Allison Brennan - Carnal Sin

Grant really didn’t care about the morgue’s betting pool. “Did she have the same mark on her body as Erickson, Monroe, and Galion?”

“No, but I found a tattoo.”

“You’re certain it’s a tattoo?”

Fern glanced at him as she stood outside the crypt. “Of course I’m sure. High-end, too. Quality ink, intricate design. Gorgeous, really. Almost makes me wish I were white.” She laughed. “Not.”

She opened the door to the crypt. “Monroe’s family is taking possession of the body today. It’s being shipped back to his home state; the transport company will be here this afternoon.” She pulled off the sheet. Grant stared at the mark on the pale body, dull but still red against Monroe’s skin.

“Have you figured out what that mark is?”

“No, but the coroner is going with a tattoo.” Fern frowned. “His theory is that it’s a new kind of process that uses an organic ink.”

“That’s bullshit. We’d be able to know whether it was a tat or not.”

“I agree, but he didn’t want to hold up the body when it’s clear Monroe died of cardiac arrest.”

“You’re certain.”

“Well, we know his heart stopped. We have the initial drug panels back. We’ve sent the blood for additional screens, and the coroner is agreeing to cardiac arrest with a possible secondary cause unknown narcotic since his endorphin levels were high. Which makes sense. If your suicide victim comes back with something else, we have enough of Monroe’s blood samples to run more tests. Some labs have been engineering Ecstasy with LSD and other drugs. Nasty shit, and we’ve seen teenagers come through here pumped up with drugs that are variants of what’s popular. They end up in the hospitals, too. Some are brain-dead; some just die. I promise, we’ll keep at it. We want to know, and I know your Narcs want to keep up with anything new hitting the streets.”

“Any other bodies come in?”

Fern tilted her head. “We’re a morgue; we get dozens of bodies a day.”

Grant rubbed his temple. “Bodies with marks like Monroe and Erickson.”

“Actually, yeah. They weren’t my cases, but I’ve seen a couple marks like this over the last week.”

“Can you send me copies of the files?”

“Sure. On one condition.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What condition?”

“Put in a good word with your hunky partner for me. I’m calling him my first day off.”

Grant smiled even through the pain in his head. “He wanted me to do the same with you.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. He’s receptive.”

“Screw that then, he can call me. But if I don’t hear from him by tomorrow-I have Sunday and Monday off-I’m calling.”

Grant handed her Jeff’s cell phone number. “Can I see Nadine?”

“It’s not pretty. We call her Humpty Dumpty.”

“I want to see her tattoo.”

“That’s easy, I took a picture. This way.”

Grant followed Fern to her small cubicle near the intake area. Her space was filled with photographs of the morgue and the dead. Though all were eerie and bordering on the sick side, they were quite phenomenal. “You’re talented.”

Fern grinned. “Thanks. I know, it’s a morbid hobby-can you believe Takasugi tells me that I’m morbid when he’s the one with a mummy in his living room?” She shook her head and handed Grant a picture. “You can keep it; it’s a copy. I have another in the file.”

But Grant barely heard Fern. He stared at the tattoo. It was a perfect circle, with an intricate pattern that was the same if you looked at it from the top or the bottom. It had been on the small of her back.

Julie had the identical tat in the same location.

Wendy gloated as she strode through Velocity casting a protective spell. She smiled, pleased that everything was coming together better than she’d planned-considering the disasters that had occurred over the last twelve hours. Losing Rachel as a vessel had been devastating, and having Raphael Cooper and Moira O’Donnell steal her chalice-Wendy was more than a little furious. That chalice had been in her coven for generations. If her mother were alive, she’d be irate that her precious chalice had been stolen by another coven.

Nicole emphatically believed that Moira wasn’t practicing magic and intended to destroy the chalice, and even the idea of destroying such an immensely powerful and valuable tool was lunacy. Moira was likely rogue, not aligned with any of the loosely knit covens, which was why Fiona O’Donnell wanted her head on a platter. Dead or alive was the word on the street, with rewards either way.

Living prisoners made better bargaining chips. There was no doubt in Wendy’s mind that Moira had valuable information on how to gain power to leverage into a high position within Fiona’s growing circle of covens. It would be fun to play with Moira, torture the information from her, use Wendy’s newfound talents to make up for the embarrassment of losing the chalice, for having to make another agreement with her new demon.

Nicole was weak; no matter what her sister said, she’d obviously been banished and had come running home. Wendy had never been weak. She didn’t need her sister, but it would be nice to use her.

Wendy finished casting the protective spell around the empty club so that she would be forewarned if anyone drew near. Only a few more hours and the demon would be able to locate Grant Nelson, but Wendy wanted him in a special place. She’d spent half the day preparing Kent Galion’s house for the ritual. Wendy needed space to give the demon what she wanted-an agreement she wouldn’t have had to make if Moira hadn’t stolen the chalice. And Moira wouldn’t have been able to steal the chalice if Julie hadn’t hidden Grant Nelson from them last night.

Wendy did not like being made the fool. Julie deserved everything she got. If she survived the night, when the demon left her body Wendy would call on an incubus to deal with the traitor. She’d watch Julie suffer until she begged to die.

Wendy had wanted to die many times. Her mother, Susan, was not a kind woman. Punishments were never as simple as spankings and time-outs. When Wendy was sixteen, she’d been raped by an incubus when her mother found out she’d been practicing sex magic outside of the coven.

Susan Donovan didn’t tolerate betrayal, insolence, or anyone in her coven seeking power outside of her authority.

But Wendy grew up and got strong. She seduced the men in her mother’s coven-weak fools, every one of them-even seduced the magician who’d taken her virginity on her fourteenth birthday. She’d been a sex slave for them, but she’d had her retribution. Wendy practically glowed with pleasure remembering her mother pleading with her to stop the ritual that ended with her grisly death.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, Mother dear .

Nicole walked onto the empty dance floor as Wendy finished the protective spell. Nicole the ignorant. Nicole the stupid. Nicole the baby. Her sister had never appreciated all she’d done for her, freeing her from their horrid mother’s control. Nicole had wanted to simply kill Susan, but where was the fun in that? What was the fun if Susan didn’t suffer what Wendy had suffered times three!

Nicole asked, “What are you doing?”

“I cast a protective spell.” Stupid .

“Pam called. Grant Nelson’s partner just drove up in front of her house.”

“Pam knows what to do,” Wendy said.

“But-”

Wendy put up her finger to silence her pathetic younger sister. “I’m going to show you how easy and enjoyable victory is when it is properly orchestrated by a talented magician. Maybe you’ll learn something.”