Moon Sworn

“Well, if you’d had a man stationed here like you were supposed to, it wouldn’t have been a problem, would it?”

He didn’t look amused. “People around these parts respect the law. They know—”

“As I know.” I rubbed my head wearily. I really didn’t feel like a lecture right now. “But people around these parts probably can’t talk to souls, either. I can. But it has to be done shortly after the death, otherwise they get too weak to talk.”

And if I could remember stuff like that, then why couldn’t I remember the important stuff? It was like someone had systematically gone through my mind and erased random bits of information. Some of the big stuff, some of the small, leaving total chaos behind.

Harris stared at me for several seconds, his expression unchanged. It was hard to know whether he believed me or not.

“I think you and I need to sit down and have a serious talk.”

“As long as it’s somewhere with decent coffee and something to eat. Otherwise I’m likely to pass out on you.”

He raised an eyebrow, but all he said was “I know just the place. You need a hand?”

“Yeah, I think I might.”

He wrapped an arm around my waist, half holding me up as we moved forward. It felt like daggers were merrily stabbing at my brain, and my muscles felt incredibly shaky. Did this always happen when I talked to souls?

Something within said no. This was something new—a fresh twist on an old problem.

We didn’t head toward the police station as I’d half expected, but rather toward a little white weatherboard house on the far edge of the paddock.

“My home.” Harris opened the old wrought iron gate and led me up the garden path. Not literally, I hoped. “We can talk here unofficially, then move across to the station if I feel it’s necessary.”

He opened the door one-handed—obviously, being the town cop meant never having to lock it—then helped me inside.

The hallway was long and wide, with various doorways leading off it. The walls were painted a warm off- white and decorated with brilliant photos of the sea and surrounding countryside that gave the place a bright and homey feel. The floors were timber and well worn, creaking slightly as he led me down to the end of the hall. The room beyond was a huge kitchen.

“Have a seat,” he said, motioning me toward the old oak table and chairs. “What sort of coffee do you want?”

“Hazelnut.” I said it automatically, and wished again that the important things would pop back as easily.

“I meant decaf or regular.” There was amusement in his voice. “We country folks don’t go for those fancy mixes.”

“Regular. And trust me, not many city folks are into hazelnut, either.”

I pulled out a chair and watched him make the coffee. He moved with an economy that spoke of both grace and understated power. It was nice to watch.

He pulled some bread and sandwich fillings out of the fridge and dumped them on the table, then grabbed the coffees and some knives, and brought them over.

“Help yourself,” he said, handing me my coffee before sitting down opposite.

I raised an eyebrow. “No plates?”

“The table’s clean and it saves washing up.”

I snorted softly. A man after my own heart. I grabbed the bread, slapped on some butter, then added several thick slices of beef and cheese. It was the best thing I’d tasted in ages.

“So,” he said, once I’d demolished the first sandwich and made inroads on the second. “Have long have you been able to see souls?”

I shrugged. “I can’t say, simply because I can’t remember.”

“Really?” There was disbelief in his voice again.

“Really,” I echoed, trying to control the sweep of irritation. “I can’t actually remember anything before my accident. I didn’t even know my name until Evin told me.”

His gaze rose to my head. “That sort of memory loss is extremely unusual. And I can’t see a wound that would indicate extreme trauma.”

And yet Evin had said there was.

“No.” I finished the second sandwich and wrapped my hands around the mug of coffee. “Bits and pieces are slowly coming back, but nothing major. It’s frustrating.”

“I bet.” He took a drink of his coffee, then said, “So this soul talked to you?”

“It did. You were there early enough to hear my end of the conversation, though.”

He nodded. “How did you know his name was Marcus?”

“He told me. Marcus Landsbury. He was apparently jailed for a long period for the rape and torture of a couple of teenage girls.” I paused. “But I guess you know all that.”

“I do,” he said. “And I suspect his crime had a lot to do with the method of his demise.”

You didn’t have to be a cop to figure that out. “Yeah. Only he said he didn’t do the crime alone, and if his partner is also in town, you’d better find him. He’s probably next on the list.”

“His partner hasn’t been sighted in town, nor have we had any notification that he’s coming.” Harris studied me for a moment. “What makes you think his partner is next? This might just be a random murder.”

He didn’t believe that any more than I did. I shrugged and said, “I have a feeling I’ve seen something like this before.”

“Back in the past you can’t remember?”

Again the suggestion that it was a little too convenient—not that I could really blame him for thinking that. I took another sip of coffee and didn’t bother answering.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach the blue of his eyes. “What else did he say?”

“That the man who attacked him used some form of immobilizing spray that made it impossible to scream, and that he was wearing a costume. A red devil costume complete with cloven hooves.”

“So you saw the tracks?”

“Yes. And I’ve seen them before.”

“Where? Wait, you can’t remember, right?”

I lowered my cup and stared him straight in the eye. “Either boot me out or arrest me if you don’t believe me, but don’t sit there making snide remarks. I’m trying to be helpful.”

“I’ll reserve judgment on that.” He reached forward and snagged a slice of beef, munching on it as he studied me. “Tranquilizers can act that quickly, but I’ve never heard of a spray capable of the same thing.”

“Well, they’re out there.” I grabbed another piece of bread and rolled it around a bit of cheese. “What’s happening with the autopsy?”

“It’ll get done,” he said mildly. “I’m more interested in you and your brother.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because there are several strange things about the pair of you.”

A smile teased my lips. “You’re not the first person to say that.”

He didn’t look amused and I resisted the urge to sigh.

“I did some investigating when you were reported missing,” he said. “The owners of the Bayview can’t remember seeing you when your brother registered, and no one in town saw you wandering about before you went missing—although they can remember Evin coming in to buy groceries or to use the phone in the pub.”

I shrugged. “Evin said I’d been depressed. Maybe I was just keeping to myself.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But it’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think, that not even an hour after you’ve been found, a mutilated body turns up? A body that you and your brother just happen to come across?”

I leaned back in my chair and stared at him. “Do you really think I’d be stupid enough to murder someone like that, then hang around not only to report it, but hand you a whole series of clues?”

He raised his eyebrows, his gaze assessing. “Why not? There’s plenty of documented evidence about murderers getting their jollies by pretending to be witnesses.”

I slammed my hands down the table and tried to control the anger that whipped through me. He was only