by Tania Hutley
Twelve
“What a waste of time,” says Xander as we drive away from the university. The song torturing my eardrums is one I’ve heard during more than one elevator ride.
“You still don’t believe any of it?” I ask, disappointed.
He shoots me a sideways look. “A dog-demon came out of a bone and killed your cousin, you turned your neighbor into a chicken, and witches built the Library of Congress. What’s not to believe?”
“We’re not sure about the bone part yet. Weren’t you paying attention?”
“You have some kind of make-believe club. That’s what this is. Like those people who dress up to re-enact the civil war, only you pretend to be witches and warlocks.”
“Both men and women are called witches. Contrary to popular belief, the word isn’t gender specific. And it’s not like you’re drowning in other leads, is it? So, what’s the harm in humoring me?”
“I have real work to do. While I’m out with you, carrying chickens and chasing demons, other cases are going unsolved and a ton of paperwork is piling up on my desk.”
“Will you lend me your phone?”
He shifts so he can tug it out of his pocket and hand it to me. “Who are you calling?”
“My uncle. Fair warning, there’s a chance I could accidentally fry your phone. Lately I’ve been getting surges.”
“Surges?”
“More of that stuff you don’t believe.” I shut off the stereo, finally getting to kill the awful music. Then I punch in my uncle’s number.
He answers on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Uncle Ray, it’s Saffy.”
“What’s wrong? Are you in trouble?”
“Everything’s fine. I just need to ask you something.”
“Oh.” He sounds relieved it’s not something more serious. “It’s lucky you caught me. The blood moon ceremony is coming up, and with all that extra magical energy around, the number of disputes the council needs to deal with has exploded. I’ve been run off my feet.” He sounds cheerful, rather than annoyed. I guess he likes dealing with all that stuff.
“We’ve spoken to Mireya, and—”
“We?” His tone sharpens. “Who’s we?”
“Oh.” I curse myself for slipping. “Well, the detective is with me. The one investigating Sylvia’s death.”
“You shouldn’t be talking to a mundane, let alone a police officer. Get rid of him, Saffy. Tell him to leave the house.”
I don’t correct his assumption that I’m at home. “Would you come over and take a look at my mother’s safe? I need you to make sure the protection wards haven’t been tampered with.”
“What?” His tone rises. “You think the wards have been breached?”
“No, no,” I say quickly. “But I promised Mireya I’d double check.”
“Oh. Well yes, I can do that. I have back-to-back meetings tomorrow, but I can spare a little time around three.”
“Great. Thank you.”
When I hang up, Xander shoots me a sideways look. “You don’t really believe that demon stuff, do you?”
“I don’t know yet. I can’t see how the wards could possibly have failed, but Uncle Ray’s going to check.”
He shakes his head. “This is crazy. I should be following some real leads.”
“Like what? Do you have any other leads?”
He presses his lips together. After a long period of silence, he reaches out and switches his music back on. It’s Frank again, and now he’s singing about a woman who makes him feel young. If she’s to blame for this song, she has a lot to answer for.
“Hey,” I protest.
“It helps me think.”
I roll my eyes, but suffer the music—and his silence—without complaining, though it’s a long drive back to my house.
When he finally parks the car out front to drop me and Agnes off, a strange feeling runs through my body. My magic tingles, suddenly alive inside me.
Something weird is happening.
I climb out in a daze and something slams into me on the magical plane. The strength drains from my legs and I crumple to the sidewalk.
With an exclamation, Xander runs over to me. He lifts me into his arms. Painful pins and needles run up and down my body. My magic surges, whispering to me. It wants to break free. I clamp it down hard, fighting the feeling until I have it under control.
“What’s the matter, Saffy? Are you okay?”
“I...I don’t know. Something happened.”
“Was it your leg?”
“My magic wanted to get free. It reacted to something.” I shake my head, stifling my unease. “Like when I was up the ladder and Sylvia died.”
“A memory?” he asks.
“I don’t think so.”
He’s holding me like he did last night, and the feeling adds to my disorientation. He smells so good it’s overwhelming. And he’s strong. Really strong. Though I’m only five foot eight, I’m mostly muscle and not exactly light. Xander’s not wearing his suit jacket, and under his white shirt, his pecs are flexed and hard. So are his biceps.
I swallow, resisting the urge to run my hand over his chest. Again. “I’m okay now. You can put me down.”
As he lowers me to the ground, I drag my mind back to the strange magical surge. What could have caused it?
“Here, let me help you inside.” He puts his arm around my waist to support me, and though I don’t need his help, I don’t object. When I open the front door, I’m still tucked into his large frame with his arm around me.
Jess is walking through the living room, and when she looks down the hall at us, she does a double-take. Her eyes go wide and her jaw goes slack. I’ve never brought a man home before, and it’s clear she’s immediately jumped to the wrong idea about Xander.
“Hi,” she says. Her voice is breathless with surprise… and if I’m not mistaken, with a large amount of delight.
I push myself away from Xander, glowering at the way her eyes have started sparkling. “This is the detective working on Sylvia’s case.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Detective.” Her smile is irritatingly large. “I didn’t know homicide detectives looked like you. If I’d known, I might have been tempted to kill someone myself.”
“Jess!”
She turns her wide eyes to me, putting on an innocent expression. “What, Saffy? No, don’t tell me. You two want to be alone, right? That’s okay, I was heading to my room anyway. Lots to do.”
“Nice to meet you,” says Xander to her back as she saunters up the stairs. I narrow my eyes at him, and he coughs. “I’ll get the chicken out of the car,” he says.
While he sets Agnes free in the courtyard, I limp into the house and open the door that leads to the basement. It smells musty because I hardly ever go down there, but when I flick the light on and head down the stairs, everything looks in its place.
The safe is big enough for me to get inside, and set into the basement wall. The way my skin tingles when I get close confirms its wards are still in place, and the thick layer of dust over everything tells me nobody’s been down here for a long time.
Just like how Sylvia’s deaths meant ownership of her grimoires passed to me, since my parents’ death, I’m the only one who can get through the wards to open the safe.
I turn the large combination lock, dragging the code from my memory, and manage to open it. Everything inside it is exactly as I remember. My mother stored powerful old statues and artifacts in here, and I’ve never been tempted to touch them. Nothing looks disturbed, including a piece of bone enclosed in a clear plastic case.
Just as I thought, this is a dead end. But I’ll ask my uncle to check all this stuff just in case.
“See anything?” Xander’s voice comes from behind me, near the bottom of the stairs.
“Good news and bad news,” I say, pulling my head out of the safe. “The wards still feel active, which means nobody but me can open the safe, so yay for that. Bad news is, my chicken
problem won’t be solved by our imminent deaths.”
“I told you that trip was a waste of—” He’s cut off by his phone ringing, and tugs it out of his pocket while I shut and lock the safe. “Detective Trent speaking.”
There’s silence for a moment while he listens to whatever the other person says, then he yelps “What?” in such a shocked voice that I take a step back, wincing as my weight shifts to my injured leg.
“Okay. Yes, I’m on my way.” He hangs up, and when he turns back to me, he’s a little pale.
“There’s been another homicide,” he says. “Maryland University. A female professor killed.”
“What?” I feel all my blood rush from my face. “Mireya?”
“It sounds likely.” His eyes narrow at me, his expression suspicious. “What else do you know about it?”
“Me?” My brain is struggling to keep up with what he’s implying.
“You take me to see someone and an hour later she’s dead. That’s too much of a coincidence, Saffy.”
“What are you implying? That I had something to do with it?”
He turns for the stairs and takes them fast, his fists clenched. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. You’ve been distracting me with all this nonsense, while people are dying.”
“How did I hurt Mireya? We left together, remember?” I follow him up the stairs, limping after him as fast as I can. “You can’t be serious?”
“You need to tell me—” His phone rings again when he gets to the top of the stairs and he curses, then answers it. “Detective Trent speaking.” And a moment later, “A photo? No, I haven’t seen it.” Then, “But I was only—” A deep breath. “But I wouldn’t… Yes, sir. No, I understand. I didn’t have anything to do with... No, I won’t. Yes, sir. Alright. Goodbye.”
“What is it?” I demand.
He stabs at his phone’s screen with one finger, then types something in with his thumb. The color drains from his face. “Shit,” he says softly.
“What?”
He holds the phone out so I can see.
It’s a photograph of him carrying me into my house. It’s dark, so it must have been taken last night when he brought me home from the hospital. My head is nestled in his neck and I’m looking up at him. Sure enough, my hand is stroking his chest. His face is turned down to me. It looks intimate. We look like lovers.
“This was emailed to my boss,” he says.
“Who sent it to him?”
Xander shakes his head. “It was sent anonymously. And in case the Captain didn’t recognize you, the sender made sure to mention that you were the prime suspect in two separate murder investigations. Investigations I’m in charge of.”
“Whoever sent it must have been trying to—”
“At least, you were the prime suspect in two murder investigations,” he cuts me off, scowling. “Until suddenly you weren’t. And nobody can figure out why our focus shifted away from you.” He stalks toward the front door. “The captain implied I had something to do with that, too, which is pretty damn ironic considering he ordered me to let you go, and I’m the one who argued to keep you at the top of our suspect list.”
“He thinks you stopped investigating me because…?” I hesitate.
“Because, apparently, we’re ‘romantically involved’.” He uses his hands to make air quotes, then reaches for the front door knob with a snort of derision. “Shows how much he thinks of me. As if I’d let my personal feelings get in the way of bringing a killer to justice.”
My blood rises. Incensed, I hobble after him.
“You still think I murdered my own cousin? My own parents?”
He throws the door open. “You know what? I don’t care if you did. I’ve worked damn hard to prove myself. I’ve had to do everything better, smarter, and more diligently than everyone else. And I’ve had to put up with a whole lot of crap. People still say I only got the job because of my mother, when I’ve earned it ten times over. And now, thanks to you, it’s all been for nothing.” His mouth twists. “I’ve been suspended until further notice.”
“Thanks to me? That’s not fair.”
“Tough shit,” he snarls. “Life’s not fair.”
The door slams shut behind him.
Thirteen
My leg is killing me, but I grit my teeth and drive to Uncle Ray’s house anyway. Every time I need to use my pickup’s ancient clutch to change gears, I let out a loud string of profanities.
But I keep going, because all I have is a head full of questions. How did Mireya die? Was her heart torn out? Where was Dallas?
Now that Xander’s not talking to me, the only person who might be able to give me any answers is Uncle Ray. Mireya was on the Blood Council, so my uncle must know about her death.
I felt Mireya die.
The thought is chilling.
I even said to Xander that it felt like when Sylvia died, but it never occurred to me I was feeling another council member’s death. But that magical surge had to be another of the council’s bindings breaking. Another weakening in the safeguards holding my magic in check.
My parents were both council members too. Now with Sylvia and Mireya gone, that’s four council members dead. It can’t be a coincidence. Somebody’s targeting the council and taking them all out, one by one.
I’m sure Uncle Ray will have come to the same conclusion, but I need to make sure he and Aunt Therese are taking precautions. Especially since Aunt Therese has been so unwell.
I finally pull my truck up outside their house and kill the engine with a groan of relief. But instead of getting out right away, I sit and stare into space.
Even though I should be focusing on Mireya’s death, I keep thinking about Xander.
I’d thought we had a connection. He’d seemed to relax a little around me, to open up to the idea that I wasn’t a murderer. I even thought he might come around to the idea of witches and magic.
Guess not.
He was probably only spending time with me so he could figure out how to pin the deaths on me.
I growl under my breath and shove open the pickup’s door, slamming it behind me with unnecessary force. Hobbling up the drive, I push up against the wards that surround Uncle Ray’s house. They hold me for a moment, then release me, though my skin prickles and my next step feels like I’m walking through wet cement.
When I reach Uncle Ray’s front door, I hesitate, and then decide I should knock. It’s been a while since I last visited the house.
A gaunt woman answers my knock, and for a moment I think I’ve come to the wrong house.
“Aunt Therese?” I’m not even sure it really is her. She looks older. Much older. Her hair is gray and thin, and her back is stooped. There are bags under her eyes and pain lines etched into her face.
Though we used to be close, I haven’t seen much of Aunt Therese since my parents died. My uncle said she wasn’t well, but I’d assumed she was pushing me away because Mireya had convinced her I was responsible for my parents’ death.
Looking at her now, I realize she must have been far sicker than I’d guessed. If she hasn’t been knocking at death’s door, she’s definitely hanging out on his doorstep.
Now I feel terrible for not trying harder to see her. I should have insisted on visiting.
“Aunt Therese,” I say. “How are you?”
She nods vaguely and motions behind her to Uncle Ray’s study. “He’s in there.”
Though she moves behind the door, clearly expecting me to walk right past, I don’t move. “You didn’t say how you are,” I remind her. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. Not since before…” I hesitate. “You’ve been unwell?”
She looks down without answering, tugging at the skirt of her dress. It’s too big for her, as though she’s lost a lot of weight since she got it. It’s usually an easy thing for a witch to fix a dress that’s too big. The fact she hasn’t done it tells me an awful lot.
“I’ve missed you, Aunt Therese.” The words sl
ip out before I realize I’m even going to say them.
She glances up at me. It’s the fastest movement I’ve seen her make yet. Her eyes are sunken, but something flickers in them. It’s a pale shadow of the spark I remember, and I’m glad to see it. She used to be such a powerful woman, full of life and good humor. This broken woman before me is painful to see.
But as quickly as the spark appeared, it’s gone again. She shuffles backward. “I’d better go and…” She trails off, heading slowly toward the kitchen as though it hurts to walk.
“Are you okay?” I ask, though she’s clearly not. “Aunt Therese? Can I do something for you?”
She mumbles something, but because she’s got her back to me, I can’t quite make it out. It sounds like, “I hear you.” Or did she say, “I fear you”?
Maybe she really does think I’m a murderer and is worried I’ll hurt her. Surely not. With my magic messed up, I’m no threat to anyone.
“Aunt Therese, won’t you talk to me for a minute?” I ask, trailing after her. “I’m worried about you and Uncle Ray. I think somebody’s killing council members.”
She turns to me, nodding vigorously. “Killing,” she repeats.
“That’s right. So you need to take precautions.” I hesitate because she’s still nodding. “Aunt Therese? Are you okay?”
“Killing,” she says, shuffling to the kitchen bench. She grabs a notepad off the table, scribbles something, then tears the page away.
“Killing,” she mumbles, not looking at me. Then she comes close and her fingers press the folded page into my palm. For a split second, she looks me in the eye, and that same tiny spark is back.
“What—?” I don’t understand what’s happening.
“Killing,” she insists. I’m not sure whether she’s just repeating what she heard me say, or whether she’s trying desperately to tell me something.
“Saffy?” I hear Uncle Ray’s study door open. “Is that you?”
I open the piece of paper and catch a glimpse of a name, but it’s not one I recognize. Then my aunt folds her hand around mine, forcing it shut. She pushes my hand with the piece of paper into my pocket, obviously wanting me to keep it hidden. I open my mouth to ask her what it’s all about, but she hustles me out of the kitchen toward my uncle’s study, not giving me the chance.
