Blood Games

Chapter Eleven AIN’T NO PARTY LIKE A NYMPH PARTY

Because they were nymphs—giggly and busty and short-skirted women—I’d assumed a dinner party would be pretty much the same.

I was wrong. Truly and utterly—and pretty judgmentally—wrong.

They’d turned Catcher’s River North gym into a Moroccan festival. The equipment and mats had been removed, and the entire space had been draped in colorful printed fabrics gathered together in the middle of the ceiling like a tent. Metal lanterns with intricate shades hung from the ceiling, and a dozen low, round tables were placed at intervals around the outside of the room, with low cushions for seating. The floor was covered in threadbare rugs in glorious colors and patterns, and an enormous buffet was stocked with tagines of meat and rice. Music played softly in the background.

“I have seriously not been giving the nymphs enough credit.”

When three of them emerged from a back room with petite bodies, braided hair, and flowing jewel-toned gowns dotted with silver coins—the fabric nearly transparent—Jonah’s smile turned dreamy. “Neither have I.”

I elbowed him, caught his following “Urck,” and walked forward.

Each nymph had control of a segment of the river and a signature color. I recognized two of the three who approached us. Cassie was raven haired and controlled the river’s North Branch. Melaina was platinum blond and controlled the West Fork. Cassie had also recently been the victim of a magical attack by a woman intent on creating a menagerie of supernaturals.

The nymphs were notoriously temperamental—going from giggles to tears to catfights in seconds flat—so I stayed perfectly still, kept my eyes on them as they moved forward, ready to dart if they arched their wolverine nails.

But Cassie, apparently realizing who I was, bobbed toward me, hands clasped together. “You saved me!” she said delightedly. “You should feast with us.”

“Oh, that’s okay. We don’t need anything. We actually just came to talk to Catcher and Mallory.”

Her lower lip quivered as the other nymphs joined her. “You won’t feast with us?”

Crap, I thought. I didn’t have time to babysit nymphs tonight. I needed to get this job done and get back to the House for the supernatural delights that undoubtedly awaited me there.

Jonah took a step forward. “We would be delighted to feast with you, but we don’t want to interrupt your party or take the attention away from you and your invited guests. Maybe we could enjoy just a small taste of what you have to offer if Mallory and Catcher also could join us? It would help them have energy for the rest of their work this evening.”

The nymphs, who hadn’t so much as glanced at Jonah, now regarded him with interest. They’d made a deal with my grandfather and Catcher to hold this event. Maybe that was the secret to their affection: much like vampires, they liked to negotiate.

Melaina stepped forward, playing teasingly with the bottom of her braid. “You are tall,” she said to the auburn-haired guard captain. He blushed to the roots, grinned like an idiot.

“I have many outstanding qualities.”

Melaina giggled, wrapped herself around one of Jonah’s arms. “I think we should invite them!”

“You aren’t in charge,” Cassie said, her pout still in place, and a storm of magic and trouble brewing.

“You are clearly a thoughtful and dedicated leader of women,” I said. “And your hair looks awesome.”

Her eyes widened with delight. “I applied a very thorough mask last night. The trolls recommended it.”

Of course they had. “If it would be okay with you, could we talk to Mallory and Catcher? Or maybe Jeff?”

“I suppose,” she said. “But you can’t sit by Jeff.”

A woman had to have her boundaries.

Jonah and I had already sat on the low pillows when the Ombuddies emerged from the back room, arms laden with décor: flowers, hanging lamps, extra pillows. They placed them as directed by the nymphs—who promptly adjusted them because two sorcerers and a shifter apparently were unable to arrange throw pillows according to the nymphs’ exacting specifications.

“Save me,” Mallory murmured, as she placed an orchid on the table the nymphs had designated for us. She wore an orange tunic over jeans tonight, her blue hair divided into two braids that had been twisted into knots on the back of her head.

Catcher joined us, and I was shocked to see that he’d traded his usual sarcastic T-shirt for a button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled nearly to his elbows.

“You look very handsome,” I said, as he arranged his long legs with obvious discomfort.

“I look like a banker.”

I wasn’t sure a banker would combine a button-down, jeans, and angry-looking black boots, but I thought it wise not to mention that.

“For all your faults, I’m glad to see you up and about. Heard you took a good fall.”

“It wasn’t my best night, but I’m okay now.”

When she’d finished with the flowers, Mallory put her hands on my arms. “You sure?”

I nodded. “Concussion, bullet through the shoulder. A little dizzy and headachy earlier, but I’m fine other than that.”

“And to think you were once a total English lit dork. Ethan must have had a fit.”

“He was worried,” I agreed. “Bad part about dating the vampire you trained to be a warrior? You worry every time you send her into battle.”

“It’s a job hazard,” Catcher acknowledged.

“Well,” Mallory said, sitting down beside us, “she did single-handedly rescue Darius West from the clutches of an evildoer.”

“It wasn’t exactly like that, but close enough.”

“What happens next with Darius?” Catcher asked.

“We’re still waiting for that part.”

Jeff came out bearing a glazed terra-cotta tagine that smelled absolutely heavenly. He normally paired a button-down with khakis, and he’d kept the same look today.

“That smells amazing,” I told Cassie, whose eyes had gone large and glassy at the sight of Jeff. Nymphs absolutely adored the lanky shifter. I liked Jeff, but their interest in him went far beyond “like” and was somewhere closer to “bewitched.”

Cassie pointed Jeff to a chevron cushion across the table, and he smiled at me and shrugged.

“I think they’re afraid I’ll hit on you,” I whispered to Jeff when Cassie had moved away. “Do they know about Fallon?”

“They haven’t asked, and I haven’t told. Besides, they all have boyfriends.” That had actually been the topic of discussion the first time I’d met the nymphs. Cassie and Melaina had been fighting over a boy who, based on the argument, hadn’t seemed worthy of either of them.

“Wise man,” Catcher said.

Melaina moved back to the table, the fabric shushing around her as she moved. “Please enjoy your meal,” she said, placing a giant ceramic platter in the middle of the table. It held mounds of dark meat—lamb, I guessed—inside a halo of couscous. “But eat quickly. The rest of the party will be here soon.”

She walked away again.

“I guess this is the staff table?” I asked.

“They like to feed people,” Catcher said. “That doesn’t mean they don’t divide them into castes.”

With the mound of food in the middle of the table, all eyes turned to me.

“Oh, come on,” I said.

“We’ve all eaten with you before,” Catcher said. “And we prefer to keep our fingers.”

“How do I begin?” I asked, sheepish at the question, but there was no silverware to be found, and I’d never eaten Moroccan food before, more’s the pity.

“Use the khobz,” Catcher said, pointing to round loaves of flatbread that looked something like Indian naan. “It’s Moroccan bread. Pull off a small piece, use it to pick up the meat and couscous. And try to keep your fingers out of our food.”

I did as directed, tore off a piece of bread, picked up meat and couscous, and tasted.

It was absolutely delicious. Spicy and savory chunks of lamb, with hints of clove and cinnamon and the sweetness of raisins and dates.

“I assume you came by for a reason,” Catcher said, scooping up his dinner.

“A couple, actually.” I wiped my hands on my napkin, picked up the box I’d tucked beside me, and smiled at Jeff. “We were at SpringCon, and I saw this and thought you had to have it.”

I passed it over, watched the smile blossom and brighten on his face. “Dude,” he said, grinning over at me with such puppy adoration I thought my heart would melt right onto the floor. “You got me a Roland.”

“Yeah, I saw it and I just thought—”

Before I could finish the sentence he leaped to his feet and had rounded the table and wrapped his arms around my shoulders from behind.

“That is so freaking thoughtful!”

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks and must have been blushing furiously. “You’re very welcome,” I said, patting his arms. “Don’t do anything Fallon would kill me for.”

“And sit your ass down before Melaina comes back over here and gives you the stink eye,” Catcher barked. “I’m not doing this again if she cancels it in tears.”

“I’m sitting, I’m sitting,” Jeff said, tucking back onto his pillow with the box in his lap. He looked up at me, beamed. “Seriously, awesome.”

“I think you made the right choice,” Jonah quietly whispered.

“Yeah,” I said, tearing off a bit of khobz. “I feel pretty good about my choice.”

Catcher’s phone beeped and he pulled it out, checked it, smiled. “Your grandfather,” he said with a smile, putting it away again. “He wanted to make sure you got here all right.”

I pointed to my stuffed mouth.

“Yeah, I told him you were fine. He said you went by the scene.”

I nodded, chewed, swallowed. “We did. He said you didn’t think the pentagrams pointed to a ‘legitimate’ sorcerer? His words, not mine,” I added at Mallory’s lifted brows.

“A pentagram isn’t a magical object per se,” Catcher said, stirring a hunk of bread in sauce. “It’s a symbol, typically used for a minor charm or incantation.

“So legitimate sorcerers could use them?” Jonah asked with a smile.

“They could. But they typically don’t. They’re useful as, let’s say, training wheels. Magical shorthand. A spell crib sheet—”

“I think they get the idea, hon,” Mallory gently prompted.

“It’s like the swords,” Catcher said. “They’re vampirish, but not vampirish enough. These are magical, but not quite magical enough.”

“So the killer understands the broad strokes,” Jonah said, “but not the nuance.”

“I’d agree with that,” Catcher said.

“What about vampires?” Jonah asked. “I told them I didn’t know of any historic use by vampires.”

Catcher shook his head. “Me, either.”

“What about the three pentagrams together?” I asked, trying unsuccessfully to pick up more food. After years of using a fork, eating with fingers was a weirdly difficult process. “Does that maybe reference any particular charm or spell?”

Mallory held up a hand. “Wait. The first murder involved swords, and the second involved pentagrams?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Why?”

Malloy looked at Catcher. “And you seriously don’t know what’s going on here?”

Catcher and I looked at each other, then Mallory. “No?” he said.

Her eyes went absolutely flat, and very unimpressed with us. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

“Maybe?” I asked, glancing around for help, but Jonah and Jeff just shrugged.

She made a dramatic sound of frustration, wiped her hands, and maneuvered her way to her feet again. Then she scurried off, leaving all of us peeking around the walls of the tent, trying to find our sorceress.

She dug through a purple leather tote spread open on the floor, then pulled out a smaller, dark blue bag. She practically skipped back to the table.

“Give me some room,” she said, settling herself on her pillow as we moved plates out of the way, clearing a spot on the red, purple, and gold scarves that colored the tabletop.

“This isn’t random,” she said. “And it’s not about vampires. It’s probably not even about sorcerers.”

She opened the bag and pulled out a large stack of rectangular cards with die-cut notches on the corners.

“The first murder didn’t involve two swords,” she said. “It involved the Two of Swords.” She flipped through the deck, pulled out a card, and placed it on the table with a snap.

A dark-haired man in a blue tunic and pants stood in a grassy field, seven bloodred poppies punctuating the grass. His arms were outstretched, just like Brett Jacobs’s in the church courtyard. Two broadswords floated in front of him, crossing just above his abdomen.

“The Two of Swords,” she said, then pulled out and flipped over another card. This one showed a woman in a burgundy off-the-shoulder dress with trumpet sleeves standing in the middle of a brilliantly white and snowy tundra. Three golden pentagrams floated in the air above her. The only green in the image was from the flowering vine that wound through her hair and across her shoulders.

“And the Three of Pentacles,” Mallory said.

“Holy shit,” Catcher said. “The killer’s using the suits of the tarot.”

“Not just the suits,” I said, putting the cards beside each other. “The cards.” I pointed to the Two of Swords. “The Jacobs murder—his body was in the same position, on the grass in the courtyard, and the swords were basically in the same position, at least two-dimensionally.” Three-dimensionally, they’d skewered him.

“And the Three of Pentacles?” Mallory asked.

I had to think back, focus shifting between the card and my mental image of Ingram’s murder scene.

“Samantha Ingram wore a red dress,” I said, then pointed to the flowering vine. “She was strangled, and the pentagrams are obvious.”

“There was no snow,” Catcher pointed out, and I nodded.

“True. But there was sand. It’s spring; maybe that’s the best he could do. The semblance isn’t perfect—chalk it up to artistic license—but the major elements are the same.”

“Jesus,” Catcher muttered. “How did I not see that?”

“Because you’re not me,” Mallory jauntily said, and proceeded to place the cards in a vertical line of four. “Let’s correct the terminology—pentacles, not pentagrams. Also called coins. And they aren’t suits. They’re the major arcana, minor arcana. The numbered cards are the latter. Swords. Pentacles. Cups. Wands.”

“We aren’t looking for someone obsessed with vampires,” Catcher said. “We’re looking for someone obsessed with tarot. Or at least someone who’s interested enough to choose them as his particular vehicle of death.” He looked at Mallory. “That’s damned impressive.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Mitzy Burrows is the CPD’s current suspect,” I said. “Does this fit with her background?”

“I don’t know that much about her,” Catcher admitted. “She’s human, so the CPD’s handling that part of the investigation. She worked at the Magic Shoppe, so she’d obviously be familiar with tarot cards. Right?” he asked Mallory.

“MS has the best selection of tarot cards in the metro area, at least until you get to Racine. There’s a little store near one of the kringle shops. Really nice cards, including replicas of some of the old French and Italian sets—”

“So the Magic Shoppe?” Catcher prompted, heading off a derailment.

“Yeah. They have them—I’ve seen a set there before. But these aren’t run-of-the-mill cards.” She held one out to me. “Touch.”

I did, felt the nubbiness of the paper. “It’s got texture.”

“It’s die-cut watercolor paper,” she said. “The Fletcher deck is hand-watercolored. There are hundreds of different kinds of tarot decks. Each one has its own symbolism. The suits, the numbers—they’re all the same. So Two of Swords could be from any deck, Three of Pentacles from any deck. But these particular images are specific to the Fletcher deck. The artist is from Chicago, actually.”

I looked at Catcher, who nodded, noting the coincidence. The artist who created the deck—the deck being used as a model for human murder scenes—lived in the city.

“And who is Fletcher?” he asked.

“June Fletcher, I think,” Mallory said. “Or maybe Jane. But she’s gone—she died five or six years ago.”

I actually felt myself deflate. “So she’s not our suspect.”

“Maybe not,” Catcher said, “but she’s another lead. Chuck will be very happy about that.” He looked at Mallory. “What’s the connection to the Magic Shoppe?”

“Her husband was also getting on in years, didn’t want the cards stuck in some box in the house, so he took them to the store. They bought the remaining sets.”

“That’s a nice link,” Catcher said.

“Will I get in trouble for noticing that of all the kinds of tarot cards out there, you just happen to have the same deck the killer’s using?” Jonah asked, his gaze flipping from the cards to her face.

She looked down at them. “I’ve had these for years, actually. The Magic Shoppe is in Wicker Park. It’s my hometown store, so to speak.”

“Wait,” I said, memories trickling in. “Is that the place where Venom worked?”

“Venom?” Catcher asked, sarcasm dripping.

“Former beau,” she said. “During one of my Goth phases.”

“The second one, I think. You were Rayven.”

“Oh, I was.” She clapped her hands together delightedly. With the classically pretty features, blue eyes, and sparking blue hair, it was hard to imagine Mallory in kohl and black lace.

“Those were good times.”

I looked at Catcher. “So the cards were likely purchased at the same place where the swords were purchased, and where Mitzy Burrows was employed. I doubt that’s a coincidence.”

“It seems unlikely,” he agreed. “But the CPD ran the store and other employees. They were clean, at least on the surface.”

“So why tarot cards?” Jonah asked.

“Maybe it’s just a game to her,” Jeff said. “Tarot cards have number cards, suits, just like a regular deck of playing cards.”

“If it’s a game,” I said, “it’s a bloody one. Whoever’s doing this doesn’t care who he or she hurts, or how, or when.”

“Or maybe the killer cares too much,” Jeff said. “You don’t have to be coldhearted to kill. You can be as passionate as anyone else—more passionate. We just have to figure out what he or she was passionate about.”

Catcher pulled out his phone, rose, and walked away from the table to make the call. “I’m going to advise Chuck of our little breakthrough. Good job, Mallocake.”

We all looked at Mallory. “Did he just call you Mallocake?”

She blushed to the roots of her blue hair, shrugged one shoulder. “It’s a nickname.”

It was also my all-time favorite snack food—a log-shaped chocolate cake with a marshmallow cream center. They were absolutely delectable. And that was kind of adorable, especially for someone like Catcher, who made Eeyore seem like an optimist.

“Young love,” Jeff sang, pouring water into a ruby-colored glass. “So adorable.”

I looked at him. “Haven’t you and Fallon only been an official item for a few weeks?”

“We’re old souls,” he said matter-of-factly, as if the issue had already been decided.

“And there is an advantage to being single,” Jonah said, giving me a wink as he took another bite of food.

Mallory, not yet done with her tarot reading, flipped out more cards to create a symmetrical cross.

That rang another bell. “This—the cross. Why did you put them that way?”

She looked at me, then back down at the cards. “Because that’s how you do it. It’s the cross form. Pretty common.”

And it was another connection between the murders. “Both victims had small crosses painted on their hands.”

“So the killer doesn’t just know the cards,” Jonah said. “She knows how to use them.”

Mallory placed a final card above the cross—the Priestess, a womanly figure covered by a black hooded cape. Her outstretched hands, palms up, were the only visible portions of her body.

“Interesting,” Mallory said.

“That I’m going to be made a priestess?”

“That there’s conflict in your future.”

Catcher came back to the table, tucking his phone away. “Chuck’s going to tell Jacobs. They’ll do another run on Mitzy, see what they can find.”

But Mallory shook her head. “That’s the wrong approach.” She leaned forward, pointed at the cards. “Someone is working their way through the tarot. You don’t check files or databases for this. You go to the source.”

“Which is?” Catcher asked.

She rolled her eyes. “All four of you are basically paid investigators.”

“But you’re the occult expert,” I said, remembering the old days, when we hunkered in the town house on a Friday night, Mallory with episodes of Buffy and me with my favorite book of fairy tales. And look where we ended up. At a Moroccan feast organized by River nymphs in a gym owned by a sorcerer. Life was crazy that way.

“I usually work for free,” she said. “I mean, I’m an honorary Ombuddy, and I’ve got the SWOB deal going on, but I wouldn’t mind taking home a paycheck.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, holding up a hand. “SWOB?”

“Sorcerers Without Borders,” she said. “Remember I talked about doing some community service? It’s my initiative, I guess. We help folks newly identified with magic in states where the Order doesn’t have an official presence.”

“Like Illinois,” I said, and she nodded.

“We explain the whole deal, get them mentors and training, make sure someone watches over them.” She blushed a little. “You know, so as not to repeat the whole Army of Darkness in Chicago scenario.”

“That’s awesome,” I said. “Really, really awesome.”

She shrugged. “Anywho, I’d just like to bring some money into the household, you know? Make my contribution. Other than with my sweet, sweet sexual prowess.”

I winced. Like most people at the table, I presumed, I neither needed nor wanted a play-by-play of Mallory and Catcher’s romantic life.

“Back to the work you don’t get paid for,” Catcher prompted. Mallory nodded, and I tried not to think of how he’d issued “payment” for the work she did get paid for.

“You mentioned something about going to a source?” Jonah said.

“The Magic Shoppe,” she said, tapping the cards.

Catcher rolled his eyes. “We took a damn long trip to get back to the Magic Shoppe.”

I held in a snicker, glanced at Jonah. “Did you already go by the store?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t, actually. The CPD settled on Mitzy Burrows before I could get over there. Looked like a cool place online, though. It used to be a very old-school pharmacy back in the day. Wooden floors, old-fashioned soda counter, big wall of herbal ingredients.”

“We’ll go tomorrow,” Mallory said with a nod, the issue decided. “When the sun goes down again and there’s no risk of you turning into vampire jerky on the sidewalk. Verky?” she absently considered, but rejected the word with a toss of her head. “Not the point. The point is, tomorrow.”

I nodded. “Give me a call. I’ll see what I can do.” Seeing as how my boyfriend and I were fighting and he’d still challenged the king of vampires, my schedule could get tight.

Catcher looked at Mallory. “Don’t get squirrelly and go without one of us—wait until I can go with you, or Merit can get away. Until we’re sure the store’s not directly connected, I want you to be careful.”

“I will be,” she said, and I wondered whether my voice had had the same petulant tone when I told Ethan I’d be careful. “Especially since this probably isn’t over.”

Catcher turned to her sharply. “What do you mean?”

Mallory put the cards she’d pulled out in numerical order again. “The killer’s modeled murders on the Two of Swords and the Three of Pentacles.” She pulled out the Four of Cups and Four of Wands, placed the cards on the table.

On the Four of Wands, a naked woman with a blond braid that fell strategically across her breasts rode sidesaddle on a black destrier. She carried two long wands in each hand, and she and the horse were headed toward a castle festooned with pennants.

On the Four of Cups, a generously breasted woman in a white robe sat on the edge of a fountain and dipped her hand into the water. Four golden chalices sat on the fountain’s edge around her, and a crescent moon dotted the blue sky.

“The question is—who’s going to be number four?”

Cassie came back and tapped a delicate gold watch. “Time’s up. Back to work.”

“Easy on the eyes,” Jonah said as she walked away again, “but hard on the heart.”

“Trust me,” Jeff said, standing and lifting the ceramic platter, which had been stripped bare of food by supernaturals. “You have no idea.”

Once again, he left us speechless.