Raised in Fire

“Right. Sean.” I’d totally forget. I already knew it. Then next time I met him, it would be awkward because I’d have to ask for his name again, and he would undoubtedly remember mine. I hated the black hole in my memory that always swallowed names. “Okay, Sean,” I said, trying to use his name as often as possible in hopes it would stick. “Let’s get freaky, shall we?”

“What’s that?” he asked, taken aback.

“Magic, man,” I said quietly. I didn’t want Clarissa to hear, and Sean wouldn’t know how rare my abilities were. “Get ready to write things down.”

I felt my phone vibrate again. Trying not to let it distract me, I focused on the magical hum of the body’s neck, then moved closer so I could feel that of the drying blood on his clothes. Finally, I used two hands to feel the pulse from around the chair, including where the body’s hands rested.

“How long ago did this happen?” I asked.

“Three hours. At first we didn’t know it was magical in nature, or we would’ve called you sooner.”

“What tipped you off?”

“The sword. Normal people don’t walk around hacking people’s necks with swords.”

“You’re not from New Orleans, are you?”

“No.” He shifted. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said he was uncomfortable. “Seattle. Why? Is it the West Coast accent?”

“All kinds of crazy stuff goes down in New Orleans…” Dang it! What had he said his name—

“Sean!” I smiled in triumph. Moving on. “A sword doesn’t make it magical.”

“It did in this case.”

“Touché.” I backed away and started wandering around the room, feeling the same type of spell blanket as in the sitting room. “You’re looking for a mage. Someone moderate to high in power. These spells all have the same beat, so I’d bet they were all done by her. Or him—I’m still not sure about the sex. That mage doesn’t use a sword often, I’ll tell you that much, and the weapon was older, but it was most likely hers. She wouldn’t commit murder with a loaner, and a new one would be sharp. She’s been doing magic for a while, which means she’ll be at least, the very least, mid-thirties. I’d bet forties or greater, though, judging by the intricacies of the spell. She’s had time to work on her craft.”

“His daughter?”

I glanced at the older man sitting dead in the chair, probably mid- to late seventies. “That was a jump, but…could be.”

Sean pointed at a framed picture on the mantel of the man, an older woman who was probably his wife, and a younger woman who didn’t look like either of them.

“Maybe, I don’t know. I’m just giving you the facts. Anyway, she did a spell to keep him in place. See his hands? They were clawing at the chair, but his arms clearly couldn’t move. His legs couldn’t either. He was magically pinned to this chair. Usually holding someone like that is done for information. She was definitely looking for something in this house. The blanket spell in the sitting room, and here in the living room, points to that.

“If I’m wrong about looking for something, though, then she was giving threats. Except you don’t chop at someone’s neck to deliver a warning. That’s just stupid. She probably would have beaten him if that was her aim, and there’s no sign of that.”

“Can’t a person kill with magic?”

“Absolutely. Which is why I think this was done out of anger, or passion of some kind. She is powerful enough, and knowledgeable enough, to kill with magic. But instead, she hacked away at his neck.” My phone vibrated again. I gritted my teeth. “The last thing, and then I’ll leave you to your deductions”—so I could yell at whoever was repeatedly bothering me—“is that blanket spell. A treasure hunt, perhaps. Looking for—”

“I know what she was doing in there!” Clarissa emerged from the sitting room. Her eyes twinkled. “The perpetrator was trying to find something.”

“What do you think that might be?” Sean asked her.

Leaving them to chat, I wandered into the kitchen. No magic. Jogging now, I headed into a back bedroom. The searching spell was even thicker in here. Headier. She’d used more power, probably suspecting this was where her treasure was hidden.

Just real quick, because my curiosity was burning, I did a look-n-see, immediately finding the disturbed closet. She’d torn the thing apart. There was no way to tell if she’d found what she was looking for.

Back in the living room, I took out my phone. An SOS 911 message, signed Smokey—how did he get my number?—a voicemail, and a text message from the captain. Call ASAP. We got a nasty one. I need the whole team on this one.

“Oh it’s happening,” I said with a surge of excitement. “I’m finally going head to head with Garret.”

“What’s the matter?” Clarissa asked, the triumph over her discovery melting away.

I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “The perp might’ve found what she was looking for in the closet in the bedroom. Or maybe it was supposed to be there and wasn’t. I don’t know, but I gotta go. We got something. Something big. Garret better step aside—a new king is in town.”

“Wait a minute, Ms. Somerset. I have a few questions.” Sean took a step toward me.

“I was just helping out,” I said as I tapped into voicemail. “Clarissa knows what’s up. She can hold the fort.”

“I have to go, too.” Clarissa’s face turned white as she held her phone to her ear. “Dear God. There is an aswang in the city.”

Chapter Three

“What’s an aswang?” I asked as I led Clarissa out of the house. Adrenaline spiked in my blood.

“It’s a type of…demon, I guess you could call it, from Filipino lore. Not a true demon, like from the underworld, but…evil. Filipinos think of it as evil. I only know about the creatures from books. I’ve never actually seen one. They are immensely powerful, and eat babies and the organs of adults.”

“Holy crap, they eat babies? That’s messed up.” I grimaced. “Well then, that is definitely a green light to kill it. Right? I can kill it?”

“You’ve just seen the horror of violence in action, and you’re eager to go kill something?”

“Is that a trick question? Because I feel like you should know the answer to that based on my personality…”

“Fine. Whatever. Okay, so you’ll be going into the heat of battle. That’s your job. You signed on to be the front line—”

“I’m not complaining,” I said, patting my gun. “I’m in it to win it.”

“You’re worrying me.”

“Wise. What should I expect?” Not that it really mattered. I’d run right at the beastie with a snarl turned smile regardless of how vile it was. That was what I did. It was what I excelled at.

Hell, it was why MLE had hired me. We both climbed into the car.

“If we are being called, it has tried to feed. They like intestines the best, I’ve read, and will move from person to person if they have the option, getting their fill. They like preying on the weak.”

She leveled me with a serious look from behind the wheel. “They are hard to kill, Reagan. You have to stab it in the back with a sword.”

“How is that hard to kill? Sounds pretty easy to me.”

“Not as easy as you’d think. They can shape-shift. Some might look like large wolves. Others might turn into a flock of birds. They travel extremely quickly, almost as fast as a vampire, I’ve read. And they spook easily, taking flight or running when they think they’re outnumbered or can’t get an easy feed.”

“Got it. I need to be quick like a bunny, so I can stick a sword in the creature’s back before it flies away.”

She blew out a frustrated breath and checked her phone. A glance at the address told me we were headed into the heart of the French Quarter. Talk about easy prey. Get a drunk person, of which there were a great many, on their own, and the creature could have its fill.