by Lisa Edmonds
I made a face. “Honestly, I’m not sure how long we can keep you under wraps. I’m not about to register you with the Agency, but that doesn’t guarantee your—our—secret is safe.”
It occurred to me that the consequences of breaking one of SPERA’s most strictly enforced laws would probably mean I’d never see daylight again if we were caught, and if the rumors were true, I’d probably be begging for death before it was all over. I saw a flash of a blood-splattered room and heard an echo of my own screams. Ice seemed to form in my veins, and suddenly my vision tunneled and again it was hard to get a breath.
“…Sit down! Sit down!” Malcolm was saying, as if from a long way away. I found my chair and sat, bending over to put my head between my knees. I focused on breathing deeply and slowly. The ghost hovered a few feet away.
Finally, I raised my head to look at Malcolm. I don’t know what my face looked like, but he flitted back a few feet in that way ghosts could move when they got really spooked—so to speak. I smiled mirthlessly at my pun, and something in my expression made him flit again.
“This could be a death sentence for me,” I said quietly. “And there are rumors that there are punishments for ghosts as well, not just exorcism. I’ve heard there are traps that capture the ghost, and….” I paused. “Blood mages designed the traps to torment the ghosts. I don’t know the details, but we can assume it would be better for us both if we stay far away from SPEMA.”
Malcolm looked anguished.
“If it comes down to it, I’ll try to have you exorcised before they can catch you. If that’s not possible, I can discorporate you.”
His eyes widened as he realized what I meant. My own special set of blood-mage skills included the permanent dispersal of a ghost’s noncorporeal form. It wasn’t something I did very often, and I’d only ever discorporated wraiths and poltergeists. They were so far gone by that point, they didn’t know what was happening to them, but Malcolm would be self-aware enough to know.
I spoke quietly but purposefully. “It would mean a one-way trip to the Underworld, but some might say that would be preferable to ending up in one of those traps. I need to know ahead of time if that’s what you want, because we may not have time to think or talk if the Agency or a cabal catches us. I’ll have a few seconds at most, just long enough to—”
“Do it,” Malcolm broke in. “If it comes to that, send me on. I don’t know what will happen to me down there, but I know I don’t want to spend eternity in a trap, or back at the cabal being used as a focus.” He stopped as realization dawned. “But if you spend those last few seconds taking care of me, you won’t be able to do anything to defend yourself. They’ll take you.”
I didn’t tell him that I had one final option standing between me and the tortures of the Agency or a cabal. Inside my left leg, a so-called “divine wind” spell was carved into my femur. Only the most sensitive and focused X-ray would be able to spot it, and it couldn’t be sensed before I invoked it. It was basically my nuclear option, and one I would never use unless I had no hope of escape. I knew it was a better alternative than the suffering I would have to look forward to at the hands of either the Agency or a cabal. And if my grandfather ever caught me…well, nuking myself would be the only choice. At least I would take a lot of them with me when I went, in true kamikaze style.
I resisted the urge to glance down at my leg and shrugged with a nonchalance I certainly didn’t feel. “Odds are, if they catch on to us, they’ll send a small army. I’m strong, but not strong enough to take on the kind of combined firepower they’d send. The best I can do is try to keep you from being caught. At some point, we need to figure out why Bell gave you your soul back.”
I had no earthly idea how we were going to do that, but what the hell; it was a Wednesday, and I always came up with lofty goals on Wednesdays.
*
My phone beeped a reminder that I had a downtown lunch appointment with a potential client at noon. I turned to my new ghost companion. “We’ve got to head out. Can you leave the office and hang out unseen in the hallway for a moment? I need to clean up in here.”
Malcolm nodded and vanished. I waited until I could sense that he had gone past my wards before pulling some of the energy to me that had spindled earlier. I focused on the little tickle in my senses that represented the remaining traces of Malcolm’s earth and water magic. “Obliterate.”
The metaphysical blast that radiated out from me would have staggered a less powerful mage, but long years of practice and training kept me steady as the wave swept through my office, taking apart Malcolm’s handiwork and dispersing it. The atoms weren’t gone, of course; magic still obeyed physical laws. In less than a heartbeat, no trace of ash remained, in the bucket, on any surface, or in the air. In a few minutes, even the trace of his energy would disperse.
The air felt heavy and smelled like ozone, as it always did when I used magic in an enclosed space. I peeked into the bucket for a visual confirmation of what my senses already told me: the ash was capital-G Gone.
I stuck the cleaning supplies back in the closet, grabbed my messenger bag, and locked up the office. I could feel Malcolm’s presence nearby, like a gentle, distinctly blue-green pressure in my mind, but he stayed invisible as we traveled down the elevator to the parking garage below the office building. Neither of us said a word until we were in my car and on our way out of the garage.
Finally, I gave voice to what had been going through my head. “I have a spell that should mask your energy. To other mages, you should feel like a nonmagical spirit. If you don’t attract attention to yourself, it should hold up fine, but I don’t have time to do the spellwork right now. To find something that will withstand scrutiny, I’m going to have to do some work. Depending on what this case is, I might be able to look into that tonight. You’re going to have to stay invisible until we can work something up.”
“How do we keep other mages or ghosts from sensing me in the meantime?” Malcolm’s voice was quiet, either because he wasn’t manifesting physically, or from apprehension, or both.
“I have a thought,” I said slowly. “But you may not like it.”
*
When I walked into Janie’s Downtown Café forty-five minutes later, I walked in alone. I told the hostess my name and said I was meeting someone.
She glanced down at her notepad, then pointed. “Redhead in the third booth from the back. She’s been here fifteen minutes already.” There was clear disapproval in her tone.
I glanced up at the clock and frowned. I wasn’t late; it was only just noon. I’d intended to be here ten minutes ago, but construction caused me to have problems finding a place to park. Plus there had been the matter of dealing with Malcolm….
I resisted the urge to touch my right earring and headed for the booth she’d indicated. “Natalie Newton?”
A petite young woman in an emerald-green shirt and khakis looked up, startled. “Yes? Are you Alice?”
“That’s me.” I sat down across from my client and studied her. Her hair was a remarkably bright red. A smattering of freckles made her look younger than she was. I guessed her at about twenty-five. She was very thin. Her hands played with her teacup while she fidgeted under my gaze. I sensed no magical ability in her.
“How can I help you?” I asked. “Your message indicated that you’re worried about some missing items.”
Natalie dropped her eyes to the table and sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Yes, that’s right.” Her voice was as thin as the rest of her. “My grandmother passed away about three months ago.” She paused.
I’m not very good at social cues, but even I could figure that one out. I murmured, “I’m sorry,” and she nodded graciously.
“Thank you. It was a car accident; a drunk driver swerved over the center line and hit her. My grandmother raised me after my parents died when I was ten, and I’m an only child, so…it was hard.” Her eyes filled with tears.
I waited. No one had come by to ask if I wanted
something to drink, so while Natalie was sniffling and wiping her eyes, I waved at a server and mimicked drinking a cup of coffee. She gave me a quick smile and headed for a coffeepot.
Finally, Natalie cleared her throat. “My grandmother left me everything. I have three aunts and an uncle and some cousins, but they hadn’t really spent much time around Grandma for years, so….” She shrugged. “I was surprised, since I thought I’d be dividing things with the rest of the family, but her will was pretty clear. I own the house and everything in it, as well as her money.” She didn’t sound happy about it. Inherited money was often bittersweet, but I got the impression there was more to Natalie’s unhappiness than just her grandmother’s death.
“How is the rest of the family taking the news about the will?” I asked as the waitress brought my coffee.
Natalie made a face. “Some of them aren’t taking it well at all. My aunt Elise hired an attorney to argue that my grandmother wasn’t of sound mind when she made the will, which is such a terrible thing to say about her own mother.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “I don’t think anything will come of it, since there are plenty of folks who will testify that she was thinking very clearly. In the meantime, my grandmother’s lawyer got me a restraining order to keep them out of the house, but it’s not Elise’s lawsuit I’m worried about.”
She took a long drink of hot tea and looked at the cup like she wished it held something a lot stronger. “I think one of my aunts or uncles has stolen things from my house. And….” She swallowed hard, coughed a little, and looked away. When she met my eyes again, there was real fear in her gaze. “I think I’m being poisoned.”
I sat back and looked at her more closely. Her hands trembled with more than just emotion, her eyes looked dull and listless, and I saw that instead of healthy pink, the skin under her fingernails was white and bloodless, as if her circulation was poor. Clearly something was wrong, but it could be as much anxiety and grief over her grandmother as anything else. “What makes you think you’re being poisoned?”
She gestured at her body. “I’ve lost almost twenty pounds in the last few months, and it’s not because I don’t eat. Or try to eat, at least. I’m always nauseous, and often I can’t seem to keep anything down. I’ve been to four doctors, and they all run tests and then tell me it’s a stomach bug and it will pass. I know what they’re thinking: I’m depressed about my grandmother, I’m worried about my aunt’s lawsuit, I’m making myself sick. But I swear to you that’s not what’s happening.”
Natalie leaned forward and reached out, as if she wanted to grab my hand. I picked up the coffee mug and took a drink. Generally speaking, I don’t like to be touched.
If Natalie felt slighted, she didn’t let on. Instead, she took a drink from her own cup, her hands shaking. Finally, she said, “I don’t care if you don’t believe me either, but I just want someone to take me seriously, and no one else will listen to what I’m saying. That’s how I ended up calling you; the last private investigator I called told me that I might be better off talking to a PI who specializes in unusual cases, and I got your number from the Internet. I’m willing to pay you to find out what’s going on. I need to know if I’m really being poisoned, and by whom. And why, although I can guess,” she added bitterly. “I loved my grandmother, and I love our home, and the things we shared. My aunt and the rest of them don’t care about Grandma at all. All they want is the money, and all they see when they look at the house and what’s in it is what they could sell it for.”
“You said some things were missing,” I said. “What’s missing? Valuables?”
“Not really, not in the way most people would think. It’s books that are missing.” She looked at me like she expected me to scoff at her. I got the feeling others had.
Some people wouldn’t be concerned about missing books, but I was intrigued. There were all kinds of books: books that educated, books you read at the beach or on planes, books that sold bad advice…and books that could level whole cities. I wasn’t psychic, but I had an inkling that the missing books weren’t celebrity memoirs. Suddenly Natalie’s grandmother and her house were a lot more interesting.
Finally, a harried-looking server came by to see about food orders. Natalie made a little face and ordered a salad with chicken, dressing on the side. I ordered my usual: a grilled cheese and bowl of tomato soup.
After the server left to put in our orders, I turned my attention back to Natalie. “I’d like to come take a look at the house, especially the place where the missing books were kept, and we can talk more about the rest.”
Natalie’s eyes got big. “You believe me?” she asked hopefully, and I could see in her expression that my belief meant a lot more to her than I thought it would.
I imagined myself in her place, going from doctor to doctor, being told not to worry, that it was just a stomach bug that would pass; week after week, month after month of no one listening. It must have felt very hopeless and lonely and frustrating. Still, I tried to be as honest with potential clients as I could be. “I’m not sure of anything yet.”
Her face fell.
I held up my hand. “I am certainly willing to believe your intuition may be right,” I added. “I think we have…special senses sometimes, and that we don’t listen to our instincts as much as we should. So if you think there is something going on here, I’ll help you find out for sure.”
As fast as she’d withdrawn, Natalie’s face lit up with pure happiness. “Thank you.” Her eyes filled with tears again. She cleared her throat as our server brought the food and we focused on our lunch.
I attacked my sandwich and soup like a starving werewolf, but Natalie, despite her flash of joy, only picked at her salad. She watched me eat with undisguised envy. It probably didn’t say anything good about me that even her obvious misery didn’t affect my appetite. I’d only had a piece of toast for breakfast, and doing the kind of magic required to clean up after Malcolm, plus capturing and hiding his energy in the earring dangling from my right ear, had drained me somewhat.
Thinking about my ghost, I felt the urge to fiddle with my earring, and once again I forced myself not to draw any attention to it. I’d used my crystal earrings to smuggle magical energy, spells, and even a fragment of a poltergeist once. (That was a long story that involved the destruction of several cars, a storage building, and a small section of a local cemetery.) This was the first time I’d hidden a ghost in one of them. I’d spent many hours crafting the earrings by hand to be both pretty and functional. Unless someone physically touched my right earring, there would be no way to know a powerful ghost resided in it.
I used the last bites of sandwich to mop up what was left of my soup. Natalie had eaten about a fourth of her salad and given up, sipping her water while I ate. When I finished, I pushed away the soup bowl and reached for the check.
Natalie snatched it up. “Let me. It’s the least I can do for you listening to me.”
“Thank you.” As Natalie handed her credit card to the server, I asked, “Are you available to go back to your house right now and have me look around?”
“Absolutely.” A little life came back into her pale face as she signed the receipt. We stood, I slung my bag over my shoulder, and we turned to leave.
At that moment, the front door of the café opened and three SPEMA agents walked in.
For mundane humans, their presence was supposed to be reassuring, or so I have been told. For this reason, most agents displayed their credentials and wore Agency jackets or vests everywhere they went. Their visibility was designed to give people a sense of security in a dark and scary world full of monsters and magic and things that went bump in the night.
For supes and mages, however, agents were far from comforting; on their word, someone could be hauled away in spell cuffs, or even put down on the spot if deemed a danger to citizens’ property or their safety. It didn’t take much to be labeled a threat and killed. It was most common with supes like shifters, vamps, half-demons, a
nd dhampirs, but it happened to mages too.
I evaluated the newcomers in a split second with the practiced eye of someone who had spent her entire life avoiding contact with agents whenever possible. Their body language was natural and relaxed. While the blond man in front spoke to the hostess and held up four fingers, the other two scanned the room, not as if they were looking for anyone in particular, but just keeping an eye on their surroundings. My conclusion: it was simply lunchtime for them as well.
Time to make a casual exit via the side door. I turned to Natalie. “Where are you parked?”
“Two streets over, on Powell.”
Drat; that was in the direction of the front door. “Well, I’m in the garage. Walk with me? I’ll take you to your car.”
“Sounds good!” Natalie followed me as I wove between the tables toward the garage entrance.
Just as we made it through the lunchtime crowd and approached the side door, it jingled open.
Special Agent Lake stood inside the door, three feet in front of me, his hand on the door handle and eyes locked on my face.
Chapter 4
As Moses Murphy’s granddaughter, I never had the luxury of anonymity—not from the public, the Agency, or anyone else. Even as a child, I was famous, and feared. My face was known, even if the extent of my skills was a closely guarded secret. Moses kept me on a short leash, cultivating my mystique by leaking information now and then, teasing outsiders with hints and rumors about what his granddaughter was capable of doing.
I remained in the public eye until my escape. I moved across the country, established a new identity, earned my MPI license, and redefined myself in a world that hated and distrusted my kind. I had to leave behind the name and the face that were so well known to so many. Alice Worth bore little to no resemblance to the deceased granddaughter of Moses Murphy, physically or otherwise.
In my new life, I kept my head down and avoided all publicity and contact with SPEMA. Anonymity was key to my survival. Being instantly recognized by a SPEMA agent was not in the plan.
