Page 73 of Fallen Court

Plenty of blood had been spilled in New Orleans, but the price for it was higher when magic ran in the victim’s veins—and I would likely be paying it.

The humidity of an approaching storm hung in the air, along with the faint tang of copper. My nostrils flared as I picked up the scent of blood. The sidewalk’s broken asphalt crunched beneath my feet as we approached the man who had made the call.

There was a hint of menace to his human glamour, his shoulders just a little bulkier than average, his eyes slightly feral, but the rest of his features remained cool and detached.

“Garren,” Roark greeted him.

“Sir.” He straightened into more rigid attention, his eyes darting toward me.

“You’re the one who found the body?” I asked.

He nodded. “One of the men thought he saw something strange moving in the garage, and then we smelled…” His face paled at whatever his memory recalled. “Boyd is guarding it. I mean, her.”

“First time?”

Garren swallowed. “Not exactly. It’s just…”

It was different when you saw someone killed in a shootout or hand to hand, the adrenaline cutting through any shame or guilt you might feel. A murder was a different beast.

“Show us,” I said before Garren’s nerves got the better of him.

The garage was empty save for a few scattered cars. The fluorescent lights flickered in and out, casting ominous shadows on the graffiti-covered walls.

“Up a floor,” Garren said, leading us toward an out-of-service elevator.

Unless the killer had fae magic, they would have taken the stairs. We didn’t speak as we continued to them, cataloging everything around us for any clue as to what happened or who was responsible. The stale scent of urine hung in the stairwell, chasing us to the next level, but there were no signs of foul play, no signs that the witch had fought back.

“How was she killed?”

“Execution,” Garren said tightly. “It doesn’t look like she’s been dead for long. We were assigned to sweep the area. Boyd smelled the blood.”

It was hard to miss.

I glanced at Roark, trying to remember what he’d told me at the Avalon. “Did Étienne say how long Thalia was missing?”

“A couple of days.” He shrugged. “We need to tell them.”

Getting ahead of this was our only option, but I didn’t relish delivering the news. “I’ll inform Étienne.”

He would know how to handle the situation, but I wanted to understand what we were dealing with first. Something told me that if I went directly to the familiars, Corinne would hex me before I had a chance to explain.

Our footsteps echoed off the cement walls, the second floor entirely empty except for the fae standing guard next to a concrete pillar.

Boyd unclasped his hands as we approached. “We found her purse. It’s definitely Thalia.”

I glanced at Roark, tilting my head ever so slightly.

“Go double-check the perimeter,” he ordered the two guards, “and then get yourselves a drink, but stay close.”

They looked relieved to go. I stepped around the pillar and understood why.

Thalia was slumped face down on the filthy pavement, her blond hair floating in a pool of blood, and a single bullet wound punched through the back of her skull. Her wrists and ankles were bound with zip ties. Cruel. Barbaric. But to the point.

“Execution, all right.” Roark crouched next to her and dipped a finger in the pooling blood. “Still warm.”

She hadn’t been dead for long.

“Who does this to a witch?” He shook his head.