by E M Lacey
Thurgood leaned back in his chair, looking off to his left. His gaze settled on a picture of Tiffany Kells, the owner of the small restaurant they dined in. She shook hands with Oprah Winfrey, both women flashed radiant smiles at the photographer. Tiffany owned a second restaurant next to Harpo Studio in Chicago’s South Loop.
“Yes, yes.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Vampires don’t act like humans.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, finally facing Montague. “I know that. I took the class with you, remember?”
Montague gave him a look.
“Whatever, on the surface, everything looks great.” Thurgood held up a finger. “We have our first win.” He held up a second. “The bad guy literally bit the dust and our client was saved.” He added a third finger. “We will be submitting our case for recompense once we get into the office.” He rotated his hand in a flourish presenting his index finger again. “But there are a lot of open items on our victory list.”
Montague folded his arms across his chest. “Of course. We have to identify all of Adiran’s properties, including his holdings across the pond, draft up our list of demands on behalf of our client, and...”
Thurgood shook his head. “That’s not it.”
“What then?”
“Our clients.”
“What about them?”
“Didn’t you notice some strange goings on with Alba?”
Montague frowned. “Like what?”
Thurgood glanced at the gauze.
Montague’s gaze followed Thurgood’s. “Did she do that?”
Thurgood lifted his gauze wrapped hand. Bridgette did tell them that magic could be reactionary. With all that live magic in the air, maybe it reacted to the emotion. Anger was hot and there were plenty of flaring tempers in Alex’s gallery. Alba was angry and scared. Hell, they were all pissed, and he surely lusted for the vampire’s blood.
He folded his hand carefully and shook his head. “No. She didn’t do this.” He stared at it. “No. All that magic and raw emotion.” He pulled his hand to his chest, cradling it, shaking his head with a bit more conviction. “No. She didn’t do this to me.”
Montague studied Thurgood for a few seconds, before speaking. “I trust your word, Thurgood. If she did do this, we will get to the bottom of it.”
Thurgood did notice a hint of something flash across his face. Too fast for him to register what it was but he let Montague’s words sink in. Since they began working with abnormal beings, strange situations didn’t throw him. He took everything in stride, always watchful. If Alba was classified as Other that could change their case drastically. It would change the child’s life forever. He wondered if they would have jurisdiction in a case involving a human adopting an Other. His hand found its way to his chin, where he scratched at course hairs. Alba was a child, an orphan, innocent just like his Abigail. Their case had him seeing monsters everywhere and Alba was no monster.
“Forgive me Montague, but the child did nothing wrong. My mind’s gone to some dark places.”
“Understandable my friend.” Montague pat the report he’d been reading. “I knew things were going to get a little dark, but never did I imagine anything like Adiran.”
Thurgood made a noise, nodded his head, then met his friend’s eyes. “All this magic! I never wanted to be in the middle of it.” He buried his good hand into his fading red curls. He dragged it through, taking a guilty pleasure in the sting. He freed his hand, fisted it, and brought it down onto the table top. The force of the hit jostled the dishes. “How are we going to survive this?”
Montague leaned over, grabbed Thurgood’s hand in a bro’ shake. “Get a hold of yourself! We’re going to be fine.”
Thurgood reclaimed his hand and placed it over his chest. He could feel frantic palpitations as he swallowed. He worked too hard to keep magic away from him, away from his niece. When the firm was approached and briefed on the Reveal before it was divulged to the public, he knew his battle against magic was lost. The best way to protect his niece and himself was to learn to defend against it. The firm was trained in the basics. He didn’t feel like it was enough but the laws, those were what held power. It helped that the firm was under the protection of the Immortalem. They were the elders of all things preternatural. As Bridgette put it, they were the alpha and omega of the paranormal world.
“Our liaison will be meeting with us in a few days.”
Thurgood’s mouth fell open, but he didn’t speak.
“We may have to have a guard assigned.”
Thurgood closed his mouth and still said nothing while his mind raced. What would the presence of an Immortalem guard mean for them?
“What’s with the look, Thurgood? A guard is a good thing, not the end of the world.”
He nodded absently. “Yes, that would be good.”
Montague clapped his hands, then rubbed them in anticipation. “No more talk of magic. Let’s talk work.” He pushed the report he’d been examining toward Thurgood. “More specifically, Adiran’s properties.”
Thurgood took the report; spun it so it was easier to read. “We already requested the deeds from the title company that handles his real estate.”
“If you take a look, we’re having a hard time gaining access to his properties. Our vampire wasn’t just a smartass, he was smart.”
Thurgood flipped through the contents, scanning the property report. His frown deepened as he read. “The properties are not in his name.”
Montague waved his index finger at the report. “His warehouses are in his name. Any property that’s nondescript and bare is available, but his homes and properties around the globe are tied neatly in a bow made of industrial-strength red tape.”
Thurgood lowered the folder. “What do you mean?”
“This mysterious co-owner or partner has the properties under corporate titles. There are no individual names attached.”
“How? Someone needs to be listed as an agent for the entity.”
“Yes, that’s true, but his lawyers are the agents for the company. They have Power of Attorney.”
Thurgood pushed the report away. “We can subpoena them.”
“Yes, we can, and I have to test the waters.”
“Test the waters?”
“See how hard the opposing counsel will fight. I’ll tell you this: Bane & Thorne have come out swinging.”
“How do you mean?”
“Stall tactics.” Montague leaned forward, hands gripping the end of the table. “They’re feigning ignorance, promising to share information as soon as they locate it, et cetera, et cetera.”
“Really? They don’t know anything about the properties, yet they have made attempts to acquire the grimoires the Council Immortalem’s envoy left with us. You know, the ones confiscated from the high rise where the ritual was performed.”
Montague nodded. “Yes, those artifacts and grimoires.”
“What’s in them?” Thurgood reached down and collected his brown leather messenger bag, which was leaning against the table leg next to his chair.
Montague shrugged. “I have no idea. You know neither of us is qualified to open them, much less read them.”
“No, we aren’t, but I won’t lie. I really do want a peek inside.” Thurgood wondered if there was something in them that could help him with Abigail.
“The temptation of the grimoires is strong.”
“Well, my niece handled the large one, even recited the incantation of transference without incident.” Thurgood reached for the bill for their breakfast, but Montague was faster.
“Your niece is fine because she received very strict instructions and warding from the Bridgette.” Montague scanned it, then reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He was wearing a pair of jeans with a blue button-down dress shirt, no tie.
Thurgood made a grab for the bill. Montague always paid for them. Normally it didn’t bother him, because he’d just catch the next outing. It was like a game, but for some reason it bothered him. He watc
hed Montague pull a few bills from his wallet, making sure to include a generous tip, before addressing him.
“I know this magic thing is hard for you. It’s hard for a lot of us, but it’s what we signed up for when we accepted the Council Immortalem’s offer to mentor our firm. We agreed to train in basic protective magic, which requires no natural talent. In two months, I will be the first of us to train with the Ladies of the Immortalem in the handling of grimoires, recognizing spells, and the art of counter-spells.”
“It’s not the magic,” Thurgood complained. “I’m not worried about that.”
“Yes, you are,” Montague insisted. “It may not be about you, but you’re worried about Abigail.” He rose from his chair and walked over to his friend and lay a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay to worry over her. It’s natural. You may be her uncle, but you are her father at heart. Parents worry.”
Thurgood stared at the shiny surface of the table. “She’s so curious about magic and wants to be tested.”
“Tested?”
Thurgood’s troubled gaze met Montague’s. “She wants to see if she has natural magic.”
“Oh.” Montague was very aware of how dangerous it would become for his friend’s niece should she test positive. In their required history training, they’d learned about families being slaughtered. Natural witches were of great value in the unnatural and natural worlds.
Thurgood and Abigail were the only branches left on their family tree. Thurgood moved from Ireland to Chicago, with a toddler in tow. His dedication to providing a life for his niece and his brilliant mind made them friends. Montague adored Abigail and understood Thurgood’s distress.
“She knows the consequences, doesn’t she?”
Thurgood shook his head slowly.
“What!” Sigils Montague had placed along the seams of the black curtains separating them from the rest of the venue trilled, flickering madly. They protected their conversation. It was the first spell they both learned: secretum. One simple word, chanted when the sigils were drawn, wrapped their conversations in secrecy. No one outside of the curtain could hear a thing while inside, a clamor of bells alerted the speakers of an impending guest. The trilling, flickering symbols were its magic working.
“I asked Bridgette to exclude her from the lesson. Abigail didn’t really need it, since she will be our receptionist.”
“Thurgood!”
He threw up his hand. “Don’t. At the time, she was just a receptionist and part-time researcher.”
“But it’s careless. Our staff, including your niece, must be aware of everything, including magic’s bloody history. It’s part of the contract we signed.”
“I know. I know.” Thurgood’s voice was heavy with regret but resolute in his decision. “I just can’t.”
“Why?”
“You should see her when she talks about magic. It’s a fairy tale come to life for her.”
“Which is why she needs to know the whole truth of magic; at least, what we’re aware of.”
“Not yet.”
Montague shook his head, disappointed at his friend’s stubbornness, then headed to the curtain. He stopped. “Why not have Bridgette teach her about it?”
“No.”
“Why? Being a witch, she would know best how to break the glamour of magic by dousing it in truth. She knows the cost of not being human. The Reveal took its toll on her and those like her.” Montague ran his right hand through his thinning hair. “She has access to history. You know the saying, ‘Seeing is believing.’ Maybe if she shows Abigail the truth about witchery and its dark fruit, she might change her mind about the testing.”
Thurgood grumbled a response. Montague was about to demand clarity, when Thurgood’s cellphone rang.
Grateful for the change in subject, Thurgood picked up on the first ring. “Yes. Abigail?”
His grip on the phone tightened and his face paled.
“What’s wrong?” Montague was at Thurgood’s side, leaning in, to catch the conversation.
Thurgood shook his head and held up a halting finger.
“Good.” Thurgood nodded; his pallor gave way to a bit of color. “Montague and I are on our way. You and Ms. Dixon sit tight and wait in the lobby.”
Abigail must have said something disagreeable because Thurgood’s face went from pasty white to crimson red. “You will do as I say, young lady. If not for you, for the sake of Ms. Dixon.”
Montague drew back, curious as to the exchange.
Thurgood ended the call and snatched up his messenger bag. He tossed the strap over his shoulder.
“What happened?”
“There’s been a break-in at the office.”
“What?”
Thurgood headed for the curtains. “We need to get to the office, and you need to contact our liaison while I contact our district hunters.”
“That bad?” Montague fell in step with Thurgood, who gave a sharp nod.
“Off to the office, then.” Montague hurried past Thurgood and drew back the curtain. He dropped the curtain once his friend passed through then snapped his fingers. The sigils inscribed along the lining of the curtains flickered then faded away.
Chapter Six
Montague’s pace slowed as he neared the office. The door, slightly ajar, made him queasy. Who would do such a thing? The vampire was long dead and they were too new a firm among the otherworld to gain any notice.
Thurgood moved past him, brushing his shoulder in his haste, jarring him enough to refocus. He grabbed his friend’s arm, forcing him to stop.
Thurgood twisted facing him, obviously confused and a little annoyed. “Why are you stopping?” He jerked his free appendage toward the door. “We need to get in there!”
Montague shook his head sharply. “We have to be careful, friend.”
“But—" Thurgood pulled away from him. Montague moved faster than Thurgood thought he was able, snagging his arm again.
“Don’t.” Montague jerked his head toward the dimly lit gap. “Magic, remember?” He released his grip on Thurgood, who straightened.
“Our liaison is in route. I don’t think we should go in there, until she arrives.”
“But Montague.” The distress in Thurgood’s voice morphed into rage. “It’s been warded! It should be safe enough.” His hands fisted at his sides. “What if Abigail is inside?”
Montague watched the fear bleed from Thurgood and determination animate him. “I have to check, so I can be sure Abigail’s not in there.”
Montague doubted Thurgood’s niece would be so reckless as to enter a space that had been vandalized. First, there was the possibility that who or whatever burglarized the place was still inside; the possibility of rogue magic. Either way, he couldn’t let his friend go in alone so he followed him.
“You could just call for her.” Montague offered as he picked up his pace, as Thurgood began a light jog.
“Who says she can respond?” Thurgood said, not bothering to pause or look back.
It took both men to force the door wide enough for them to enter. The moment it hit the object behind it; the lights clicked on. Montague entered first. His eyes stung the moment he passed the threshold. He blinked rapidly, eyes watering, which helped to alleviate the burn. It made it easier to examine the formerly pristine, carefully constructed interior. A jagged sea of debris stared back at him. It was like a pack of rabid animals had torn through the space. Wallpaper hung in shreds. Claw marks covered the north wall.
Thurgood tapped him on the shoulder, pointing to the main hall leading to their respective offices. A singular three-clawed pattern cut a leisurely wave starting at the edge of the wall, drifting up and down, dipping once or twice, before their range of sight cut off. Montague shifted, moving in a slow spin in the direction of the clawed trail, when someone cleared their throat.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Both Montague and Thurgood turned toward the speaker, a tall man with wild blue-black hair, vivid gr
een eyes, tan skin, and thick enough to fill the entrance. He was all muscle. He shifted on his feet and Montague could have sworn he shimmered. Just as quickly as it happened, it was gone. The man moved deeper into the office, stopping directly in front of them. “Neither of you should be in here. This space has not been inspected, nor the warding fortified.”
Anger welled in Montague but he squashed it. He wasn’t an emotional man, but his life’s work, or at least the space where he conducted his work had been assaulted.
The man reached into his shirt, an array of chains and cords flashed, as he sorted through them. He freed a black cord and withdrew a silver badge bearing a pentagram with the Illinois flag in its center. Montague knew the pentagram’s core was spelled. The man was a district hunter. The flag would shift based on the location in which he was ordained to hunt. There were some hunters whose badges had globes. Those hunters had international jurisdiction. Most of them were much older than the swarthy fellow in front of him.
“You’re right.” He ran his hand along the collar of his shirt, before offering his own hand in greeting. “Apologies. It’s just the...”
The man nodded, eyeing Montague’s outstretched hand with a bit of skepticism. He did not move to take it.
“It’s nothing personal.” Lifting his hands, the man backed away. “No one can touch you until you’ve gone through a purification ritual.”
Montague let his hand drop. He swallowed his embarrassment, covering it with a cough. “I understand.”
The man looked over his shoulder taking in the wreckage. “I’d be shaken up if I came in to this.” His words made the room feel more crowded. He turned his back to them and headed toward the exit. He motioned for Montague and Thurgood to follow.
The three of them left the office. A second man, an African American, dressed in black jeans and a button-down shirt of matching color and a silver badge in flagrant display, leaned against the wall to the right of the office. The second man pushed off the wall, straightened, then bowed his head in greeting. Once they were far enough away, introductions ensued.
The man faced them. He placed his hand over his heart. “I am one of the district hunters assigned to this case. My name is, ironically, Hunter McKellen.” He pointed to his colleague who carried himself in an official manner despite his casual attire. “This is my partner, Julius Thompson. He is, for all intents and purposes, the cop half of our dynamic duo.”
