Grave Visions (Alex Craft, #4)(61)

And nothing but glamour.

In the past I had seen constructs made from a mix of magic and glamour. And, of course, I’d seen fae disguising themselves with glamour. The unicorn hadn’t been either of those. If it had been something else, something with a soul or even something nonliving but with real components, I would have seen that when I opened my shields. But it hadn’t been. It had just been glamour. No more alive than a glamour-conjured chair and even less real than the cars my father transformed with his glamour.

I had been making assumptions about the hallucinations that had killed the victims. I’d assumed something that chased down and killed had to be sentient, cognizant. But if all of the nightmare-like images—and their actions—had come straight from the victim’s own minds? Maybe I wasn’t looking for any fae creatures, light or dark, that were possessing the glamours. Maybe it was all from the victim’s drug-addled mind. And of course, the dose of glamour in the drug itself.

Jeremy and the two high schoolers had had a bad drug trip. Their hallucinations had been frightening, deadly. How many users had partaken of Glitter and had a “good” trip? How many had gotten sucked into a fantasy until the glamour burned out their life force?

I repeated the question to Death, but I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer. He’d already given away more than he should have. Of course, technically he shouldn’t have been here at all.

I glanced at the window. I needed to go to the morgue, confirm my theory that our unicorn rider had died from burnout, and if I could, see if there were any other bodies with the same COD. Had the police found a way to test for Glitter use yet? I’d know just by feeling the shades, but the ones I’d raised already had been so drained I’d barely managed it. Would I even be able to raise a victim who’d died of magical burnout? It was worth a shot. I knew the probable identities of our bogeymen, but I had no idea how to track them down. Not yet at least. I didn’t have any proof that they were involved with Glitter, but it would be pretty damn coincidental that they’d attacked me in the middle of the investigation. Usually when bad guys started wanting me dead or captured, it was because I was getting close. If I could question the victims, maybe find a common link to how or where they acquired the Glitter . . .

The dull gray light of predawn still claimed the world. I couldn’t safely drive in the dimness, and the buses this far into the Glen wouldn’t be running yet. Unless I was going to wake someone for a ride, or call a cab, I’d have to wait a while. The graveyard shift at the morgue was also likely not the best time to show up.

A yawn caught me off guard, feeling like it all but cracked my face as I sucked down a huge lungful of air.

“Let me hold you, before I’m called away,” Death said, reaching out to tuck a curl behind my ear.

I couldn’t go anywhere for a while anyway, so in answer, I pulled the cover back and scooted over on the bed. He crawled in beside me, tucking us both in. And it did start with him holding me. But his warm hands on my waist, the familiar dew-like smell of him in my bed, the hard planes of his chest under my fingers—it didn’t stay just holding very long.

Much later, when the morning light streamed into my windows and we were both exhausted, but exhilarated, I fell asleep in his strong arms.

By the time I woke again. He was gone.





Chapter 19





For the second start of my day, I showered, dressed, and walked PC. Caleb was on the back porch, and I stopped long enough to ask him about the two bogeymen. He had a few vague recollections of old folklore about both Tommy Rawhead and Jenny Greenteeth, which amounted to about the same information as Dugan had given me—basically, both bogeymen had a predilection for eating children who disobeyed their parents—but he hadn’t heard anything about either bogeyman taking up residence in Nekros. Caleb was fairly well connected to the independents’ society so if they were here, they were new additions.

“I can ask around,” he said after taking a sip of coffee far too diluted with cream to look tempting. “But I can’t say anyone will pass on the information. Independents are just that because they prefer to avoid getting tied up with the affairs that concern Faerie, so most keep to themselves and expect others to do the same. You’ve helped the local independents before, but not all of them see it that way, and the courts are a little too interested in you for most of the more solitary faes’ tastes.”

“But you will ask?”

He nodded, and as I couldn’t thank him, PC and I headed back upstairs.

I poured myself a bowl of cereal as I made some phone calls. My first call was to John, but he wasn’t in. My next was to the morgue. I didn’t know the tech who answered, and unfortunately, I didn’t have anyone to ask for. Tamara was on her honeymoon by now and she was my only real contact in the morgue. Typically the head ME is enough. But without anyone who might help me out just because they knew me, the only thing I could do without an official job from the police or a release from the family was inquire about the body.

I should have done some research before I made the call. I’d seen news clips on the homeless man, but I couldn’t remember his name and the tech wasn’t very impressed with my description of “homeless man who rode the unicorn.” Go figure. Thankfully my laptop was close at hand. I set down my spoon, pulled up a search, and scanned the plethora of hits that popped up on my screen.