Stone Cold Magic (Ella Grey Series Book 1)

by Jayne Faith

  “You think Nathan is locked inside the gargoyle and also possessed?” I asked.

  “Possibly. The fact is, there are three species that need to be separated. Species separation is essentially the definition of exorcism, though we usually only hear about it in terms of demon-human separation. Regardless of the exact configuration, Lynnette should be able to perform the separations. She’s one of the best. If she can’t do it, we’re pretty much screwed.”

  I pursed my lips into a grim line and let that sink in. After a second or two, I looked over at him. He was tall, but my five feet ten inches plus an inch of boot heel put me slightly above eye-to-eye with him.

  “Johnny, I don’t expect you to work for free . . .”

  He gave me a playful grin. “Don’t worry about it, sugar. I’ll find some way for you to repay me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Good luck with that, Romeo,” I said with a good-natured laugh. There was nothing menacing in his words—it was more flirtation.

  He slowed, and I spotted his Mustang parked on a side street. We stopped on the corner.

  “Will you text me if you make any breakthroughs in your research?” I asked.

  “Yep, will do.”

  I jogged the rest of the way to my pickup. Weariness washed over me as I got in, started it, and headed home. I was just considering allowing my brain to return to the vision of the vampire den and the guy who looked like my brother, when I happened to glance in the rearview mirror.

  Two orange eyes stared at me from the bed of the truck.

  I started, accidentally jerking the wheel and crossing the yellow line with the left front tire.

  “Shit!” I yanked the wheel the other way, correcting.

  I pulled to a stop at a red light, gripping the wheel hard with both hands, and twisted around.

  My heart hammered as a dark furry face stared back at me. It was the dog from before. His tail wagged, and his panting breath made a little patch of fog on the glass. I listened to my pulse beat in my head for a few seconds and then let out an unexpected laugh.

  I considered turning around and dropping him off but didn’t want to risk him getting hit by a car as he wandered Crystal Ball Lane. With only a few more blocks to home, an old house on Hays Street that had been converted into a four-plex, I decided to continue on with the dog in the back. The house where I lived had two apartments upstairs and two on the main floor. The two upper ones were occupied by couples—one in college and the other a newly-married man and woman in their early 30s. Mine was the ground level one on the right. The apartment on the left was the home of a crotchety middle-aged witch named Simone. Her familiar—a very clichéd black cat—sometimes watched me out the front window, its yellow eyes radiating uppity feline disapproval.

  I parked in my usual spot on the street. The slam of the truck’s door seemed unusually loud in the quiet night. By day, a steady stream of traffic flowed up and down Hays. Not a main artery, but it was a well-used street at the north edge of downtown.

  I went to the back of the truck and leaned on the side rail.

  “So, you think you’re spending the night with me, huh?” I reached out a hand and the dog came over to give it a sniff. No collar, of course. Apparently liking what he smelled, he swiped his tongue across my knuckles. He had strange eyes, reflective like a cat’s. He had unusually long legs, a wide chest, and a dark, short, curly coat. Definitely a mutt, though I didn’t know dog breeds well enough to even begin to identify his make-up. But he looked healthy, like he’d been cared for and fed regularly. Though he’d been a little skittish on Crystal Ball Lane, he seemed at ease around humans. “Okay, big guy, just for tonight. Tomorrow we’ll figure out who’s missing you.”

  I moved toward the back of the truck to open the gate for him, but before I could release the latch, he leapt over the rail and onto the strip of grass between the sidewalk and the curb, landing on silent feet.

  He followed me up the steps to my little porch where the lamp next to my door bathed us in wan yellow light. I unlocked the door, walked in, and flipped on a light switch, holding the door for the dog.

  He followed me through the living room and into the tiny and underused kitchen, where I pulled two ceramic bowls from a cupboard. I filled one from the faucet and set it on the floor, and piled Cheerios in the other bowl.

  The dog gave the Cheerios a sniff and then crunched a few. He looked up at me.

  “Sorry, this is the best I’ve got in the way of dog chow.” I left the kitchen, pulling my t-shirt off over my head on the way to the bathroom.

  I dropped the shirt in the hamper, turned on the shower, and finished undressing.

  “Don’t shred anything or poop on the carpet,” I called to the dog and then stepped into the shower.

  I quickly washed, shampooed, and conditioned my hair, rinsed it all off, and then shut off the water.

  With one towel turbaned on my head and another wrapped around my body, I poked my head into the living room, expecting to see the dog curled up on the slightly worn but still cool retro low-backed sofa I’d bought at the Idaho Youth Ranch thrift store. When I didn’t see him, I leaned through the doorway to look into the kitchen. No dog there, either.

  The only possible place left was the bedroom. I flipped on the light and snorted a laugh. He’d pulled down the quilt that was usually folded on the end of my bed, dragged it over to the wall, and bunched it into a little nest on the floor. He was curled in a tight circle in the middle of it.

  When he saw me, he raised his head, and the tip of his tail flipped up and down.

  “Don’t get too comfortable, big guy.” I watched him for a second or two. I wasn’t a dog person, but the intelligence in his eyes was unmistakable.

  I pulled on an old Demon Patrol Recruit t-shirt and boy shorts-style underwear, and switched off the overhead light.

  I held my phone and typed out a text to Deb, telling her I was sorry I didn’t get back earlier. I hit send, knowing she’d already be in bed and sound asleep. She was teaching summer school for another couple of days and had to get up at some ungodly hour.

  I set the phone on its charging pad and swung my legs up and under the covers.

  Once my damp head hit the pillow, the vision swam back into the forefront of my mind.

  I tried to remember as much detail as I could. Over and over, my mind’s eye focused on the young man’s face. I tried to look at it with objectivity, but failed. I wanted it to be Evan—my brother as he was now, at age nineteen—even if he was mired in a vampire’s den, because that could mean he was alive.

  I had no idea how or why the vision came to me, but it had the same distorted, strangely-colored quality as the dreams that had haunted me since my accident. The dreams, the images, the shadows that accompanied me like a swarm of silent dark spirits . . . they were all somehow related. They had to be. They’d all shown up after the accident, when I’d revived eighteen minutes after my pulse and respiration had stopped.

  I’d set out for Crystal Ball Lane looking for relief. Hoping for something that would rid me of the smoky swirls and the disturbing dreams—the other. I’d gone in search of a remedy that would bring back the Ella Grey from before.

  But whatever clung to me now, whatever Dark Thing had followed me back from death and given me the visions, it had shown me my brother. It had gifted me with the first possible clue I’d had in years that Evan might still be alive.

  I had to figure out how to make the other reveal more.

  My phone buzzed with an incoming text, jolting me from my sinister musings. I reached for it and saw it was almost 11:00. The message was from Deb.

  I’m out back, going to use the hidden key to let myself in. If you see this, don’t get up. We’ll talk in the morning.

  I texted back: I’m up.

  The dog raised his head, his attention drawn to the kitchen. He jumped up and silently followed me to the back door as the deadbolt clicked. I switched on the light above the stove.

  The door s
wung open, and Deb stood there. My best friend looked terrible, her strawberry blond hair swept back into a messy ponytail, her eyes puffy, and her nose red.

  Chapter 4

  DEB’S BACKPACK, THE one I thought of as her escape bag, was hanging from the crook of her elbow. I knew it held a change of clothes, a toothbrush, and some shampoo and makeup.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  She shook her head, her eyes welling. “It’s just me and Keith. I promise I won’t stay long, just a night or two.”

  I took her arm and pulled her over to one of the two chairs at my tiny breakfast nook table. She sank down and then heavily propped her elbows on the chipped tabletop. The dog’s head was just tall enough for him to rest it on the table. His tail drooped as he gave her an unblinking gaze that I would almost swear was sympathetic.

  “Of course you can stay as long as you like.”

  “Thanks,” she said, her attention sliding over to the dog. “Who’s this?”

  “A stray. He followed me.” I watched her, trying to assess how bad it was. “Okay, what’d the idiot do this time?”

  She gave a weary sigh. “The usual stuff.”

  I moved to the stove, turning to my rarely-used tea kettle that sat on one of the burners, so I could hide my irritation from Deb. This happened every few months, going back almost since the start of Deb and Keith’s relationship. There was some blow-up about something that was always Keith’s fault. I tried to be a good friend, but it was difficult not to throw my hands up and ask why the hell she didn’t leave him. Sure, they were happy some of the time, but it wasn’t enough. Deb deserved more.

  I filled the kettle and put it on the stove, then pulled out two mugs and found a box of herbal tea. I thought herbal tea tasted like wilted flowers and smelled like a combo of dried grass clippings and an old lady’s house, but it always seemed to soothe Deb.

  Deb’s lips twisted unhappily. “We had some money saved, you know, for when I would eventually take maternity leave. Keith used it.”

  I felt my face cloud over. “On what?”

  Her eyes pooled with tears again. “Does it even matter?” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her lower lids.

  “I’m so sorry, Deb. That royally sucks. He had no right to do it behind your back.”

  “He had good intentions. He was investing it. He said he was sure he could double it. But . . .” She looked down at the tabletop.

  She didn’t have to finish. I knew the money was gone.

  “Well, at least you can build it up again?” I ventured, trying to find some hope in the situation. I sat back down across from her. “And this time get a separate account, one that he doesn’t have access to.”

  When she raised her eyes to mine, the look of misery on her face hollowed out my chest.

  “I don’t have time,” she whispered. “I’m six weeks pregnant.”

  My mouth fell open. I snapped it shut as surprise and then anger coursed through me. This was what Deb had wanted her entire life, but instead of radiating joy like she should have, she’d never looked more unhappy. All because she’d married an irresponsible knucklehead.

  “Uhh, congratulations?” I said, wincing.

  She started to laugh, softly at first, but pretty soon she had both hands clamped over her mouth. It was contagious, and we looked at each other across the table as our shoulders shook. The kettle made the whooshing sound that comes right before the whistle, and I sprang to the stove to pull it off the burner. When I returned to Deb with two steaming mugs, she was wiping her eyes again, but there was a faint smile on her lips.

  She sipped her tea and then looked down into the mug. “I haven’t told Keith yet.”

  I tilted my head. “How come?”

  With another sigh, she slouched a little lower. “I guess . . . I guess I’m not completely sure I want do this with him.” Her eyes took on a dazed, glassy sheen. “Wow, that’s the first time I’ve really admitted that.”

  My chest stirred with a storm of emotions—hope that she’d finally seen the light, fear for what it meant, and a little ray of happiness at the knowledge that she was going to be a mom. Something she’d wanted more than anything.

  “Then don’t,” I said firmly. “We can get a place together, just like old times. I’ll help, you know, do the diapers and bottles and stuff. Whatever you need.”

  The image of the clock displaying the wee hours of the night while a red-faced baby howled its tiny lungs out made me want to writhe, but I tamped it down and managed to control myself.

  She gave me a teary but grateful smile. “I know you would. I just don’t know yet what I’m going to do.”

  “Well, you probably need some sleep. You’re sleeping for two now.” I glanced pointedly at her belly with an exaggerated, wide-eyed expression.

  She giggled, but exhaustion pulled at her features.

  “Take my bed so you can get some rest. I’ll sleep on the foldout.”

  I stood, but she reached for my wrist, stopping me. “Are you okay, Ella?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  Her gaze roamed all around me, and I knew her empath senses had kicked in. “Your energy feels . . . tangly. Did you go see that hedge witch I recommended?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “Let’s talk about it later, okay?”

  Normally she would have pressed me, but she was running on empty.

  After I got Deb settled in my room, I moved the living room furniture so I could pull out the sofa bed. I expected to toss and turn for a while, after the eventful evening, but my eyelids grew heavy and I dropped off quickly.

  The next morning I was up early, even before Deb who had to rise at still-dark-o’clock to get to her summer school teaching job. I’d fallen asleep hoping to see more images of Evan, but the night had passed with only regular dreams.

  While the dog was doing his business in my postage-stamp yard, I called the Humane Society and the pound to report my late-night hitchhiker. Neither one had any record of someone looking for a dog like him, but maybe his owner didn’t know yet that he was missing. I couldn’t imagine he was a stray—he was well behaved and clearly comfortable inside a home.

  Three days ago the doctor who’d been monitoring me since my accident—my death—had reluctantly cleared me to return to work after my two-week leave. When he’d taken my vitals and everything checked out normal, he’d actually seemed annoyed that I wasn’t showing obvious physical effects from my ordeal. He forbade me from resuming my daily runs or any other extended cardio until after my next checkup, but I couldn’t start a workday without some sort of physical exertion.

  Out on the tiny square of patio in the yard, I did fifteen minutes with the jump rope and then set out a rubber mat and went through my usual 50 pushups, crunches, and leg lifts.

  I let the dog in and then hopped in my truck and drove to the grocery store for a collar, leash, and small bag of dog food.

  Back home, I filled the Cheerio bowl with kibble and refreshed the water.

  Deb appeared in the kitchen doorway. She rubbed one red-rimmed eye with the heel of her hand, but overall she looked much better than when she’d shown up last night.

  “Morning. Want to shower first?” I asked.

  “No, that’s okay, I don’t have time. I’ve got to get dressed and head to work.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe you should just call in sick today.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll be all right.”

  She went into my room, and I headed to the bathroom. “Check in later?” I hollered down the hallway at her.

  “Yeah, I will,” she said. “Thanks again for letting me stay.”

  I quickly used the restroom to freshen up, and by the time I emerged, Deb was gone.

  In my room, I dressed in my Demon Patrol uniform: royal blue button-down shirt with the patrol emblem patches on the sleeves and over the left breast pocket. It would be over 80 degrees by afternoon, so choosing the short-sleeve summer version of the shirt was a no-brain
er. Gray fitted pants with cargo-style pockets. Service utility belt with stun gun, guided net launcher, flashlight, badge, and a pouch for brimstone burners. Black leather low-top boots.

  I secured the cylinder-shaped demon trap from last night, the one containing the arch-demon that had invaded Roxanne’s, onto a band on my belt. I pulled my shirt over it to hide it the best I could. I wasn’t actually supposed to have this type of trap, but I disagreed with the policy that forbade Demon Patrol from carrying higher-level traps. I’d swiped the can from the supply room at work, and it wasn’t the first time I’d done so.

  I swept my dark hair back into a long ponytail, put on my black patrol visor, and slipped sunglasses into a shirt pocket.

  My patrol precinct was about seven blocks from home, so I walked. When I arrived and saw how full the lot was, my stomach dropped a couple of inches.

  It was my first day back after two weeks mandatory leave, and I’d intended to get there earlier to beat the crowd and take a seat in the back for briefing. I really preferred not to make an entrance in front of an audience.

  And there was one other thing I was dreading: the absence of my partner, Terrence.

  He’d been injured in the demon attack that had me on the way to the morgue until I miraculously revived. Supernatural Crimes, the arm that oversaw Demon Patrol, had given him an extended medical leave that would transition into retirement. He was set to retire in less than a year, anyway, and the accident had ensured he’d probably never walk without a limp. It was a generous move on the part of the division, and I knew it was the right thing for him.

  But I’d get a new partner. Terrence and I were practically family, we’d been together since I started on patrol, and the idea of walking the beat with anyone else felt disloyal.

  I let out a long sigh as I passed Terrence’s parking spot. A late-model Lexus stood where his old Jeep used to be. I snorted. What self-respecting Demon Patrol officer drove a fricking Lexus? I was half-tempted to take a picture of it and send it to Terrence for a laugh.

  “Grey!”

  I turned at the sound of my name to see Brady Chancellor, dressed in Supernatural Strike Team dark gray, crossing the parking lot with a few of his Strike buddies.