A Siren's Song (Ride of the Darkyrie 2) by Saranna DeWylde Page B

much.”
                  “If they’re your wife’s flowers, why did she put them in here?”
                  “She felt guilty accepting a gift from another man.”
                  “May I see the card?”
                  He shrugged. “Be my guest.”
                  I took the card and flipped it over. Kasalan was scrawled in a neat, precise script.
                  “Does that word mean anything to you?”
                  “Why so curious? Has someone been bothering Angela?”
                  Besides you, asshole? “Ah, no. I’m just always a cop. Can’t seem to turn it off. If someone I loved got flowers from an unknown source, I’d want every detail.”
                  He looked sheepish. “I did look it up. It’s the Filipino word for marriage.”
                  Jasmine was part of the marriage tradition. It was also the Capri Killer’s calling card. Angela’s mother was in danger, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Angela had told her mother what Larkin had been doing and she’d done nothing.
                  If anyone had done these things to Thora, had she lived, there would be no hellhole deep enough, nowhere far enough to escape my wrath.
                  Angela’s mother was just as culpable as Larkin. The Capri Killer could have her.
                  Thank you.
                  His voice was as loud and clear as if he’d been standing right next to me. My head snapped up and I scanned the room for another presence, but there was no one there but the remnants of Kelly, Larkin and myself.
                  In the blood, in the blood, in the blood.
                  “Out of curiosity, what’s your wife’s blood type?”
                  “What a strange question.” Larkin leaned back on his desk, his palms splayed on the edge.
                  “Indulge me.”
                  “Only if you return the favor.”
                  “If I can.” I nodded.
                  “O positive.”
                  “Huh. Me too.” I had to remember to ask Jenna what the other victims’ blood types were, but I almost didn’t need her answer. I knew this was it; a piece of the puzzle. Though I knew now he was in my head as much as I was in his. He knew I’d come here, find the plant. I was suddenly hit with the impression that this was all a game. He needed the girls’ blood, but the elaborate dressing of the corpses, the scene, all of this was him playing with me.
                  The killer wasn’t human.
                  He believed himself to be my equal.
                  “My turn. Can you get me a day pass to see Angela? I just need to talk to her. There’s no reason to put her mother through this.”
                  “You’re right,” I agreed.
                  “I knew if we could just talk you’d see it my way.”
                  “First, tell me what you did with the rest of Kelly’s body.”
                  His eyes narrowed to little slits and then widened again, the expression would have been imperceptible to a mortal. But not to me. It was as clear and bright as a new light bulb.
                  “You can’t really believe that story, can you?” James Larkin said in a tone designed to calm, soothe, and manipulate. “She went to school and told all of her friends that about the hourglass. It’s made of ivory. Gwen and I got that on safari in Africa for our anniversary.”
                  I could have killed him right there. Snapped his neck. Shoved that pen from the pocket of his shirt into his jugular. Used that hourglass and crack it across the bridge of his nose so the bones shattered and exploded up into his