Death Song (Episode Eight: The Nightshade Cases) Page 2

  Gerri grunted. “Selective breeding sounds like a zoo, not a society.”

  Juliette nodded, lips pulling down into a frown. “But, the rules have kept us safe for centuries.” She looked back and forth between Kinsey and Gerri. “You two. You’ve only just become aware, haven’t you?” She didn’t wait for a response, shock fading to anger. “I thought better of Margot.”

  Kinsey let that go, knowing a debate about her grandmother would only fire her up and leave her closed off to helping Juliette while she returned to Boston to demand answers at last. That could wait. “Why was your birth a problem?”

  “My father was a danu,” Juliette said, “one of the fey folk, as humans would call them. Our law makers, next in line to the Nightshades.” She paused as though considering something, then shrugged. “I have no idea how much you understand of our hierarchy, so I’ll do my best to explain.”

  Kinsey felt herself squirming in her seat like a little girl at story time, had to force herself to still while Juliette went on, feeling Gerri looming closer. Even the detective was fascinated, it seemed.

  “Representatives of the six races form the Nightshade League,” Juliette said, deep, melodic voice taking on a soothing, teaching tone. “Least of which are the cubi, the heartless ones searching for love, sworn to secrets they can never tell.” Aisling, the dancer at the Starlet Lounge. Though, the secret thing was new. “Next the bheast,” Gerri muttered something, “warriors and protectors of all paranormals. The dervish, lords of wealth and manipulation.” Sounded like Gideon Orter to Kinsey. “The vampir, cold of soul but pure of spirit. The danu, diplomats and lawmakers. And, finally, the Nightshades, our leaders.” She paused as if waiting for acknowledgment they understood. Kinsey bobbed a nod, and Juliette went on. “Each race has their own ruling bodies, naturally. But all bow to the will of the League.”

  “Even the Collective of All Souls?” Gerri’s interruption was anything but.

  Juliette’s expressive face tightened in anger. “The Collective,” she said, almost snarled. “Formed ten years ago by the dervish upstart, Gideon Orter.” Interesting. So, the Grand Prophet was the creator of the Collective. “The League has, thus far, allowed him to continue, considering he’s remained mostly under the radar of humans.”

  “I take it you’re not a fan?” Gerri sank into a padded chair, finally settling in to listen.

  “None of us are,” Juliette said, fingers winding around the hem of her jacket. “They seem progressive and forward thinking on the outside, but I’ve lost friends to the Collective who’ve never been the same since.”

  As much as Kinsey wanted all the answers to her questions now, she still had no idea why Juliette thought she’d killed those men. “So, your father was danu?”

  Juliette nodded. “Most races are acceptable pairings,” she said. “Except cubi and dervish, though it’s happened.” Kinsey desperately wanted to know why that was a problem, but held her tongue. “As it happens, my mother was half dervish and half cubi.” She exhaled. “A banshee.”

  Kinsey perked. “As in calling in the dead?”

  Juliette shuddered slightly. “You’re thinking of human legend,” she said, softly, sadly. “That the song of the banshee precedes a death. In truth, it’s quite different.” She met Kinsey’s eyes, tears welling in hers. “The voice of my mother could kill, given the right tone and timber. And, it seems, I’ve inherited her power.”

  “How long have you been singing?” Gerri’s frown made Kinsey pause, stopping her denial of Juliette’s announcement mid-breath. “Years, I assume?”

  Juliette nodded, halo of curls moving with her. “Since I was a little girl,” she said. “My mother couldn’t stop me. I was born to sing.” She burst into tears. “I continued to sing, carefully, cautiously. And while I had my arrogant moments in my twenties, when I listened to the siren song of fame, I knew better.” She hiccupped around tears. “The Nightshade League warned me to pull back. That my voice, while not deadly, was affecting listeners.” And now Kinsey knew why the great Juliette St. Clare gave up fame and fortune to sing in small bars again. It had nothing to do with drug addiction or her love life or illness. She’d been ordered to. “They allowed me to keep singing. But I couldn’t make a spectacle of myself. And I’ve obeyed them ever since.”

  Gerri leaned forward, squeezed her knee. “Then, I assume people don’t normally drop dead around you?”

  Juliette pulled herself together, shook her head. “My banshee power was dormant, if it existed at all. The League agreed. Though I’m certain now, my heritage contributes to my voice.” Not a trace of self-consciousness. She was that good and she knew why.

  “So, you think it’s possible your power is starting to wake in a new way?” Kind of made sense, though what would trigger such a thing? Kinsey needed more information. The possibility of learning a vast amount of information from Juliette was almost too much for her to stand as the woman answered.

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing before,” she said. “But it’s happening. Men are dying and it’s my fault.” She didn’t burst into sobs, just sat there, shaking.

  Gerri’s booted foot bobbed on her knee. “Let’s rule out natural causes or boring old homicide before we jump to conclusions,” she said. “Fair enough?”

  Juliette wiped delicately at her nose. “My mother was a nurse,” she said. “As banshees often are. Front line workers in the world of death. She used to dress up as the grim reaper for Halloween.” She laughed softly. “Her little joke.” The blues singer looked away, into the distance, smile fading. “She’d be heartbroken if she knew my power had woken.”

  “Juliette.” She returned her attention to Gerri. “You realize this means you should probably stop singing for a while.”

  Though she nodded in response, Juliette’s eyes ran with tears, mouth parting in silence as she fought for breath. When she finally pulled herself together, Kinsey handed her a wad of tissues.

  “Singing is my life,” Juliette whispered in a cracking, hoarse voice. “If I can’t sing, I’d rather die.”

  “Hopefully, that won’t be an option.” Gerri surged to her feet. “Tell me about the men.”

  Juliette blew her nose, crumpled the tissue into her palm. “I knew all three of them,” she said. “The nights they died, they were in the front row. I selected them to sing to, directly. On stage.” She coughed softly. “I’m such a fool.”

  Gerri nodded, stepped away. “I can’t just arrest you for singing them to death,” she said. “So, you’re free to go. But, we’ll look into this, Juliette. And I’ll find out what happened.” Her green eyes locked on the singer. “You’re sure you want me to?”

  Kinsey held her breath. It was a huge offer Gerri was making. That she’d walk away, let the singer deal with her own mess.

  But Juliette’s defeated expression told the anthropologist what she was going to say before she said it.

  “I have to know,” she whispered. “And, if I’m guilty, I’ll go to the League personally and turn myself in.”

  Gerri looked like she wanted to comment on that but let it go. “I’ll be in touch.” The redhead left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

  Kinsey turned back as Juliette grasped her hand again, kind enough to only use the one not full of used tissues. “Thank you,” she said.

  “I haven’t done anything yet.” Kinsey looked up as the door opened and Jackson Pierce stuck his head inside, scowling.

  “Need the room,” he growled.

  Kinsey resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Not only a childish reaction, but one that pissed her off. Instead, she swept to her feet, pulling Juliette up beside her.

  “Have a nice nap,” she tossed over her shoulder on the way by, knowing it was a weak hit, but at least proud of herself she tried.

  ***

  INT. – 9th PRECINCT – MORNING

  Gerri had just crossed into the bullpen when two glaring faces greeted her at her desk. She exhaled heavily, grump
y about the mess, stomping her way to deal with the pair of detectives who lurked around her space, looking like there was hell to pay.

  She barely opened her mouth to tell them both where to go when the booming, velvet voice of the captain stopped her in her tracks.

  “Meyers! Pierce! Get in here. And bring Moore and Thomas with you.”

  Jackson crossed the bullpen, scowling at Gerri who chose to ignore his attitude in favor of gesturing for the two detectives to precede her. J.J. Thomas straightened his tie and suit coat over his slim build, running a hand over his close-cropped hair in obvious anticipation of seeing his boss while Hector Moore grunted and shrugged, not even attempting to wipe at the mustard stain on the cuff of his jacket, or address the mess that was his thinning hair. The unlikely pair—the younger slim and almost delicate, the slightly older ordinary and but leaning toward the round—preceded her without comment.

  She was the last inside, closing the glass door carefully behind her before turning to find the captain glaring in her direction.

  “Before anyone can bitch about walking on toes,” he growled, “I’ve decided you two,” he jabbed fingers in Moore and Thomas’s direction, “need a little backup on this case.” He tossed Gerri a file. “Meyers is lead on this.” Jackson scowled at her, Thomas looking unhappy but Moore just shrugged again. Probably his favorite reaction to everything. “I want this wrapped up ASAP.” Captain King fixed Gerri with those black eyes of his, wide shoulders rippling under his crisp, white shirt, making his dark skin glow. “And kick Druit’s ass off the lineup. I want Hunter dealing with the bodies.”

  Like that was Gerri’s job. She noted the request in the file, glad the captain signed at the bottom so she didn’t have to. While the police department didn’t have the authority to demand a change in medical examiners, the captain’s request should carry more weight than hers would.

  “We’ll get it done.” She stepped aside, let the others file out, the partners grumbling, Jackson’s foot bumping hers accidentally on purpose.

  He was such a child.

  “Meyers.” Gerri paused, waited. “Close the door.” She did as she was told, waited again while the captain settled himself behind his desk. “You’re certain Dr. DanAllart has left the employ of Simone Paris?”

  Gerri started, surprised by the question. It was the last thing she thought he’d ask her.

  “She assures me that’s the case,” Gerri said. “Do you know otherwise?” Surely Kinsey wouldn’t lie to her.

  The captain didn’t meet her eyes. “Just watch her,” he said. And nothing more.

  Gerri waited a long moment before exiting the office, heart in her throat.

  Damn it, what did he know that she didn’t? But, when she went looking for Kinsey to ask her—okay, to demand an answer—the anthropologist was already gone.

  ***

  INT. – SILVER CITY MORGUE – NOON

  Ray leaned into Cici’s warm body, tucking her long leg between her lover’s as her silky, black hair fell over Ray’s bare arm. Cici’s lips tasted like peppermint and chocolate, her scent that of the desert and some wild flower Ray could never identify. There was a wildness to Cici’s embrace that never failed to startle Ray, a passion buried under the professional shell, her Periqwai heritage stronger than the training of the white man’s world.

  Ray loved that about her.

  Cici sighed, leaning back, parted lips breathing the last of her heated exhale into Ray’s mouth. She licked at the fullness, eyes narrowed to soft half slits of pleasure, one hand sliding under Ray’s blouse to caress the skin of the small of her back. The locker rattled against her hand, making them both laugh as Ray half staggered into the line of grey metal behind her when she tried to pull Cici closer.

  “Who knew we’d be hiding out in the locker room,” Cici said with a grin.

  “Come now,” Ray said, sliding her fingers through her lover’s hair, adoring the soft, flowing feel of it. “Surely you copped a feel or two in places like this in high school.” She gestured around them at the small locker room tucked into the back office of the morgue. Ray had left Robert on guard on the exam room floor so she could have a private moment, but knew someone could come in at any time. Part of the charm? Maybe. She’d never been an exhibitionist about her sexuality. But something about Cici made her want to take her outside and show the whole world how she felt about her.

  “I didn’t say that,” Cici winked, sighed, released Ray. Glanced at her watch with a delicious little frown furrowing her brow. “I have to go,” she said. “I have a client.”

  “As do I,” Ray said with a breezy air. “Only, mine don’t complain when I take breaks to kiss my sweetheart.”

  Cici leaned in, lips touching Ray’s again, lingered. “The bodies don’t,” she said as she ended the kiss. “But I know there are a few people who don’t approve.”

  Ray tensed, hating her discomfort. “Gerri and Kinsey are staying out of it,” she said. “Like they promised.”

  Cici withdrew, like she always did when Ray defended her friends.

  “I’m just worried you lean on Gerri too much, Ray.” Cici’s argument was getting old, but Ray could never seem to shake herself out of her need to keep the peace long enough to fight about it. “You’ve done so well lately, especially with your mother.” Ray thought about the woman who used to rule her life. She hadn’t heard from Victoria—she’d never refer to her as Mummy ever again—since she left Silver City. “It’s time you stood up for yourself, Ray. I’m not telling you who to be friends with.” Cici’s fingers ran over Ray’s bare arm, making her shiver. “Not at all. But Gerri has her issues and so, from what I’ve seen, does Kinsey. And you have your own progress to worry about.”

  Ray let the conversation go. Cici didn’t understand, and that was okay. Though, it troubled Ray she couldn’t integrate her love life with her friends. And yet, Gerri and Kinsey were hers, as much as Cici was hers, separately. She was happy, oddly, to keep things that way.

  Ray kissed Cici briefly before heading for the door, ending the conversation with a quip. “I’d rather not be on my feet,” she said, flashing her hazel eyes at Cici, winning a grin. “But, if you prefer standing up…”

  Cici laughed, followed her. “Damn it, why do I have to go to work?”

  Despite the distance between her lover and her friends, Ray had never been so happy. Her whole body hummed with it as they left the locker room together, entering the main morgue. Ray finally felt like her life was turned around, free of Victoria's control, learning to manage her heritage. And holding hands with an amazing woman whom she loved.

  But, the little voice that still lived inside her, the hurt and worried girl she used to be, whispered, does she love you?

  Ray was still fighting off that fearful jab when she looked up and into cold, green eyes.

  Robert shrugged, made a face, turned back to his computer. Leaving Cici and Ray to face down Gerri alone. But, before the glaring detective could comment, Cici turned, cupped Ray’s face in her hands and kissed her, deep and long. Ray’s knees shivered, body overheating as her lover’s tongue traced a line around the inside of her mouth before Cici let her go.

  “I’ll see you later.” She spun, strode past Gerri as if she owned the place. “Detective Meyers.”

  “Dr. Panther.” Gerri nodded. And, though Ray’s worry to the contrary almost dulled the joy she was feeling, when the redhead met her eyes again, they were quiet and calm.

  Not accepting, not yet. But, Ray considered Gerri’s attitude progress none the less.

  “Well now,” she said, false brightness all her mother’s, just to mock the woman who she’d been, “shall we have a look at a dead man?”

  ***

  INT. – SILVER CITY MORGUE – NOON

  Gerri held her temper despite Cici rubbing her face in her “ownership” of Ray. Not that the medical examiner would ever see that little display as anything but open affection. But Gerri knew better. Cici might as well have just rubbed
her scent all over a giant “stay away” sign then taped to Ray’s back.

  It irritated Gerri that her friend didn’t see Cici’s manipulation. Worse, that Gerri hadn’t seen through the therapist from day one. Imagine, she’d actually liked the woman at first. So not like her to miss the signs of such blatant sociopathy. Still, if Cici wanted to take Gerri on over Ray, the detective knew who’d win.

  Poor Cici had no idea what she was up against.

  For now, Gerri just had to trust this would end up a brief fling like all of Ray’s relationships. She and Kinsey would be there when Ray was done, ready to move on to her next one night stand or brief encounter. Just like old times.

  Ray bent over the file in her hands, tiny frown making thin lines in her pale skin, around her eyes and full mouth. When she looked up from the paperwork, she met Gerri’s gaze as though the encounter with Cici never happened.

  “As I suspected,” she said, “both of the two previous victims were examined by Dr. Druit.” Gerri wasn’t a fan of the arrogant old fart who smelled far too frequently of vodka masked by mouthwash for her liking. Robert eyed them both over the lip of his computer screen.

  “Drooler won’t be happy you’re digging in his cases, Ray.” Robert’s flip attitude always made Gerri grin.

  Ray ignored him, though her own lips curled up into a small smile. “Both victims had normal tox screens and no apparent sign of assault or illness. He classified both deaths as heart failure.”