Chapter 5

      Burr sneered as he watched the blonde fold a fluffy white sweater. This one was called Marianne, and from what he’d seen, most of her dreams were pathetic and mundane. It was as if her dull human mind was caught in a loop of repetitive tasks from her life.

      This time she was packing a suitcase, her ponytail bobbing as she muttered to herself about how she was going to miss her flight. Burr felt her anxiety and breathed its essence deep into himself, feeding off of it and shivering with pleasure as her panic escalated.

      But it was too soon in the game to get her worked up. And this wasn’t the type of primal fear that he savored most. He fed her a calming suggestion and showed himself to her in a form that he knew she would find pleasing.

      She started, unsure what to make of a strange man appearing in her bedroom, clad only in jeans. She wasn’t afraid though. It was as if a part of her knew this was a dream. Or perhaps his facade was so attractive that the little slut didn’t care.

      Burr smiled at her, throwing off languid waves of seduction. “Marianne,” he said in a throaty voice, “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day.”

      She stepped toward him, the suitcase disappearing and her imaginary flight forgotten. “You have?” she asked, clear green eyes sparkling with hope and uncertainty.

      He gave a slow nod and extended a hand to her. “Come here, my love,” he whispered.

      Burr felt her responding to him, felt the moment that she began to accept the fantasy he offered. In turn he made subtle changes to his appearance as he sensed the finer tendrils of her desires. A darker shade of hair, a slightly fuller lip, a gentler arch to his brow...

      Her pupils dilated in response and he knew he had her ensnared. He pulled her into his arms, and she exhaled in a soft puff as he slowly lowered his head to kiss her.

      He brushed her tongue with his, teasing, not going too deep, just the way she liked it. He cupped her neck with one hand, his thumb caressing her slender nape, his other hand stroking the small of her back. He gave her exactly what she yearned for, and her passion bloomed at his touch.

      Her emotion tasted sickly sweet to Burr, an unpalatable mush compared to the deliciously sharp flavors of fear and pain.

      But he reigned in his own desires and continued to indulge hers. He hated this stage of the game, but it was necessary. If he played his part with skill, the bitch would begin to crave him in her waking life as well as her dreams.

      She would invite him into her psyche, laying herself open to him like a banquet. And then it would be her fears he fed from, instead of her filthy desires. He would touch her lithe, little body the way he wanted.

      And that fragile neck of hers? He would enjoy watching her gasp and choke for air as he squeezed it.

      ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

      Fat, round seagrape bushes dotted the yard of the small white-washed house. It was a throwback to Florida’s yesteryear, with its low, flat roof and dated jalousie shutters. But it was on prime real estate, tucked into a corner lot across the street from the pristine shores of Palm Beach proper.

      Scarlett and Pat blinked to an inconspicuous spot further down the sidewalk. They started casually toward the property, like any other couple out for an evening stroll.

      A silver Bentley convertible was parked beneath an old fashioned carport on the side of the house, but there were no other vehicles in sight. Yellow crime scene tape crossed the front door, fluttering softly in the breeze.

      Pat paused to listen, murmuring a detection spell beneath his breath. “There’s no one inside,” he said after a moment.

      “Here, put these on.” He pulled a thin pair of latex gloves and shoe covers from an inside pocket of his jacket and handed them to her. “The human lab techs have probably collected their evidence already. But just to be safe, when we blink in, don’t…”

      “Touch anything, I know,” Scarlett finished for him, as she pulled on the latex. She was beginning to feel antsy and unsure about her insistence to come along. There was an uncomfortable aura about this place, as if the murdered woman’s horror and pain lingered in the air.

      Pat’s gloved hand landed on her shoulder and she inhaled sharply. His eyes flickered to hers, heavy with concern.

      “Let’s just get inside before someone sees us,” she muttered, blinking into the house before either of them could further question the wisdom of her doing so.

      The place was as tiny as her cottage in the faerie realm. The floors and baseboards were done in distressed white wood that looked crisp and clean against walls painted a foamy sea-green. Beautiful fans of coral were mounted throughout the space as decorative sculptures.

      A sliding glass door along the back wall opened onto a quaint patio garden with a canvas umbrella above a wicker table. Flowers bloomed neatly in baskets hanging from upright metal stands.

      Pat nudged her and pointed to a small bookshelf built into one wall. Titles like Supernatural Realms and Shamanistic Healing populated its length.

      “Come on,” Pat said, motioning toward the door to the bedroom. His voice fell flat against the silence.

      Scarlett trailed behind him, stifling a gasp at the sudden, oppressive atmosphere when she crossed the threshold of the room.

      “I’ve felt this at violent crime scenes before,” he remarked quietly. “This woman’s spirit is not yet at rest. It loiters here, searching for closure, instead of crossing over to the Sea of Souls.”

      “Is there a way to speak with her?” Scarlett asked, taking measured, calming breaths.

      Pat shook his head. “Not likely. Mediums are rare. And when we’ve used them in the past, the victims’ spirits were usually too terrified and confused to give us any intelligible information.”

      “Do you smell that?” Scarlett asked.

      Pat moved closer to the tousled bedcovers and sniffed. “Definitely a Morpheus potion. And it’s stronger by the bed.”

      “You don’t think it’s one of the sidhe, do you?” Her chest tightened at the thought of one of her own people committing such terrible crimes.

      “There’s no reason to assume that,” he assured her, though his eyes were troubled. “Anyone from our realm could get their hands on a Morpheus potion. I’m going to have to bring a mage in on this to tell for sure