Page 15 of Elemental Love (Warlocks #1)

Then it was on top of her, overwhelming her, a suffocating avalanche of mud blocking her nose, her eyes, her mouth.

The thing’s momentum knocked Agatha from her feet.

She slashed her weapon from side to side but it slid through the muck her attacker was created from with little resistance.

She tried to cry out, but her breath was gone.

All her senses failed under the onslaught.

Agatha prayed for it to be over. False light flashed before her eyes.

The final vestiges of panic and pain were swept away by silence.

Evrain checked that he’d locked his car and set off down the path to Agatha’s cabin, carrying the sack of groceries he’d picked up for her.

It was a bright day and the comfortable warmth spoke of early summer sunshine to come.

He had a morning of training ahead of him but he’d arranged to meet Dominic for lunch and that had him whistling as he walked.

He planned to extend lunch to an afternoon date, one that would preferably turn into an overnight stay.

It’s about time! Since their delicious encounter in Dominic’s tool store, they had been edging around each other.

Evrain stole kisses when he could, spent as much time with Dominic as he could and Dominic showed every sign that he was up for more, but when it came to the crunch, Dominic’s shyness always got in the way.

Evrain was running out of patience. He needed to claim his man, something that was long overdue.

He pushed open Agatha’s gate and pulled his hand away.

“Ugh! What the hell…?” His fingers were covered in mud.

On closer inspection, he could see that the top bar of the gate was covered in mucky residue.

He rubbed his hands together, brushing off as much dirt as he could.

The path to the cottage was also muddy. “What have you been up to, Grandma?” Evrain murmured.

He approached the door, which stood open just a crack.

He checked around in case his grandmother was outside pottering but there was no sign of her so he pushed open the door.

Inside the cabin everything was still and silent. It was quiet. Far too quiet.

Evrain paused in the doorway, taking everything in.

Usually the kettle would be bubbling away, there would be the aroma of fresh baking, curtains fluttering in the breeze from open windows.

Today there was nothing. He took a couple of steps inside and caught sight of Agatha’s hand resting on the arm of her favorite chair, the top of her head just visible.

The chair’s back was to Evrain so he couldn’t see more.

He put the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and unpacked a few of the tins and jars. His grandmother didn’t stir.

“Are you dozing, Grandma?” Evrain spoke quietly—he didn’t want to disturb Agatha if she was snoozing.

He walked toward the fire, which was cold, just ashes in the grate.

Evrain gasped in horror. Agatha sat in her chair but her head lolled forward.

What he could see of her face was mottled blue and swollen, her puffy tongue poking from between her lips.

There was no question that she was dead and, from the expression of utter horror on her face, her passing had not been easy.

Evrain’s stomach rolled. He dashed outside and retched, vomiting until his guts were empty. He sobbed, tears rolling down his face. Frantically he grabbed his phone from his back pocket and dialed nine-one-one.

Waiting for the cops to arrive was the longest twenty minutes of Evrain’s life.

He sat on the edge of the garden path with his head between his knees for part of it, then got up and paced up and down.

He’d managed to give detailed directions and soon Hornbeam Cottage was swarming with cops, paramedics and, not long after, crime scene techs.

Evrain found himself walking down the lane with a detective, answering questions as best he could.

He ended up sat in the front seat of a black and white, sipping a cup of coffee.

It helped steady his nerves because his new detective friend had slipped a dose of brandy from his hipflask into Evrain’s cardboard cup.

“You’re in shock. Sit here quietly and tell me what you remember. It’s important I get your first impressions down before you forget.”

“Detective O’Shea, I’d need bleach and a scouring pad to get that image out of my mind. I’m not likely to forget in a hurry.”

The detective pulled out a notepad and pen. “In your own time, son.”

Evrain recited the details of his morning. There wasn’t much to tell. He described finding the cabin door ajar, the silence and the shocking realization that Agatha was dead.

“I didn’t see anyone from the time I parked the car to the time I left the cottage to call you. Not a soul,” Evrain said.

“And you didn’t notice anything unusual or out of place? The tiniest thing could help.” O’Shea waited, pen poised.

“No.” Evrain paused. “There was something. The gate… It had mud on the top. How would it have got there?”

“I’ll let the crime scene guys know to get it tested. Now, apart from yourself, did your grandma have any regular visitors?”

“She was sociable. She had lots of people from the town dropping in for her herbal remedies. Oh… Dominic! I need to call him.” Evrain had no idea how he would break the news.

“Dominic?” O’Shea asked.

“Sorry. Dominic Castine. He takes care of the garden and is at my grandmother’s most weekends and a couple of evenings a week. I suppose you should know… He and I are…close.”

O’Shea didn’t blink. Evrain was impressed.

“Thanks for your openness, Mr. Brookes. Now, I have to ask this. Where were you last night and can anyone confirm your whereabouts?”

“I worked until seven—I work at ThInk in Portland—then went straight on to a client dinner at the Marriott in the evening. My boss was there—I can give you his details. It wound up around midnight and I went home.”

“You live in Portland?”

“Yes. The security cameras on my building’s parking garage should confirm when I got back and when I left again this morning to drive over here.

Between a quarter past midnight and seven I was alone.

I stopped for a drive-through breakfast—the receipt is probably still in the car.

The breakfast is all over the path at the cabin, where I threw up.

” Evrain gave the detective his address details, a contact number for his boss and Dominic’s cell number.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” O’Shea said, sounding genuinely sympathetic. “If you think of anything else”—he handed over a card—“call me any time. I’ll let you know when you can go back into the house.”

“She wasn’t ill, you know,” Evrain said. “Grandma was in great health for her age.”

“Well, from what I saw, son, and I’m not a medical expert, that didn’t seem like a death from natural causes. I won’t speculate but did she have any enemies?”

“Not that I know of, but local people might have more of a clue than I do. I only moved out here from Scotland a few months ago.”

“Okay. I’ll need you to come down to the precinct and make a statement.”

“I can do that whenever suits,” Evrain said. “I want this bastard caught.” Anger started to take over from shock and bewilderment.

“Go home, Mr. Brookes. Is there anyone you can call to be with you?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine. Really.”

Evrain left the security of the cop car and got behind the wheel of his own vehicle.

He drove off with the intention of going home but found himself pulling up outside the diner.

There was only one person he wanted to see.

Dominic would come home to change before meeting Evrain for their date.

He’d be able to head him off, protect him from the chaos at Agatha’s and break the news gently.

He couldn’t do it over the phone and he had to tell Dominic before the police got in touch.

“Fuck it all to hell!” Evrain thumped the steering wheel. There was no way to lessen the impact of news he had barely absorbed himself, and the last thing in the world he wanted to do was hurt Dominic.