We hope you enjoy this exclusive first chapter to L.A. Burton's Storm of Magick...

Chapter 1

I hovered at the point just before you are totally aware of your surroundings. Under the covers it was so warm. A loud and obnoxious ring cut the silence. I grabbed the phone off the nightstand and lazily put it to my ear. Logan Wolf, I said in a sleepy voice. A warm rush of air came from the ducts and the comforting purr came from my cat, Nemo, who slept on the pillow next to me.

Logan, there’s been a murder and I need your expertise on this one, Patrick Doyle said. I heard that familiar click of a Bic Lighter. Doyle was a chain smoker if there was such a thing. Lieutenant Patrick Doyle heads the Supernatural Special Unit, S.S.U. for short.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Where are you? I asked, still not ready to get up and get moving on my day off. I fumbled with the notepad and pen on the nightstand.

Doyle told me where to meet the unit and then he hung up. I finished writing down the directions and was left listening to the obnoxious busy tone. I hung up, got out of my warm bed and stretched my stiff five foot seven frame. I padded across the hall to the bathroom, turned on the lights and locked the door. I’ve been cautious since a couple of warlocks busted through my protection spell, got into my house, and nearly killed me. And I have the scar across my back to prove it.

Waiting for my eyes to adjust, I looked in the mirror. My face was so pale, which made my ice blue eyes almost blend in with my skin tone. I brushed my long brown hair and pulled it back into a ponytail, then brushed my teeth and quickly did my three-minute make-up routine. If I didn’t, I looked sick.

I walked back into my bedroom. Just once on my day off I would like it to be just that, my day off, I griped. From my nightstand drawer I got my Ruger 9mm, complete with holster, and laid it on the bed. I dressed quickly in black button-fly jeans, then slipped on a bra. I put on a pair of flat black ankle boots - I refuse to do heels in the winter and the weatherman called for snow. I fished a thin black belt through the loops on my jeans and put on the holster, which sat at my lower back. It was an awkward place for a gun but it was my favorite.

I finished my outfit with a blood red cashmere sweater and a black leather coat that hit me right below the butt. Shit, I forgot to ask if the snow started already. No rest for the wicked, as Grams always says, I said to myself. Did I mention that I talk to myself? A lot. It’s one of my bad habits.

I walked down the hall, through the living room to the kitchen, my boots clicking on the hardwood floors. In the kitchen I went straight to the refrigerator. My preferred source of caffeine was a cold Diet Coke. The bottle made a hiss under the carbonated pressure as I opened it. I took a long swig, my eyes watering. I returned the bottle to the refrigerator and picked up my keys and small black bag off the table. And I was on my way.

There wasn’t much snow on my van. I got in and started the engine, sitting there for a couple of minutes watching the snow whirl around in the dusk til dawn light. Sometimes when it snows and it’s cold, I wish I was back home in Arizona. I put the van into gear and it slowly rolled down the gravel driveway.

I turned right onto Hollow Road, which was lightly covered with snow. At least the murder scene wasn’t too far away. The wind picked up, making me grip the steering wheel a little tighter. I passed a couple cars, but living out in the country, not many people traveled this road. My closest neighbor was a cemetery.

Bare trees adorned each side of the road and they stretched up, creating a tunnel effect. The sky seemed to be covered with dark blue velvet. I came to a stop, watching the falling snow whirl around the street light before I turned left. In the distance, I could see the flash of red and blue lights. It was the only activity that could be seen. I slowly drove up to the other cars, where I could see several people walking around with flashlights in hand, apparently looking for clues. I shut off the engine and got out. Looking around, I saw everyone seemed to be in a somber mood. Was the victim that bad?

It was cold, that kind of cold that seems to make your skin sting when the wind blows. I walked towards Doyle. He stood talking to Detective Jake Evans.

Doyle dressed impeccably. In this light all I could tell was that his suit was dark, maybe gray or black. The dark coat didn’t seem to be warm enough. It was one of those dress coats that you see most business men wearing. One thing I did know, under the coat Doyle’s clothing was pressed and clean. I stopped right in front of Doyle. The snow dusted his Irish red hair and his nose was already red from being outside.

What do you have for me to see, Doyle? I asked, getting the first hints of a chill. Did I mention that I hate the cold weather?

A body that seems to be right up your alley. Evans will take you to the victim, Doyle said in his low voice, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his coat. Doyle was the most composed and soft spoken person that I had ever met. I’d been volunteering at the Little Rock Police Department for seven months and in that time I had never heard him raise his voice.

After two weeks of freezing temperatures, the ground was hard. I guess it was better then traipsing through mud. Staring at a dead body wasn’t how I wanted to start my night off, but here I was. Hunting ghosts was a night shift job, but tonight had nothing to do with ghosts and everything to do with my volunteer job. I was Little Rock Police Department’s supernatural and occult expert. Most people didn’t expect a woman to have this type of job. And with the name like Logan Wolf, people expected a man to show up.

Could the weather be worse? I asked, looking at Lieutenant Patrick Doyle. For being six foot, he looked thin. Doyle was the worst chain-smoker that I ever saw and he had the perpetual scent of nicotine to prove it. He headed a special unit for the Little Rock Police Department. I was on retainer to help out on occult and paranormal related murders. I promised myself after my childhood best friend was killed by a Brag, a shape shifting goblin, I would help capture the supernatural bad guys.

Snowflakes the size of goose feathers whirled around us in a frenzy and the wind howled. It wasn’t my favorite kind of weather. In fact I hated it. We stood out of the way while the crime scene investigators finished their job. I was not happy about standing out in the cold, freezing my ass off, but hey, sometimes life sucked.

Oh yeah, it’s going to get a lot worse. The weatherman is calling for fourteen inches of snow in the next twelve hours, Doyle answered.

I shot him an evil look. I did not need to hear that. I watched the investigators getting their things together and walk away. Time to get down to business. All I wanted was to get this done and get out of the cold as quick as possible.

There were barely four inches of fresh powder on the ground and with still more to come things were going to get interesting. I followed Evans, who stopped a good fifteen yards away from the body.

I’ll leave you to it, Evans said.

Evans’ normally perfect sandy blond hair seemed to dance from the strong winds. Like Doyle, Evans wore a dark suit but with little light it was hard to tell the actual color. At six foot two and with his GQ looks, he appeared to be out of place.

Was it a good enough show the first time? I asked with a grin on my face. Evans may be a pain in my ass but we enjoyed joking around with each other.

Yeah it was, he said with a sick look on his face. The expression made me lose the grin.

I took two steps towards the body, peered down and looked at it. It was obviously a female but to get through this, I had to refer to her as ‘the body’ or ‘it.’ Or I would go stark raving mad. The snow around the body was packed down by everyone who’d been here, but the ground was crisp and clean. There wasn’t any blood around the body and from what I could tell, no blood leading to it. I took out a pair of rubber gloves from my pocket and put them on. I squatted down next to the body and tried to wrap my head around the mess I was looking at.

I pulled a small flashlight from my pocket. As much as I hated it, I thanked the gods for the cold weather. The body was pretty much preserved with no scent.

The eyes stared blankly at the sky. There was nothing left in those eyes, nothing of the person anyways. There wasn’t any damage to the face. I followed the jaw line to the neck; it looked like the left carotid artery had been severed. As if the killer was trying to cut off the victim’s head.

The skin was pale from blood loss, and the edge of the wound was drawn back. I shone my flashlight on the jagged cut. The deep red of the muscles glistened with ice crystals and blood had dried on the neck, showing the blood drained out somewhere. It looked like the victim had been standing when the cut was made. I could see where some kind of blade entered the neck at two different places. So where was all the blood? It would be a substantial amount.

The two wounds were jagged, about four inches long, but wouldn’t have caused death. No, that was the gash of the carotid artery. She didn’t have a coat on so she could’ve been killed inside and dumped here. Or at the very least she’d been caught off guard. Her blouse had been pushed back out of the way. I bet that one of the investigators moved it. I shone the light on the stomach. There was some bruising and several deep cuts that stretched from the left breast to the navel and below the low-rise blue jeans. It didn’t leave much to the imagination. Plus I could pretty much tell where the wound went. I put my hand on the ground next to the body and felt the residue of magick. It felt like a slow vibration tickling my hand.

I stood shaking my head. Magick was definitely involved. I took off my gloves, turned and walked back to Doyle. The snow came down at a steady pace. I glanced at the sky and wondered how bad it was going to get. I continued on until I stood in front of Doyle and watched him light another cigarette. I inhaled deeply, taking in nicotine, and it burned my nose.

The person you’re looking for has magickal powers of some kind, but nothing I’m familiar with, I said.

How do you know that? Doyle asked.

Magick residue seeps into the ground and resonates there for hours or even days after magick has been performed, I answered.

What kind of magickal person are we looking for? Doyle asked, taking another long drag of his cigarette and then dropping it to the ground. Lifeless butts were gathered in a small pile at his feet.

Well, there are a few beings that can create this level of magick. Vashon, witch, or maybe a gypsy, I said, thinking it was about time to get out of the fucking cold.

That could be anyone in the Mirtel Square Community, he said, aggravation tightening his face, or Hell’s Commons for that matter.

He was right. The Mirtel Square Community was one of the two concentrated groups of witches in town. The other was in Hell’s Commons, along with a lot of vashon. All I could do was tell Doyle was who I thought had enough magick to leave this level of residue. Behind us, two men from the county coroner’s office peeled the body from the cold ground, put it into a long black bag and zipped it shut.

Any word on where the victim was killed or who she is? I asked, turning away. I really didn’t need to watch the men load the body.

Doyle finished writing and looked at me, No, and we may never know because of the coming storm. Everything in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours will be closed up tight. And we will have to check her description against the reported missing women.

If you don’t need anything else, I have another place to get to, I said.

We’re done here. If I need you I’ll call your cell, Doyle answered.

I nodded, turned and walked to my van. I opened the door, got in and even though the van hadn’t been off that long, when I sat on my leather seat the cold radiated through my jeans, sending a shiver up my spine.

The temperature hovered around twenty degrees during the day and that’s without wind chill, and then plummeted at night down to single digits. Now, the second week in December, we had record snowfalls and a blizzard on the way. Little Rock normally had a couple of good snows but nothing major. So it was very unusual for us to have this much snow this early in the season, or at all. The fluffy clouds looked like dark gray cotton candy, just a couple shades lighter than the sky. The wind howled. It was definitely a two hands on the steering wheel kind of day.

I started the engine, cranked the heat, and pulled away. I was only twenty minutes away from the college and I could barely see the buildings because the snow had picked up again. With the wind blowing, snow whirling around the van, it was hard to see anything more than five feet ahead and keep the van steady. The road was deserted. I had seen only a plow truck for miles and that was fifteen minutes ago.

I pulled into the Chandler Building’s parking lot. Sam couldn’t wait for me to see her new office. She had only moved into the new space a couple weeks before she left for vacation.

I opened the door and the wind hit me hard in the face, making me catch my breath. If my long dark brown hair wasn’t tied back it would be slapping me in the face. I didn’t wear gloves since it made handling my gun too awkward. The only way I could combat the cold was to put my hands into my coat pockets. I continued my fast pace to the double glass doors, opened them and walked in.

I stomped the snow off my boots, letting the warmth envelop me. The building was quiet, but it was after hours. With the snow storm coming, many of the students were tucked in their dorm rooms cramming for finals. Only the security floodlights were on in the main entrance. The hall was only dimly lit in most places, making the building look dark and lonely. I’ve been to the building many times, and Sam’s new office was on the same floor as before. I walked down the hall to the stairs, heading for room 215, second floor. I didn’t like elevators. I didn’t trust them not to break down.