Damn. With an abrupt jerk, she was heading across the room. She couldn’t concentrate when she was alone with this man.

“We need to share this information with the Mave.”

She opened the door before he managed to capture her arm and tug her back to meet his hooded gaze.

“Callie.”

A shiver of anticipation crept down her spine. “Yes?”

He leaned down until they were nose to nose. “This isn’t done.”

“You said a kiss,” she reminded him, not about to admit that she’d already made the decision to lock him in her apartment until he proved whether the rest of his skills lived up to her fantasies.

His ego was big enough, thank you very much.

“A kiss for now,” he corrected, his voice gruff.

“And later?”

He pressed his lips to the edge of her mouth before lifting his head.

“I want ... everything,” he whispered in warning.

They were standing there, staring at one another in emotion-charged silence when the sound of approaching footsteps had them both turning to the door.

Once again it was Mel. The healer had clearly broken some rule that demanded community service. Not unusual for a young, impetuous man who’d barely left his teens. And he wasn’t a bit pleased with his duty of carrying messages.

Especially when that duty included playing servant in front of an aggressive male norm.

He glared toward Duncan. “The Mave wants to see you in her office.”

“Good news travels fast,” Duncan muttered.

Callie grimaced. Nothing happened in Valhalla that escaped the Mave’s attention. And a call from the human police chief would have hit her radar at record speed.

“Would you rather speak to her alone?” she asked.

“Hell no.”

There was a snicker from Mel, as if he’d never wet his pants when the Mave called him to her office.

“I’ll show our visitor to the Mave,” she informed the young man.

He sent Duncan another glare. “Should I alert the dungeons they’re about to have a guest?”

“Enough,” Callie said in dismissal, waiting until Mel turned to stroll down the hallway before leading Duncan in the opposite direction.

She kept the pace brisk, but there was no missing the cold, suspicious glances that followed their path.

“Friendly bunch.”

“As friendly as your fellow cops would be if I strolled into the station house,” she pointed out in low tones.

“Touché,” he muttered.

“This way.” Callie turned the corner, headed directly for the Mave’s office. It wasn’t until they were standing in the small alcove directly in front of her door that she realized Duncan was dragging his feet. Halting, she glanced over her shoulder in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve heard a lot of rumors about your leader,” he confessed.

“Which rumors would those be, Sergeant O’Conner?” the Mave asked as she pulled open the door to offer Duncan a serene smile. “The one that claims I have actual horns and a tail? Or my personal favorite, the one that suggests I’m nothing more than a myth? Like the Wizard of Oz?”

Chapter Six

Duncan was accustomed to shoving his size twelve foot into his mouth.

It was one of his few talents.

But he wasn’t used to being struck speechless.

Holy shit. He felt like he’d been kicked by a mule as he caught his first glimpse of the mysterious Mave of Valhalla.

It wasn’t just that she was drop dead gorgeous. He had a distinct preference for flame-haired pixies with eyes of sapphires. Or that she displayed her witch’s mark with obvious pride. It was dark enough to warn even a thick-skulled norm that she had enough magic to turn them into something nasty if they didn’t keep their prejudices to themselves.

No, it was simply the power of her presence.

It was etched onto the pale, perfect oval of a face. In the storm gray eyes. And flickered in the aura only his gaze could detect.

Even if he didn’t know a damned thing about this woman, he would realize she was a force of nature.

“Good god,” he breathed.

“Not quite, Sergeant O’Conner,” she murmured as she stepped back and waved an arm toward the black and white room behind her. “Will you come in?”

Awkwardly moving past her slender form, he headed toward the nearest chair. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“Trust me, I’ve heard worse.” The Mave crossed to stand beside the large desk where a fully loaded tea tray was waiting. “Refreshment?”

“No.” Callie stepped next to him, elbowing him in the ribs to remind him of his manners. “Thank you,” he tagged on lamely, dropping into the leather seat.

Callie took the one next to him while the Mave slid into her seat behind the desk, her gaze on the young diviner.

“Callie, how are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“No headaches?”

“None.”

“Good.” The gray eyes shifted toward Duncan. “I heard that you had a telephone call from your chief?”

Refusing to answer wasn’t an option. Not beneath that unnerving gaze.

“Leah’s body is missing.”

Something darkened the gray eyes. Not the shock he’d been expecting, but ... unease?

“Missing?”

“Yes.”

“Negligence or theft?”

He shrugged, wise enough not to take offense at the blunt question. “No one knows for sure.”

“But your chief suspects that a high-blood was involved?”

He swallowed a groan. Why had he insisted on traveling to Valhalla? It should be Molinari sitting in this chair being grilled by the Mave.

Talk about a clash of the Titans.

Now he was forced to choose his words with care. “She’s just covering all the bases.”

A wry smile twisted her lips. “Very diplomatic, Sergeant.”

“I’m not often accused of diplomacy.”

“No kidding,” Callie muttered beside him.

He flashed her an unrepentant grin before returning his attention to the powerful woman behind the desk.

“The chief has another officer checking out the usual suspects.”

“But?” she prompted.

“There was nothing on the cameras and no eye witnesses,” Duncan confessed. “So either it was an inside job or magic.”

The Mave leaned back in her seat, her expression troubled. “A pity.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was hoping it was a common body snatching.”

A ball of dread settled in the pit of his stomach.

If this woman was bothered by something then it had to be bad.

Bad on an epic scale.

“You know something,” he breathed.

Taking a file from the top drawer, she handed it across the desk. “Here.”

His dread deepened as he opened the file to discover newspaper clippings, police reports, and faded photos.

“Paris. Vienna. Johannesburg.” He glanced up in surprise. “How did you get these?”

“I called in a few favors after I spoke with Callie. I thought it important to know if the strange death of Leah was an isolated incident or something”—she considered a beat—“larger.”

Duncan read through the police reports, some that dated back fifty years, before moving to the newspaper clippings that were even older.

He suddenly understood the Mave’s concern.

“Shit.”

Callie reached to lightly touch his arm. “What is it?”

“Leah wasn’t the first murder victim to be missing their heart,” he rasped.

The young diviner frowned, glancing at the file in his hands. “How could you not hear of them? I thought police shared that sort of information?”

“They’ve all happened several years apart and on different continents. The first was nearly a hundred years ago.” He returned his attention to the grainy photos. There was nothing to connect the victims. An aging priest. A rugged explorer. An artist. “Can I share these with the chief?”

“Of course,” the Mave readily agreed.

He lifted his head to meet her steady gaze. “Do these murders have any meaning?”

“Not to me.”

His cop’s instincts picked up on what she wasn’t saying. “But it might to someone else?”

“Most old tales have some kernel of truth at the heart of them,” she murmured.

“Are you speaking of a specific old tale?”

“The ones that claim a necromancer can truly control the dead.”

He shot a startled glance toward Callie, who held up her hands in denial.

“Don’t look at me.”

He turned back to the Mave. “Is it possible?”

“Yesterday I would have said no. Today...” She shrugged.

Great. Just fucking fantastic.

He could already feel the panic that would spread through the human population if word got out there was a necromancer out there killing young females and stealing their bodies. They would load their guns, ready to shoot every freak they could find, regardless of their innocence.

“Tell me more about what these necromancers could do,” he abruptly demanded. He needed a way to halt the killer.

Fast.

“My knowledge is no more than bedside stories.” The gray eyes held a grim understanding of the looming tragedy. “The same ones I’m sure you’ve heard.”

He hissed in frustration. “So I’m looking for a creature from a fairy tale?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Do you have any suggestions where I might start?”

She lifted a dark brow, regarding him as if he were disappointingly dense. “Where else would you start but the Keeper of Tales?”

There was a choked sound before Callie was surging to her feet. “You can’t be serious.”

Duncan slowly rose, astonished by Callie’s fierce reaction. “Who is the Keeper of Tales?” he demanded, almost afraid to ask.