Sizzle and Burn (The Arcane Society #3)(2)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

Her heart sank. So much for taking a quick look around and retreating back up the staircase. She would have to leave her perch at the foot of the stairs and tour the maze of boxes and crates if she wanted to be certain there were no terrible secrets buried down there.

She really did not need this. She had problems enough at the moment. Settling Aunt Vella’s small estate had proved remarkably time-consuming, not to mention depressing. In the middle of that sad process she had been forced to face the fact that the one man she thought could accept her, voices and all, found her a complete turn-off in the bedroom. On top of everything else, she had a business to run. Late October was a busy time of year for her costume design shop, Incognito. No, she did not need any more trouble, but she knew all too well that if she ignored the whispers, she would walk the floor until dawn for days or even weeks. For some reason she could never understand, finding the truth was the only antidote for the voices.

Stomach clenching, she stepped down onto the concrete floor and put out a hand to touch the nearest object, a dusty cardboard box. There was no help for it now. She had to follow the trail of psychic whispers left by the freak.

“What are you doing?” Doug called anxiously from the top of the staircase. “I thought you said you were just going to have a quick look around down there.”

“There’s a lot of stuff here. Sooner or later I’m going to have to clear it out. I need to get an idea of how big a job it will be.”

“Please be careful, Miss Tallentyre.”

She pretended not to hear him. If he couldn’t be bothered to accompany her into the darkness, she was not interested in his platitudes.

There was nothing on the cardboard box but when her fingertips skated across the laminated surface of the old table she got another vicious jolt.

The demon is stronger than the witch.

Gasping, she jerked her fingers away from the table and took a quick step back. No matter how she tried to prepare herself, she would never get used to the unnerving sensation that accompanied a brush with the really bad whispers.

She looked down at the floor, searching for footprints. If there were any, they were undetectable. In the poor light the gray dust that covered everything appeared to be the same color as the concrete. In addition, the deep shadows between the valleys of stacked boxes left much of the floor in pitch darkness.

She inched forward, touching the objects in her path in the same tentative way she would have tested the surface of a hot stove. Psychic static clinging to the dusty armoire mirror made her flinch.

She looked around and realized that she was following a narrow path that snaked through the jungle of crates and boxes. The trail led to the closed door of the old wooden storage locker. A heavy padlock secured the sturdy door.

A very shiny new padlock.

She knew before she even touched it that it would reek of the freak’s spore.

She came to a halt a step away from the locker, held her breath and put out her hand. The edge of her finger barely grazed the padlock but the shock was nerve-shattering, all the same.

Burn, witch, burn.

She sucked in a deep breath. “Oh, damn.”

“Miss Tallentyre?” Doug sounded genuinely alarmed now. “What’s wrong? Are you all right down there?”

She heard his footsteps on the stairs. Evidently her small yelp of pained surprise had activated some latent manly impulse to ride to the rescue. Better late than never.

“I’m all right but there is something very wrong down here.” She fished her cell phone out of her purse. “I’m going to call nine-one-one.”

“I don’t understand.” Doug halted on the last step, clutching his briefcase. He peered around and finally spotted her near the storage locker. “Why in the world do you want the police?”

“Because I think this basement is about to become a crime scene.”

The 911 operator came on the line before Doug could recover from the shock.

“Fire or police?” the woman said crisply.

“Police,” she responded, putting all the assurance she could muster into her voice in an effort to make certain the operator took her seriously. “I’m at fourteen Crescent Lane, the Tallentyre house. Tell whoever responds to bring a tool that can cut through a padlock. Hurry.”

The woman refused to be rushed. “What’s wrong, ma’am?”

“I just found a dead body.”

She hung up before the operator could ask any more questions. When she closed the phone she realized that Doug was still standing at the foot of the stairs. His features were partially obscured by the shadows but she was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open. The poor man was obviously starting to realize that there were reasons why the other local real estate agents hadn’t jumped on the Tallentyre listing. He must have heard the rumors about Aunt Vella. Maybe he was starting to wonder if the crazy streak ran in the family. It was a legitimate question.

Doug cleared his throat. “Are you sure you’re okay, Miss Tallentyre?”

She gave him the smile she saved for situations like this, the special smile her assistant, Pandora, labeled her screw you smile.

“No, but what else is new?” she said politely.

The officer’s name was Bob Fulton. He was the hard-faced, no-nonsense, ex-military type. He came down the basement stairs with a large flashlight and a wicked-looking bolt cutter.

“Where’s the body?” he asked, in a voice that said he had seen a number of them.

“I’m not certain there is one,” Raine admitted. “But I think you’d better check that storage locker.”

He looked at her with an expression she recognized immediately. It was the everyone-here-is-a-suspect-until-proven-otherwise expression that Bradley got when he was working a case.

“Who are you?” Fulton asked.

“Raine Tallentyre.”

“Related to the crazy lady—uh, I mean to Vella Tallentyre?”

“Her niece.”

“Mind if I ask what you’re doing here today?”

“I inherited this house,” she said coldly. He’d called Aunt Vella a crazy lady out loud. That meant she no longer had to be polite.

Clearly sensing the mounting tension in the atmosphere, Doug stepped forward. “Doug Spicer, Officer. Spicer Properties. I don’t believe we’ve met. I came here with Miss Tallentyre today to take a listing on the place.”

Fulton nodded. “Heard Vella Tallentyre had passed on. Sorry, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” Raine said stiffly. “About that storage locker—”