Chapter 15
“That stupid, arrogant—” I wanted to scream. Except screaming wouldn’t have been enough. The sound of the door slamming when I’d kicked Falin out still thundered in my ears—or maybe that was my blood pounding.
“What are you, Alexis Caine?”
Damn him.
I stopped in front of the mirror and stared at my face. “He thinks you’re weird,” I told the girl in the mirror.
She already looked pissed, so my statement didn’t change much. Of course I’m weird. I’m wyrd. I was the Caine daughter who was different, the one who couldn’t hide what she could do. I was the one who couldn’t not do magic, couldn’t not raise shades. The magic exploded out of me and latched onto random corpses if I went too long between rituals. Wyrd.
And now Falin thought I was even weirder than wyrd.
“What are you, Alexis Caine?”
I was pissed. I was exhausted. I was … wasting time.
I inhaled a deep breath and let it back out. This isn’t helping you find Coleman. No, but self-flogging was easy to do. But it wasn’t just my life on the line anymore—I had to find Coleman for John.
My gaze moved to the corner of the mirror and landed on a picture of Rianna. As the only two grave witches at the academy we’d never been weird to each other. In the photo, she looked at the camera with her big green eyes peeking over the top of a paperback book—probably a mystery novel. A PI firm called Tongues for the Dead had been her dream, not mine.
“What would you do if you were here?” I asked the photo.
It didn’t answer—not that I expected it to. Talking to the dead didn’t mean I could make a photo answer. But I did know what Rianna would do. She would write a report about everything we knew, including all our suspects.
I didn’t have the patience for a full report, but a suspect list wasn’t a bad idea.
I turned on my laptop and pulled up a blank document.
The party guest list was my suspect pool. I didn’t know the names of all the men in the group where I’d sensed Coleman. From what I remembered, six men had met the description Roy gave me: the businessman, two aides, Lieutenant Governor Bartholomew, Senator Wilks, and, of course, my father.
In my opinion, my father was cleared—if not by his actions, then by the fact I’d seen him a half hour before Falin was called to the scene. That wasn’t enough time for him to leave the party and commit the murder. Coleman probably wanted to get as close to the hot seat of power again, so I was betting on Bartholomew as the new host. After all, Bartholomew had left the party early on. That gave him the time and opportunity to get to the warehouse and conduct the ritual. I put a star beside his name and typed “prime suspect” in parentheses.
Now, the question was how to prove it.
I stared at the blinking curser. At my feet, PC whined.
I glanced down at him.
“What do you think, PC?”
He thought he’d jump in my lap.
I needed to know more about Bartholomew. I hit the icon to bring up my Internet browser. My e-mail was set as my home screen, and I groaned at the number of unread messages in my in-box. I scanned, deleting as I went. As expected, most were from the press.
One wasn’t.
I clicked to open the message. It was from a young couple who wanted me to raise the woman’s parents.
I read on. Apparently the couple had been having trouble with conception. They had an appointment with a fertility specialist but wanted to find out her family health history, which she didn’t know because her parents had died in a car accident when she was a child.
It was a client. And it sounded like a good easy case.
I frowned. I didn’t really have time to work a case right now, but at the same time I couldn’t just stop working.
I was late on rent already, I had no car, and I had only twelve dollars to my name. None of that would matter if I didn’t find Coleman.
I silenced the negative thought and glanced at the time stamp on the message. It had come in almost two days ago. Writing a quick response, I attached my standard contract, then added a line about half my fee being paid up front—I was tired of getting ripped off.
I hit SEND. Then I spent the next hour reading articles about Bartholomew. Falin was right: he was a hothead and occasionally stuck his foot in his mouth, but reading about his outbursts in the House and his views on this or that bill did little but make my eyes blurry.
I leaned back in my chair and stretched. My back gave a satisfying pop, and PC lifted his head.
“I think we’ve been sitting here too long.”
He apparently didn’t agree because he laid his head back down and closed his eyes. I scratched behind his ears and tabbed back to my suspect list, which now had a lot of useless information under Bartholomew’s name.
If Coleman was stealing the energy from souls, he had to be storing it in something. Some material that could hold a high concentration of magical energy, like a gem, obsidian, or silver. No, not a gem. Not with as many souls as he’d drained. Whatever he was storing the energy in had to be large. There hadn’t been any kind of magical receptacle at the warehouse, which meant Coleman probably had it at his host’s home or office.
So, I was looking at breaking into the lieutenant governor’s home or the statehouse. Oh yeah, because neither of those will be a problem. I slumped forward and propped my chin on my hand. The statehouse was a public building, at least, but the offices weren’t, and they would have more security. Of course, magic could get around tech. I knew an excellent charm witch.
I hit the “home” icon to return to my in-box before closing my browser. I had one new message. I blinked.
The couple had responded already.
I opened the message. The woman had signed, scanned, and returned my contract. Her appointment at the fertility clinic was first thing Monday morning, and she was anxious. She got off work at six and wondered if I would be available to meet her at Sleepy Knoll Cemetery at six thirty.
I chewed at my bottom lip and glanced at the clock.
It was quarter to one now, and if I was breaking into the statehouse, I was going to have a busy afternoon. But I thought I’d be able to make it to the cemetery by six thirty. And how long could a family medical history take to convey? Half an hour? An hour? It would be easy money. As long as I didn’t go blind again.
Considering everything that was going on, I’d make sure I didn’t go alone.
I wrote her a quick message confirming that I’d meet her and reminding her I collected half my fee up front.
Then I shut down the laptop, grabbed my purse and Tamara’s dress, and went to beg another ride off Caleb.
After I made a quick trip to the morgue, I’d pay a visit to the statehouse.
———
I dropped my purse on the conveyer belt, but I hadn’t yet made it past the metal detector when the machine began beeping. The guard on duty dumped the contents of my purse and grabbed his spellchecker wand. What could have … Oh crap. The gray spellbook. With everything else that had happened last night, I’d forgotten all about the spellbook.
I glanced around, hoping Central Precinct’s lobby was empty. Not only was it not empty, but because reality clearly hated me this week, one of the people present was Lusa Duncan, the star reporter for Witch Watch.
And, of course, the angry beep had caught her attention, so she was watching me like a familiar monitoring a spell.
I turned my back to her and watched the guard work.
As the wand crept over the book, the bead on the tip turned red. Crap. Not just magic. Malicious magic. As in illegal.
“Miss Craft, I’m going to have to ask you to wait right here.” He reached for his radio.
“It’s not mine.”
The guard gave me a look that said he’d heard that one before. He barked into his radio, and I opened my mouth, closed it. Now what? I glanced back. Lusa wasn’t watching me anymore. Instead, her eyes were closed and by the way her lips were moving, I guessed she was chanting. Probably checking me out in the Aetheric. Will she see the spell on my soul? That would certainly reflect badly on me. I turned back to the guard.
“I’d like to talk to Detective Falin Andrews.”
———
Falin kept me waiting more than fifteen minutes. By that point I’d reclaimed the contents of my purse—except the book, of course—and been told not to move out of the uncomfortable orange chair the guard had pointed me to. Lusa was still haunting the lobby, watching, and I’d lost count of how many people had passed by me and stared while I sat there feeling miserable.
When Falin arrived, the guard tried to explain how he’d found the book, but with a terse “I’ll take it from here,” Falin plucked the book from the guard’s hand.
I jumped to my feet as Falin stormed over. He wrapped a hand around my biceps and all but dragged me out of the lobby.
“I, uh—”
“Be quiet.”
He marched me down a twisting hallway before pushing me into a room. The small room had a single table in the center with two chairs on one side and one on the other.
I clutched my purse to my chest. “Uh, this is an interrogation room.”
“Yeah, it is.” He slammed the door. “What the hell is going on? You’re a gray witch?”
“No!”
“Then what’s this?” He tossed the spellbook on the table.
“It’s not what it looks like. I’m not stupid enough to dabble in gray magic.” Especially not while I had a dark spell sucking on my soul.
“Then why don’t you explain it to me.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Uncomplicate it.”
I frowned and looked up at the large mirror covering half the far wall. Two-way glass. “Who’s watching us?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“Then you might as well take off your gloves and use your truth-seeking sp—” I cut off as he stepped forward, his eyes wide with alarm.
In the next instant, his face regained its composure, or at least went back to just looking pissed. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. “No one is listening.”
“Really? So there’s no issue if I talk about the illegal truth-seeking spell you used on me last night?”
No reaction this time, but I knew what I’d seen. He’d reacted first, thought second.
“Are you trying to goad me, Miss Craft?”
“No.” Just ensuring we’re alone. I sank into one of the chairs. “I stole the book from Casey’s room last night.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “The governor’s daughter? Your sister?”
“As I said, complicated.”And it had “scandal” written all over it. While I might enjoy putting my father in the hot seat, it would eventually turn out bad for everyone involved. “I’d planned to destroy the book, but after the warehouse … I forgot I had it on me.”
Falin sat down in the chair opposite me and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. As the pissed look drained from his face he just looked tired. “Why are you here, Alex?”
“I was headed to the morgue to—”
“You are not allowed to raise shades here, not now.”
I frowned at him. “I was just going to return Tamara’s dress.”
“Give it to me; I’ll take it to her.” He held out a hand.
“I, uh, it’s not in the best of shape. I should probably take it myself.” Which was true. It had been covered in dust and grit from the warehouse, so I’d thrown it in Caleb’s washer when I got home this morning. Apparently it was dry clean only.
Falin pushed away from the table and pocketed the book. Then he opened the door. “Fine. That’s where I’m going anyway. I’ll walk you down. But don’t go near any bodies.”
———
“I’m really sorry about the dress.”
“It’s all right. We’ll chalk it up as a casualty to improving your social life.” Tamara gave me a weak smile. “But here is a tip from me to you: the night shouldn’t end with you in handcuffs … unless you’re into that.”
“Tamara!” I hissed, but we both laughed.
We were standing in the basement corridor outside the morgue. Apparently that was as close to the bodies as Falin trusted me to get, as though I just wouldn’t be able to resist raising a couple of shades if I went into the autopsy room. He, of course, got to go inside. If I were honest, with my damaged shields and the way the grave essence was reaching for me out in the hall, I was thankful for the extra space from the bodies. Not that I’d tell him that.
“I’ll replace the dress,” I said, avoiding looking at the shrunken black scrap I’d returned to Tamara. And I would replace it. Once the check from the city came in, the dress would be my top priority.
“Alex, don’t worry about it. I’ve only ever worn it once.”
“Strangely, that doesn’t make me feel any better.”
She shook her head and smiled. “Thanks for dropping it off, but I know you didn’t come all this way just to bring me a ruined dress. What’s up?”
Busted. “I need another favor.” I ducked, mocking fear. She just rolled her eyes and propped a hand on her hip, waiting. I stumbled on. “Do you remember when you were having trouble with that video stalker and you crafted that charm that made you invisible on camera?”
She frowned at me. “What are you up to, Alex?”
“It’s all this.” I waved my hand around my head. “I’m sick of my face showing up on the evening news and the front page of the paper.” Which was all true. It wasn’t what I actually planned to use the charm for, but it was true.
She studied me and I gave her my most innocent smile. After a minute, she nodded and unclipped a small silver charm from her bracelet. It was shaped like a tiny lock.
“Use it responsibly, and if you get arrested, I didn’t make it.”
“Thanks! I’ll get it back to you as soo—”
The morgue door opened and I fell silent. Falin strolled out, and I fastened the charm to my bracelet before he noticed. Not that I should have been worried about it; he was talking with a man about my own age whom I didn’t know. The man wore street clothes, which meant he wasn’t a beat cop. ID-ing a body, maybe? He squinted in the bright fluorescence as if he was having difficulty seeing.
When his gaze landed on me, a dazzling smile broke across his face. He held up a hand, cutting Falin off, and walked over to where Tamara and I were talking.
“Beg pardon, may I presume you to be Miss Alex Craft?”
How am I supposed to respond to that? “Er. Yes?”
He bowed. “I am Ashen Hughes, and I am very honored to make your acquaintance.” He held out his hand, but when I took it, he didn’t shake. Instead, he lifted my hand and brushed his lips across my knuckles. “You have made great strides in our wyrd world.”
A fellow grave witch? I looked him over again. I didn’t know him, but that wasn’t unusual. Even among wyrd talents, grave magic was rare—only premonition witches were less common—and it wasn’t as though we had a national conference or anything. Ashen wasn’t a bad-looking guy. The fact he was standing next to Falin was unfair to him, but he had nice eyes. Green, very pale green, as if using grave-sight had bleached the color out of his irises. His dark hair was just long enough to show a tendency to curl, and he wore it slicked back from his face.
“If I may be so bold,” he said after releasing my hand, “I would be delighted to sit and talk with you for a while. It is rare to be in the presence of such talent. Or for that talent to be so pleasing to perceive. Would you be so kind as to join me for dinner?”
“Well, I, uh, I’ve actually already made plans.” Is he hitting on me? My eyes flickered to Tamara.
She was standing a bit behind Ashen and clearly mouthing the words “Go.” Easy for her to say. Of course, she had just sacrificed a dress to the improvement of my social life, as she put it.
Roy floated through the door. “I’d go,” he said. “That one confirmed everything you said about the spell on my body.”
Ashen’s eyes shifted as though he’d heard Roy, but he didn’t turn. Instead, he tilted his head, acknowledging my refusal. Then he said, “At the risk of making a fool of myself, may I ask if you have plans tomorrow around lunch? I would love to hear your account of the Holliday trial, and of course discuss this rather baffling spell on the late governor’s body. Clearly fae magic, judging by the glyphs.”
He recognized the glyphs?
“Clearly?” I asked.
“Oh yes. You see, I’m quite enchanted by the fae and have spent more time than I’d rather admit studying their magic and lore. Ancient glyphs are actually the emphasis of my current research. I recognized a few of the glyphs, though their arrangement and purpose on the governor’s body is beyond me.”
“But the ones you recognized—do you know what type of spells they are usually used for?”
“I can speculate.” Ashen leaned closer. “Lunch, Miss Craft? I would be delighted to speak of this at length, but I’d like to consult some texts first.”
Tamara was actually making hand motions behind his head now. Falin leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest as he scowled at me. Ashen is some sort of scholar in fae glyphs? I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to learn more about the spells I was up against.
Maybe he’d also be able to tell me something about the spell used on the body in the warehouse. Maybe he’ll even know how to counter the spell’s effect—or at least know a way to slow its progress.
“Lunch sounds great. Should I suggest a place?”
His smile turned on high power. It was a nice smile that went all the way to his pale eyes. “Actually, I’ve heard a lot about the Eternal Bloom. I was hoping to visit it before I left town.”
The fae bar? Considering my current issues with the fae, that sounded like a bad idea. Not that I hadn’t been there before, but if I went out for drinks, I preferred Mac’s. Usually the Eternal Bloom was filled with tourists hoping to catch sight of a real fae, who, aware of that fact, were rarely present.
From his spot on the wall, Falin shook his head, his eyes drilling into me. Not that it’s his decision. Apparently it wasn’t mine either, because Tamara took that moment to jump into the conversation.
“Alex loves the Eternal Bloom, don’t you?”
Uh. Crap. Tamara didn’t know about the kidnapping attempt, and I obviously couldn’t go into that here. I smiled at Ashen. “Okay, sure. Noon?”
“It’s a date.” He bowed again, then headed for the elevator.
Once he was gone, Tamara started gushing. “Oh, this is exciting. Do you need help deciding what to wear?”
“It’s just lunch. Besides, you haven’t even asked how last night went.”
She glanced back at Falin, who was still leaning against the wall. She lowered her voice. “You ended up ruining my dress by collapsing on the dusty floor at a crime scene. I can guess it didn’t work out. But this …”
She smiled and gave me a hug. “Well, I should get back to work. I’m slammed here.”
“Tommy still hasn’t shown back up?”
Tamara shook her head. “And Sally—you remember her?”
I nodded. Sally was a wyrd empath who enjoyed working with the dead because she didn’t have to shield from their emotions. Wyrd witches were few and far between, so I knew most of the wyrd residents of Nekros, but Sally and I were far from friends. She claimed I wasn’t in touch with my feelings and that I projected like a bitch.
“Well, she worked night shift last night, and when she left this morning she said she was feeling pretty bad. I won’t be surprised if she calls out tonight.” Tamara sighed. “So, I should get back to it.”
I waved good-bye. Then I turned to Falin. “I suppose you plan to escort me out of the building?”
He lifted an eyebrow, and I hated him for that expressive eyebrow. This one was definitely a cocky “Yes, and you can’t do anything about it.”
I showed some teeth. “I have one more thing to do.”
Roy was moping in the corner, and I walked over so Falin wouldn’t overhear me.
Not that he wasn’t watching. “Alex, are you planning to talk to that wall?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s a nice wall,” I yelled over my shoulder, then turned back to the ghost. “Hey, Roy, I need a favor.”
———
“Miss Craft, a moment of your time,” Lusa yelled as I crossed the green space in front of Central Precinct.
I groaned and kept walking. Lusa and her cameraman followed. I was tempted to activate Tamara’s charm, but if the statehouse had spellcheckers in use, having the charm active would make it a lot more noticeable, and I’d already had enough trouble with security for one day. So I just kept my head down and let my stride put sidewalk between us.
“Miss Craft, would you like to make any statement to the public about why you’ve decided to use gray magic?”
I stopped. I probably shouldn’t have, but I did. “I don’t use gray magic.”
“I have video of a gray spellbook being confiscated from you, and you have a dark mark on your soul. The evidence is pretty damning.”
I glanced from Lusa to her cameraman. The red recording light was blinking like a racing heartbeat. “Is this live?”
Lusa smiled at me. “It’s for my Monday show. Unless I get a better story.”
Crap. “How about if I can promise you an exclusive, but you have to wait?”
“I have deadlines, Miss Craft.”
I frowned at her. I couldn’t say anything, and I sure couldn’t give her anything by Monday, but she was a reporter.
If I dangled a big enough story in front of her nose, she’d bite at it. Without looking away from her, I said, “Roy, you want your story on TV?”
The ghost gaped at me. “Can I do that? I mean. No one can see me.”
“Roy, give me your hand, and don’t say anything confidential.”
I reached out, and he took my hand. Then I grabbed the grave essence in the air around me. I channeled it through my body and into Roy. I’d never actually tried to make a ghost visible, but when Lusa gasped, I knew it had worked.
She took only a moment to recover and snap back into camera-ready professionalism. “Okay, a ghost. So, what’s the story?”
“I know more about the body downstairs than any living person,” he said.
“The late governor’s body?” Lusa asked. At Roy’s nod, she turned to her cameraman. “Is he showing up on film?”
The cameraman hit a button.“Yeah, he’s a little shimmery, but he’s there.”
Lusa turned back to me. “Okay, so I get what—an interview with the ghost in exchange for not showing the footage I caught?”
I released my hold on the grave essence and Roy’s hand. “His name is Roy Pearson, and the deal is this. Once everything comes out, and not before then, you get an exclusive interview. In exchange, I want the original of the footage from the station, and any copies in existence.”
She nodded.“Deal. But I’m keeping the footage until after the interview, and if you back out, I can air it any time.”
We shook on the deal. Hopefully, I’d make it through the Coleman ordeal and not give Lusa the chance to ruin my name posthumously.