“Now, Mrs. Hallas,” I call, and I feel the spells break with an audible snap.
Emily slams into me and I fall back, my head banging hard against the floor. I open my eyes and everything is blurry, smears of red and pink and orange.
“I told you,” she says, heat and rage bearing down on me, “to stay out this house.”
“Back off,” Jane growls.
There’s a thud and then Jane is at my side, helping me sit up. Trevor stands between me and Emily, hands in fists at his sides.
“You okay?” he says, glancing back at me.
I nod, coughing. “Yeah.”
“Who the hell are you?” Emily demands.
“Oh, me?” Trevor asks. “I’m Trevor. That’s Jane. We’re the ones who are going to kick your ass for hurting our friend.”
Jane stands up, holding out a hand. I take it and she tugs me up, putting her shoulder next to mine.
“You brought backup?” Emily’s eyes flash at me.
“Leave this house,” I tell her. “And never come back.”
She shakes her head. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Seriously?” Trevor asks. “You can’t leave an old woman alone? What is your problem?”
“I was murdered,” Emily yells.
“Join the fucking club!” Jane yells back.
“I am death, Emily,” I say. “Real, final death. No coming back, no watching from the shadows.”
Emily looks at me, something terrible and endless living in her eyes. My gut twists, and I try one last time.
“Just go,” I say. “Wherever you want, as long as it isn’t here. You can still have a semblance of a life, Emily. Please don’t make me do this. Please don’t make me end you.”
“It’s too late,” she says, almost sadly. And then she lunges for me.
“No,” Jane yells.
Emily’s hands reach for my throat but Trevor is there, wrapping his arms around Emily’s waist and pulling her back.
“Let me go,” Emily yells, struggling. Jane jumps in front of her, bracing her hands on Emily’s shoulders and pushing her back.
“Now, Lexi,” Trevor says, straining.
I close my eyes, block out the sounds of their fighting, and gather the darkness to me.
“No,” Emily cries as I begin to push.
She fights it, and even trapped by the both of them she’s still powerful. She shoves back against my magic, battering at me with everything she has until my ears are ringing, my bones vibrating from the strength of it. I grit my teeth against the ache in my joints and I force the darkness into her, pour it into her open mouth, sink it into her nostrils, ears, anywhere it can find purchase. My nose starts to bleed and the taste of copper is heavy on my tongue.
She screams, a formless cry of anguish and rage that rips into me, because I know the same sound lives in me. With a last burst of strength, I thrust the darkness into her, push through it and out the other side, and I tell myself there’s no other way before she bursts and scatters into nothing. I brace my hands on my thighs, suck in deep breaths as sweat and blood pools around my mouth.
“Is it over?” Jane looks back at me, her eyes white and haunted.
I nod, too exhausted to answer.
“If that ever happens to me—” She stops, clears her throat. “Don’t ever let that happen to me.”
“It won’t,” I gasp out. “I won’t.”
“Are you okay?” Trevor asks. His hair smells faintly like ozone as he slips a hand around me to help me stand.
“Yeah.” I wipe my face with my sleeve. “It’s just a bloody nose. I’ll be fine.”
With that I step away, my legs still shaky, and look down into the darkened hallway.
“Mrs. Hallas,” I call harshly. “Time to pay up.”
She steps back into the living room, her face drawn behind the large glasses.
“I’ll make some tea,” she says.
She drags out the process, weighing ingredients and insisting we wait a full five minutes for everything to steep. The result is a sweet combination of linden and elderflower that tastes like summer. I might enjoy it if I wasn’t buzzing with adrenaline, but I have to force myself to swallow it, knowing it’s meant to soothe me. Mrs. Hallas takes her time sipping her tea, sitting across from me in the living room. Everything looks lighter, the lamps finally shining bright, the candles extinguished.
“She’s really gone,” Mrs. Hallas says, staring at the lights in wonder.
“I held up my end of the bargain,” I say. “Your turn.”
“More tea?” she asks, glancing at my cup.
“No,” I say. “It’s not calming me down anyway.”
She exhales sharply through her nostrils and sets her teacup down with a hard clink.
“Very well,” she says. “Ask your questions.”
“Is there a spell,” I ask slowly, “to find people with a specific quality?”
“If it was specific enough, yes. Possibly.”
My hands feel sweaty, and I wipe my palms on my jeans.
“Specific how?” I ask.
“Something with a narrow range. You couldn’t find people with blue eyes. That’s too broad; you’d never be able to power the spell. But you could find people with blue eyes if they were over a certain age and within a certain radius.”
“What if it wasn’t physical? What if you wanted to find someone who was, say, full of energy? Who had a strong life force.”
“Yes,” she says, frowning. “As long as the target is focused, yes. Any altered location spell would work.”
Jane’s fingers thread through mine as I ask the question I’m dreading the most.
“And is there a spell,” I ask carefully, “if you wanted to take that life, that spark? Not kill it, but steal it? Keep it for yourself?”
Mrs. Hallas goes pale, her eyes huge behind her glasses. “Those spells are forbidden,” she says harshly. “We no longer deal in death magic.”
“One of you does, Mrs. Hallas. The missing people on the news aren’t just missing. They’re dead. And whoever is killing them is taking something from them.”
Mrs. Hallas stands up, faster than I would think someone her age could move.
“You wouldn’t understand. A modified location spell,” she says, “that would be complicated, but doable. The other, though, no witch would attempt to cast.”
“But it’s possible?” I ask. “Taking someone’s life like that?”
Mrs. Hallas looks down and jerks her head yes. “The spells are very old, and difficult. A life force is not easy to contain, and outside the body it rapidly deteriorates. You would need to keep the body to ensure a successful transfer, keep it secure while you drained it. There are rituals to perform, at the moment of death and after. And you would need a target with strong energy, someone young and in good health. But none of us would risk it.”
“Oh, god, that’s why he dumped Veronica’s body,” Jane says. “She was sick. He couldn’t use her, so he threw her away.”
“Why wouldn’t a witch risk it?” I ask.
“Death magic is the darkest of magics. You can’t use it without paying a heavy price,” she says. “Spells to harm rebound on the caster, always. And their effect is cumulative. One small hex might leave you with nothing more than a headache. But a number of strong curses could break your arm. And death magic? You can only protect yourself for so long. You use that kind of spell more than once, the damage would be extensive. You’d be lucky to survive in one piece.”
I shake my head. This can’t be right; we would have noticed someone with injuries that severe. How did they hide it? The only person who’s been that hurt is Jordan, and only because he was trying to help—
Everything goes very quiet, from the sound of Mrs. Hallas breathing to the pounding in my chest. The human brain takes in eleven million bits of information per second but the conscious mind is only able to process about fifty of those. Lucky to survive in one piece. My brain is telling me somethi
ng my mind won’t process, doesn’t want to believe.
“What—” My voice comes out hoarse, and I try to swallow. “What would happen if you tried to break through a concealment spell? Would it hurt you if you weren’t strong enough?”
Mrs. Hallas frowns at me. “Hurt you? No. Concealment spells don’t function the way other spells do. They absorb power instead of reflecting it. That’s why they’re so difficult to break. At most you’d get a headache from the effort.”
“Lexi?” Trevor asks, looking at with concern. “What is it?”
I blink, the thought finally forcing its way through.
“He lied.”
20
I HAVE ONE HAND ON THE WHEEL AND ANOTHER on my phone, each ring vibrating against my ear.
“Pick up, pick up,” I yell, but all I get is Ilia’s voice telling me to leave a message he’ll never check.
“Lexi, slow down,” Jane says. “Shouldn’t we call the police?”
“And tell them what?” Trevor asks from the backseat. “A witch told us how to find the killer?”
Jane goes quiet and I try Phillip next, but his phone goes straight to mail without ringing. I throw my phone against the dashboard and it bounces back, flying through Jane to land on the seat. The scream that lives in my lungs finally tears free, sliding through my throat like hot oil and spilling into the night.
“Lexi,” Jane yells at me. “Cut the shit.”
“How are you so damn calm?” I yell back at her.
“Because I have to be,” she answers.
I look over at her and see her eyes flash white. She closes them, curling her hands into fists, and when she opens them they’re clear.
“I can’t lose it,” she says, her voice strained. “Not again, not when we’re so close. So would you please get a hold of yourself?”
I take a long, shuddering breath. Don’t let it be him. Please don’t let it be him.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my throat scratchy from screaming. “I’m sorry, I’m okay. We’re going to get through this.”
Jane’s hands are still fisted tight. “He didn’t just kill me,” she says. “He stole my life. He took it.” She growls the last part and has to close her eyes again. “I want to burn him into nothing. And then I want to burn the world for creating him.”
“One thing at a time,” I say softly.
She looks over at me and there’s the idea of a smile on her lips. “You would burn down the world with me?”
“I’ll hand you the matches,” I say.
The smile becomes real, if shaky.
“Hey,” Trevor says, sticking his head between us. “That sounds good and all, but maybe we deal with the murderer first?”
I can’t shake the anger that’s fizzing in my blood. I skid into the lot behind Elysium, turning off the engine without a care for how I’m parked. The air is warm and heavy, smoke trapping the last paltry rays of sun. I storm toward the club, zipping up my hoodie like battle armor, Jane and Trevor flanking my sides.
Elysium rises ahead of us, blocking out the lights with its windowless bulk. He was here this whole time, hiding right under my nose, laughing at all of us.
“Stay close,” I tell them, kicking hard at the back door.
Georgie flings it open after only a second. “Dammit, Lexi,” he swears, “for the last time—”
“Move,” I say.
Something in my face makes Georgie shut up and step aside. I’m already moving, punching the elevator number so hard my fingernail bends back. The door opens and I enter, Jane and Trevor following me. Each floor takes an eon to pass.
The elevator barely dings open before I’m barreling down the hallway, the carpet muffling the heavy tread of my boots.
“Ilia,” I yell into the empty hall. The door to the office is closed, and I bang on it with my fist. “Ilia, are you in there? Urie?”
I try the handle but the door is locked. I kick at the wood angrily, wondering if I can break it down with my shoulder. I feel like smashing all those pretty screens on the inside, all those eyes that watched but saw nothing.
“Lexi, come on,” Jane says. “No one’s in there.”
I spin back around, heading for the floor. It’s still early and there aren’t many people here, mostly the after-work crowd lounging around small tables. Nicole is behind the bar and I go straight to her, waving to get her attention.
“You’re not on today,” she says, frowning.
“Where is everyone? I need to talk to Urie.”
“He’s out. But I think Ilia’s restocking. Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not,” I say. “You need to get out of here. Go get in your car and lock the doors and don’t get out until I tell you to. Understand?”
She nods her head jerkily. “Yeah.”
“I’ll be back.”
The ride back down makes me want to scream with impatience. We’re so close to facing him, my legs are vibrating with the need to run. When the doors open I spring out, taking long strides toward the stockroom.
The door is propped open with a case of beer, and I can hear male voices coming from within. Who’s helping Ilia? My stomach lurches with the certainty that I’m about to face a killer as I round the door and step inside.
“Lexi?” Phillip looks up at me in surprise and I let out a shaky breath.
“What are you doing here?” Ilia asks, setting down a crate of mixers.
“Where’s Jordan?” I ask, my voice echoing strangely in my ears.
“He’s back on main floor security,” Ilia says. “He’s been begging to get to work again.”
“Shit,” I say, exchanging a look with Jane. He could be looking for a new target already.
“Lex, are you okay?” Phillip asks, looking closely at my face.
“Urie’s not here?” I ask.
Ilia shakes his head. “What’s going on?”
“You need you to clear the floor,” I tell him.
“Why?” Ilia asks, starting up the steps.
“Because Jordan’s the murderer, that’s why.” I turn around and head for the door, but Ilia catches up with me, Phillip right behind him.
“He killed Marcus, and Jane, and all the others,” I say.
Ilia shakes his head, looking as ill as I feel. “No.”
I believed Jordan. I trusted him.
“Yes,” I counter. “Now get out of my way.”
“Wait,” Phillip says, and I cut him off.
“There’s no time to explain,” I say. “He’s up there with all those people.”
“I know,” Phillip says. “What do we do?” I feel a flash of warmth for him, that he doesn’t hesitate. And I realize that’s all that I have left for him, a bittersweet kind of affection.
“We find him. Ilia, can you get his exact location?”
“I’ll call Georgie,” Ilia says, stepping back to pull out his phone.
“We need to get the police involved, Lexi,” Phillip says. “There are too many people missing to take care of this ourselves.”
He’s right. Jordan dragged those people into this world; their families have a right to know what happened.
“Can you do it?” I ask.
Phillip nods. “I’ll call one of our people on the force. They’ll take care of it.”
Ilia comes back, his face grim. “Georgie doesn’t see him on the floor, but he says he hasn’t left the building.”
“He’s here somewhere,” I say. “We just have to find him.”
I look at Jane, and there’s a savage expression in her eyes. Trevor cracks his knuckles.
“Let’s go,” he says.
It’s the longest walk of my life. My hands are trembling with adrenaline, and I can’t get enough air into my lungs. I count down the footsteps in my head, my heartbeat pounding so much faster than the numbers.
“Split up,” I finally say, my stomach flipping. “Phillip, take the back door. Ilia, front. I’ll take the side and check the hallways.”
Phillip
gives me a tight smile. “Be careful.”
“You, too,” I say, and he peels off to circle around the back.
“You sure you don’t want me with you?” Ilia asks. “He’s injured, but he’s strong.”
I curl my hands into fists and nod. “I’m sure.”
He lets out a heavy breath. “Okay. Watch your back.”
“I’ve got it covered,” I say, glancing at my ghosts. “Let’s go.”
I open the door to the dance floor and slip inside the darkened room, blinking until my eyes adjust to the dim. Jane melts through the door after me, Trevor alongside.
“Ilia’s right,” she says. “He could have some kind of spell that could hurt you.”
“I know,” I say. I tug back the sleeve of my hoodie and tap on the wheel inked on the inside of my arm. “Protection, remember? Don’t worry.”
Security is clearing the floor, a line of people waiting to file out the front. It’s eerily quiet in here with the music turned off, the multicolored flashing lights cutting through the darkness to a soundless beat.
I move along the floor, my muscles clenched so tight it hurts. The past unspools in soundless pictures in my mind, like I’m watching recorded footage. In another life, a girl danced here with her friends, laughing amid the chaos. In another time, a spell saw something in her and a boy wanted to take it.
I duck behind the bar and slip through the side door, my boots soundless on the ugly carpet. I walk down the hallway, then start to run; I turn the corner and it’s still empty.
“Where is he?” Trevor asks.
“He can’t have gotten far,” I say, pushing myself to go faster. I loop around again, and pull up quickly when I see the backs of two people.
“Stop,” I yell, and one of them turns around with awful slowness. I can’t make out his face clearly, but I can tell by the way he moves, his body still stiff. I hope he’s in pain. I hope it hurts more than anything. I touched him. I tried to comfort him. It makes me ill.
“Lexi,” Jane whispers.
“I know.” There’s no mistaking the bright red hair that’s next to him.
“Jordan,” I say, my voice carrying in the airless hall.
“Hey, Lexi,” he says. His voice is easy, his stance relaxed. It’s almost enough to make me believe he doesn’t know what’s going on.
Missing, Presumed Dead Page 21
