With sweat cooling on her skin, she realized she was threatening an empty pillow.
Goddess, she hated anxiety dreams.
Chapter 5
Thursday, April 2, 2:00 p.m.
Downtown Fairview
The plaque beside the glass-paneled door told Ashe that she’d arrived at her destination: BANNERMAN, WISHART, AND YEE, BARRISTERS AND SOLICITORS.
The eleventh floor of the sleek Benoit Tower was definitely outside her comfort zone. Tired as she was from so little sleep—there had been no falling asleep after her nightmare—anxiety had her wide-awake. Ashe hesitated. Her hand looked bare without a stake. For an instant, she wanted to bolt, but running never got rid of monsters. It just made them chase you.
Which would be bad, since she was wearing high heels. She’d forgotten how much she loathed them.
Gripping the door handle, she bit her lips and tasted the unfamiliar sweetness of lip gloss. Putting on her game face, she stepped into the hushed office suite, closing the door behind her. The lighting reminded her of an expensive salon—subdued, calming, almost metallic in its urban polish.
Ashe was glad she’d worn the winter-white skirt suit. At least she looked like she had a right to be there. She’d even remembered her pearl stud earrings, a wedding present from her husband. She straightened her shoulders and advanced through the reception area, doing her best not to fall off the heels.
An older woman sat behind a mahogany counter, guard-dog alert.
“Good afternoon. I have a two-o’clock with Mr. Bannerman,” Ashe said. “My name is Ashe Carver.”
The receptionist tapped her mouse and glanced at her computer screen, a confused expression pleating her brow. “I show your appointment as being canceled.”
New anxiety rippled through Ashe’s stomach. “There must be some mistake.” She’d paid a fortune to retain this shark, an expert in both supernatural matters and family disputes. He’d damned well better see her.
“That must be the case. No one else has booked the time. I’m sure Mr. Bannerman is available.”
Ashe nodded. With a brisk air, the receptionist picked up the phone and relayed the your-client-is-here message. Ashe looked around, noting that the landscape art on the walls was original, not prints. This was the twilight world of settlements and affidavits. No flamethrowers, submachine guns, or missiles allowed.
I’m so screwed.
“You can go right in.” The receptionist gestured to an interior door, graceful as a game- show demonstrator. And behind door number one . . .
A death grip on her useless clutch purse, Ashe entered the lawyer’s office, pumps silent on the plush carpet. She tried to take a deep breath, but her ribs just wouldn’t relax.
Lawrence Bannerman was waiting beside his desk. He gave her the once-over, his eyes sticking here and there. Ashe was tall, blond, and slender, but more Amazon than bikini babe. When his gaze reached her face, she saw the flicker of judgment. She wasn’t a dewy twenty-two anymore, either.
Well, screw you. I can kick Godzilla’s ass.
“Ms. Carver,” he said in a friendly-friendly voice.
“Mr. Bannerman,” Ashe replied, remembering to shake his hand like a woman instead of a wrestling champ.
“Please make yourself comfortable.”
She sat in the client chair in front of the lawyer’s desk, the leather upholstery sighing as she sank into it. She glanced around, assessing what the man’s territory said about him. Bright summer sunlight streamed in through the wide windows of the corner office, showing off the clean lines of the Japanese-inspired furnishings. Expensive. Tasteful. Sterile. Even the bonsai on the coffee table looked buffed. Stepford bonsai. Goddess save me.
Bannerman shuffled some folders together, propping them in an upright holder to his left, which was angled just enough for Ashe to see the color-coded labels. The file in front read Book Burrow on the tab.
The lawyer turned his full attention to her. “You have a most interesting case.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” She started to cross her long, tanned legs, then remembered she was wearing a short skirt and stopped herself. Now was the time for discretion, self- restraint, and all the other civilized qualities she so utterly lacked.
Part of her still wanted to flash him out of sheer perversity.
Bannerman pulled another file out of the upright holder and opened it. In his mid- forties, with chestnut hair just graying at the temples, he looked every bit as polished as the silver frame around the family photo on his desk.
“All right,” he said. “We spoke on the phone, but I’d like to review the basic facts, just to get started. Eden is your only child, correct?”
“That’s right. She’s ten now.”
“And you were legally married to her father, Roberto de Larrocha?”
“Yes. I went back to my own name after he died four and a half years ago.”
“And you put your daughter into boarding school. . . .”
Ashe was tired of explaining all this. “When she was eight. At the time, it was necessary. After Roberto died, I’d started doing missing persons work rather than relying on my in- laws for support. Eventually, that led to hunting supernatural killers, and the local vamp clans began to threaten us.”
“So you put Eden in school?”
“Saint Florentina’s Academy is designed for security against supernatural threats. It also provides a first-class English-language education.”
Bannerman gave a slight smile. “You sound like an advertisement.”
Ashe shrugged. “Saint Flo’s gave her safety and a future. It cost every penny I had, but it was the best thing I could do at the time.” It had cost everything she’d earned along the way, too. The crème de la crème of schools didn’t come cheap, and now, after Bannerman’s fee, she would be almost broke.
“Why didn’t you just stop hunting vampires?”
“They were killing people at the rate of three and four a night.”
“You felt it was your duty?”
“Yeah. And that kind of work is addictive. There’s always one more monster to take out before you’re done. Then you look up and you realize the hunting has eaten away your life.”
Bannerman gave her a long look. Ashe felt her scalp prickle, sensing the courtroom predator beneath the lawyer’s smooth surface. She could feel the adrenaline in her blood responding to that gaze.
He turned his pen over and over, rubbing its brushed-gold metal between his fingers. “Apparently you’re good at death. The Internet is full of stories about the powerful magic of the Carver sisters and your exploits as a monster slayer.”
As she’d told Reynard, Ashe didn’t have magical powers to speak of, but she found the badass-witch reputation gave her a psychological advantage, so she’d let the tales spread. “The witchcraft is more my sister’s thing.”
“Don’t be modest. The Carver bloodline is famous. You’ve taken jobs all over the world. You’re sure it was just monsters you were killing?”
“Completely. I stayed within the law.”
Bannerman regarded her as if reconsidering his assessment of her beauty. Ashe knew what he was thinking, had heard the line a nauseating number of times before—there was something sexy about a lethal woman. Men are so weird.
Ashe cut to the chase. “I’ve pulled myself together. I’m done saving the world. Now I just want to raise my daughter in the loving home she deserves, surrounded by her family. If I have to rethink my life to give her that, I will do it.”
Without taking his eyes from her, Bannerman riffled the pages of a thick document, “Your in- laws have recounted at great length all the reasons they believe you’re an unfit mother. Since you have removed Eden from school, and from Spain, they feel compelled to seek custody.”
Ashe felt her face freeze. He wasn’t saying anything new, but the words still tore like the jaws of a hellbeast. “What’s the law around international custody cases?”
“Not relevant. You
r husband’s father is from here, so any trial would likely be in our own courts. On the good side, that’s less complicated than it could be.”
“Papa de Larrocha always disliked me. So does Mama, maybe even more.”
“Why?”
“I was born a witch. They consider that a taint. They think if they can keep Eden away from her witch heritage, she’ll grow up completely human.”
Ashe wanted Eden to grow up proud of everything she was. A child of warriors.
“Is that possible?”
“No. She’s at the age when her magic will start to manifest.” That had been the final push for Ashe to bring her back to Fairview, where Eden could be around other witches. That first flush of power was a delicate time for a child.
Bannerman tapped his pen on the pile of legal papers. “Given your family’s heritage, arguing to retain custody isn’t going to be an easy sell to a judge.”
Ashe met his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Every similar judgment to date has weighed against the supernatural.”
Ashe swore, dropping the civilized act. “That’s a rights violation.”
Bannerman narrowed his shark eyes. “Perhaps, but human rights are the only ones enshrined in law. Technically, you’re not human. But I’m a very, very good lawyer.”
Ashe let out a shaky breath. “Good to hear it.”
“You’ve got to demonstrate that you can live a life that even a prohuman judge will find faultless. There are a few things you should do.”
“Name them.”
He weighed his words. Nervously, Ashe scanned the wall behind him, trying to stay steady. She’d never understood the whole thing about wringing one’s hands until now. Ironic her family had so much power, and yet magic was useless against law.
There was a movement in the shadow between the wall and the window, probably a stray cloud brushing the sunlight. Her eyes tracked it, her predatory senses on automatic. Her conscious mind was busy panicking at the lawyer’s words.
“First, you’ll require a proper residence with everything Eden needs. Her own room. A decent school. Good clothes.”
“Got all that.” Ashe was really noticing the shadow now. It was sliding down the wall, like a drip of paint. What the hell is that?
Bannerman was oblivious. “How’s your daughter adjusting?”
“She misses her friends at her old school, but her grades are good.” Ashe blinked, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks. Stress did funny things.
“You’ll have to get an ordinary job. Show you can put food on the table the old-fashioned way.”
“Already taken care of.” Schlepping books at the local library, but whatever.
“Good. Do you have a support system in Fairview?”
From where Ashe was sitting, it looked like the drip was behind Bannerman’s right shoulder. It was getting larger as it moved, gathering mass. Something’s wrong. She shifted in her seat, balancing her weight in case she had to move fast.
“Do you understand the importance of this, Ms. Carver?” The impatience in Bannerman’s tone was clear.
Ashe’s attention snapped back to the discussion. “My grandmother lives here. So does my sister, Holly. She has a partner and a new baby.”
“Alessandro Caravelli’s child.” Bannerman sounded resigned. “Having him as a relation isn’t exactly a plus.”
The sun came out from behind a cloud, brightening the room. Now she could see that whatever was sliding down the wall was a sparkly blue-green. It looked like the sort of goop Eden used for arts and crafts.
Except this was the side effect of something deadly.
Ashe flicked her gaze back to the lawyer, then back to the wall. “Caravelli is a good man.”
“Caravelli’s a vampire,” Bannerman pointed out. “As far as your case is concerned, he’s a liability.”
“We can’t pick our in- laws. Just ask the de Larrochas.” She got to her feet, kicking off her pumps. She hated the damned heels. “Do you have ghosts in this neighborhood? Or demons?”
Bannerman swiveled his chair, trying to see what Ashe was looking at. “What are you talking about?”
“There.” She pointed. The drip had just reached the floor, oozing over the carpet like melting ice cream. Another drip was forming near the ceiling. “Ectoplasm.”
This drip traveled faster, whizzing down the wall like a toddler on a slide. It plopped on top of the previous puddle, rippling a few inches farther onto the dove gray carpet. Sunlight dazzled on the edge of the sticky pool, making rainbows on the wall and ceiling.
Once the sun struck the goo, the air smelled of very, very rotten pork.
The lawyer sprang up, marching toward the ooze. “What the hell?”
“Don’t touch it with bare skin,” she warned. “It can make you sick.”
He wheeled, a revolted look on his face. “Impossible. Something must have followed you here. We don’t have slime at Bannerman, Wishart, and Yee.”
Ashe bit her tongue. There were just too many lawyer jokes in the world. She stripped off her winter-white suit jacket, folding it neatly over the chair. Ignoring Bannerman’s stare, Ashe grabbed the pen off his desk and crossed to the corner, shouldering him aside. She poked the pen in the goop, twirling it around like honey until she had a glob she could take a closer look at. She held it to the light, careful not to let any drip on her freshly dry-cleaned skirt.
There were solid specks in the blue-green gel. Ghostly ectoplasm had no inclusions. This was definitely demon. Rotten pork with floaty bits. Yum.
“What are you looking for?” Bannerman snapped. “What kind of creature caused that?”
“Ectoplasm is a by-product of magic, just like exhaust comes from cars. It’s not alive, but it tells us there’s a demon working mojo nearby.” She dropped the gold-plated pen into the puddle of ooze. It bobbed a moment, then upended and sank like a ballpoint Titanic.
Ashe folded her arms. “You should evacuate the office.”
“Can’t you do anything?”
Ashe met his angry gaze, but refused to flinch. “I can give you the number of a good carpet cleaner. I had my apartment done when I moved in.”
“Make this go away.”
“I didn’t cause this, Mr. Bannerman.”
The lawyer’s gaze shifted away. Ashe’s instincts pounced.
“But you know who did,” she said quietly. “You’ve been dealing with a devil, haven’t you? Got yourself an unhappy client.”
He turned, walked away a few steps, then turned back. His face was expressionless, except for his eyes. A great white had nothing on that glare.
“Hunt this down.”
“I don’t do demons.”
Bannerman’s face twitched, as if in sudden pain. “How badly do you want to win custody of your daughter, Ms. Carver? Take care of this and I’ll waive my fee.”
Ashe had a demon to hunt. Well, she’d hunt it if it turned out to be a little one. With big demons, it was best to just run like hell.
Bannerman had promised to give her file top priority, the gold standard, red carpet, and a five-diamond rating if she’d make the demon go away. That was enough to make her agree. He’d also given up just enough details to tell her he was holding something back. Probably some client confidentiality thing. Alarm bells had gone off, but she was crossing her fingers that she could pull off the job anyway. It would be worth the hassle if it meant Eden was hers.
That meant she had vindictive in- laws, a demon to bag, and a lying if brilliant lawyer to cope with—not to mention someone had sent a vampire to assassinate her. Good thing it was her day off.
And that didn’t even cover her family responsibilities. The whole sandwich- generation thing was tough. Grandma, bless her, was starting to need more help with things like getting groceries or a ride out to the hairdresser. Holly needed help—she had a new baby, the ghostbusting business, and she was still taking classes toward her business degree. Alessandro was great with midnight feedings, b
eing a vampire and all, but completely useless during the day. Ashe had stepped in more than once just to give Holly a break.
And then there was Eden.
With vampires on the hunt and now a demon in the picture, there was no way Eden was walking home from school. Am I going to have to send her away again?
She pushed that thought away before it could burn her like the acidic thing it was. Nothing was that dire yet. And it wouldn’t be. Not if she was smart, and fast, and strong enough. Not as long as she could fight.
Ashe eased her red Saturn VUE into the line of mom cars outside Richard Bellamy Elementary. It had started to rain, and the schoolyard was full of mud puddles and happy babble. Kids plus dirt plus water. If the homework fell into the sticky mess, so much the better. Some things hadn’t changed much since Ashe was ten.
She turned the heater on to clear the fog from the windshield. She preferred riding her motorcycle, but she’d gotten the VUE as well when she moved to Fairview. It looked like a mom car, it had more air bags than a roll of packing bubbles, but you could still fit a shitload of weaponry in the back. There were even cute little grocery holders to keep the smaller stuff tidy. Still, it was so not her. It cornered like a box of crackers on wheels. Suck it up. Be the adult.
The line of cars scooted forward, and Ashe pulled in to the curb. The VUE ambled to a stop like a fat, sleepy carthorse. She ducked to survey the crowd of waiting children. Kid-sized umbrellas in pastels and plaids hid too many faces, so Ashe went by size and clothing. Eden was small for her age, tomboyish but delicate. Ashe had been exactly like that until she hit thirteen, and then she’d shot up six inches in one summer. There was no doubt Eden was hers, down to the stubborn, pointed chin.
There was Eden, dressed in a jean jacket and black camouflage pants. She was standing with an MP3 player in one hand, a backpack in the other. Alone. Drenched. Sulking. Yup, that was her kid. Ashe couldn’t hold back a grin at all that drama in one small package. Her very own baby Goth.
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