Conspiracy of Ravens (Crawford Investigations Book 1) Read online

  Then again, if Bear was okay and made all of them worry for no stinking reason, she’d make him wish he was at least injured in some way.

  The building’s glass door to the lobby stared back at her. “Glenshire Manor” in fake-gold, old-fashioned italicized letters adorned the glass. The sterile, unfurnished lobby waited on the other side. Raven reached out and tugged on the door handle. Locked. Midday on a weekday made it unlikely an inattentive tenant would conveniently meander out of the building at any moment and leave the door open so a group of strangers could slip in—one of which was an imposing dark fae lord.

  “After you.” Cole made a sweeping wave with his hand toward the door.

  “Can’t you use your shadowy parlour tricks to get us in?”

  He raised a brow.

  She tugged down her tank top again.

  “I could, but I like watching you work,” he said.

  Juni snorted.

  Raven grunted and turned back to the door. She pulled her lock pick and tension wrench from the back pocket of her cut-off jean shorts and squatted down in front of the lock.

  Raven had wrongly assumed it would take Bear days or weeks to teach her how to break into a house, but minutes after he gave her instructions, she successfully picked her first lock. In that moment, she realized what a sham safety really was. People in the Mortal Realm bought into the image of security, but it was all an illusion.

  Raven quickly inserted the tension wrench into the bottom part of the keyhole. With gentle pressure applied in the direction the key turned, Raven kept the tension wrench in pace and inserted her pick into the top of the lock. Raking the pick back and forth, she pushed down on the pins each time she pulled back with the pick. In less than a minute, she set all the pins. The lock clicked. Raven stepped back and Cole opened the door.

  He leaned in. “Like I said, I like watching you work.”

  Despite the shadowed entrance, her quick lock-picking skills and Cole shielding her actions with his drool-worthy body, they had to act fast before anyone noticed her less-than-legal actions. They stepped into the building. The stale lobby air rushed out to greet them.

  “Smells off,” Cole said.

  Raven agreed, but she couldn’t pinpoint how. Something metallic, maybe.

  Juni pulled the leash toward the stairs. With each step, the tension wrapping around Raven’s heart intensified.

  The stale air grew thicker as they climbed to the third floor. Cole swung the fire door open and led them to the hallway. The lights flickered above, and one fixture hung from the ceiling. The apartment door at the end of the hall sat ajar, a long crack running from the base almost the entire way to the top. A dark red handprint wrapped around the trim.

  “Is that—?”

  “Blood?” Cole stepped toward the apartment. “Yes. Maybe you should wait here.”

  “Just because I’m not some warrior woman, doesn’t mean I’m weak,” she growled and stared at the door down the hall.

  He rose an eyebrow. “What does it mean, then?”

  What did it mean? Good question. “It means I lack hand-eye coordination and physical stamina. Now shut up, and—”

  “Take your sister home?”

  She remained stiff legged and unmoving near the doors to the staircase. Her banter reflected little of the turmoil swirling within her like a Cat 5 hurricane making landfall on an unprepared coastline. Cole hesitated before striding back to where she stood with confident steps. Without a word, he picked up Juni and gently cradled her sister in his arms. The little fox sighed contently and snuggled into his chest.

  Normally, Raven would make some snarky comment but not today. Not right now. The second after she registered Cole’s actions, her attention whipped back to her brother’s broken door, and remained riveted on the bloody handprint, large enough to be her brother’s.

  “It will be okay.” Cole plucked Juni’s leash from her hands. “Wait here, and we’ll go in together.”

  She nodded.

  The shadows wrapped around Cole and Juni. When they disappeared, Raven stood alone under the hallway’s flickering light. Her brother’s door loomed ahead, beckoning and warning her all at once. The silence of the apartment called to her. An invisible and silent pull propelled her forward. The air buzzed.

  Bear could be in there.

  Bear could need help.

  Footstep by footstep, she drew closer to the unknown awaiting her in her brother’s safe house, and farther from relative safety.

  He could be in there.

  Raven swallowed and reached forward. She hesitated.

  What condition would she find him in? He could be…

  Raven forced air into her lungs and pushed her shoulders back. She stared at the doorknob. Some blood had dripped off the metal. Did she risk leaving fingerprints? The cops hadn’t been here yet, or there’d be crime scene tape. The blood and broken door had to be recent, or the other apartments on this floor empty. No one with a conscience could walk by this place and not call the cops.

  Then again, her brother wasn’t known for keeping savoury company—with the exception of herself and Marcus, of course.

  Bear could be in there.

  With a deep breath, Raven nudged the door open with her toe. The hinges creaked. The unexpected sound ran along her spine like a demented demon from the Underworld. The main lights were off, but a small lamp with a crooked shade on a side table remained on. Aside from the fridge’s constant whirring, the apartment sat silent, waiting. A turned over loveseat and crumpled rug lay beside the table. The couch doubled as a pull-out bed, and a large chunk of the mattress poked out. Limp sheets pooled on the floor. Either someone folded up the sofa in a haste, or someone gave it a good upheaval.

  Blood spattered the fake-marble linoleum floor and stark white walls. No large pools, and not enough to indicate a serious injury, but a brutal fight took place in Bear’s safe house. He could still be alive. Some of the tension cording her neck and shoulder muscles eased.

  Raven crept around the bachelor suite and peeked inside the closet. Her heart rate picked up as she approached the bathroom. What was up with her and bathrooms? Like it was completely plausible the big bad guy would run and cower behind a toilet.

  She slipped a tea towel from the oven door. The fluffy soft material indicated Bear purchased the towel recently. It hadn’t been through a spin cycle yet. Raven used the towel to cover the bathroom’s doorknob and prevent her fingerprints from transferring onto a surface in a soon-to-be active crime scene. With a deep breath, she opened the door. Empty. A full tube of toothpaste sat on the small space of counter beside the simple sink and next to a couple of toothbrushes.

  Raven straightened and scanned the room for clues.

  A couple of toothbrushes. She stepped into the small room and leaned in closer. Both green, so no hint regarding the gender of Bear’s guest. The bristles still had their full colour and shape, and no toothpaste caked the handles.

  The toilet roll was almost full, and the small shower stall dry. Bear hadn’t been here long, but he came with someone else.

  Raven stretched her neck, side to side, and left the bathroom. Aside from those two not-so-helpful tidbits, she had…

  Nothing.

  Her shoulders dropped and a long, pent-up breath escaped her lips.

  Keep it together, Crawford. Bear still needs you.

  Cole would return any minute now, and she wanted to get as much information as possible before he arrived.

  The small bachelor pad had little room for anything and as a safe house, she doubted she’d find an itinerary of events and locations to help her solve this mystery. She searched anyway, padding around the small space, avoiding splotches of blood or leaving her fingerprints.

  What was that?

  Raven crouched down and plucked a long black feather from the ground. It had fallen partially behind the capsized sofa bed.

  Raven or crow?

  It was difficult to tell the difference, but the length
and size indicated a raven as the source. Unlike some Others, she lacked the ability to “read” objects and know their source.

  Was it one of hers? It looked like it, but she’d never been here. And as much as Bear loved her, he wouldn’t hold on to one of her feathers as a keepsake. That would just be weird. They were close, but not that close.

  Raven clutched the feather to her chest and glanced around. Cole was still with her sister, but he’d be back any minute. She stuffed the feather halfway down the leg of her shorts and pinned it in place with her waistband much like Cole had with her own feather. The shaft scratched against her outer thigh and the vanes tickled her ribs. She pulled down her tank top to cover the top half. The shirt better not roll up again. At least she hadn’t bought into that new style of cut-offs where half her ass hung out beneath the hem. She’d have no way of hiding the feather with that kind of shorts.

  Time to keep looking. Maybe she’d find more than the feather as a clue.

  She found a trash can under the sink and dumped it out. As much as she loathed rifling through other people’s garbage, the refuse often held valuable information. Empty food wrappers. No bandages.

  A long blonde strand of hair lay coiled on the smooth linoleum floor. Raven reached over the garbage and plucked the strand from the surface to examine it closer. White. Not gray or blonde. Interesting. Was this transfer evidence? Hitching a ride on Bear’s clothes from a recent date or did the white hair provide a clue to a guest or assailant?

  The shadows in the room pooled around her. A silent slow-turning tornado of shadow formed a column of dark promises in front of her. When the shadows cleared, they revealed Cole. Even in ordinary “human” clothes—jeans, T-shirt and runners, he looked extraordinary, and not of this world. The jeans hugged all the right places and though she stood in her brother’s blood spattered safe house, she still had to make a concerted effort not to admire how the denim bunched at his groin.

  Sorry, Grandma Lu.

  “I thought you were going to wait?” Cole folded his arms across his chest. The fabric stretched against his thick arm muscles. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. How’s my sister?”

  “A little shaken.”

  Raven snorted. A little shaken. No doubt her teenaged sister hoped for some strong, comforting arms to wrap around her.

  “Other than her damsel in distress act, did she say anything about the scene?”

  Cole glanced away and clenched his jaw. “She picked up something unexpected.”

  “Let me guess. Two different blood signatures?”

  Cole’s head whipped back to her. His muscles tensed.

  “How did you know?” he asked.

  She held up the long white hair. “This.”

  Cole narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “That could’ve been left by an attacker.” He glanced around the room again. “From the damage, there was probably more than one.”

  “Agreed. And the second blood signature could’ve been left by one of Bear’s attackers as well, but he also had a guest.”

  “You sound sure.”

  “Two toothbrushes.”

  Cole rocked back on his heels. “I see. Anything else?”

  The feather burned against the smooth skin of her abdomen where the waistband of her pants pinned it in place. “Not really. I don’t think they were here for long.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The toothbrush bristles are barely worn—they’re stiff with a full strip of colour in the middle, indicating minimal use. Bear has a heavy hand. He always applies too much pressure and the dentist has warned him repeatedly of the risk of receding gum lines.”

  “Receding gum lines?”

  “You have your Underworld probs, we have mortal ones.”

  Cole shook his head and waved his hand in the air for her to continue.

  “Also, there’s a full pack of toilet paper, and the first roll is hardly used.”

  Cole laughed. “You used toilet paper usage to gauge their length of stay?”

  “I have two brothers.”

  Cole’s expression turned thoughtful. “Good point.”

  She nodded. Toilet paper and bathroom time was a serious matter when you lived with boys and men. “I don’t think the attack happened too long ago, either. There’s no crime scene tape, and the blood is dry, but not flaky. Let’s do a final sweep and get out of here. With my luck, the neighbours will pick this moment to become good Samaritans and call this in. I don’t want to be here when the cops arrive.”

  “Eager to return me to your frazzled sister to offer support?”

  Raven groaned. She hoped Juni was coping and her reaction was simply an act. Despite her posturing and on-point attitude, Juni was only fifteen and she just tracked their brother to his bloody safe house.

  Raven sighed. Maybe the emotional display wasn’t theatrics to gain Cole’s attention. Maybe Juni tried to buy Raven more time to investigate without Cole looming over her shoulder. Maybe Juni really was upset. Maybe Raven was an asshole. Her mouth grew dry and fuzzy. Stale. She needed a coffee or a strong drink.

  The Lord of Shadows walked ahead of her, taking in the overturned and displaced furniture as he moved. He walked with deadly purpose—well-balanced, focused and fluid—each motion controlled, yet, smooth. When he twisted to move around objects, the corded muscles in his back popped out, nicely accentuated by the clingy cotton.

  Raven pursed her lips. Yeah, her sister might be upset, but Raven would bet her last pair of intact heels, Juni had an act prepared for Cole. And she couldn’t blame her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “The customer is always right.”

  ~No waitress, anywhere, ever. At least not seriously

  Turned out, Raven’s sister was perfectly fine when she realized Cole didn’t return with Raven. Juni greeted her sister with a scowl, spun on her heel and left Raven on the stoop. With no need to console, Raven left to get ready for her next night shift.

  When the heavy, non-conditioned air of the diner hit her face upon arrival at Dan’s Diner, she once again questioned her life choices. The shift so far was slow, but steadily staggered with enough losers to ensure Raven never got a break.

  She eyed her brother’s cast, already tinged brown from the diner’s greasy atmosphere. Her black pants stuck to her sweaty legs, and her ugly, white blouse offered no cooling reprieve with its 100% polyester material. The heat from the kitchen hit her face with the smell of cooked meat and that slightly off smell she associated with Dan’s Diner. “Should you be working?”

  “I only need one good arm to flip burgers.” He shrugged and to emphasize his point, flipped the burger patties sizzling on the grill. “Find anything at Bear’s?”

  “You first. What did you find with your research?” An advantage of having a tech-savvy brother included in-depth research with a side of hacking.

  “The Claíomh Solais is often referred to as the Sword of Light, or the Shining Sword. In Irish mythology, it’s depicted as a god-slaying weapon.”

  “A sword?”

  He pointed his spatula at her. “A god-slaying sword.”

  Made sense why the dark fae wanted it.

  “Well, maybe, a sword.” Mike continued as he prepped more burger buns. “In other translations, it’s a ‘white glaive of light’ and when going through some of the older references, the Claíomh Solais is merely described as a weapon, no mention of swords at all.”

  “Isn’t a glaive the same thing as a sword?”

  Mike grunted and used his spatula to transfer the hamburger patties to their waiting buns. After adding fries and a scoop of questionable pre-made coleslaw from a bucket, he slid the plates under the heat lamps. “Run this out to table ten and then we’ll discuss the nuances of the English language.”

  “Brat.” She pulled the plates from the pass-through service window and delivered them to the couple in the corner. The heat from the white plates burned the scratches on her hands from her “Rave
n versus the forest floor” kerfuffle and her leg muscles still ached from all the running.

  Thankfully, the couple had stopped arguing about whatever they’d been fighting over, and now sat in tense, bitter silence.

  A group of women entered the diner, their high pitched, excited voices mingled with the annoying bell on the door. They took one of the booths without a break in conversation. Their coiffed hair shone luxuriously under the artificial light. Raven changed course to deliver menus at the table. A ping of jealousy for their friendship and carefree outing stabbed at Raven’s heart.

  A blonde woman with bright blue eyes and perfectly shaped eyebrows looked up at her. “I’m vegan.”

  Raven’s head jerked back and the specials she’d prepared to tell them about tumbled off her tongue. “Oh, okay.”

  “What do you recommend?”

  Not eating here?

  Raven didn’t have a problem with vegans on a personal level and respected their choice, but as a waitress, vegans generally provided an additional pain in the ass she didn’t need or want. She empathized with the difficulties they faced trying to eat out, but even if they weren’t making off-menu orders, or extensively modifying existing dishes, a number of vegans insisted on sitting away from customers who consumed “animal carcasses.” They also made sure their company, the server, and anyone else within a three-foot radius knew of their superior life choices.

  The vegan continued to bat her long eye lashes at Raven.

  “Um…we have some lettuce? I mean, salad.” Raven clutched the pen in her hand. She groaned on the inside. She sucked at this. She’d long ago reached the apex of her serving career where caring and her need to earn money far exceeded her pride and contempt for the general public. Since then, she’d plunged downhill, having less and less fucks to give.

  The vegan rolled her eyes. “Do you have separate deep fryers?”

  “Our vat fat is contaminated with animal products.”

  She recoiled. Her friends flinched. “You know it’s possible to designate one of your deep fryers for plant-based foods only, right?”