Craved (Gwen Sparks #1)

Craved (Gwen Sparks #1) Page 2

After deciding not to answer her question, because honestly, she wouldn’t get why I wanted to avoid someone as charming and sexy as Aiden, I changed the subject. “When did all this arrive?”

“Fifteen minutes before you got home. Grace Parker stopped by to set it up.” Grace Parker owned Vines, a floral shop on Main Street. She’s an elf, so must have used her nature magic to arrange all the roses so quickly. That meant that Aiden set this up even after I had told him no. Like I said, he’s infuriating.

“Who are you going to the Founder’s Gala with?” I asked. Flora was a small town, with a population of only a thousand, all strictly otherworldly residents. The humans had accepted us, but still demanded segregation. Flora sat in the countryside of Missouri where magic permitted anyone human from entering, except during the Founder’s Gala, once a year. The humans thought of it as a tourist attraction.

Most humans had come to terms with us, but some were still threatened by our differences. We opened our boundaries to humans who filled out applications prior to visiting. This year, we had a whopping two hundred human tourists planning to visit this special weekend.

“Liam,” Fiona said with a satisfied smile. I should have known, Liam Fawns, a bigwig warlock that works with the board of Flora trustees. He and four other people were the creators of our little sanctuary, and he’d be one of the guests of honor this weekend.

“I didn’t know you were on that good of speaking terms with Liam,” I told her. She grabbed a hanger out of my closet and hung the dress Aiden had gotten me, as if she couldn’t stand for it to sit for one more minute in that cramped box.

“Daddy set it up,” she said nonchalantly, but I knew the relationship with her parents bothered her. Hearing her mention her father was more surprising than hearing that she was taking one of the founders to the Gala.

“Oh, you talked to your dad?” I tried to sound indifferent but my eyes betrayed me.

“Yeah, he called yesterday. Gave me some crap about how I’m too old to still be living with a roommate and that I should have a husband. You know how he is,” she said with a shake of her head.

Boy did I ever! Old money and old-fashioned, that was Fiona’s father. Fiona and I were both twenty-six, not exactly spinsters, but in his eyes, she should have been married and settled down already? What did that say about me? He had blown a gasket when he found out his daughter was living in my apartment, being that it was only nine hundred square feet and needed some repairs. But Fiona insisted and decided to move in with me anyway. Sure she was shallow sometimes, okay most of the time, but she was also a great friend and wouldn’t take crap from anyone, including her overbearing parents.

“This isn’t like…an arranged marriage is it?” I asked.

Fiona turned to look at me as if I’d lost the last of my marbles and instantly began laughing hysterically.

“Okay, okay, but it’s not that far of a stretch, I mean we are talking about your father,” I said, defending my comment. Fiona was still laughing as she left my bedroom and returned to the living room.

Now what was I going to do with a room buried in flowers?

I decided that I’d surprise Aiden, like he’d done to me. I sent my magic to each one of the flowers and imagined Aiden’s home. I imagined his posh two-story house that sat atop a hill ten minutes from mine and willed the roses to return to sender. One by one, the flowers popped out of my bedroom and hopefully showed up at Aiden’s. I wasn’t the best at transporting objects, but I assumed most would make the trip.

I kept just one of the small bowls of roses and the dress, sending the rest back. Then I sent a text message that read, “Thanx 4 respecting my decision to NOT go W/U 2 the Gala. It was generous of u 2 get me such a beautiful dress, I’m sure my date will appreciate it.” He didn’t need to know that I was going to the Gala solo; I’d let him stew over my imaginary date.

2

WITCH FOUND DRAINED, the newspaper headline announced. I read the article three times, hoping my eyes were playing tricks on me. Unfortunately, they weren’t. Amy Harper’s body was found yesterday night in a ditch, all of her blood drained. The FPD (Flora Police Department) was currently investigating and hadn’t found any clues as to who was behind the grisly murder. They made a point to say that the citizens of Flora should not jump to conclusions, they hadn’t determined if this was a single case or if they had a serial killer on their hands.

I threw the paper on my desk, disgusted. Of course, the FPD’s collective mind wouldn’t be made up until another death occurred. Why was it that no one ever took precautions until the body count started piling up?

I had been living in Flora since I was nineteen and had only known of eight murders. You would think with all of the otherworldly creatures living together, there would be more violence, but surprisingly, there wasn’t. The murder of Amy Harper though, left my blood frozen in my veins. The other murders in the past seven years had been normal, if there was such a thing. They’d occurred between scorned lovers or rivaling thugs. The death of Amy Harper seemed different. I didn’t think this was a lover’s quarrel or had anything to do with the crowd she hung around.

I really hated what I was about to do, but knew I had to. I picked up the phone and hesitated, my fingers positioned over the numbers. Overcoming my unease, I dialed the FPD’s phone number.

“FPD,” a woman’s voice answered. I had a quick impulse to hang up but I knew that would be pointless; they would have logged my phone number as soon as the call went through.

“Hello?” the woman asked again, annoyed.

“Um, hi. My name is Gwen Sparks. I’m calling for Micah Reynolds please,” I told the woman.

“Hold please.” She transferred the call and, I swore, my heart sped up with each ring that went unanswered. Micah and I had dated a year earlier, but he broke up with me because I wasn’t the right species. His father, the alpha of the Flora weres, had been pressuring him to find a were woman, and advised him not to waste his time on someone who couldn’t give him purebred were children. The last I heard, he was dating a beautiful were woman and there was talk of them getting married. I really hated having to talk to him again.

“Micah Reynolds,” his masculine voice answered.

I took a deep breath to calm my nerves, “Hi Micah, it’s Gwen.” There was a moment of silence, finally breaking when he cleared his throat.

“What can I do for you, Gwen?” he asked, clearly uncomfortable.

“I saw the paper and I want to help,” I confessed. Back when Micah and I were dating, I worked on a couple cases as a consultant. I could use my magic to see glimpses of a victim’s last thoughts, with the help of Aura, she’s my link to the spirit world. I had

helped Micah close two cases.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Gwen,” Micah said tentatively.

“Whatever. I’m the only one who might be able to find out who and why Amy Harper was killed. Don’t let our personal history get in the way of finding this asshole.”

“I’ll have to get it approved by Wyatt,” he said, seemingly giving in to my demands. A smile slowly formed on my lips, Wyatt was Micah’s brother and always liked me.

“You know he’ll agree to it; he loves me. What time should I meet you at the morgue?” I said smugly.

Micah took a deep breath, “An hour. Don’t be late.” He hung up the phone and I did the same. I loved when things went my way.

I was fifteen minutes early, but I didn’t want to give Micah a reason to deny my help on the case. I had Aura in her pet carrier, a pink and black bag that was meant for a spoiled, ankle-biting dog, but it worked perfectly for my finicky cat.

I hate morgues, talk about depressing. I walked down the long, sterile hallway that led to where they kept the bodies. My heels clicked against the white tile and echoed in the otherwise quiet hall.

I was more nervous about seeing Micah than a dead body. We hadn’t dated long, only eight months, but I loved him. When he told me that he had to prepare for the future of his pack and that nothing serious could ever exist between us, it created an unfixable crack through my otherwise protected heart. I almost wished he had cheated on me; that would have eradicated him from my mind, like he was just a cheating slime ball. But having Micah tell me that I couldn’t give him what he needed was a huge blow to my self-esteem. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t my fault. I hadn’t chosen to be born a witch, but it didn’t hurt any less.

I paused outside the door to the morgue and pulled out a small mirror to check my reflection. My dark hair was down, coming to the middle of my back. I had full makeup on and magically switched my clothes to skinny jeans, black pumps, and a red eyelet lace blouse that fit like the proverbial glove. Call me crazy, but I wanted to rub how hot I looked into Micah’s prejudiced face.

When I pushed through the double doors, however, Micah wasn’t there. Instead Wyatt was waiting for me. I rolled my eyes at the thought of Micah’s cowardly absence and made my way to where Wyatt stood next to the sheet-covered body.

“Hi Wyatt. Thank you for allowing me to help the FPD,” I smiled. Wyatt was thirty-two, two years older than Micah, but they looked as if they were twins. They both had chocolate brown hair with hints of highlights from spending so much time in the sun. Their eyes were the same deep amber that I had come to love. The only real differences between the two brothers were that Wyatt wasn’t as uptight as Micah and somewhat taller.

“No problem, Gwen, I was happy to hear you volunteered to help. I’m sorry Micah couldn’t meet with you; he’s busy on another case,” Wyatt explained. A thin-lipped smile crept on my face since I knew Wyatt was lying. This was their biggest case, and they’d have all their best detectives working it, including Micah.

“No worries, I’m more interested in seeing Amy Harper than Micah,” I said, only half lying. My initial interest was to search Amy Harper’s last memories. If Micah just happened to notice how hot I looked and what he’d given up as well, no harm, no foul.