didn't dwell on it. He grabbed hold of me and I couldn't breathe. He tried to cut into my essence, like he had done to his victims, but there wasn't any actual flesh to mutilate. But, the pain was still real enough to rip a scream from my throat.

I tried to break the connection. The killer had a tight hold on me. Caleb helped me to the floor, holding my hand, and I held on to him. He was real and I could feel his warmth, something to try to focus on. Now I could feel another presence, which felt like the Dracae. The creature seemed to be saving my a.s.s again.

My head was crowded and I felt as if it was being ripped apart. Everyone discussed what could be done to help. The fragrance of lilacs and earth filled the room. I screamed and my body contorted with pain. The men paused for a moment and then went back to their debate. Yeah, that was really helping me.

My temperature rose as the ent.i.ties fought in my body. The smell of lilacs was so pungent I could taste it. My vision grew dark. I knew the Dracae had kicked the killer out. Now he lingered in my head, only retreating when he knew for sure the killer was gone. I was alone, no visions or dreams now. It was just me in a black void, and the comforting smell of lilacs lingering in the air around me.

I woke still in the library with Paris sitting next to me. He was holding my hand. A single tear ran down his cheek. There was still a hint of the lilacs in the air. A scent I was growing accustomed to.

I realized the smell had embedded itself into my skin. I lay there a few seconds, trying to see if there were any side effects or pain. Nothing. I slowly turned my head without any problems, or my vision doing any funky s.h.i.t.

"How long have I been out?" I asked, looking into Paris's greenish-gray eyes. He held me close. I could smell the fabric softener on his shirt and under that was the scent of him, vanilla musk.

"About ten minutes. What happened?" Paris asked.

Before I could answer, the other men came into the library. Each man placed themselves around the room as if it were strategic. Even the Keeper joined us; I hadn't seen him for a while. He was still dressed in the same clothes I met him in. I sat up and with Paris's help; I made my way into a chair.

"Logan, will you please tell us what happened?" Ronan asked.

"The killer got in my head. He was trying to butcher me, but since it was only a psychic link, he couldn't. I couldn't break free either. I don't know how he did it but I wasn't able to breathe," I said, feeling a little creeped out just talking about it.

"Then how did you break free?" The Keeper asked, showing some interest.

I looked at Ronan. He knew. I could almost hear his thought as if he had said them aloud. "It was the Dracae who helped Logan break the killer's hold," he answered.

"You're right. I have a thought about who is doing the killings," I replied. They all just looked at me. "There's an antique in Ronan's shop that's missing. Which one, you ask? Jack the Ripper's surgical kit, and I a.s.sume that the case had all the original tools in it. Is that safe to presume?" I asked, looking at Ronan.

He gave a slight nod of his head. "Yes, that is correct. It went missing about four months ago," Ronan replied.

"And you didn't find it necessary to share that little bit of information?" I asked, getting p.i.s.sed. "Aren't those items cursed?"

"So you believe the person that stole it is now recreating the murders? Down to the last detail?" he asked carefully.

"Yes, I do and I'll prove it. Caleb, can you pull up the case studies on Jack the Ripper?" I asked, angry with the whole mess.

"Give me a couple of minutes," Caleb said, getting up and going to a computer. He banged away on the keyboard and every once in a while I heard the mouse click.

"What about the meeting with Palmira?" I asked, knowing that we had to leave soon.

"Since the night is young, Palmira has graciously agreed to wait until you have investigated the body. But she also suggested you don't take too long," Ailin said.

Oh yeah, let's hear it for the gracious nut wad. With this fourth murder, and one more to recreate, we had to find the murderer before he or she was done here and moved on. I was betting it was a man. For the amount of damage, I was betting it was a man.

I didn't want to have to see Palmira again. I wanted to put a mercury bullet in her cold heart and take her head. It wasn't going to happen tonight and I didn't have to be happy about it. From Ronan's reaction, we didn't any Elders dropping by.

"Got it," Caleb called out, staring at his laptop.

We all gathered around his computer. Fortunately, the monitor was a good size so we all could see it. He read the descriptions of the second and third murders. There were also pictures of the victims. The layout of the crime scenes were exact to the crime scenes that we'd been dealing with. I don't know why I didn't figure it out sooner. I mean, I did my thesis on Jack the Ripper in college.

When Caleb was finished reading the room was silent, but my time had run out. I had to leave to meet Doyle.

"Caleb, when I get back can you fill me in on what you've found out about the scrolls, if anything? Paris, I'll meet you upstairs. Will you bring my backpack?' I asked.

Paris gave a small nod and walked out of the room. Once again, my thoughts drew to Sam. I was sure I had enough time to make a phone call. I walked out of the library and back the way that I had come, to the stairs. I took out my cell, dialing as I climbed the stairs. I was surprised that I got a signal.

"Dr. Clark, please," I said.

A man's voice came on the line, "this is Dr. Clark."

"This is Logan Wolf. I'm calling to check on Samantha Williams, the coma patient."

"There has been little change in her condition, Ms Wolf. Her brain waves have increased a little but that's common. If there are any new developments I will call you immediately," he promised.

I had no time to dwell on something I couldn't do anything about. I had too many other problems on my plate. I'm a very practical person that way. I closed my cell phone and put it in my inside coat pocket. I heard Paris climbing the stairs. He came through the door and he too had found a spiffy black leather trench.

"Nice coat. Did you remember your guns?" I asked, taking my small backpack from him.

He pulled open his coat to reveal a Beretta under each arm. "Are you ready?" he asked with a grin and a wink.

I walked towards him, then stopped and leaned against one of the pillars. "You have mercury-filled bullets in those, don't you?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Of course I have mercury ammo. Jeez, I forgot it once. Can't a guy ever live it down?" he said. I think he was irritated with me. "Can we go?"

I followed Paris to the parking lot. The snow had stopped temporarily. That was one of the terms Ailin had negotiated with Palmira. At five degrees and pitch black, it wouldn't be an easy scene. It seemed that with the magickal storm came a perpetual darkness.

"We're going to Duffield St," I said.

I thought it was best if I didn't drive yet, at least until I was satisfied that the surge wouldn't be rearing its head. Plus, it was Paris' vehicle. My van was still sitting at the tree I hit.

The roads were in fair driving condition. At least compared to what they had been for the last couple of days. The night was clear, which made it extra cold. The sky was filled with bright stars, twinkling like miniature lights. It was definitely a nice change from the constant snowstorm. It only took twenty minutes to get to the crime scene. Also a huge improvement.

"What do you think about the Bloodshed?" Paris asked, pulling up to a stoplight.

I looked out my window at the parking lot. It looked like the day before Christmas. A lot of impatient people were honking horns, the store was packed, and there was a lot of traffic out. Apparently, everyone was out to restock their kitchens before the next winter blast. I knew the snow would be held at bay at least for the next several hours.

"I think it's an accident waiting to happen. I think Palmira is really bad news and I should bind her powers, and then kill her," I answered in a cold monotone.

"Do you think you're powerful enough to bind her powers?" Paris asked, glancing at me.

"I don't know. She's a powerful psycho lycan," I answered and it was the truth.

The murder scene was on a main artery of town, which meant the killer had some b.a.l.l.s of steel. I could see police cars and a coroner vehicle. Paris pulled up as close as he could, parked and shut off the engine. We sat there for a moment. I got a flash of the victim again, the scent of death and blood.

"Was the vision bad?" Paris asked, looking at me.

"It's not good but we've seen worse," I said, slowly turning towards him. "If this is Jack the Ripper like I think, this will be one of the least brutal of all the murders." I opened the door. I got out and walked towards Doyle and Evans.

"Would ya look at the leather twins," Evans said with wide eyes. He was being a pain in the a.s.s already. The body couldn't be that bad.

"Jealous?" I asked.

Evans looked as GQ as always in a black suit and a bright yellow-orange dress shirt and tie. I still thought that he needed to do something with the mess that he called a hairstyle, but it was his hair.

"How's it look, Doyle?" I asked, giving Evans the finger.

"Anytime, anywhere. Wolf," Evans answered my one finger salute. I shot him a dirty look. I wasn't in the mood to play his games today.

"Her ID says that she's a vashon named Lizzy," Doyle stated.

Ronan provided his people with an ID as a precaution. "Then something has drained all of her magick or the killer couldn't have taken her," I said aloud. But, to myself I thought Palmira. She was part of this I knew it. I just didn't know how.

"Okay, I'll bite. What could've done that?" Doyle asked.

"I'm not sure yet," I said, lying through my teeth. I refused to drag Doyle and his people into a mess they couldn't do anything about it. In my eyes, if you didn't have magick, you didn't get included. I was just better that way.

"Follow me," Doyle snapped. He looked at me as if he didn't believe me. I gave him my best 'I'm innocent' look, but I don't think he bought it. I didn't care.

About a year ago, we had a string of ritual murders and Doyle called me in to consult. That's when I met Ronan; I had to go to him for information. Thanks to him, we caught the killer. Since then I've played more with the supernaturals than the humans have, and Doyle's bosses don't like it.

We crossed under the yellow crime scene tape and walked towards the body. The only good thing about this murder was that it was close to a streetlight. The body lay on its left side across the small alley, visible from the street. Bad thing, there was nothing but a large puddle of melted b.l.o.o.d.y snow. Doyle left us to do our job. I took in the scene.

The legs were drawn up; her feet close against the wall of the building. The right hand was open, laying on the chest and smeared with blood. Her left hand lay against the body, slightly open.

Lizzy was approximately five foot two. Her skin had turned a pale bluish-gray, with deep purple lips. Her dark brown curly hair reached her shoulders. She was dressed in black jeans, black sweater and a long black coat.

Without a word, Paris handed me a pair of rubber gloves. I put them on and got down to business. Paris held the small flashlight while I worked. I didn't want to miss anything. I squatted down next to the body in a puddle of slushy blood. The water was ice cold, it soaked the bottom of my pants and I was just happy I had on waterproof boots. I started at the head. Today the blood smelled sour and I was trying to get past it. I felt a little nauseated and swallowed hard.

Her face looked calm, the look that only some of the dead have, but you rarely see it on a murder victim's face. I couldn't find any marks or bruising on her face. The neck was a completely new story. She wasn't strangled like the other victims, and there was a long deep incision from left to right. The killer had cut so deep he nearly decapitated her.