Chapter 9
I sat in the center of my active circle, my legs crossed and my eyes closed, trying to find peace. It wasn’t coming easily.
I used a meditative trance to reach the Aetheric, the magical plane, but at times like these I wished my ritual was more active, like dancing or chanting. Or screaming.
I’d been shot at, a group of fae had tried to nab me, my father might have gotten his body stolen, and I had a spell spreading through my body. Oh yeah—I could really get into screaming right about now.
I concentrated on my breathing and attempted to clear my thoughts, but it was no use. My brain was buzzing.
Okay. Plan B.
I channeled energy out of my ring and into an inert spell in my charm bracelet, activating it. A false calm descended over me, and my next breath was deep, slow. A bubble trapped all my thoughts, my worries, my personality, moving them out of reach. My mind went instantly blank, tranquil. I sank into a trance.
My next breath was full of color, light. I’d reached the Aetheric.
Wisps of magic floated on all sides of me. I ran my mental fingers through a strand of blue energy. It curled around my hand, and I drew it into my body. In the Aetheric, my body began to glow with magic and warmth. I laughed, giddy with the touch of it. The sound changed to bright blue notes in the air.
I danced through the swirls of energy, searching for blue and green threads, the colors that resonated with me. I drew magic until I glowed like a suncatcher. Only then did I remember why I was working magic. That was the problem with the meditation spell: the bubble didn’t always pop once I hit my trance.
I moved outside of myself, looking at my Aetheric body. It was identical to my mortal body except for the whole glowing-with-energy part. The advantage was that I could see magic. All magic. The obsidian ring on my finger glowed teal with the energy I’d stored in it.
The silver bracelet containing my shields was a mottle of colors because of the various inert spells I carried in the dangling charms. Both looked bright, clear, and healthy.
My gaze moved on.
The scratches in my shoulder were black. They were like a void absorbing the glow of magic leaking out of the skin around them. I’d never seen magic so dark. Surrounding the scratches, dark tendrils grew like thirsty roots, digging over my collarbone, reaching down my arm. The skin around the tendrils was an angry, hurt crimson. As I watched, a thin tendril shot out of the scratch wound. It was only an inch long, but where it touched, the light died. Death was right: the spell was bad news, and it was growing.
I reached for a passing swirl of green energy and wrapped it around my hand. A thought turned it into a glowing green bubble. I concentrated on the dark spell, trying to pull it from my skin and force it into the Aetheric bubble the way I would if I absorbed tainted magic.
The spell resisted, and I pulled harder. Red sparks of light ignited in the swirls around me, reacting to my strain. Still I pulled. Something dislodged, and the Aetheric spun in bright flashes of orange, red, and agony.
When the world righted, I looked at myself. The spell was still firmly attached to my shoulder, but I seemed slightly off center. I blinked, looked again. How could I have pulled something inside myself askew? Because the spell was holding on to … something. Something that made up my core.
I swallowed hard. I had no idea if Death could see magic, but I knew one thing he could see. Souls.
If this spell was sucking on my soul, I was so totally screwed.
———
I paced the narrow area between the kitchenette and my bed. It took only thirteen steps to cross from the boxy mattress to the other side of the small studio apartment—not nearly enough room to expend my nervous energy. PC watched from the safe perch of his pillow. I’d cast a healing spell on my wrist and on the scratches. Not that I was holding out a lot of hope that it would help, but I had to do something.
I had a malignant spell spreading and … I didn’t even want to think about what it was doing, but sucking on my soul was at the top of the list of possibilities. I rubbed the cotton pad containing the healing spell I’d covered the scratches with. I’d known they burned more than they should.
I stopped pacing. The scratches had hurt the most when I was in the warehouse. So, did the spell transfer to me from the shade, or did it somehow seep into the scratches at the warehouse? Both options were ridiculous, maybe impossible; and yet, Death had said the spell originated from the scratches, and that had been my conclusion in the Aetheric as well. Too bad Death hadn’t said anything else. Damn him for disappearing when I asked questions.
That wasn’t really fair, and I knew it. If Death hadn’t told me about the spell, I still wouldn’t know about it. I just wished there was some way to contact him. My list of questions for him was growing. Guess I could try for a near-Death experience. The chuckle that leaked from my throat was rough.
I couldn’t draw the spell out in the Aetheric. I needed a counterspell. There was an anticurse center in the Magic Quarter. Unfortunately, I hadn’t paid my bill after I’d been cursed by an old widow who’d hired me to raise her husband’s shade. She hadn’t been thrilled to discover her late husband had been having an affair.
Why she cursed me I wasn’t so clear on, but needless to say, the center wasn’t an option. If I could just figure out more about the spell, maybe I could research a counterspell myself.
Tamara.
Tamara was the most sensitive person I knew. If anyone could puzzle out the spell, it would be her. That’s if she’s talking to me after this whole Coleman debacle.
I rushed to my purse before remembering that my cell phone was crushed and decorating the pavement.
Right—no phone. Holly was still at work, but Caleb was probably back in his studio in the garage. He’d let me use his phone.
I was headed for the inner door that led down into the main house when a loud bang sounded on the front door. I jumped, and PC launched himself from the bed.
The dagger was in my hand before I realized I’d reached for it. I crept forward and peeked around the curtain.
Not again. “What do you want, Detective?”
I kept my foot wedged behind the door so Falin couldn’t shove past me, but he didn’t even try. Instead he smiled, his full lips curving around perfect teeth.
“Invite me inside, Alexis Caine.”
———
“How did you learn my name?” No one should have been able to find my name change. I’d picked “Craft” for the irony and to annoy my father, but once the change was legal, my father had buried the paperwork. I had no idea how, or really how deep, but no one had ever found the connection before—not reporters, not Internet gossip groups, not even the investigators hired to find mud to sling during the campaign.
Falin frowned without answering and glanced at the dagger I was holding. I hid my hand behind my back, out of view.
“Well,” he said, “I’m glad to see you’re finally taking some precautions, but you weren’t this tense when I dropped you off last night.”
“But you were this annoying. At least one of us is consistent.” I started to shut the door in his face.
His hand shot out, holding the door, but he didn’t force his way in. “Let me in, Alex. Please.”
It was the “please” that did it. I stepped back, letting him pass. After all, he might have been opinionated and bossy, but he had rescued me. I could hear him out. Besides, I needed to give him back his shirt.
He watched as I knelt and placed the dagger back in its holster, then gave himself a tour as I dug through the pile of clothes by the dresser. I ignored him as I searched for the oxford he’d let me borrow after he’d burned my tank top. I should keep it as a replacement. Of course, what I’d do with a man’s oxford—especially one cut to cover Falin’s broad shoulders—I didn’t know. I finally found it and folded it, ignoring the wrinkles.
Falin was standing by my counter staring at the two mugs of now-cold coffee. I hadn’t gotten around to dumping them yet. He lifted one mug. “Was someone here?”
“Is my personal life any of your business?”
“You should turn on the news.”
Was that in response to my question? What have the reporters dug up now? He just smiled at me. Dropping the shirt on the counter beside him, I walked over and flipped on the TV.
The chief of police appeared on the screen. “—are currently searching for the source of the leak. But I will go on record to say that the city hired Ms. Craft because of the mysterious circumstances surrounding the late governor’s death and disappearance. We acknowledge her as an expert in her field but will be flying in other grave witches from around the world to confirm her findings before we move forward. That’s all.” He turned, and the screen cut to Lusa’s face in the studio.
She smiled at the camera, not glancing at the notes in front of her. “That was the official report given an hour ago in a press conference called by—”
I hit the MUTE button as I wondered which bean counter had determined the city would be better off claiming they’d hired me and having to face the financial consequences of breaking a “no magic” living will than to admit unauthorized magic was used in their morgue. I turned back to Falin. “So now I was officially hired? Do I get paid?”
His lips parted, but his face was torn between amusement and bewilderment. “You don’t get arrested.”
“Great. So you came by to let me know yourself. How sweet.” I moved to the door, but he didn’t follow.
“No, I’m here because you’ve been poking around in my case, and I think you know more than you’re telling. Even if you don’t, someone thinks you do.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt, the movement making his jacket gape open and revealing his shoulder rig. “You have resources that could be useful to me, so I’m proposing we work together. A partnership of sorts.”
If there was ever a time I needed to be able to cock my eyebrow in sarcastic disbelief, this was it. Damn stitches. I settled for leaning back and crossing my arms over my chest. “Sorry, I’m done looking into Coleman. I have other things to worry about.” Like a creepy spell.
“You’ll have to find some other witch to help you find Coleman’s killer.”
“I’m not looking for the killer. I don’t think Coleman is dead. I think he changed bodies.”
I tried not to let my shock show on my face—really, I did—but I could tell by the sly smile that tipped his lips that he could read my surprise.
“You already knew that,” he said.
Who the hell is this guy? He gave the impression of distrusting witches and fae, but he accepted magic that scared the shit out of me without blinking. How did he even know about the body thief?
And what else did he know?
My hand crawled to the cotton patch on my shoulder.
A little information swap might be useful, but I needed to know more first. “What’s your plan?”
“There’s a charity dinner at the governor’s home tonight. All the movers and shakers will be there. If Coleman’s new body is still in the city, he’ll attend. I want you with me to help pick him out of the crowd and to shake him up a little.”
“In other words, you want to use me as live bait.” I shook my head. “I can’t just crash a party at my father’s house. I’d never make it past the front gate.”
Falin only smiled and headed for the door. “I’ll pick you up at six.” The door shut behind him.
Damn. I hadn’t agreed to anything, but I’d go. I knew I would. The party would give me a good chance to take a look at my father, too, though there was no guarantee I’d be able to tell whether he was possessed.
Now I really needed to call Tamara. And I needed to borrow a dress.