Winter's Reckoning: (A Witch Detective Urban Fantasy Novel) (Seasons of Magic Book 4)

by Sarah Biglow

  “Maybe I should go with you. Two pairs of eyes are better than one,” Jacquie offered.

  “I appreciate the back-up, but I’m looking for signs of magic. And as kickass as you are, that’s not really something you’ll be able to help with.”

  “Just be careful.”

  I settled onto the couch and closed my eyes. “Can’t make any promises.”

  My magic snapped to attention around me as I began to feed it my intent and desire. It built up around me like a bubble, encasing me within its protection.

  The condo and Jacquie faded away, replaced by the bright autumn sunshine of a late September day. The hustle and bustle of the city rose up around me with the shadow of the bank looming behind. I stood a few paces away from the memory version of myself and Desmond. Swallowing the lump of fear in my throat, I let the memory play out.

  The crack of the sniper rifle echoed in my ears as Desmond fell to the ground. I stood immobile as Memory Me went to him, calling for help that wouldn’t be able to save him. I watched in horror as his magic latched on to me, binding us tight until it faded into the pendant. On instinct, I pressed my hand to the pendant. Nothing happened, but I didn’t expect anything would either.

  “Time to slow things down,” I told no one in particular.

  Before my eyes, the memory rewound and slowed to a frame by frame progression. I wanted to fast forward past the point where Desmond hit the ground, but I needed more information. So, I forced myself to walk forward and move around to Desmond’s other side. I caught the bright light of the muzzle flash from a rooftop high above me. There’d been nothing to find up there, despite officers searching for clues. The sniper had been a professional.

  This time, I waited for the bullet to appear in front of me and with a little bit of will, it stopped before striking Desmond. I plucked it from the air and studied it. The fact it felt warm against my fingers seemed odd. I suppose it made sense since being fired from a gun would cause friction and heat. Only it felt almost as if the heat was rippling from within the bullet, not just on the exterior.

  Without losing control of the memory, I focused all of my senses on the bullet, the way the metal felt against the pads of my fingers. The weight of it and the smell of it. I expected the scent of gunpowder to waft from its surface, but that smell was overpowered by another, nauseatingly familiar scent. It stank of Reuben Wickham’s magical signature.

  “Got you now, you son of a bitch.”

  I tossed the bullet on the ground, grinding it out of existence. I knew it wouldn’t change the memory. It wouldn’t save Desmond’s life, but it made me feel just a little better. I turned my attention to the origin of the shot. All the magic in the world couldn’t reveal the identity of the shooter from this distance. I’d been looking off to the side when the shot was fired. No part of my peripheral vision had caught anything I could use to make a credible ID. But the fact that Reuben’s magic fueled some sort of spell with the bullet gave me a place to start.

  The condo living room flooded my senses and I was grateful I’d already been sitting down. Still, my vision swam, and I bent over sucking in air to keep from puking. A ‘clink’ told me someone—probably Jacquie—put a glass of water on the table beside me. I reached for it and caught a glimpse of a decidedly male hand pulling away.

  My heart stopped for a moment, hoping Des had finally decided to make an appearance. Instead though when I lifted my head, I caught J.T.’s concerned gaze as he stood beside the couch in his paramedic uniform.

  “You’re supposed to be working a double,” I said, after sucking down a large gulp of water.

  “You were in that weird ass trance for hours, Ezri. I had to call him,” Jacquie said from across the room.

  “What? No, it was only like twenty minutes,” I argued.

  J.T. showed me the time on his phone. It had been early afternoon when we’d gotten here. It read 8:12 p.m. Shit. “I didn’t realize it was that long. I’m sorry.”

  “Want to tell me what you were doing?” J.T. prodded. He might not be a cop, but he spent enough time around them to pick up the interrogating tone.

  “It was for a case,” I evaded the real question.

  “Jacquie says you aren’t working any active cases,” he said, eyeing my partner.

  She didn’t look apologetic. “I really didn’t mean to freak you out. It’s kind of like another world when I go into someone’s memories, even my own,” I said.

  “Ez, please, tell me what is going on. I can help,” J.T. protested, sitting beside me and gripping my left hand between both of his. I felt the weight of the engagement ring more acutely than I ever had before.

  “I was trying to see if there was anything I might have missed about Des’ shooting.”

  “So, you went into your own memory without back-up.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Believe me, I wasn’t happy about it either,” Jacquie muttered.

  “You can both be mad at me later. I found something. I picked up the scent of someone’s magic ... Reuben Wickham.”

  “The guy who took Carly and the others?” J.T.’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I don’t know if he was the shooter, but I know his magic was involved. It was like it was embedded inside the bullet. Which means I need to pay him a visit.”

  “Not tonight you don’t. Besides, for all of his brushes with the law, we can’t even find his home base,” Jacquie quipped.

  I had other ways of finding him. “I’m going to get some air. I’ll be back.” I kissed J.T. on the lips and squeezed his hands.

  “I promise, I’m not going to go charging into a face-off with that bastard … Not without you,” I told Jacquie as I donned a jacket, not giving either of them any time to stop me or talk me out of it.

  Time to see a bartender about a douchebag.

  Three

  Despite the chilly air, the line to get into Notre Dame—the one magical bar I’m aware of—was down the block. I’d left my badge at home and settled in behind a couple college kids I suspected were using fake IDs to get in. The bouncer combed the line, ostensibly checking all of those IDs. He got to me and I flashed him a smile.

  “Remember me?”

  “Hasn’t the boss banned you yet?” He huffed.

  “Nope,” I answered brightly.

  He looked at the long line, then back to me and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I don’t need this tonight. Just go in and try not to blow the place up this time.”

  I gave him a mock bow and bypassed the line of shivering patrons. I ignored the glares from some of the girls in tight miniskirts and ankle boots. Not my problem if they chose to freeze their asses off trying to get in. I suspected the bar’s owner had cast some sort of spell on the place to make it more attractive to the college crowd.

  I let the warmth of the interior wash over me and took the time to cleanse my magical palette. The sandalwood charm that hung beneath the pentacle pendant around my neck was smooth against the pad of my thumb as the vestiges of my own magic vanished.

  I didn’t expect to find Reuben in a place like this. I settled at the end of the bar closest to the doorway and did a visual sweep of the room. When I turned back a bottle of cider sat in front of me. A slender brunette with a turtleneck stepped back from me and gestured down the bar.

  “Boss says it’s on the house.”

  I took a swig and set it down on the napkin beneath it. “You must be new here,” I said.

  “Just helping out for a few weeks,” she answered.

  The shape of her face and her coloring suggested she and Jonathan, the bar’s owner, were related.

  “Let me guess, uncle?” I nodded toward Jonathan.

  She smirked. “That obvious?”

  I leaned in and stage whispered, “I’m a cop. It’s kind of my job to notice things like that.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Oh, you’re her, aren’t you? The … Savior?” Her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper on the last word.


  “I see my reputation precedes me, again.”

  “You harassing my niece?” Jonathan loomed behind her in seconds.

  I caught the waft his lemon-scented magic keeping his natural form hidden. His facade of the tough guy bartender was intimidating enough. I suspected people might not come here if they knew the handsome face was attached to a literal hunchback.

  “Just getting to know the new staff.” I nodded toward the turtleneck. “I approve of the new work uniforms. Everyone should dress more weather appropriate.”

  “Missy go check on the kegs in the back,” Jonathan ordered.

  Missy gave me a small wave before disappearing. Jonathan rested his thick forearms on the bar. “Why are you back in my bar, Savior?”

  “Can’t a girl just come to enjoy a drink and the ambiance?” I replied.

  “With you, no.”

  “How many Order members are in here tonight?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “You aren’t starting any more fights in my bar.”

  “If I thought the person I was looking for would actually show up here, I’d say I couldn’t promise anything. However, since I know he’s not, I can safely say I’m not going to start any fights. But I’d still like to know the answer to my question.”

  “I don’t know. Ten, maybe fifteen.”

  “And how many would you say come through regularly?”

  “Look, I’ve told you before, I don’t give two shits how they practice their craft as long as they aren’t slinging it around in here.”

  “I’m not saying you do. But I would still like the answer. Consider it, professional curiosity.”

  “At least triple that,” he huffed spinning my cider bottle between his fingers. For a split second I thought he was going to pick it up and drink from it. “Come to think of it, business has been pretty steady, but the number of mundanes coming in has increased.”

  Interesting.

  I wasn’t sure yet, what that meant. Despite that it felt like it was important to my detective’s instincts. Jonathan set the cider back down in front of me. “I heard about your friend. The cop shrink. I’m sorry.”

  “He was my cousin,” I said, my tone going cold and steely.

  “I’m even more sorry. No one should go out that way.”

  “Believe me, I couldn’t agree more. You ever hear anyone drop the name Reuben Wickham around here?”

  Jonathan’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t make me take back my gratuity and make you pay for that drink, Detective.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Know where I might find him?’

  “I do not. Just because folks associated with him hang here, doesn’t mean I know everyone.”

  “You are a very observant man. It’s why I like you,” I said, hoping I could butter him up enough to get him to spill whatever he knew on Reuben’s location.

  “And what does that investigative nature tell you right now?” He leaned in close.

  “That you want me out of your bar.”

  “Guess they made the right choice giving you that shiny Detective’s badge after all.”

  “And I’d be happy to give you what you want, if you could just help a girl out.”

  He growled, low in his throat, but gestured to a man at the other end of the bar. “Dominic Janty. As far as I can tell, he’s an acquaintance of your Mr. Wickham. Whatever you’re going to do …”

  “I know, I know … not in your bar,” I finished for him.

  After an awkward pause, he slammed his fist on the edge of the bar, making my bottle of cider jump. “Really, I am sorry for your loss. Family is all we’ve got in this world.”

  I downed the rest of the drink and set the empty bottle back on the bar, sliding a twenty under it. “Consider it a tip for your very nice niece.”

  I committed Dominic’s name to memory. I couldn’t tip my hand and simply go up to him just to get a look at his face. I’d have plenty of time to look him up in the database when I got to the precinct in the morning. Only it would be better if I could follow his magic.

  I pushed the beginning of a buzz from the alcohol away, reaching out with my magical senses. The citrus flavor of Jonathan’s’ magic warred for my attention, but I shoved it aside, narrowing my search to along the bar, hoping to find the scent of Janty’s magic wafting off him. Powerful men like Wickham and his ilk no doubt saw throwing around magic as no big deal. Despite that it also meant I had a better chance of tracking him.

  My senses bumped up against the smell of evergreen and I couldn’t stop myself from sneezing. I quickly spun on the barstool in case it was loud enough to draw attention. The scent of his magic was strong, even when I stepped out of the bar and down the street. I started back toward my car when I felt a presence behind me. I stepped into the one-way exit of a storefront and reached a hand out to grab the person tailing me.

  Missy yelped when my hand connected with her jacket. “I’m sorry!”

  “Jeez, what are you doing?” I snapped.

  “I heard you talking to Uncle Jon about Reuben Wickham. Uh … I know where you can find him.”

  My gaze narrowed. “I’m listening.”

  “He owns a couple real estate holdings. I’ve been interning all semester for the project management firm he hired to oversee some construction.” She held out a bar napkin with an address written on it. “His office is on the top floor.”

  “Why are you helping me?” Though a bit wary, I still accepted the napkin and put it in my coat pocket.

  “He creeps me out. I don’t know why you’re looking for him, but I’m not surprised if he’s done something illegal. Just don’t let him find out it was me, okay?”

  I patted her arm. “I swear.”

  As my hand connected with her ungloved one, I could feel the bubble projected by her own magic keeping her warm, fueled by the scent of sugarcane. “Can I ask … are you?” I made a vague gesture up and down, trying not to be offensive in assuming she was hiding a physical abnormality, too.

  She giggled. “No. It was a genetic thing with Uncle Jon. He can be pretty scary, huh?”

  “Yeah a little. Though he’s not so bad, is he?” I pointed out.

  “No, he likes to make people think he’s this big tough guy, but he’s got a good heart underneath it all.”

  I nodded and left her standing on the sidewalk by the bar. At least now I had a direction to point my anger and my power.

  December 19, 2017

  Four

  J.T. was already asleep by the time I got home just after midnight. I didn’t have any missed texts or calls from Avery. Either she hadn’t found anything or was still mad at me for asking and was making me wait it out. I laid the napkin from Missy on the kitchen counter and started the coffee pot, listening to the soft hum of it percolating.

  “You do know how to tell time, don’t you?” Grandma’s tone was just as judgmental as I would have expected her to be in life.

  “I’m not tired,” I lied, barely fighting off a yawn.

  “Right, and I’m not dead,” she scoffed.

  She was part of me, in some weird mystical way thanks to the pendant that held some of her power, so she knew what was going on in my head just as well as I did. “I don’t want to see it again,” I confessed.

  “Oh, Ezzie,” she wrapped her arms around me, and I sunk into her semi-corporeal embrace. “Fueling yourself on coffee forever isn’t going to make it any better. You need sleep.”

  “I’m scared,” I whispered. I hadn’t said anything to J.T. or Jacquie, but going back into my memory of losing Desmond had terrified me. Sure, I’d been hoping he would just pop up with the answers. Though really, I’d been too afraid to face the loss again.

  “You are tougher than you give yourself credit for. You’ve been through much worse than a little bad dream.”

  It wasn’t the memory itself that scared me now. It was what manipulating it would do to my subconscious. I dreaded being haunted by the scent of Wickham’s magic.

 
“He can’t touch you in a dream,” she said, reading my mind.

  I shut the coffee pot off, leaving the contents untouched before traipsing to the bedroom and stripping off my jeans and shirt. J.T. mumbled incoherently as I slid beneath the covers and snuggled into the warmth of his body. I tried to let the reassuring weight of him behind me ease me to sleep as I closed my eyes.

  Cool autumn air swirled around me as I stood alone on the sidewalk. The bank loomed behind me, taller than in reality. The windows glittered with sunlight, blinding me as I turned away from them. My entire body was on high alert, sensing that this was wrong.

  “Desmond?” My voice echoed around me.

  “Your kin is dead,” a growly voice replied, stepping around the corner of the building. That same damned hooded figure I’d dreamt about in Ireland stood before me.

  “You again?” I sighed.

  “We are linked, you and I. Can you not feel it? My power grows as yours wanes, Savior.”

  “If you’re so powerful, why don’t you grow a pair and show me your face?”

  “I am Death. And I wear many faces,” the figure answered as the scenery around us shifted. The cool air turned biting and I shivered, even though on some level I knew this wasn’t real.

  “You fear what you will see here, as you should,” it continued, spreading its thin arms out to the side.

  I watched as a figure that looked eerily like me fell to the ground, lifeless as the figure literally danced around it. Gross. “Did you miss the part where I was literally born to kick your scrawny ass?”

  “You speak with conviction, but I know your mind, Savior. You carry doubts and fears within you. You are right to fear me, Savior. For you will fail in your mission.”

  “Failure isn’t really my thing,” I quipped.

  The figure laughed and the sound echoed painfully in my ears, building around me until it was all encompassing. I forced my hands to stay at my sides rather than try blocking out the laughter.