“The soul spoke?”
I nodded. “She said we had to stop him before the cycle halts for another year. She also said he lived in Fawkner.”
“See, I told you we had a serial killer on our hands.”
“Yeah, but does she mean now, or when he was alive?”
“Does it even matter?”
“I guess not.” I forced myself to study the room. “There is nothing else here that provides a clue in any way?”
“Nothing so far.”
“You’ll let me know if you find anything? Or if the magi finds anything?”
“First thing.”
“Thanks, Cole.”
His sudden smile crinkled the corners of his eyes and lent his features a warmth that was stunningly attractive. Needless to say, my hormones did excited little cartwheels. But then, my hormones were feeling more than a little frustrated after all that playing at the club.
“Two thanks in two days,” he said, the twinkle in his blue eyes matching the killer smile. “That has to be a record for a guardian, doesn’t it?”
“I’m not your average guardian.”
“I think that’s one point we can both agree on.”
I smiled. “Finally. Does this mean we can go on a date, and have sex?” I asked, only half-kidding.
“No.”
“Damn.”
He laughed, a merry sound that had my smile widening. “You may be a killer, but you’re a fun one to be around.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“No probs.” He turned away to continue his investigation, and I headed for the car. Once outside, I sucked in the fresh air, trying to sweep away the remnants of death and destruction. It didn’t help much. Both still clung to my skin.
I looked at my watch. It was nearing four. I could go home, if I wanted to. Perhaps find Kellen and ease some aches. But the mere thought had guilt stirring. Someone had died because I didn’t know enough. Surely I owed it to the dead to remedy that.
I climbed into my car and headed back to the Directorate. The roads into the city were all gridlocked, however, and I amused myself by checking out the other drivers, trying to guess what they did for a living by the make of their car. To see if I was right, I lightly touched their minds. I was right a good forty percent of the time, which wasn’t a bad effort.
When I finally made it into the Directorate, I peeked into the liaisons’ office to see if my caramel-haired nemesis was there. Luckily, she wasn’t, but the scrawny-looking vamp I’d worked with off and on during my years as a liaison, was. “Hey, David, can you sign my car out for another night?”
“I have a note here—”
“Screw the note. I need the car.”
“Salliane will not be pleased.”
“Good.” I pushed away and headed for our squad room. David’s amusement followed me down the hall. No one was around when I walked in, so I helped myself to coffee then sat at my desk. After going through the security checks, I pulled up the three requested files and started reading them. It took a while, but eventually I hit pay dirt.
“You’re looking mighty pleased with yourself,” Jack said, as he walked into the room. He dumped a file on Rhoan’s desk, then walked over to the coffeemaker.
“I found our killer.”
“And?”
“He went by the name of Harvey Wilson, an itinerant handyman who apparently got fixated on one Erma McDonald. Followed her around like a dog in heat, and apparently got violent if she went out with other men.”
Jack leaned his butt against the counter and took a sip of his coffee. “They weren’t married or anything?”
“No, but Harvey treated her like they were. She took out a restraining order on him, but he seemed to have a sixth sense about the cops and could never be caught violating the order.”
“Which he obviously did, if he murdered her.”
“Yeah.” I glanced briefly at the all-too-familiar images of bloodshed and destruction. “He discovered Erma was engaged to be married. Accused her of having an affair and swore that she would remain true to him, and only him, forever.”
“So he tore her up?”
I nodded. “Psychically, not physically. They had a witness—a neighbor whose kitchen window looked into Erma’s and who heard everything. Apparently, once Erma was dead, he chopped off her hair and shoved it into his pocket.”
“So the cops caught him?”
“Not really. He waited until they arrived and had seen what he’d done, then shot himself.” Which certainly fit what was happening now—the gloating sense of evil I kept sensing when we first walked in.
Jack snorted. “Undoubtedly thinking they could be together in the afterlife. Psychos never seem to learn things aren’t that easy.”
“Well, I wish it was, because then he wouldn’t still be here on this plane of existence, destroying lives.” I glanced at the file again. “According to the report, he’s been at it for five years now.”
Jack frowned. “If his spirit has been killing for five years, why haven’t there been more murders?”
“Because he only hunts and kills for one week of every year.” And few of the cases actually got reported to us, because by the time the various departments realized they had a serial killer, the killings stopped.
“Unusual for a tormented soul to be so restrained,” Jack commented.
“Not if his sprees only happen during the anniversary week of his death.”
“Which was?”
“October 31. Halloween itself.”
Jack snorted. “Explains a lot.”I leaned back in my chair. “I know Halloween tends to bring out the weirdness in both humans and nonhumans, but I didn’t realize it had a similar effect on the spiritual world.”
“That’s the problem with the world today—no one knows the real meanings of anything anymore.”
“I know it used to be an old pagan festival that celebrated the end of summer and the beginning of winter.”
He smiled. It was one of those “pleased with a student” smiles that really annoyed me. “That’s right. But the Celts—and many other cultures—also believed that during Samhain, the boundary between the living and the dead blurred, and spirits could roam the earth.”
“Which explains why he was able to rise on the day of his death, but not how he was able to continue his killing spree for the next five days.”
“The days between Samhain and November 5 have been times of feasting, celebrations, and remembrances of the dead down through many centuries.”
“Giving him—and spirits like him—the chance to do their evil bidding?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“How come the guardian division hasn’t had more ghostly disturbances to take care of, then?”
“Because our magi division usually takes care of these sorts of problems, not our guardians.”
I guess that made sense. I mean, our regular hunter-killers wouldn’t even be able to sense a spirit. “So have we discovered yet how to stop a soul intent on murder?”
“Marg and her team are still going through their texts to find out.”
Marg was the spindly magi who’d helped us contain a spirit intending to let a dark god loose on the world. A spirit who had turned out to be Quinn’s sister—and the reason he’d actually become a vampire.
“Tell her we haven’t a whole lot of time to work with. It’s been three days already. We only have two more before he’s off in hibernation for the next year.”
He nodded. “I’ve asked her to get back with ideas before sunset. In the meantime, I suggest you uncover where he was buried.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“Because sometimes a soul sullied by suicide cannot be sent on. They can only be restrained.”
And I guess I was going to find out how that was done soon enough. “You seem to know an awful lot about this sort of stuff, boss.”
“I’m a vampire,” he said. “And you’d know a lot of stuff if you’d been around for eight hundred years, too.”
“Not me. I’ve got a memory like a sieve.”
“Especially when it comes to leaving the com-link on,” he said, voice dry as he pushed away from the desk and headed for the door. “You’d better catch some rest once you find out where Wilson is buried, just in case Marg needs your help with the ceremony.”
“My help?” I all but yelped. Hell, the last thing I wanted to be doing tonight was wandering about a cemetery helping to restrain a spirit. “Why the hell would she need my help?”
“Because you’re the only guardian that can see or talk to souls.”
“Marg’s a magi. Surely she’s got ways and means to communicate with the dead?”
“Your way is more direct. Besides, Wilson may get nasty,” he said, as he disappeared out the door.
I muttered obscenities under my breath, then started tracking down Harvey Wilson’s final resting place. And really, it wasn’t all that hard, because Veronica Ward had given me the clue. She’d said he’d lived in Fawkner. Given Wilson had been an itinerant in life, she could only mean that was where he lived now. In the Fawkner cemetery.
Which is exactly where I found him. I scribbled down the plot number and street address, then signed off the computer and went home. Jack was right. I needed sleep. A look in the mirror only confirmed that. My eyeballs were bloodshot, and there were huge bags under my eyes. Which was never a good look when combined with pale skin and red hair.