Chapter 7
My old hatchback choked, sputtered, and then died in front of the wrought-iron security gate. I didn’t bother cranking her back up, but leaned out the window and twisted so I could use my right hand to hit the button on the intercom. Again.
I waited, drumming my thumb on the steering wheel as I stared at the gate. I hadn’t stepped foot on this property since the summer after I turned eighteen. That had also been the year my father joined the Humans First Party. Hopefully, my stalled-out hatchback was lowering his property value.
Finally the intercom squawked, filling with static before a gruff voice barked, “State your name and the purpose of your visit.”
Friendly guard—just the way my father liked them.
“Hi, how are you?” I smiled at the monitor.
The guard didn’t answer.
“Can you believe this heat wave? I have an appointment with Casey Caine.”
The box squawked again. “Name?”
“Alex Craft.”
The static cut off, and a sharp buzz announced the gate unlocking. Well, at least Casey had told the guard to expect me. I cranked my car and crept it up the magnolialined drive. The drive turned, and the house came into view. Scratch that; it was more a mansion than a house.
After all, normal houses didn’t have ballrooms.
I parked in the circle near the front entrance and pushed the car door, but it stuck. Again. I was going to have to get that looked at, you know, once I was eating regularly. I threw my weight into the door, and it swung open.
The butler, a graying man with a puffy red nose that betrayed his evening vice, answered the door. He stood out of the way, motioning me to enter in good butler fashion, but faltered in midstep, the door still only half open. “Miss Alexis?”
“How are you, Rodger? Father driven you insane yet?”
He smiled, and the smell of fermented fruit washed over me. Apparently Rodger no longer restricted his vices to his off hours. “Mr. Caine is his usual self. A busy man. He is at the statehouse this evening.”
Thank goodness for small favors.
Sharp footsteps clicked on the marble floor beyond the door. “Alexis?”
Rodger straightened at the female voice and moved aside so I could enter. Casey, younger than me by four years, couldn’t have been any more different. Where I was tall and sticklike, she was short and curvy. Normally she was all gloss and sophisticated charm, but today her blond hair hung limp around her face, and her blue eyes were red and swollen. Still, in her black silk top, black capri pants, and Gucci sandals, she looked like a fashion magazine had done a spread on a high-end mourners’ line.
Despite the evidence of crying, she was the picture of poise. She stood with one hand on the balcony and the other on her hip. “Rodger, can you prepare coffee? We’ll take it in my suite.” She turned without waiting for his reply, her heels snapping softly on the marble stairs.
The old house hadn’t changed much in the years I’d been gone. When we reached the second floor, I pointedly ignored the first door on the left, which led to what had been my rooms when I’d lived here. Not that I’d spent a lot of time in the suite even then. Once it became clear I couldn’t hide my grave magic, my father had shipped me off to a wyrd boarding school. After that, I’d spent only summers at the house.
Casey ushered me into the sitting room in her suite, and I gaped. The last time I’d been here she’d been only fourteen, but no sign of the boy band– obsessed teenager she’d been was left in the room. Everything reflected a sophisticated debutante, which I guess was what she was.
The room catered to a minimalist’s style. Everything was glass, black, or white, and the only decoration was a small black statue in the center of the glass coffee table.
The blunt little statue appeared to be carved of petrified wood with an intricate symbol cut in the center. I reached for it, and Casey cleared her throat.
“Alexis, what is going on?” She lowered herself onto a white-cushioned love seat and motioned for me to sit across from her.
Casey watched me, waiting. I bit my lower lip and sank into the chair. How am I going to explain?
I’d thought about it on the drive but hadn’t reached a satisfactory solution. I couldn’t tell her that I suspected Coleman, the poster boy for the Humans First Party—a party that wanted to restrict the rights of witches and fae—of being something inhuman and full of dark magic. Oh yeah, and when I asked “So, have you noticed Dad acting rather strange lately? Because I think Coleman might have stolen his body” I was sure to endear myself to her. Obviously, the truth just wasn’t going to cut it.
Casey’s eyes flicked to where my teeth worried my lip—a habit I’d had since I was a kid—and I forced myself to stop. While we were far from close, Casey and I weren’t complete strangers. We’d spent every summer together until I was eighteen. She the perfect daughter who could do no wrong, me the one who accidently raised the shade of her pet parrot when I was twelve, and our older brother, Brad—well, we didn’t talk about Brad. He’d disappeared when I was eleven. After I graduated from academy, changed my name, and left this house for what I’d thought had been for good, Casey and I had exchanged impersonal e-mails on holidays, and once, three years back on my birthday, we’d met for coffee. We didn’t hate each other; we just didn’t have much in common.
I took a deep breath before saying, “Someone or something tampered with the body. I couldn’t raise the shade.”
Her tweezed eyebrows pinched together.“Obviously. The whole world knows that. You made sure of it.”
I blinked, lost for words. She thinks I released the video? I suppressed a groan. A lot of people probably did. Hell, that was probably what Falin was looking for at my house.
A knock sounded on the door, and I was saved from comment by Rodger’s arrival with the coffee. He placed it on the glass table between us and excused himself without a word.
Casey leaned forward, scooping sugar into her cup.
She lifted a small pitcher. “Cream?”
I rescued my coffee before she could dilute it. I inhaled the scent of the rich dark roast and all but melted with contentment against the plush white chair. Then Casey’s gaze speared into me.
“What I want to know is what the spell you saw does. Who cast it? The fae, obviously, but what type?”
And just like that, she broke my moment of bliss. The Humans First Party saw the fae as public enemies: dangerous, unpredictable, and—most important to them if you actually read their propaganda—uncontrolled. They didn’t paint witches as being much better. I took a sip of the coffee, but the contented moment had passed, and there was no recapturing the feeling. I set the cup on the table. Time to play dangerously.
“This goes no further than you, but I believe the body is a fake. It is only spelled to look like Coleman.” Okay, that wasn’t completely what I believed, but it touched the truth in quite a few places.
Casey’s cup clattered against her saucer. The light brown liquid—too full with cream—sloshed over the edges. She looked down at it, then lowered the cup and saucer to the table.
“So what you’re saying is that Teddy might be alive?”
“Yes.” Unfortunately.
She collapsed into her seat as if she had deflated, but a faint smile clung to her lips. A smile so thin it seemed that someone had turned off her happiness and it was taking time to charge back up.
I shuffled in my seat, crossing then uncrossing my legs. I waited, expecting more questions, but they didn’t come. I picked up my coffee and took the opportunity to redirect the conversation.
“How is Father handling Coleman’s disappearance and presumed death?”
“He’s distressed. We’re all very … distressed.” She stared off in the distance. “It seems so strange, the thought of him being dead. I saw him right before—you know? We were at Harriet’s charity dinner. She’s a state senator, by the way. It was some bleeding heart charity of hers for children displaced by magic or something. Anyway, I sat across from him at dinner. He was so alive, so brilliant.”
Riiight. Sounded as if my little sister had a crush.“So, Father is handling the stress of taking over the governor’s seat?”
Casey’s eyes snapped into focus. “Why do you keep asking about Daddy?”
“I’m not. I’m …” Caught. Dammit. “Can’t I be concerned?”
She stood. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
She swept across the room and held open the door, her lips pressed thin. I drained my coffee before following.
She escorted me all the way to the front door. I reached for the knob but didn’t turn it. Damn Falin for putting the idea in my head, but I had one more question to ask.
Casey saw me hesitate and huffed out a sigh. “I forgot, Alexis. Let me grab my purse.” She walked to the side coat closet, the snap of her heels loud and harsh on the marble.
I waited for her to return before asking, “Who else did you tell I was going to see Coleman’s body?”
“No one. Well, Daddy. But that was it. Why?” She didn’t wait for me to answer but pulled the bills from her billfold and shoved them into my hand. “It’s all I have in this purse, but since you couldn’t actually raise the shade, it probably didn’t take too much of your time. Now, please go.”
I shoved the money in my bag and saw myself out. As I reached the bottom stair the sound of tires on pavement caught my ears. I looked up. A silver Porsche was winding up the drive. Oh crap; Daddy Dearest is home.
I darted down the walk and dove into my little hatchback.
I slammed the door and shoved the key in the ignition simultaneously.
The engine sputtered.
Come on.
It sputtered again and then turned over. The Porsche pulled to a stop behind me. I threw my car in gear and gave her some gas. My little hatchback jutted forward, faithfully chugging down the drive. I wasn’t going to come face to face with evil tonight, or Father either.
———
I stopped at a red light and tugged my purse into my lap. I’d thrown the money Casey had given me into the top of the purse when I’d taken off. Now I pulled the cash out, counting.
Thirty-two dollars.
An inappropriate giggle bubbled in my throat. I let it free until my whole chest shook and moisture filled the corners of my eyes. John was in the ICU; I had a dozen stitches, a sprained wrist, and a hospital bill I couldn’t pay; and Casey thought my time was worth thirty-two dollars. I wiped my eyes and thrust the cash back into my purse.
I shouldn’t have gotten involved in this madness. I should have told her no and gone home. What I needed now was a new client or two. Insurance cases were always good, or maybe one of those crazy shrinks who thought their patient needed closure with some deceased family member—those cases were weird, but they tended to last a while, which meant they paid well. Of course, I needed to start answering my phone again if I expected someone to hire me.
I drummed my thumb on the steering wheel and frowned at the red light. It was taking its sweet time to change. I reached for the radio knob—maybe I’d get lucky and it would work.
My car lurched forward, and my head bounced off the dash. Sharp pain tore across my forehead and tears welled in my eyes.
I jerked upright.
What the hell?
The front of a white van filled my rearview mirror.
How did he … ? Something wet trailed into my eyebrow.
Oh crap. I pressed my hand against my stitches.
My palm came away damp with blood.
This just made my crappy day. I threw the car in park and jumped out. My purse tumbled from my lap, hitting the pavement. Great. I brushed everything back inside and threw the strap over my shoulder.
My poor hatchback’s bumper was crumpled under the huge steel front of the van. The other driver put the van in reverse and pulled back a foot. I stared at the damage. A hot tear sliced down my cheek. Dammit. I cried when I was angry, which only pissed me off more.
I wiped away the tear and spun to face the man sliding out of the van.
“Sorry ’bout that, ma’am,” he said, walking toward me. “Hey, haven’t I seen you on TV? You’re that dead witch.”
I opened my mouth, but shut it before I said something I regretted. I took a deep breath. “Grave witch.”
How the hell did he hit my car sitting at a red light?
Hadn’t he been stopped behind me? There was a line of stopped cars behind the van.
The old man grinned at me, flashing crooked teeth between loose lips. He took off his ball cap and scratched his head, leaning over my twisted bumper. “You can probably knock that out with a hammer.”
Yeah, right. I fished my phone out of my purse. “I’m going to report the accident.”
The grin faded from his face. “All right, all right. Let me get my insurance information.” He leaned back inside the van.
The light changed, and cars careened around us. I stepped closer to the van to keep my toes from getting run over. If I’d been driving past the accident, traffic would have slowed to a crawl as people rubbernecked to watch the minor fender bender, but it was just my luck that since I was the one involved, people whirled by, the wind buffeting me in their wake. The old man, still leaning over his seat and digging in the glove box, glanced back and grinned.
Behind me a car door slammed. Wheels screeched, and I flipped around in time to see my little hatchback tear off down the road.
“What the hell!” I dashed forward.
Half the bumper fell, scraping along the ground and shooting sparks. The thief picked up speed.
I stopped at the edge of the intersection. “Get back here, you mother—”
The 911 operator picked up, cutting me off. “Are you in a secure location?”
“No, my car just got jacked on the corner of—”
The phone was wrenched from my ear.
Fingers with too many joints locked around my arm, and alarm shot through my body like an electric shock. I stepped sideways, trying to jerk free. The grip on my arm tightened like a vise. The old man grinned and hurled my phone into the oncoming traffic.
I swallowed hard. The shock that had run through me a moment earlier settled in my stomach and soured. To my credit, I didn’t scream.
“What do you want?”
He grinned again, his crooked teeth straightening before my eyes, his wrinkles smoothing out, and his face taking on the hard angles of the fae. He flashed his nowpointed teeth and tugged on my arm, dragging me toward the van.
Now I did scream.
The sliding door of the van crashed open. Another fae stepped out. I screamed as if I had banshee blood and locked my knees, pushing my weight through my heels.
I lost more ground.
I jabbed the heel of my boot into the fae’s foot. He yelped and jerked my arm hard, dragging me off balance.
I crashed to my knees. The shadow of the van fell over me.
The second fae reached us. I swung my purse, the leather smacking him in the stomach.
It didn’t faze him.
The new fae pressed something against my forehead, directly in the trickling blood from my split stitches. I tried to jerk back, but he barked a word in a deep guttural language, and a sticky string of magic wrapped around me.
My legs went numb, then my arms. My voice died in my throat.
The fae who had been an old man said something in the same guttural language. Not magic this time—a command. The second fae leaned down and grabbed me under the knees.
He lifted my legs, and I hung between them, unable to move as they carried me to the van.
Cars swerved around us. No one stopped. No one noticed.
The Humans First Party claimed that the fae could commit crimes in broad daylight and no one would be the wiser because of their glamour—an illusion magic so strong it could reshape reality. I’d never believed it.
Guess this was my wake-up call.
I couldn’t blink. I couldn’t even swallow as the fae with my knees lifted me into the stifling belly of the van.
“Freeze!”
They didn’t.
“Let her go,” a vaguely familiar voice commanded.
The fae glanced at each other but continued hauling me into the van. The loud bang of a gunshot crashed into the confined space. The fae holding my arms jerked back, dropping me, and a fountain of blood blossomed in the center of his chest.
My shoulders slammed into the floorboard, followed by the back of my head. I still couldn’t move. The other fae released my legs. He lifted his hands and retreated into the gloom of the van.
“Alex, get out of the van,” the commanding voice said.
Ha! I would have if I could have. I couldn’t see my rescuer, but I could almost place his voice. He must have realized my predicament, because a hand dragged me, sliding on my ass, out of the van.
I landed like a lump on the pavement, and gloved fingers darted across my forehead, ripping the charm away.
Feeling filled my body like dozens of needles pricking my skin.
“Get in the car,” Falin commanded, hauling me to my feet. He shoved me toward his red convertible with one hand without taking his eyes, or his gun, off the fae.
I didn’t need telling twice. Grabbing my purse from where I’d dropped it when the spell hit, I ran for the car. I jumped into the passenger seat, drawing my knees to my chest as the leather seat molded around me. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, pounding behind my eyes so hard it obstructed my vision—or perhaps those were tears making everything fuzzy. I scrubbed at my eyes with the back of my palm.
Falin stood in the street, his gun level. A pair of unmoving legs hung out the door of the van. I couldn’t see the other fae.
“These are iron bullets,” Falin said as he stepped toward the van. “So unless you want to end up like your friend, start talking.”
Cars on both sides of the street slowed.
A crow’s cry-laugh floated up from the bowels of the van, permeated the street. It drew an involuntary shiver from me.
“You’ll be doing more explaining than me, I think,” the fae said.
A black station wagon stopped, the woman inside craning her neck. The car behind her stopped as well. A man in that car pulled out a cell phone.
Clearly the glamour veil had dropped.
I slouched in the passenger seat, hiding from the prying eyes. Over the rim of the dash I saw Falin running for the car, his gun holstered.
He vaulted the door, twisting in midair to land in the driver’s seat. In another situation, I might have been impressed. I swallowed around the lump in my throat, trying to make room for air. Falin threw the car in gear.
It lurched into motion, and he swung a hard U-turn. My shoulder slammed into the door, and my already ragged breath burst out of me. Scrambling back into the seat, I clawed for the seat belt.
We swerved around the stalling traffic, and then Falin gunned it, going from twenty to sixty faster than I could blink. I twisted to glance back. The van jetted into motion, disappearing around the corner.
It was a long few minutes before my heart stopped pounding in my throat and I was able to speak.
“They tried to kidnap me.”
Falin glanced at me from the corner of his eye but didn’t say anything.
I looked up at him. “You shot him.”
Still he said nothing.
I cleared my throat. “Shouldn’t you, like … call it in and secure the scene? You shot someone.”
Falin slammed on the brakes and spun the wheel. The car turned hard, tilting on two tires. I gripped the door, my knuckles white.
“What the hell is your problem?” I screamed as the tires jumped the pavement.
Falin straightened the car. “Most people say thank you when rescued.”
I gritted my teeth, swallowing the scream bubbling in my chest. He swung the car into an empty grocery store parking lot and darted into a parking space. He pulled the emergency brake, and the car screeched to a stop.
Falin turned before the momentum of the stop snapped us forward. His gaze traveled over me, assessing, and his lips twisted in a grimace.
He leaned across the seat and fished through the glove compartment. Tugging out an unmarked red box, he sifted through the contents and pulled out an adhesive bandage the size of my fist.
“For your forehead.” He dropped it in my lap, then leaned between the seats for something on the back floorboard.
I picked up the bandage. A faint tickle in the back of my mind warned me of the inactive charm. The dormant spell wasn’t strong enough for me to feel what it did, but it was on a bandage, so probably it aided healing in some way. I lowered the visor and flicked open the vanity mirror.
Only a few of the stitches had split, but I had small jagged tears where they’d pulled before snapping.
Removing the paper from the back, I pressed the bandage over the wound. My blood activated the spell, and warmth spread over my forehead, easing the sting of torn flesh. Not bad.
Falin straightened, a white oxford shirt in his hand.
He tossed the wrinkled shirt in my lap, followed by a pack of wet-wipes that read G’S WINGS. “Change out of the bloody top.”
I glanced at my tank. It was spattered in small red blotches. Great. I’ll never get the blood out. I tugged it away from my skin. Oh yeah; I was damp from more than sweat. I cringed. Two days in a row I’d ended up covered in blood that wasn’t mine.
I reached for the door and considered the grocery store facade. No signs, no lights—abandoned. Great—no chance of a bathroom there. I glanced back over my shoulder. Falin was cleaning his gun and not paying attention to me.
Well, hell. I tugged the tank over my head.
In the other seat, Falin made a half-choked sound.
Guess he was paying more attention than I thought. Not that it mattered.
“Your timing, while opportune, was a little too convenient,” I said, tearing open the foil on the wipes.“You’ve been following me.”
Falin didn’t answer.
The wet-wipe was cold, but I mopped up my chest and stomach even though I couldn’t see any blood. Then I shrugged into the oxford. It was too big. I buttoned the two buttons between my breasts and tied the tails at my stomach. It was the best I could do.
When I turned, I found Falin staring at me. He cleared his throat and dropped his eyes. He held out his hand.
With a sigh, I handed over my tank. I guess it was evidence now. The police still hadn’t returned my clothes from yesterday. If I keep this up, they’ll have my whole wardrobe in little paper bags.
Falin propped open his door and dug a lighter out of his pocket. Without a word, he held the lighter under my tank.
“Hey! What do you think you’re—”
The tank caught fire, filling the air with the scent of burning fabric.
I jumped out of the car. “You’re crazy.” I slammed the door. “What kind of cop are you? You shot a guy, fled the scene, and now you’re destroying evidence. I should call nine-one-one.” Except I couldn’t. My phone was gone.
I tugged my purse strap higher on my shoulder and glanced around the empty parking lot. What was I supposed to do now? I stomped toward the street.
The convertible purred behind me, starting up. Gravel crunched under the wheels as Falin eased up beside me.
“I told you to stop attracting attention to yourself.”
I blinked at him. What, pray tell, had I done to attract attention to myself? Well, except possibly reveal the existence of a really nasty spell that looked way beyond standard witchcraft. But since then? Okay, since then I’d investigated the site where a body switch had occurred.
Oh yeah, and possibly visited the home of the latest victim.
I cringed and kept walking.
“What did you tell the governor’s daughter?” Falin asked, still crawling the car forward to keep pace with me.
“Casey had nothing to do with this.”
“You don’t find it the least suspicious that you were attacked minutes after leaving the governor’s house?”
Yeah. I did. But I wasn’t about to tell him that. Since my conversation with Roy, I was running on suspicions and questions. I guess I could have told Falin everything I knew and thrown his case wide open—as if he’d actually believe me—but what if my suspicions were wrong?
I didn’t want to know what my father would do if I embarrassed him by falsely accusing him of dark magic.
Besides, trying to explain my involvement might bring to light the deep dark secret that the esteemed Humans First Party member shared chromosomes with me, and my father had spent a lot of money—and if it were anyone else, I’d believe that binding oaths of silence were involved—to keep our relationship quiet.
When I didn’t say anything, Falin rolled closer, angling his wheels. “Get in the car.”
“I’ll walk, thanks.”
“Get in the car.” He leaned over, opening the passenger door so it swung out to block my path.
I looked at him. The setting sun had turned his hair an eerie red, and the falling dusk did little to soften his face. He cocked an eyebrow and pointed to the seat.
He was dangerous.
He’d just saved my life.
I wavered, torn, and he smiled. It wasn’t much of a smile, but it transformed his face, softening the edge that made me want to shy away and hide. I do need a ride.
I climbed into the seat.
“I’ll take you to report your stolen car,” he said once I shut the door.
“And the kidnapping?”
“Just the car.”
Crap. He’d shot a fae. To rescue me. And he didn’t want me telling anyone. I glanced back at the smoldering pile that was all that was left of my tank top. What kind of detective is he?