Grave Threat

by Lori Drake

  Drip.

  The sound brought Chris’s head up, and he frowned as he tried to pinpoint its source. Sitting up, he looked around the room. It was no master suite—he hadn’t decided yet what he wanted to do with his predecessor’s man cave—but it was spacious enough for him and didn’t come with any particular baggage. Joey had tidied up before she left; the trail of clothing that’d been left from the door to the bed the previous night was gone, probably relocated to the hamper by the door. He hadn’t figured out who was sneaking in to fetch his dirty laundry when he was out of the house. He’d come home once a week to find his clothes folded on his bed, and no one had owned up to it yet. He suspected it was Jessica. At least she hadn’t gone so far as to put the folded laundry away.

  Drip.

  It hadn’t been his imagination. Chris lifted his eyes and groaned, seeing a fresh water stain had popped up on the ceiling overnight. There was a corresponding puddle of water on the floor beneath the stain. He threw back the covers, fully awake and alert now. After hastily tugging on some clothes, Chris grabbed his phone from the wall charger and headed downstairs.

  He passed Jenny coming up the stairs on his way down and bade her a distracted good morning along the way.

  “I was just looking for you.”

  Chris kept going, but called over his shoulder, “Is the work crew here yet?”

  “Not yet. Um, can I ask a favor?”

  Her quiet footsteps followed him down the stairs. “If you can do it while walking. I’ve got a situation to deal with.”

  “Oh. Um, never mind.”

  Chris stopped at the foot of the staircase and smoothed a grimace from his face before he turned. “What do you need, Jenny?” It wasn’t that he wasn’t willing to do the girl a favor. She rarely asked anything of him, to be honest.

  Jenny lowered her eyes and lingered a few steps back, one hand on the bannister. “Um, Lucy usually gives me a ride into town on Thursdays, but her schedule changed this week.”

  Knowing Jenny, she wouldn’t have asked him if she hadn’t already tried to find another ride. “What time is your first class?”

  “About twenty minutes ago.”

  Chris sighed. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  The scandalized expression on her face was answer enough.

  “Get your bag,” he said, doing his best to keep the annoyance from his voice. At this hour, it’d take him nearly two hours to get to the university and back.

  Jenny scurried down the stairs, passing him on her way to comply. He put a hand on her shoulder, halting her momentarily. She looked up at him, eyes wide.

  “Next time wake me up, okay?” he said, offering her a smile.

  She cracked a tiny smile, nodded quickly, and scampered off.

  Chris headed for his office to get his jacket and keys. He assumed that there was no one else around, in light of Jenny’s request, but he nearly collided with Dean on his way back out.

  “Jeez, man, you about gave me a heart attack,” Chris said, stepping back quickly.

  “Sorry. Got a minute?”

  “Not really. I’ve got to get Jenny to school. But what’s up?”

  “I can take her. I wanted to talk to you about our arrangement.” Dean leaned casually against the doorframe.

  “What about our arrangement?” Chris asked, unable to keep the wariness from creeping into his tone. He’d grown to like Dean, really, but if the man was after more money…

  “I want to move to Seattle.”

  Chris blinked. That was certainly not what he’d expected.

  Dean went on, “I like it here, and I dunno. It’s time for a change. I’ve been kind of stuck in one place for a while now, and someone recently reminded me that I’ve still got a life to live. I’m sure there are plenty of lost souls around here that could use some help.”

  “Okay,” Chris said, brow furrowed. “What does that have to do with our arrangement?”

  “I’d like to propose a new arrangement. One of the ‘I pay you’ variety.”

  “Well, that’s refreshing.”

  Dean smirked. “Don’t get too excited. This place ain’t the Ritz. I was thinking two hundred a month, plus I pitch in with the work. I know you’ve got a crew doing the big stuff, but I can save you some money on the stuff they’re not doing. I’m handy.”

  Chris considered the offer. It’d keep Dean around to help wrangle Roger, give Chris a little income and save money on the house. It sounded too good to be true. “What’s the catch?”

  “Why does there have to be a catch?” Dean asked, lifting a brow. “It’s a win-win for both of us.”

  “Two hundred a month and help around the house for room and board.”

  “Yup.” Dean held out his hand.

  Chris shook his hand. “Done. You can start on the front steps, before someone breaks a leg.”

  “Sure thing, boss. I’ll stop at the hardware store on the way back.” Dean gave him a cheeky smile and turned to go.

  “Thanks, man.”

  Chris walked over to his desk and dropped into the chair. At least now a shower and breakfast sounded a wee bit closer. He called his general contractor to talk about the roof, then tossed his phone on his desk and rubbed a hand over his face. It was overwhelming at times, the depth of his newfound responsibilities. He longed for the days when all he had to worry about was the next rehearsal. The next competition. Chris wasn’t sure when—or if—he and Joey would be able to get back to competing. He missed his family, too. When the house was ready for company, he needed to have them over. Then again, his mother hadn’t invited his pack over. Maybe that wasn’t a thing. There was so much about being an Alpha he didn’t know. Instinct had gotten him this far, but it wasn’t enough.

  His eyes caught on the journals stacked on his desk, and he reached for the one he’d been reading the previous night. Henry Martin’s name was one whispered with reverence in this house, though there was only one person in residence who’d actually known him. Every time Itsuo trotted out an old story about Henry, Chris felt a little more inadequate. Would his feet ever fit in his father’s very big shoes?

  4

  Joey stepped back and surveyed the corkboard in front of her, folding her arms beneath her breasts. Beside her, Sam grunted.

  “What?” she said, glancing at him. They stood in his office in an older building on the edge of downtown, a room that was barely bigger than her walk-in closet.

  Sam rubbed his stubbly chin, the bristly hairs scraping audibly against his fingers. “She didn’t say what sort of danger he represented?”

  “No. I told you everything.” Joey went back to her perusal of the board. She’d thought that the whole “pin things to a corkboard” was just a TV detective thing, but Sam swore it helped him organize the evidence in his head.

  Each index card contained a name or a piece of information. They were color-coded. That was Joey’s influence at play. Some of the cards were accompanied by photographs of varying quality. They’d managed to identify a few of the members of the coven whose pictures were on the website—yes, they had a website—with Emma’s help. The leader himself, Marcus Madrigal, remained mostly an enigma. Their bio of him had neither a photo nor much in the way of confirmed details. Emma had given them a basic physical description: dark hair, brown eyes, about six foot one. Emma thought he was in his thirties, but it was difficult to be certain. Joey and Sam had combed public records databases, newspapers, vital records, and just kept coming up empty.

  “Any luck with the DMV?” Joey asked.

  “Yes and no. I was able to get someone to run a search for me, but there weren’t any records.”

  “This guy’s a fucking ghost,” Joey said, with a sigh.

  Sam snorted softly. “A ghost might be preferable, at this point. At least then, we’d have your admirer to help.”

  Joey rolled her eyes. “He’s not my admirer.”

  Sam gave her a sideways glance and arched a brow.

  “He’s not! He’s j
ust here to help.”

  “Whatever you say, sis.”

  Joey grumbled and tightened her grip on her biceps. “It doesn’t matter anyway. What matters is figuring out what this Madrigal guy has up his sleeves.”

  “Besides a coven of witches in his thrall?”

  “I dunno, from what Emma says, he doesn’t teach them much. And Cathy said most of what they used on us back in October was borrowed magic.”

  He snorted. “Borrowed or not, it was effective.”

  Joey thought about that. “Maybe we should borrow some of our own.”

  “Like what?”

  “Protection spells, for one. If Cathy can ward against spirits, what else can she do? She and Emma were throwing down protective circles that deflected magic that night. I wonder if there’s a way to make that more portable.”

  Sam rubbed his chin again. “I’ve seen circles in action before, but I’ve never seen one that could move.”

  “It wouldn’t even have to move,” Joey said, facing him. “We’d just need to be able to activate it. Can anyone use borrowed magic, or just another witch?”

  He shrugged. “Not my area of expertise, sorry. Ask S—someone else.”

  Joey eyed him. “Someone else like who?”

  “Mom, Cathy…” He turned his attention forward again, looking the board over. “Did the land office have a date when the property was registered?”

  “You know it did. Don’t change the subject. What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing.” He stepped up to the board and straightened one of the index cards.

  Anger swelled inside Joey, and she glared at his back. “I thought we were past this.”

  “Past what?” He glanced over his shoulder.

  “Past you lying about shit, trying to protect me.”

  “I’m not trying to protect you.”

  “Then what are you trying to do? Because if it’s piss me off, it’s working.”

  Sam turned back, facing her with his hands on his hips. “Not everything is about you, Joey.”

  The words were such a striking echo of her mother’s that Joey blinked. “You really are your mother’s son.”

  “Unlike you, I take that as a compliment.” He smirked.

  “Come on, just spit it out. You’re supposed to be helping me. If you won’t do that, I’ll find someone that will.” That their mother would hear about it too was an unspoken threat.

  Sam hesitated, then sighed. “Sara.”

  “Sara? What does she have to—”

  “Shut up and listen, okay?”

  Joey snapped her jaw shut.

  He continued, “Sara knows a lot about magic. Usually when I have questions like this, I start with her, but I don’t want to involve her in this. It’s too risky with the baby. She wasn’t there for the fight, so Madrigal doesn’t know she exists. It’s better that way.”

  “I agree,” Joey said, doing her best to push the revelation aside. “Besides, why have Cathy as a resource and not use her?”

  “Right. That too.” Sam turned back to the wall and pulled down the retractable wall map of Seattle that covered up their investigation board when not in use. After all, he did have clients in the office from time to time. Theoretically. Joey hadn’t seen one yet. “Do you want me to reach out to Cathy, or would you rather?”

  “I’ll do it. I want you to try the sheriff’s office again, see if you can get anywhere with them.”

  Joey reached for her phone to call Cathy, but found a text message from Chris waiting.

  Can’t make it to practice. See you at dinner.

  Disappointment threaded through her, but she did her best not to dwell on it. Maybe she could convince him to dance a little after dinner, if he didn’t run off too quickly.

  She said goodbye to Sam and called Cathy to make sure it was a good time to come by. It was the polite thing to do, but with her godmother, it was more formality than anything. Cathy never seemed to mind company, especially not Joey’s. She wished she’d taken her up on it more over the years. If she had, maybe learning the truth about Cathy being a witch wouldn’t have come as such a shock.

  Cathy met her at the front door and ushered her inside, where tea and freshly baked cookies were waiting. Joey told Cathy about Emma’s phone call and her musings about magic defenses over the kitchen table. Though Cathy’s expression was troubled at first, the more Joey explained her thoughts, the wider the older woman’s smile became.

  “That’s very astute of you,” Cathy said. “Whether or not someone can use a charm has more to do with the intent of the witch that enchanted it than it does the wielder. Smart, skilled practitioners will key charms to certain individuals, to lessen the danger of it falling into the wrong hands. Others may not be savvy enough to do that. The more specific the conditions are, the more finesse is required in the casting.”

  “So, I assume that you could make something quite specific, which is great. We wouldn’t want it to be used against us. But what kinds of charms can you make for us, and how long will it take?”

  “Magic detection charms are going to be the most helpful,” Cathy said, gazing into her tea thoughtfully.

  “But we can see magic.”

  “Only when it’s being actively cast. Things like wards and traps are invisible even to your sharp eyes.”

  “Traps. I didn’t even think about that,” Joey said with a grimace.

  Cathy smiled. “That’s what I’m here for, my dear. So, magic detection charms. Circle charms—”

  “A circle—that’s what you and Emma used to be spell-immune, right?”

  “Yes. Think of it as a universal counter-spell. Powerful, but once cast, it’s fixed in place. It’s not some sort of magic bubble you can walk around in. And, of course, it only stops magic, as you may recall.”

  “Yeah, I recall.” The memory of a steel-toed boot coming through a circle at her head was still reasonably fresh in mind.

  Cathy took a sip of tea before going on. “I can also create shield charms that will create temporary barriers. Less powerful than a circle, but useful for deflecting physical objects and projectile spells. I can even create charms with multiple charges, as it were, so you can trigger them more than once. But it all comes with a price.”

  Joey waved a hand. “Name it. Price is not an issue.”

  Cathy’s lips pressed together and she sniffed lightly. “Not that kind of price, child.”

  Grimacing, Joey smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

  “Casting spells requires energy, and I’m not as young as I used to be—”

  “Pfft. I saw you go toe to toe with those twits, three on one. You’re more than up to the task.”

  The tension around Cathy’s mouth eased somewhat, and she chuckled softly. “What I mean is that the more powerful the charm, the more energy it requires to create. And the more energy required, the longer it takes. I can put a few things together for you, but it’ll take time, and I also need to make those anti-possession charms for Chris.”

  Joey winced. “Don’t deplete yourself too much all at once. You’re tangled up in this too, you know. Is there anyone that could help you?”

  “Maybe. I’ll make a few calls.”

  Joey left Cathy to do just that. She mulled over her godmother’s words on the way home, trying not to think about just how vulnerable they all were to magic attacks. Knowing that long-distance spells required some sort of anchor point was a comfort. Madrigal’s flunkies hadn’t been able to touch Emma from afar. It hadn’t been until she tried to track them that they were able to trace the magical signature back to her. Joey certainly wasn’t planning on casting any spells in their direction. She didn’t know how, or even if she could. What was it Cathy had said about lycanthropes being magical creatures? Did that mean she could use magic? For that matter, could Sara?

  She planned to seek Sara out when she got home, but when she caught a whiff of a familiar scent on her way down the hall, she decided to poke her head into the family room.<
br />
  Ben hadn’t been faring all that well since his boyfriend died. It was tragic, Joey had to admit. Far be it from her to judge how he decided to grieve but… No, she felt pretty free to judge it, actually.

  “Getting an awfully early start, aren’t you?” she asked. “It’s not even three-thirty.”

  Ben glanced over at her from his position on the couch. “Five o’clock somewhere,” he said, and shrugged. He’d given up any pretense of a glass, holding the open bottle of scotch by the neck with an arm draped along the back of the sofa.

  “Ben,” Joey began, walking over to sit beside him. “Want me to get you a soda or something?” She tried to take the bottle from his hand, but he moved it out of her reach.

  “I’m off tonight. Give me a break.”

  He reeked of booze. She could smell it from several feet away. “We’ve been giving you a break for six weeks. All of us. I’m done. Pickling your liver won’t bring Brandon back.”

  Ben snorted and lifted the bottle to his lips, tipping it for a long swallow. “Easy for you to say.”

  “You think so? You think losing Chris was easy for me? I know what you’re going through, bro.”

  “It’s not the same.” Ben lurched to his feet, weaving unsteadily. He must’ve had more than half of that bottle of scotch to be so far gone.

  Joey rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s not. You knew Brandon for, like, ten minutes.”

  Ben’s shoulders tightened, but rather than face her, he stumbled his way across the room to one of the tall, narrow windows overlooking the front yard.

  Joey sighed and stood, walking over to put a hand on his back. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive. But it’s true. You and Brandon were together for a few weeks. You barely knew him. You can’t say he was the love of your life.”

  Ben leaned his forehead against the window. “Maybe he was.”

  Joey’s arms itched to reach for him, to hug him tightly, to comfort him. But it wasn’t like she hadn’t tried that already. Her mother’s voice drifted through her head. There’s a time for compassion, and a time for a swift kick in the ass. Keeping one hand on his back, she reached carefully out with the other and snatched the bottle from his hand.