Misfortune Cookie by Casey Wyatt Page A

the others.”
    Joanna’s mouth pinched into a severe frown. “Yes. The press has dubbed them the Misfortune Cookie Murders. Idiots.” She slapped a thick folder on the table. “Here are copies of the human police files.”
    She said human like it left a bitter taste in her mouth. It made me wonder what the hell she was. She looked human enough to me.
    “And what of our side’s investigation?” Luca asked.
    Joanna placed a smooth flat stone on top of the folder. “Get yourselves up to speed by nightfall. If this thing has a pattern, I want you to find it. This situation is too messy and now that it’s public, we need to capture whatever is out there on a rampage.”
    “The soul at the last murder? Did Mikey make it to the Hereafter?”
    “Yes. He is where he belongs.” Joanna stood to leave.
    “Wait.” Something nagged at me. Granted, I was new to the job, but who would send a rookie on such an important assignment. “Why are we on this case?”
    Joanna’s face darkened, as if she wasn’t used to being questioned. She’d have to deal with that. Thanks to Sebastian, I was a battle-scarred veteran of the power struggle. Blind obedience was not my thing.
    “The Prophet has spoken. And the Prophet is never wrong.” With that she walked away, her heels clacking across the marble tiles.
    Luca placed a restraining had on my wrist when I moved to follow. “Do not argue with her. It serves no purpose.”
    When I was sure she was gone, I turned to Luca. “Who is the Prophet?”
    “It’s actually a collective of psyches with knowledge that transcends time and space.”
    “And?” I pinched the bridge of my nose, hoping to stem off the headache I could feel was coming.
    “You must have appeared to them as a key player in these events. Hence the change in assignment.”
    “Yeah, well I think the Prophet is wrong this time.” Completely off their rockers was more like it.
    “Do not make that face,” Luca said.
    “Which one? The how did my life get so sucky face? Or the is everyone smoking crack face?”
    Luca ignored my sarcasm and palmed the rock. “We should see what this has to say.”
    Seriously? A rock? I bit back my disbelief and nodded. “Okay. How does one speak to a stone?” As if in response, the brands tingled. “Of course. I have to touch it.” Silly me. Feel the creepy, glowing rock. So I did. And nothing happened.
    “We need to do it together.” Luca covered my hand with his much larger palm. “Hold on.”
    “To wha—?”
    The room disappeared, replaced by a dark cavern or cellar. Moisture coated the sleek walls. Stale decay filled the air. The only light came from a work lamp hanging overhead.
    Shivers chased up my spine. “Is this real?”
    Luca twined his fingers around mine, his skin warming my chilled fingers. “It is a memory.”
    “So no worries about messing up the space/time continuum.”
    The corner of Luca’s mouth quirked. “Pay attention, annywl .”
    A different tremor passed through me at the smooth sound of his voice. Husky and low, the tone commanding. I shook myself. Mind on the job .
    The tableau shifted, and the lamp hovered over a cache of artifacts: jars, clay pots, broken rocks. The items were arranged on wooden shelves with no sense of organization. Before I could focus on any one item, the scene changed again.
    “Is there a pause button on this thing?”
    “Hush.” Luca wrapped his arms around me. “You ask when you should watch.”
    I resisted the urge to lean into his chest. “Is this necessary?”
    Shrieks split the air. I started, slamming into Luca’s chest hard enough to knock the breath out of him. “Damn it!” My pulse thudded in my ears. “You could have warned me.”
    “How could I when this is the first time I’m witnessing this event? Now, hush.”
    Heart-rending screams raised the hair on the base of my neck. Whosever memory we were in started running toward the exit. Angry growls snapped on his heels. I knew it was a he because of