Blood (The Grimm Cases Book 3) Page 6

  How awful.

  Besides that, wasn’t he also a forensic psychologist? There were larger moral laws being broken. “Isn’t it cheating to see ghosts and work with the police?”

  Dr. Stephens actually looked offended, but before he responded, Damen cut in. “Gregory is Bryce and Brayden’s great-uncle. Varying degrees of mediumship run in their lines. Caleb Weaver was an empath.” Damen ignored Dr. Stephens’s surprised glanced. Instead, he rested his weight on his forearms and studied me. “Gregory also used to be an elder within the council. However, after Bailey died, he retired. Now he works with the four of us.”

  Dr. Stephens’s eyes narrowed on Damen, disapproving. “You’ve just let it all out, haven’t you? The reason I sent her to you was because she needed guidance. And to get away from your brother. Not for you to initiate her into your inner circle.”

  Damen chuckled, his focus still locked onto me. “You have no idea.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Dr. Stephens glanced between the two of us, his tone sharp. And Damen turned his attention from me.

  Which was for the best, because now I felt out of place. What if Dr. Stephens was angry?

  I needed a distraction. Damen had brought me to the food, and I was planning on taking advantage of every moment.

  Menus lay, untouched, in the space between Dr. Stephens and Damen. I tentatively pulled one toward me. Neither man noticed. So, while they spoke of boring business, I proceeded to peruse the selections.

  “Even more than that,” Damen was saying, “we have two cases that require our attention. Bianca’s brought our awareness to the spirit at Aine’s home. And then there’s Caleb’s murder. They are obviously connected in some way.” He leaned back, crossing his legs. At the same moment, he swung his arm over the back of my seat.

  I could feel the weight pressing against my shoulders. But I was too focused on reading to be embarrassed much. Besides that, it was chilly in here. Damen was a rather nice human furnace. Which made sense, considering.

  “Yes, I know,” Dr. Stephens said pensively. “It’s certain that Michelle Nolan was involved, but she doesn’t appear to have any connections.”

  Dr. Stephens was stroking his chin, and at his words, I began to pay attention.

  Michelle. That was the woman who found Mr. Weaver’s body. Norman had gone to interview her. What made Dr. Stephens think she was involved?

  “Michelle is a sweetheart,” Mr. Weaver interjected, looking affronted. “You don’t know her. She wouldn’t harm a fly.”

  “Where did you meet her?” I glanced at Mr. Weaver. “What makes you so sure she’s a good person?”

  “Don’t be jealous that she has control over her abilities,” Mr. Weaver retorted.

  My face flushed, and I hid behind the menu again. It was one thing to argue with Mr. Weaver when we were alone. But now Damen and Dr. Stephens were witnessing it. The fact that Damen was unaware, sipping his coffee, didn’t matter.

  It was still embarrassing. “I…”

  “Caleb…” Dr. Stephens interrupted cautiously. “I wouldn’t go there.”

  “Besides, that wildness which resides within you has gotten even more out of control.” Mr. Weaver didn’t miss a beat. “There’s darkness and secrets in your soul that need contained. Combined with your inexperience, it makes you dangerous. Now that Gregory is here, perhaps he’ll do something about it.”

  I bit my lip, glancing away. I knew next to nothing about this world, but the others did. He must be telling the truth. And his words poked at an old wound.

  But Mr. Weaver wasn’t finished. “That demonstration the other night is proof. You need to be—”

  Mr. Weaver’s rant was cut off by a scream—his own. And I looked up to witness Kasai biting the spirit’s arm.

  A half-second later, Damen put down his mug and braced his forearms on the table. He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at Mr. Weaver. On the outside, he appeared calm. But there was an underlying threat to his voice that made the hair on my arms stand up. “I warned you, Caleb. I’ve told you to be nice.”

  Kasai released Mr. Weaver’s arm and cocked his head at Damen. His blank, beady eyes blinked eerily. “Can I eat him now?”

  Damen’s mouth thinned, and the calm faded as a menacing look took over his expression. But his focus was on Mr. Weaver, who’d suddenly began to shift uncomfortably. “I think,” Damen said, “if Gregory is finished with you, it’s time to say goodbye. Forever.”

  My heart pounded and I dropped the menu. My hands clenched against my chest. This confrontation was exactly what I’d been hoping to avoid.

  “Now, Mr. Damen.” Dr. Stephens calmly stirred his tea, not even glancing up. “You know that his mother would haunt me if I allowed such a thing. It would cause chaos within the family. Their nagging is worse than Caleb’s mouth. Just ignore him. Besides, I’m not finished with him, and he’ll probably leave on his own eventually.”

  Mr. Weaver gained confidence at Dr. Stephens’s intervention. “Actually, I rather enjoy this. We’ll see what the future holds.”

  Damen still looked unhappy. My mind was racing, trying to think of a way to appease everyone, when another thing about this conversation occurred to me.

  “You’ve been calling Dr. Stephens by his first name!” I accused, pointing at Damen. “That’s not polite. You’re his student!”

  Damen snatched my finger, which had been inches from his face, and the storm in his expression broke into a grin. “It’s also not polite to point fingers.” His sudden mood change gave me whiplash, but at least his attention was on me now. “You could poke out someone’s eye.”

  “That’s not why you shouldn’t point fingers,” Dr. Stephens said calmly. “But I suppose the reasoning works.”

  “Will you call this bloody chicken away from me?” Mr. Weaver was pressing back from Kasai, who sat perched near him. While Damen had been distracted, the shikigami had begun to inch toward the other man.

  Kasai snapped his beak threateningly and lowered his head. “Call me a chicken again, and I’ll deliver your soul to the Lord of Hell himself.”

  “Kasai.” Damen rolled his eyes. “If you want to do such a thing, you need to do it properly.”

  Properly?

  I watched the four of them, my eyes wide. I had no idea what ‘properly’ even meant in this situation. Maybe it meant that Mr. Weaver would be sucked up like Mr. Williams had been. I still wasn’t sure what had happened between the pervert ghost and the tiger…

  But Damen continued speaking to me, basically ignoring Mr. Weaver now.

  “We don’t call Gregory by a title because things aren’t like that between us,” he explained, tugging my finger closer to his mouth.

  The action was almost as distracting as his next words.

  “Gregory does hold a doctorate in psychology, and is my mentor. However, after he retired from his role as advisor, he remained with us since we were small. He guides us. He also enjoys cooking. Usually, he and Miles can be found in the kitchen. He’s almost like a motherly—”

  “You turned him into your butler!” I was appalled. It was almost expected that Damen might have a hero complex, he seemed the type. But this was going too far. I would bet my left breast that he also had a secret lair under his mansion. “I can’t believe you. How much Batman have you watched? Does Dr. Stephens also serve you tea?”

  Damen’s hold on my finger loosened, and I snatched my arm back. He blinked—stunned for a moment—before he suddenly turned his head, trying to hide his darkening cheeks.

  “How do you even…” he muttered, not looking at me.

  Before Damen finished his statement, Dr. Stephens slapped his hand on the table.

  “I like her.” He watched me with renewed interest. “I don’t care if you protest. We’re keeping her. Someone has got to keep you lot in line. Finally, a soul to sympathize. To show some respect.”

  Damen was still stuttering. “I-I don’t—”

  “And no, Miss Bianca
.” Dr. Stephens grinned softly. “I don’t serve them tea. Mr. Miles rather enjoys that part. He likes to nurture others.”

  Miles did? How precious.

  “But he’s not good at cleaning up after himself,” Dr. Stephens noted.

  Was that so? “He will be now,” I promised, drawing future chore charts in my head. All I needed was a dry-erase board and some markers.

  “Moving along…” Mr. Weaver waved his hand in the air. “I’ve got to leave. Michelle gets off work soon.”

  “Wait a moment.” Damen rubbed his temples. “Are you stalking Michelle Nolan? That’s unnecessary. I have Norman watching her.”

  “Two sets of eyes are better than one.” Mr. Weaver frowned at Damen. “And that’s not the only thing I’m doing. Besides that, there’s something about the air around her that I don’t like.”

  “Which is?” Damen prodded.

  “I met Michelle while she was my student. She was a history major and was involved in the historical society. I hadn’t seen her for a while, but then she started volunteering at my club…” Mr. Weaver began.

  Club? Ms. Protean said they met at the senior center.

  Damen, who I’d forgotten to relay this detail to, held up his finger. “What kind of club?”

  “It makes no difference, I assure you.” Mr. Weaver crossed his arms. “But Sunday morning, she overheard me asking a colleague about Aine Hamway’s home. She told me she had information. She was supposed to meet with me the night I was brutally slain.”

  “I thought you were poisoned?” Dr. Stephens watched his brother. “Which isn’t even a surprise. And it doesn’t sound brutal at all. In fact, you told me you didn’t even realize you had died at first.”

  “In any case,”—Mr. Weaver squared his shoulders, pointedly not looking at his brother—“I still don’t know what it is she knows, and she hasn’t said anything to Norman.”

  Damen was frowning into his coffee. “Did you find out anything on your own?”

  “Before it came into Aine’s possession, the home had been passed down to Daniel Cole by his father,” Mr. Weaver responded. “After inheriting the property, Daniel sold it for way below market value and attempted to seal those records. It is something that Edward Cole would be turning in his grave over—he’d refused to sell the land despite having many offers in the past.”

  Edward Cole. That was the man who’d been married to Ms. Protean’s sister.

  “So we’re really going against the Cole family? We’ll need to tread carefully.” Damen tapped his finger on the table. “I wonder why Edward never wanted to sell.”

  “Michelle said she knew the answer to that question,” Mr. Weaver said. “That’s what she was supposed to talk to me about.”

  The waitress returned, interrupting Dr. Stephens before he could even begin. “Are you ready to order?”

  Without pause, Damen and Dr. Stephens looked to me, and my thoughts froze.

  I’d been so focused on the conversation, and hadn’t realized that Damen actually meant to feed me this time. I was taken off guard at the sudden expectation that I order. I hadn’t decided yet!

  But I couldn’t hold everyone up. “I don’t know…” I pulled the menu over my mouth, glancing at Damen over the top. “Pick something,” I muttered, begging him with my gaze. He knew this place. He wouldn’t steer me wrong.

  “I don’t know.” Damen raised his eyebrow, studying me. “The fish is rather good. Would you—”

  My nose scrunched at the idea of being forced to eat the hated food. I was unable to keep a straight face for the sake of politeness.

  “You’ve always liked fish before…” His voice trailed off, confusion lacing his tone. “But the chicken here is excellent as well.” I just watched him, not liking the way the waitress eyed us expectantly. Damen turned his attention toward her. “She’ll have the chicken marsala.”

  I sighed as Damen continued to order his own food. Grateful that I hadn’t made a complete idiot out of myself. But then my attention flicked to Dr. Stephens, who was giving me the most peculiar look. His eyebrow raised as our eyes met, and he glanced at Damen curiously.

  But then the waitress turned to him, and the strange moment had passed. The older man’s severe expression shifted, and—without even looking at the menu once—he placed his order.

  “Mrs. Cole must like you,” the perky nurses’ aide, Carol, chirped from Damen’s other side. She had spent most of her time addressing, and looking at, only Damen. “She doesn’t take visitors, but she’s made an exception for you.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Carol was laying it on thick, as she had been since we’d arrived at the nurses’ station. The instant she’d spotted Damen, she shoved her book aside and sashayed over to the two of us, hips swaying.

  There had been no introductions. She’d even known Damen’s name.

  Damen seemed oblivious. He’d given her the barest of greetings, stating he wanted to speak to Mrs. Cole. Since we’d arrived, it almost seemed as though he was nervous. Distracted. And not because of Carol.

  Yet, he’d known her name as well.

  She had been giving me the cold shoulder. Acting as though I wasn’t here, even though Damen made every effort to touch me as much as possible.

  Since last night, Damen had become more touchy-feely than before. Even in public, such as the restaurant in front of Dr. Stephens, and now here. We were even holding hands.

  But that didn’t deter Carol, who continued to take in Damen as if he was a tasty snack.

  I knew what was happening. There was one of two things it could be.

  The first was that they knew each other in passing. And Carol was one of his supernatural weaknesses. I wasn’t sure what his weakness might be, but I knew we all had them. It was possible that Carol was trying to get his guard to relax, and then snuff out his life.

  And for some reason, I preferred that to the second option.

  That option being, of course, that they had slept together. And by sleep, I meant being together in a sexual manner—not physical sleep.

  No, I much preferred the idea of her wanting to kill him. Considering the second possibility made my stomach churn.

  In the end though, it didn’t matter why she was flirting with him. I had to protect Damen from her manicured clutches. While it was true I’d given Damen free rein to fornicate, the caveat was that I not know about it.

  And since I’d seen this particular consort, she was now ineligible. Too bad for her, but such was the nature of our agreement. It was completely fair.

  So, as we walked down the long nursing home hallway, I continued to keep the threat under observation. Damen, meanwhile, remained innocently unaware of the situation.

  “I’ve never met her before in my life,” he responded, referring to Mrs. Cole. He was still distracted, his free hand touching the lapel of his jacket while he ignored Carol moving closer to him.

  I tried to ignore her, I really did. But when she reached out, trying to wrap her hand around Damen’s arm, I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t think—I reacted. It was instinctual to pull him from her clutches.

  “Woah!” Damen’s snapped out of his musings as he almost fell into me. The other woman jerked back, glaring at me as we came to a halt in the mostly-empty hallway. He caught his balance almost immediately, and his attention turned toward me. “What’s wrong, baby girl? Did you trip?”

  “I forgot to ask,” the girl said, crossing her arms. “Who is this?”

  Damen brushed his hands over my shoulders. “She’s my…” he started, then paused. A contemplative expression crossed his face as he met my gaze.

  But why was he hesitating to tell this woman I was his assistant? What was he waiting for, my tax paperwork? We already knew there were issues with that.

  “She’s mine,” he said decisively, removing his hands from my shoulders. “She’s to stay with me, and that’s all that concerns you, Carol.” He gripped my hand again, and his gaze never left my face. “You’re to treat
her with the same respect you’d give to any of us.”

  The woman rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue. Although, as she brushed past us, she whispered almost too low to catch, “You know where to find me once you get tired of your newest charity case.”

  I gasped, but Carol was saved as she pointed at a door nearby. “That’s Mrs. Cole’s room. She said you could go right in.”

  “Thank you.” Damen’s reply was terse, but the anger fell from him as Carol opened the door. He clearly didn’t want to get into a fight in front of a witness, or however we’d classify Mrs. Cole.

  Her room was small, almost the same size as the dorm that Jiayi and I shared. Other than the size, it differed drastically. We’d had ceiling-length windows and a modern, airy layout with a garden view. But Mrs. Cole lived in darkness.

  The inside was decorated with various crocheted items. Lace doilies were laid out on every surface with framed pictures atop. But there wasn’t a lot of surface space. Besides a neatly-made bed and a small dresser, there was only a wooden rocking chair placed in front of the only window. The window itself was covered by a curtain, which blocked the afternoon light.

  In that chair in front of the window sat Mrs. Cole.

  Ms. Protean resembled her older sister. They even wore their hair in the same style and shared comparable fashion choices. But unlike Ms. Protean—who’d been quite spunky and alert—Grace Cole was not.

  Her eyes were glazed over, and she didn’t even seem to be aware of our presence. From the state of things, I wasn’t sure how she’d even consented to us being here.

  Damen didn’t seem to be perturbed. Before the door had fully opened, he released my hand. And before Carol had stomped out of sight, he’d already pulled out a notepad and was inside the room.

  I trailed in after him, closing the door behind me. I wasn’t even certain if Mrs. Cole knew what was happening. But before I questioned it, Damen was already kneeling on the ground in front of the older woman.

  “Mrs. Cole,” he said softly “I’m Damen Abernathy. Do you know who I am?”