Home > Once Bitten (Shadow Guild : The Rebel #1)(2)

Once Bitten (Shadow Guild : The Rebel #1)(2)
Author: Linsey Hall

“What?” I croaked. My visions never spoke to me.

“Come to me.” His voice seemed to roll through me, lighting up nerve endings that I hadn’t known existed.

Was the murderer really telling me to come to him? How?

How was this even possible?

How was any of my talent possible?

“Did you do this?” My voice trembled.

He didn’t respond, and his shadowy form disappeared.

I hated to admit what a coward I was, but relief flowed through me. The guy scared the crap out of me. My attraction to him scared the crap out of me.

He could be Beatrix’s killer. It was unacceptable

I shook my hand as if to drive off the memory of the man. But I couldn’t. I needed to see. At my feet, there was a dead man with a bashed-in face, and I could help find that killer. Nerves prickled as I touched the body again, reluctantly hoping to see the moment of death.

Nothing. The vision was gone. The man was gone.

“Damn it,” I muttered.

My gift or whatever it was didn’t come on command, and I’d just lost the thread of the vision. It hadn’t been enough to find the killer, though I’d know that man anywhere if I saw him again.

I needed more, and I needed it quick. I’d already called in an anonymous tip to the police, hoping they’d arrive in time to prevent the murder. They hadn’t, but as soon as they did arrive, they wouldn’t want me rooting through the body for answers. Most didn’t believe in my gifts. Hell, I hardly believed in them myself.

Focused, I turned my attention back toward the body. Now that I needed to touch more of him, it was imperative to be careful. I pulled a pair of disposable gloves from my pocket and slipped them on, then began to search the body for clues. I moved quickly, desperate to be done.

My hand had just closed over a matchbook when I heard the shout from behind me: “Freeze!”

Shit.

Cold fear shivered down my spine.

I’d lingered too long.

Please be Corrigan.

He was my only friend with the police, though “friend” was still a stretch.

“Raise your hands!” a man shouted.

My gaze flicked to the matchbook in my hand. The leads on Beatrix’s murder had run cold months ago. This was now the only clue I had, and I couldn’t read it unless I took my gloves off. I should leave it for the police, but I needed something else to help me find Beatrix’s killer.

Quickly, I shoved the matchbook into the inner pocket of my worn leather jacket and raised my hands, knowing how damning the gloves looked. I ran this risk every time I came to a murder scene, but I couldn’t stop myself from trying.

“It’s just me, guys. Carrow Burton.”

One of the policemen cursed, and I knew it had to be Corrigan. He’d told me he didn’t want to find me at one of these scenes again, even though I helped him close half his cases.

Slowly, I stood and turned.

Two police officers stood at the end of the alley, their forms silhouetted in the dark night by the streetlights behind them. The taller, broader one was familiar in a good way. Corrigan.

The shorter, skinnier one was just as familiar, and my heart sank.

Banks.

He thought I was full of shit. Worse, he thought I was probably a killer. He’d made it his life’s work to get me for crimes I hadn’t committed. At the memories, ice chilled my veins.

A quick scan of the alley and building corners revealed none of the cameras that were so ubiquitous in London. It was one of the most heavily surveilled cities in the world, and this poor bastard had got himself killed in one without government eyes watching.

Just my luck.

It’d been purposeful on the killer’s part, I had to imagine. But now there was nothing easy and quick to clear my name.

My arms felt awkward above my head, but I didn’t lower them. “It’s not what it looks like, guys. I’m here to help, just like all the other times.”

“You’ve never been standing right over a body wearing killer’s gloves before,” Banks said.

“They’re standard issue, just like yours.”

“Except no one issued them to you, did they?” Banks was close enough that I could see the triumph in his ratty little eyes. His pale skin was sallow and his expression pinched, but he was more excited than I’d seen him in years.

No one should be that excited while standing next to a person who’d just been viciously murdered.

But Banks was right. I’d failed out of training. I was just a wannabe.

My gaze flicked to Corrigan. His warm, dark skin looked ashen, and his eyes flickered with worry. “Carrow.”

The disappointment in his words sent cold fear through me.

Shit, shit, shit.

“This looks bad, Carrow.” His deep baritone, which normally comforted me, was heavy with concern.

“Looks bad?” Banks’s voice was high with annoyance and excitement. “Bad? It looks like we caught our killer. Finally.”

The satisfaction in his voice made me want to kick him.

My heart pounded. “You know I didn’t do this, Corrigan. You know it.”

His keen eyes assessed the scene. “Then how are you here so soon before us? The body isn’t even cold yet, is it?”

How did I explain to him that I was here because I’d touched the wrong thing? A random rag thrown at me by a raccoon, in this case. It’d probably been owned by the victim at one point, though I’d seen no clues on it. One touch with my bare skin, and I’d seen it, along with a location.

I didn’t always get a location—a gut-deep knowledge of where on the planet something was happening—but this time, I had.

And I couldn’t ignore it. Even though I knew I was already so many strikes down that one more “coincidence” would get me in real trouble, I hadn’t been able to ignore the possibility that I could help this poor man. That I could help Beatrix—at least by finding justice for her.

That symbol burned into both bodies meant that a serial killer was back, and I could find them.

I gave Corrigan my most serious expression. “I’ve helped you catch so many killers, you know I could never do this.”

Corrigan’s lips twisted with regret.

He’d been a temporary lecturer when I’d gone through training, and we’d kept in touch, even after I’d failed out for insubordination and unusual methodology—my term, not theirs. He believed in my strange talent, or at least, he wasn’t willing to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He was the only one, though.

I’d helped him catch killers, but no one else believed me, so they’d assumed I got my info the bad way. The way they could understand. The way that was going to lead to my arrest.

“I’m sorry, Carrow,” Corrigan said. “Maybe we can clear this up at the station.”

More figures appeared at the end of the alley. Backup. Dozens of people would swarm the scene now, getting to work like busy ants, trying to figure out what had happened and how to stop it from happening again.

And I would be taken to the station.

Then to jail.

Banks’s eyes gleamed with excitement. He’d finally won, and he knew it.

As the handcuffs snapped onto my wrists, my head spun.

Holy crap, this was really happening.

Corrigan couldn’t meet my eyes, but Banks had no trouble. He leaned in. “I’ve got you this time.”

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