Ghost of Himself

by Pandora Pine

  Cope knew Ten was reading him and not looking at him like some piece of meat. He was curious to hear the psychic’s verdict.

  “You’re free from any attacks right now. I don’t know why I couldn’t sense what was happening to you last night.” Ten looked puzzled by that fact.

  “There are two reasons for that, I think.” Cope had been turning these things over in his mind when he’d been staring up at the ceiling and trying to keep his mind off wondering about Jude. “This is strong magick. Probably the strongest I’ve ever come up against. I’ve been spell casting for twenty-five years now and I don’t think I’m capable of pulling off that kind of magick. Not that I’d try.”

  Ten nodded. “What’s the second reason?” the psychic asked. He didn’t seem soothed by the first part of Copeland’s answer.

  “I think whoever is doing this was able to mask his or her work.” Whoever was doing this was a real pro, that was for certain. Cope had absolutely no idea how to start the search for this person.

  Jude frowned. “What, you mean like it had Harry Potter’s cloak of invisibility?”

  Copeland hated Harry Potter references, but he tried not to let that show on his face. “Something like that. You mentioned last night that Dempsey needed to put a charm on me so that whoever is doing this wouldn’t be able to track my psychic frequency, this is something along those lines so the magick can’t be traced back to the person who cast it.”

  “Shit,” Ronan muttered. “So that leaves us behind the eight-ball then in terms of finding this bastard.”

  “Our gifts are useless.” Cope pointed back and forth between himself and Tennyson.

  “So, we do this old school.” Ronan grinned. He walked out of the kitchen.

  “Thanks for your help, Ronan,” Cope called after him.

  Jude started to laugh. “He isn’t leaving, he’s going to get his damn notebook. It’s on the hall table near the door.

  Well he felt like a bit of a dick. Not too much though. It had looked like Ronan was abandoning him.

  “How about some coffee or tea, Cope?” Ten asked.

  Copeland nodded. He could use the energy boost. He’d only been awake for a little while, but he was feeling overdue for a nap. “Coffee, please. Black.”

  “Fuck that, he needs a real breakfast. Bacon and eggs. Toast and hash browns. Maybe pancakes too.” Jude gave Ten an insistent look.

  “Aren’t you king of the castle?” Ronan rolled his eyes, walking back into the kitchen.

  “He needs to eat, Ronan. Look at him. He’s skin and fucking bones.”

  “Gee, thanks.” If Cope had a bit more energy, he’d flip Jude the bird, even if he was trying to help. He was hungry, though he wasn’t about to mention it now.

  “I’m sorry, Cope. We should eat before I allow Ronan to interrogate you.” Tennyson moved toward the fridge. “Ronan, why don’t you take Dixie out and Jude can feed her.”

  Ronan opened his mouth like he was going to object, but shut it with a snap. “Yes, dear.” He whistled for Dixie and opened the sliding glass door for her so they could go outside.

  When Ronan was gone, Ten turned back to Cope. “You’re feeling better this morning.”

  Copeland nodded. In his weakened state, there was no way he could block himself from Tennyson. “The joint pain and headache are gone. I don’t feel like I’m under a direct attack anymore, but I also don’t feel like I’m out of the woods, either.” Cope hadn’t wanted to say that out loud, but it was better to lay his cards on the table.

  “Ronan will want to dig into this today.”

  “Doesn’t he have to work?” Copeland didn’t want to pull Ronan away from cases that needed his help in an official capacity. He was safe for the moment and that was good enough for him. He was hungry and wanted a shower, but after his belly was full and he was clean again, Cope couldn’t get too clean, he was going to be back in bed until mid-afternoon at the very least.

  Ten ducked his head. “We lost a friend of ours in the line of duty last month. Ronan is still out on bereavement leave.”

  Copeland reached out to Ronan with his gift and felt a wave of grief wash over him. It was so powerful that he stumbled back a step. Jude was behind him in an instant, steadying him. He never would have guessed the dead man was a friend. Copeland would have said the man was a brother. “Tennyson, if Ronan is too upset to help with my situation, I understand completely.”

  “No, this is the most animated I’ve seen him since we lost Tony. This might be just the thing he needs to breathe a little life back into him. I hate to put your life in terms like that, Cope, but…” Ten trailed off.

  Copeland understood what Tennyson was trying to say. Ronan needed something to take his mind off the grief and working on his “case” might be just the thing.

  “Okay. I’m ready to work.” Ronan dashed back into the kitchen. Dixie pranced in behind him looked extremely proud of herself.

  “Why don’t you work on possible suspects while I cook?” Ten suggested.

  “Great idea, babe.” Ronan took a seat at the table and motioned for Copeland to do the same.

  Obeying, Copeland kept his eyes on Jude. The P.I. took a seat on the same side of the table. Cope couldn’t help but wonder if he and Ronan were going to gang up on him. He took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be easy. If he had any answers as to who was doing this to him, he wouldn’t have had to come fifteen hundred miles from Louisiana to find Jude in the first place.

  Ronan flipped open his notebook to a blank page and snapped his pen open. “Tell me who you think would do this to you.”

  Cope shook his head. “I’ve been a practicing witch since I was in my teens. My psychic gifts came along slowly in my twenties which is when I opened Skullduggery on Decatur Street in New Orleans.” He could see Jude typing on his phone. A few second later, he turned the screen to show Ronan.

  The detective nodded before scribbling something on the blank page. He looked up at Cope, his blue eyes laser-focused on him. “Tell me about Deacon Boudreaux.”

  Copeland felt his heart start to jackhammer in his chest. He gasped for air. It had been a while since he’d heard Deacon’s name spoken out loud. He opened his mouth to say something. What, he wasn’t quite sure. His throat clicked.

  “Have some juice, Cope.” Tennyson set a glass next to his left hand.

  Jude’s eyes narrowed on him. Cope didn’t have to use his gifts to know the P.I. was studying him. He’d seen the look of shock on his face when Ronan said Deacon’s name. Why was Deacon a shock to Jude? He’d been sitting up in front of his bedroom door all night last night, hadn’t the man run a Google search on his name?

  Taking a few sips of his juice, Cope dared to look up at Jude. He’d felt anger pouring off the man and knew he was about to blow like Vesuvius. Cope wasn’t disappointed. Jude looked like steam was about to come out of his ears like in the old Bugs Bunny cartoons he used to love when he was a kid.

  “Uh, Copeland?” Jude’s voice was mild, but the look in his fiery amber eyes was somewhere between mild irritation and Mike Tyson about to bite his ear off.

  A lesser man would have been on his feet and running out the door. Cope wasn’t moving. Jude Byrne didn’t scare him. “Yes, Jude?”

  “Is there any reason you didn’t tell either one of us you were attacked and nearly fucking murdered by an ex-lover who was stalking you?” Jude was shouting now. His hands were balled into fists on the table.

  Cope pursed his lips together. There were a lot of reasons he hadn’t spilled his guts. Top among them was that it was none of Jude fucking Byrne’s business what had happened in his life before the two of them had met. “It didn’t have any bearing on why I’m here.” That was the God’s honest truth.

  6

  Jude

  “Didn’t have any bearing?” Jude boomed. His voice echoed off the ceiling. It sounded tinny in his ears. Christ, was he the only one in the room who thought that line was the biggest pile of shit?


  “Someone is attacking me psychically, Jude. Deacon Boudreaux stalked my every move and then showed up at my place of work and attacked me before disappearing into thin air. If he were the one trying to hurt me, he would have finished the fucking job he started. He left me alive for a reason.”

  “He isn’t done with you yet,” Tennyson said from behind him.

  “Are you guessing or is that your voodoo talking?” Jude was pretty sure it was Tennyson’s gift. The shocked look on the psychic’s face said as much.

  Tennyson lifted a silent eyebrow. He set a platter of scrambled eggs on the table before walking back for plates and silverware.

  Shit, Jude should have been helping him. He’d been too wrapped up in what was going on with Copeland to have even thought of Tennyson. His head was so far out of the fucking game that it hadn’t even crossed his mind to google the psychic-witch last night. All those hours he’d sat in the hallway in front of Copeland’s bedroom door and never once had he thought to pull out his phone.

  “Here’s the toast. Why don’t we all eat?” Ten took the seat next to Ronan and starting heaping eggs on a plate. He plopped two pieces of toast on it and set it in front of his guest before grabbing for a second plate.

  Jude couldn’t help watching Tennyson as he set breakfast in front of Ronan and grabbed for a third dish. No doubt that one would be for him. Maybe having a man who took care of him like Ten was taking care of everyone else wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Especially if said man knew how to tame his temper the way that the psychic did. All it took was one stern look from him and Jude was cooling his jets.

  “Thanks, Ten.” Jude took the plate when Ten offered it to him. He grabbed the pepper and shook it all over his eggs. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Copeland’s mouth drop open. “Problem?” He lifted his eyes to meet Copeland’s.

  “I was just wondering what the hell was the deal with pepper? Garlic wards off vampires. Salt makes fairies steer clear. Peppermint keeps spiders away, but what does pepper repel?”

  “You.” Jude smirked.

  “Ronan, what happened with Deacon. The short version.” Ten bit into a piece of buttered toast. It was obvious Tennyson was trying to redirect the conversation.

  “According to The Times-Picayune, Deacon Boudreaux was waiting for Copeland inside the store. There was an altercation and Cope was injured. He was rushed to the ER and recovered. Boudreaux was never apprehended.” Ronan looked up at Copeland as if he knew Ten was going to ask him to give his side of the story next.

  “Cope, now you. Also the short version, if you don’t mind.” Ten sounded like he wasn’t in the mood to be trifled with.

  Cope pushed his food around on his plate. He looked to Jude like he was trying to figure out how much or how little of the story to actually tell. In Jude’s mind, more details meant it would be easier to find and gut this motherfucker, but that didn’t seem to be Tennyson’s top priority.

  “Deacon was a student in my Spell Casting 101 class. He was a good student. He had innate talent which is essential for this kind of magick. I don’t often meet people like him in my line of work. He was special.”

  “Which made your dick hard. We get it.” Why the fuck was that pissing Jude off? It shouldn’t fucking matter what set the boy-witch’s cock off.

  “Touché, Jude. Magick makes my dick hard. What can I say?” Cope rolled his eyes. “We started a personal relationship after the third week of class. He was just as skilled in the bedroom as he was in the classroom.” Copeland shook his head. “It distracted me.”

  “Dicks have a way of doing that.” Jude’s smirk was back in full force. God, he was being a first-class asshole today.

  Ronan shot Jude a shut-up-or-die look. “What do you mean?” he asked gently.

  “All I could think about was Deacon. When was the next time I’d see him? When was the next time he’d fuck me? I was paying more attention to that than what he was doing behind the scenes.”

  “You mean with the kind of magick he was excelling at and the spells he was interested in learning?” Ten asked.

  “Right. There are some students who come into my sphere with a determination to learn black magick. Usually, I’m able to pick them out like a black jelly bean in bag full of red ones, but Deacon used his own brand of magick to keep me from seeing what he was really doing.”

  “He was using his magick dick to lure you into teaching him the good stuff?” Jude deadpanned.

  “Something like that,” Cope admitted. His head dropped so he was staring down at the eggs he was still pushing around on his plate. “When I finally realized what Deacon was really after, I kicked him out of my class and out of my bed. That’s when the stalking started. I got a restraining order. Changed up my routines. Got new locks for the shop and my house, but it didn’t matter. Deacon kept showing up anyway.”

  “What happened on that last day?” Ronan snapped his pen. It was poised over his notebook again.

  “There had been a lull in the stalking. I hadn’t seen Deacon in nearly three weeks. I was actually starting to think I was free. When I got to the shop, the front door was open a crack. I thought maybe someone had broken in to stay dry for the night. It had been raining in New Orleans for a few days straight. That little voice of intuition told me to call 911 and wait outside, but I didn’t listen.”

  “Explain to me why you didn’t know Deacon was in there waiting for you? Why the fuck wasn’t Deacon your first thought when you saw the door to the shop had been broken into?” Jude was about to lose it. He wanted to get up and shake the hell out of Copeland. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t know this man and sure as hell had no skin in the game.

  “When you’ve lived with a stalker in your life, all you want is for that person to go away. You just want your old life back. Maybe it was wishful thinking on my part. All of those weeks of living in a state of hypervigilance wears you down. You can’t be on red-alert forever.” Cope shrugged. He took a sip of juice. “As for reading myself, it’s never reliable. I see occasional images from my gift, but they’re never clear. If I need help on a matter of my own, I always spoke to Onyx Kerr.”

  “Now that’s a cool name. Who is that?” Ronan looked up from his notebook.

  “Do you know a store here in town called Hex?” Cope found a smile at the mention of his old friend’s name.

  Ronan nodded. “Sure. It’s down on Essex Street.”

  “Well, Onyx runs the sister store in NOLA. It’s three shopfronts down from Skullduggery. We’ve been friends for years.”

  Jude knew that was code for fucking each other in the back room once the store was closed and Cope’s reading was over. Shit! Why the fuck did he keep coming back to who Copeland fucked in New Orleans? The only reason something like that would be relevant was if Onyx Kerr, with his cool as fuck name, was the one behind the psychic attacks on the witch-psychic.

  “He still hasn’t been caught, right?” Ten asked.

  Jude shook his head trying to remember who the hell Tennyson was talking about. Deacon Boudreaux, his mind supplied.

  “No,” Ronan answered. “Deacon Boudreaux is on the FBI Most Wanted List in New Orleans. That’s the first thing that comes up when you Google his name.” The detective turned to Copeland. “Does he have the power to do this to you?”

  “Yes,” Cope said without hesitation. “But it’s so far below him. It would be like Monet finger painting. Or Michael Jackson single Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. Do you understand what I’m saying? If Deacon were going to come after me psychically, he would do it with a lot more than a migraine and some body aches.” Cope shook his head. “I know Deacon. He’s not going to come after me from afar like some kind of coward puppet master. He’s going to want to stand over me and watch the life drain from my eyes.”

  “That’s not a fucking option.” Jude hadn’t meant to say those words out loud. They were a promise he was making to himself. Now they were a promise he was making to Copeland Forbes.

/>   7

  Copeland

  It warmed Copeland’s heart to hear Jude make such an impassioned vow. On the other hand, he was damned glad he wasn’t the one the vow was being made against. The last person he wanted to face off against on the opposite side of a fight was the feisty P.I.

  It had been a long time since Copeland felt like he had someone on his side fighting for him. Onyx had always been there for him, but once he’d gone into seclusion, he’d had to cut ties with everyone he’d ever known. It was almost like being in the witness protection program, only this had been self-imposed.

  “I’m leaving Boudreaux on the list for obvious reasons, Copeland, but give me some other names we can investigate here.” Ronan’s pen was once again poised over his notebook.

  “That’s just it, Ronan. There is no one else.” Cope set his fork down with a clank. He’d been over and over this in his head ever since Doctor Fontenot suggested that a psychic attack could be to blame for all of his symptoms. No name was jumping to the top of the list. No name was jumping out at all.

  “What do you mean, there’s no one else?” Jude’s face screwed up into a mask of confusion.

  Copeland resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He didn’t have the fucking strength for this. The spirit of Bertha Craig told him he needed to come to Salem to find Jude Byrne. He was starting to wonder if that spirit was off its rocker. “I can say it in three other languages, Jude, but the words are the same. I was one of the most successful psychics in New Orleans when I went into hiding. My client list included people I’d been seeing from the first year I’d opened the store back in 2006. My customers loved me. I mean, shit! I was an openly gay psychic living in the heart of the French Quarter and I was beloved.”

  “Well that answers that question.” Ronan grinned at Tennyson. “But it also brings up a few more.” His grin faded as fast as it had bloomed on the detective’s face. “In light of the bullshit going on down in Washington with the dickhead-in-chief. Do you think that the person coming after you could be someone who decided they didn’t like your freely flying rainbow?”