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

by Sarah Biglow

  “As they say, there is a first time for everything. Your allies are weakened, and you know there is little you can do to sate that desire for revenge.”

  Desmond’s face flashed in front of me and my stomach lurched as it spoke with his voice. “You’re not going to solve this one.”

  My hands balled into fists and I took a swing, power erupting from my body as the figure vanished.

  A pair of firm hands grabbed me by the shoulders, holding me down. “Ezri, calm down. Ezri …”

  The bedroom came into view and I sat up, hands still clenched into tight fists. My heart hammered in my throat. I could feel the slick sheen of cold sweat making the sheets stick to my body as I uncurled my fingers. I winced at the deep nail marks in the meat of my palms.

  Without question, J.T. held me to him and the sweet scent of honey washed over me, sticking to my frayed nerves like the real thing. I let it seep into every pore, welcoming it home like I would my own magic.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

  “Want to tell me about it?’

  “Just bad dreams,” I answered, nuzzling into the slope of his shoulder.

  “I meant wherever it was you went to get air for four hours.”

  “I was just following up on something,” I answered vaguely.

  J.T. pushed me back to look me in the eye—an impressive feat given the dimness of the room. “No. You don’t get to do this again.” His voice was sharp, tinged with anger. “You don’t get to shut me out.” He unwound his arm from around me. “It killed me when I lost you the first time, Ez. It broke my heart that I couldn’t do anything then to make the pain stop. And you’re not the only one hurting now. I lost him, too. I feel it every day. But we are going to get through this pain together. You hear me?”

  I blinked at him in silence. Had I been trying to push him away? I didn’t think so. Yet, as I considered the statements I’d made to him last night, I could see it starting again. That innate desire to do it all myself.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” I kissed him. “I guess solo vigilante mode is sort of my default when the people I love get hurt.”

  He settled against the pillows, propping himself up on one elbow. “Just so you know, I’m going to keep calling you out on your bullshit. It’s my husbandly duty after all.”

  I settled back under the covers and looked at him. “We’re not married yet.”

  “Fiancé prerogative, then.”

  “Okay, fine,” I conceded, brushing damp strands of hair out of my face. “I went to Notre Dame looking for some information on Wickham,” I finally admitted.

  “I’m guessing you don’t mean you took a little trip to Paris,” he said, sounding much more awake than a normal human should in the middle of the night.

  “No. It’s a magically inclined bar up near Boston University. The owner and I have a … tenuous relationship.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, I kind of accidentally set his bar on fire once. Okay, not me, but there was fire being flung around like baseballs at me. Well he wasn’t happy about it and blamed me.”

  “So, you decided to go there again?’

  “He’s a good guy underneath the gruff exterior and a lot of clientele are Order members. Since I was looking for a particular member, I assumed he’d have some information … and I was right.”

  “That Wickham guy,” he yawned.

  “Sort of. I found a guy who works with Wickham. And I have an address of where we can find Wickham. So, I’m going to try to get some more sleep before I go busting down his door.”

  “You aren’t going in without someone having your back.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I murmured, the soothing taste of honey on my tongue and in my nose as he lulled me back to sleep.

  Five

  Thanks to J.T.’s healing touch, the rest of my night was dreamless. I woke, feeling more alert than I had in weeks. J.T. was already out of bed and I followed the smell of sizzling bacon and sausage to the kitchen. He’d rewarmed the midnight pot of coffee and laid scrambled eggs on a plate along with the breakfast meats.

  “I should apologize for stuff more often,” I said as I accepted the cup of coffee and dug into the food.

  “Not exactly what I was hoping to hear,” he replied and joined me at the table.

  “I swear, I didn’t realize I was doing it again,” I said, taking his left hand in my right.

  “That’s the frustrating thing. I know you didn’t, but it still doesn’t mean I believe this time is going to be any different.”

  “Of course, it will. I’m not a teenager anymore, J.T. I know what’s going on and I can do something to actually get justice for Desmond. I’ve learned from my mistakes.”

  Have I, though?

  The little voice in the back of my mind taunted me, warning that I’d easily fall back into old patterns without thinking. I’d pushed those closest to me away to pursue a lead I knew could be dangerous all because I could. No, I’d wanted to keep them safe. Hadn’t I?

  “I hope you have,” J.T. finally said, the edge back in his tone.

  I wasn’t sure how many times or ways I could apologize before he believed me and didn’t look at me with that air of suspicion. The eggs congealed in my gut, turning the food sour in my mouth. Downing the coffee in the hopes of keeping the nausea at bay, I made a beeline for the shower. The water might wash away the grime of last night’s stress, but it did little to stop the chill emanating my core. The little nugget of fear that no matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t going to be able to change things this time. That I’d just end up alone again.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” I called ten minutes later as I tugged on my coat and stuffed the napkin with Missy’s scrawl on it back into my pocket. “I love you.”

  No reply.

  I tried not to think about that fact too much as I made the drive into the city, parking beside Jacquie’s car. I wanted to head straight to Wickham’s’ office, but not putting in an appearance at the precinct for the start of shift would raise eyebrows and attract the wrong kind of attention. So, I sat in front of my computer, staring at the screen as the napkin burned a metaphorical hole in my pocket.

  “So last night, how pissed was J.T. when you got back?” Jacquie wasn’t usually this interested in my love life.

  “Madder this morning when I sort of didn’t tell him where I’d gone.”

  “Not a good habit to pick back up,” she noted.

  Just what I needed, another person reminding me I’d been slipping. “Yeah, I know.”

  “You want to fill me in on what happened?”

  “I paid our favorite, well only, magical bartender a visit and got some information on where we can find Wickham. I know it was his magic fueling the bullet that killed Desmond. I just need to have a conversation with him.”

  “He’s evaded arrest and charges for decades, Ezri. He’s not going to suddenly open up, because you show up magical guns blazing. Things don’t work that way in the real world, Ezri.”

  I could make him admit to what he’d done. I didn’t even need him to speak. I’d just need a few minutes in private to go probing his memory to see what I could find.

  A solid lump pressed against my ribs and I gasped as the thought receded. Massaging my side, I could feel the skin beneath my shirt hardening to stone. I pushed it back down with a little of my own magic. I didn’t dare exhale until it was gone again. Apparently even thinking about using magic to get the truth made Taggart’s dark magic perk up. His spell that was meant to turn a practitioner’s magic against them, encasing them in stone, had lain mostly dormant since I’d become its host. I didn’t need it rearing its ugly head now.

  “It doesn’t mean I can’t ask some questions,” I finally replied. “Besides, I have a source who claims he’s engaged in some shady business dealings. Even if the DA in the past couldn’t make things stick, maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “We’ve heard that one before
,” Jacquie answered, but stood and pulled on her coat. “Come on. If you’re going to go running headfirst into danger, might as well do it before he can see us coming.”

  I handed her the napkin with Missy’s scrawl and she tapped the address into her GPS, setting the fastest route into the heart of the city. It took us less than ten minutes to get there. Pulling up to the curb, I checked the napkin, grateful she’d included the floor number before I looked up at the imposing building in the Financial district. I pushed my way through the revolving door and started for the bank of elevators directly ahead.

  “Excuse me, Miss, you can’t just go up there,” the concierge called, standing up from his desk.

  I unclipped my badge from my belt and waved it in his general direction. “Actually, I can.”

  “May I tell them who is coming?” The concierge called just as the elevator at the far end opened and I stepped inside, Jacquie hot on my heels.

  “Well, that was dramatic,” she commented while pressing the button for floor eight.

  “I’m in a mood,” I quipped with a one-shoulder shrug.

  “Promise me you aren’t going to make things fly around the room,” she commented as the elevator ascended past the fifth floor.

  “I can’t promise I won’t defend myself if he comes at me with magic, but I promise I won’t instigate anything.”

  The doors slid open to reveal luxury offices situated behind frosted glass doors. It was the only business on the floor, so I marched up and pushed the doors inward. I wasn’t sure what to expect as I entered. It wasn’t a brunette behind the desk who looked like a deer caught in headlights. She held the phone receiver partway to her ear and I could hear the concierge’s voice squawking at her over the line.

  “Where can I find Reuben Wickham?” I stood far enough back for her to see my badge.

  Her free hand rose and shakily pointed to the door behind her. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and assumed she’d switched from the line in the lobby to Wickham’s personal line.

  The door to a conference room on the other side of the open space opened and I caught sight of Missy sitting at a table, surrounded by business men. I could see color flush her cheeks as our gazes met before I turned back to ruining Wickham’s day.

  “I’m busy,” I heard a familiar voice bark from inside the office with the silver placard noting Mr. Wickham. I’d only ever heard his voice inside other people’s memories, when he’d stolen their magic. Despite that, I knew it was him.

  I gave a single knock before entering the room. A bald man with a pointed nose stared at me, phone still pressed to his ear. I froze in my tracks as I took in his face. I’d seen him plenty of times in photos when I’d been trying to pin the kidnappings on him and in the memories that I’d seen of other Authority members when he’d stolen their family’s magic. However, I’d never crossed paths with Reuben Wickham in person. I had expected a sneer and a condescending expression from him. Instead all I got was confusion and a furrowed brow. It was as though he had no idea who I was.

  He hung up the phone and straightened his suit jacket and tie. “Can I help you with something, Detective …” He trailed off, leaving me to fill the awkward pause.

  “Detective Trenton,” I answered.

  Still nothing. No light igniting in his gaze at the mention of my name. No hint of his magic coiling around him, ready to pounce. I stood there, feeling my own confusion settle over my senses.

  “So, what can I do to help our city’s finest?” Reuben asked.

  “I’d like to know where you were on September 21st?” I replied, snapping back to my senses.

  He reached for the phone again. “That sounds awfully accusatory, Detective. I’m not sure I feel comfortable talking to you about my whereabouts on any given day without my lawyer present.”

  “You have something to hide, Reuben?” I leaned forward on his desk and reached out with my magical senses this time.

  A hint of strawberry tickled my nose as I sought out the vinegar scent of his magic. I could feel the ebb and flow of the world’s magic around me, weaving in and out of the space my spell occupied as it brushed against Reuben’s seated form. Either he was trying very hard not to react to my magic or his magic had disappeared.

  “You can get your attorney down here. That’s fine. I just have one other question. Does the Order of Samael mean anything to you?”

  “Should I recognize it? It sounds like some hippy cult or something.” I watched his facial features as he answered, hoping for a facial tick that would betray him lying to me. Except the lack of sweat on his brow or the darting of his gaze told me the words that came out of his mouth were sincere.

  Jacquie cleared her throat and nodded toward the door. I gave Wickham one last look. “When you get in touch with your attorney, give me a call. I’d still like to chat about your whereabouts, Mr. Wickham.” I slid my business card across the desk toward him.

  He nodded in silence as Jacquie led the way out of the office and back to the elevators. She waited until we were in the elevator before rounding on me.

  “What the hell was that about?’

  “He doesn’t have magic,” I answered.

  “What do you mean? I thought he was the mastermind behind the kidnappings and the stolen magic?”

  “I thought so, too. But I’m telling you, I probed him, and he doesn’t have any magical signature … at least not anymore. It’s consistent with what I saw with the Authority members whose magic was stolen, except they still remembered their magical heritage and everything about our world. They still understood that magic existed and had been part of their DNA. He seems to not know the first thing about the organization he served. I didn’t get a good look, but how much do you want to bet his brand is gone, too.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I think someone, or something, took his magic and his memory along with it. I just have no idea why.”

  Six

  I tried to sort out what the realization meant if I was right and Wickham’s magic was truly gone. Conceptually I knew it couldn’t be destroyed. It still existed somewhere in the universe. Or maybe it resided in someone else. After all, the stolen magic from three months ago had gone somewhere, too.

  “Do you think someone on our side went rogue?” Jacquie offered as she pulled up to a red light two blocks from the precinct.

  “Maybe. I didn’t sense any other magic around him so whenever it happened, it had to have been more than a couple days ago.” Which meant it probably wasn’t Avery taking her revenge after watching the surveillance video.

  Still she wasn’t the only person that Wickham had hurt in the community. Now there were families who no longer sat on the Council, because of what he and the Order had done. They couldn’t take action anymore, but they had friends with magic. As much as I didn’t want to believe any of them capable of stealing his magic and his memory, I knew that pain and desperation could be a powerful motivator.

  Wickham had also hurt Jacquie’s family. Denise might not use her magic much, but if she somehow found him thanks to Neveah, could she have taken out her pain and anger on him? “I hate to ask this, but have you talked to Denise in the last couple days?”

  The light flipped to green, but Jacquie didn’t move. The car behind us blared their horn as we sat stationary in the middle of the lane. “You really think my sister-in-law, who can barely keep her shit together without magic, could hunt down a man we haven’t been able to pin to anything and know enough to erase his memory and take his powers?”

  “I have to rule out every possibility, and there are a lot of people who would want him punished for his actions,” I replied.

  Another blast of the horn spurred Jacquie to move and she pressed down on the gas pedal, propelling us forward. “She’s been too focused on trying to keep Neveah moving forward now that Desmond’s gone. We all know she still needs therapy, but how many magical therapists do you think there are in Boston?”

  Guilt w
ashed over me in a hot wave. I’d been so focused on my own grief and inner turmoil over Desmond’s death, I hadn’t stopped to consider how it had affected Neveah and the other girls with their recovery. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

  She waved her hand at me as she pulled into the parking lot of the precinct. “You’ve been grieving, too. And trying to figure out how the hell you’re supposed to stop some big bad monster in what, two days’ time?”

  I sighed. “Yeah, that’s not exactly going so great.” Do I tell her about the latest dream? “I had another of those weird dreams again. It taunted me with Desmond’s face this time.”

  “Are there any clues in them? Symbols or places that are the same each time?”

  I scrunched my nose up, trying to remember what I’d seen in Ireland. “It’s always this hooded figure whose face I can’t see. And every time, it tries to kill me or promises to end me or some other dramatic bullshit.”

  “The setting is different, too?” She prompted.

  “Yeah. Back in Ireland, it was in the place where I met Aoife.”

  Jacquie cut the engine and climbed out of her seat. I followed after her, not expecting to find Avery standing by my desk, headphones slung around her neck.

  “You were supposed to text,” I said upon seeing her.

  She handed me the thumb drive. “There’s nothing to report. No signs of anything that I would be equipped to handle.” Her tone is too even and unemotional for my liking.

  I take her by the forearm and lead her down to one of the interview rooms, slamming the door shut behind me. “You found something. I can tell.”

  She shook her head. “I just told you I didn’t find anything.”

  “Avery, I know we haven’t known each other that long. I also know you’re pissed at me for making you look at the footage, but this is important. If you found something … if you did something, I need to know.”

  Her brow knit together. “And what exactly would I have done, Ezri?”