2 Witch and Famous (5 page)

Because secrets were so important to him. I didn’t say what I was thinking. When we had met, he’d kept the secret of what he was from me, preferring to manipulate me in a game of his own devising. The truth was, Niall liked keeping secrets. There was so much I didn’t know about him that I still almost feared to find out. I still didn’t even know, for example, where he’d been born, how he’d come into his powers, or how he’d made most of his considerable wealth.

“So, you’d be okay with me just going out and kissing some other guy?” I asked again. I wanted to be clear about it. In the background, the office phone rang. I ignored it. Let Fergie take it. I heard him answer it and speak in soft tones. I tried to follow what Fergie was saying but now, Niall was talking, too.

“It is what we are, Elle,” Niall said. “It is what we do.”

I shook my head. “It isn’t what
I
do.”

“Only because you are too stubborn.”

“Excuse me,” Fergie said, interrupting as he came back into my inner office.

“Not now, please, Fergie.”

He looked affronted. How about if I kissed Fergie in front of Niall? Maybe Niall would understand what I was saying
then
. Of course, the only problem with that was that I didn’t
want
to kiss Fergie. He was handsome, he was sweet and honest. He was also a werewolf. Nor did I want to kiss anyone else, for that matter. That was kind of the point. So, it would hardly be winning the argument to do that in the hopes of making Niall jealous.

Fergie cleared his throat politely. “Elle?”

“Just a
moment
, Fergie.” I’d told him once. I looked at Niall again. “
I’m
stubborn?”

“You think that you can rearrange the world to suit your sensibilities,” Niall said. “That things will change if only you refuse to acknowledge them long enough. Yet, ultimately, it causes more pain.”

“How so?”

“Did you know that David fainted as he got into the car to drive me over?”

“No. Is he all right?” It was hard to argue when Niall dropped news like that in my lap. Yet, I had to keep going, didn’t I? This was why Niall had come round. Another secret. Another attempt to manipulate me.

Niall nodded. “He will be, this time.”

“Excuse me, Elle,” Fergie said again, “I know this isn’t a great time but—”

“Then I just need to take less, don’t I?” I said to Niall, ignoring Fergie and trying not to think about what might have happened if David had fainted a little later, while the vehicle was in motion. The thought of the driver being hurt was bad enough. The thought that Niall might have been hurt as well was almost painful.

“No,” Niall insisted, “you need to take
more
. You ration yourself too much as it is, but this oh-so-sanitary feeding policy of yours…”

I waited, wanting to hear him say it at last. We needed to have this argument. We’d
been
having this argument off and on almost since we defeated Rebecca and Evert, the warlock hunter whom the coven had sent for us—the hunter we’d killed. Day to day, things were great with Niall. In bed, they were amazing, but this issue was always there in the background, pricking at us. Yes, let Niall finally say what he thought.

“This can’t wait, Elle,” Fergie finally said. “I’m sorry but it is a matter of—”

“Fergie, what
is
it?” I asked, since clearly we weren’t going to get to finish this argument until I did.

“There’s a body.”

“A dead body?” I clarified.

Fergie nodded. “Exactly. The insurers want to know if you’ll look into it.”

“Who died?” I asked Fergie.

“Her name was Jessica Hammersmith.”

That name seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I didn’t need to place it. Someone was dead. Presumably someone who mattered to her family and friends. Probably not in great circumstances if there was enough doubt for the insurers to call me in.

Niall stood there, and suddenly, I couldn’t read him. He looked worried though. “Have you investigated many deaths before?”

“Not many,” I replied. Those I had looked into had been in cases where there had been magical accidents, and the coven didn’t want that to be common knowledge. My main job had been ensuring that they just looked like simple, everyday human incompetence.

“I should come with you,” Niall said.

I shook my head. “Thanks, but I don’t think so.”

“It might be dangerous, Elle.”

“She’s already dead. I think the danger is past.” I paused. “Niall, this is my job. I’m not having my boyfriend follow me around on my job, even if the police will allow it. Go ahead and grab lunch on your own and we’ll get together for dinner, all right?”

All of which was a valid reason for him not to come. It wasn’t the
real
reason, but it was a good one. The real reason had more to do with the part where we would have to keep this argument going if he stayed with me.

“I will see you tonight,” Niall agreed. He kissed me goodbye like it would be our last one. He always did. That frightened me just a little. What sort of man worried that every time I left, I might not come back? It was just one more secret for Niall.

By the time I’d driven to the address the insurance company had provided, read an emailed summary of what was going on via my phone and checked with Fergie that the paperwork was in place to do the job, there
wasn’t
actually a body. At least, there wasn’t one at the scene anymore. Presumably, it was still somewhere, probably at the local morgue. Just not here.

Funnily enough, the police didn’t like the idea of leaving dead bodies around for insurance investigators to have a look at. They certainly didn’t like the idea of amateurs investigating murders, which had probably disappointed generations of genteel lady sleuths and would-be PIs in this country.

So, there probably wasn’t quite as much of a need to rush over to the small house in Craigleith as I made out with Niall around. It was just that I really didn’t want to argue any more about my sensibilities when it came to enchantress feeding habits or my moral quandaries when it came to Niall’s secrets. Besides there
had
been a body, and that was still important, even if there wasn’t one now.

It probably doesn’t sound important, sorting out the insurance after a death. Yet, it was more crucial than most people thought. For a family, insurance money could mean the difference between being financially secure and losing their home. It could mean the difference between being able to grieve properly and being buried under a mountain of bills they had no way of paying in the wake of a loved one’s death. And in situations where there had been questions raised about a death, it could be even more crucial.

This death had occurred in quite an expensive residential area. Craigleith might have looked normal and suburban, but features like the golf course gave away the truth. It was actually one of the wealthier areas of the city, even the country. Outside of Edinburgh, one had to head down to London and the home counties to find anywhere as flush with money. Craigleith might not have been where the ultra-wealthy like Niall lived, but it was still where plenty of the city’s bankers spent their money.

It was a wealthy enough area to suit an up-and-coming musician like Jessica Hammersmith, who had, only a few hours ago, been found dead on her living room floor. I got that from the information Fergie had emailed over. She’d made some money on a surprise single, and was currently a featured singer in a popular subterranean nightclub housed in Edinburgh’s Vaults. A hundred years ago, the Vaults had been an infamous underground city full of haunting, murder, and ill repute. Now, they were a tourist attraction. During the Fringe, parts of the Vaults served as the venue for many interesting acts and attracted a lot of counterculture types. She was obviously on the way up.

Beyond that, Fergie had been kind enough to forward me the results of a quick trawl through the search engines, just to let me know what I would be dealing with.

The initial briefing from the insurers told me that the police were not treating the death as suspicious at this stage, but apparently, flags had been raised by those close to the deceased, and the insurers wanted me to make sure that everything was investigated before they made any kind of payout. The insurance policy had a suicide clause—an exception—and of course, it would be to their benefit if Jessica Hammersmith did commit suicide, but with the relatives objecting, they wanted to be sure.

I was the lucky investigator who got the job of either telling them that there probably wouldn’t be a payout, or telling them that something even worse had happened to the person they cared about.

I stood on the doorstep, rang the bell, and did my best to prepare myself for what I would probably find within. Not blood, or guts, or gore. The fact that there were no police left guarding the place told me that anything like that was long gone. Even so, there would be a kind of residue left. An imprint of events. A stir. An echo. Maybe even a ghost, if I was really unlucky.

It was a full minute before someone answered the door. The woman who did so was taller than me, with dark hair falling loose to her waist and eyes of such a piercing blue that for a moment, it was impossible to look beyond them. She was beautiful enough that she could have been a model, albeit one on her day off, given that she was wearing jeans, boots and a sweater, although all three looked like they were by designer names.

She also looked like she’d been crying. Not that it seemed to have done anything to mar her looks. “Look, whoever you are, I’ve told all of you. No interviews. Not now.”

“I’m not with the press,” I said, holding out my business card. “I’m from the insurance company. I know this must be a difficult time for you, but they want me to look into the death of Jessica Hammersmith.”

The woman moved forward, and for a fraction of a second, it looked like I’d managed to say the wrong thing. Like she was going to attack me there and then. I tensed to defend myself, trying to remind myself not to do anything too violent to a human.

Instead of attacking me though, she hugged me tightly, crushing me to her perfumed body, relief pouring off her like summer rain. For a moment, the invisible part of me that hungered for emotion licked metaphorical lips at that potential, but I pushed it down. I had to be professional. I hadn’t come here to feed. I had come to investigate. The part of me that never stopped hungering could wait. It wasn’t like it was going to go away.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” the woman said, stepping back to let me inside. “I tried telling the police that Jess would have never…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “They didn’t listen.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “You have to understand though…”

“Victoria. Victoria de Newe. I was Jess’s friend.”

“Victoria.” I tried to sound as professional as I could. I didn’t want to get her hopes up. “I’m here to investigate because you raised suspicions, but I can only follow the facts I find. I don’t know what I’m going to be able to find that the police haven’t.”