Heartache (The Twenty-Sided Sorceress Book 5)

by Annie Bellet

  I threw up on the stairs and there was nothing in my stomach but yellow bile. They hauled me into the station, still dry heaving. Heat hit me as we stumbled through the double doors.

  Maybe Tess was right. Maybe there was a hell and these were the gates. I choked on more bile and tried to speak, but my throat was still ruined, my jaw like nails and broken glass. I needed my phone call. I had to warn Harper. I had to warn them all. I tried to make my eyes focus, to make Steve’s face stop swimming in front of me. Wolf. Tell Harper that Timmy fell down the well again. I mentally reached for her but even thinking hurt. I couldn’t see her anywhere. I couldn’t call out.

  No voice. No guardian. I was alone here. Helpless. Just heat now, and the scuffed hardwood floor rising to meet my face like a punch I totally deserved.

  “You left her cuffed?” A woman’s voice was arguing with a man’s. Sherriff Lee. “I can’t believe you just left her unconscious like that. Where’s the damn doctor? Did you even think to call a paramedic? She’s covered in blood.”

  “It’s not hers, we checked,” a defensive male voice responded.

  Hands touched me and I tried to unglue my eyelids. Metal clinked on metal as Lee removed my cuffs. I opened my eyes and met her light brown gaze. My shoulders unkinked as I pulled my hands in front of me, blood rushing back into my fingers with the vengeance of a thousand needles.

  Blood. On my hands. Steve’s blood. It had dried to a sticky brown color, as though I’d been holding onto something rusted. Broken. Steve. Shit.

  “Jade?” Lee said softly.

  I dragged my gaze away from my hands and sat all the way up. I was in one of the four holding cells in the back of the county courthouse. Such as it was, anyway. The courthouse was tiny, a converted church that had been added onto for the last century. Two court rooms, one for traffic, one for everything else. Four cells. The sherriff’s office and a bull pen for the handful of deputies. Offices upstairs for the presiding judges, all two of them. Anything serious went up to the state facilities—not that most stuff that happened in Wylde was ever written up. Lee and her shifter deputies kept things quiet and swept the weird shit under the proverbial rug.

  I worked my jaw, wincing. I didn’t know how long I’d been out, but my magic was there when I reached for it. The stream was thin and weak, but at least I could keep hold of it without vomiting or passing out. I reluctantly let it go and tried out my words. I felt the warm weight of my D20 talisman against my chest beneath my shirt. They hadn’t taken that, at least.

  “I need to call Harper,” I said. My voice was mostly back, thick with grief and pain, but audible at least.

  “She’s awake? Sherriff, you can’t be in there,” another male voice, different from the earlier one, called out. Heavy footsteps rounded the corner and a man who was nearly as wide as he was tall, which wasn’t much taller than I, charged down the hall toward my cell. He looked about forty with thinning hair he’d tried to comb over and a suit that had probably been wrinkled before it was crammed into a winter coat. He had a badge clipped to his belt, but no gun, just the worn spot on his belt where one would clip on.

  “She needs to get checked out by a paramedic,” Lee said, straightening up. Very quickly and so softly I wasn’t sure I even heard her, she added, “I already called her. You have a lawyer?”

  “Call her again. Tell Harper that Samir is here. Tell her to turtle.” Harper would know what I meant. We’d been thinking, planning what would happen if or when Samir showed.

  “Lee,” the angry man said. “You want this in your report too? One would think you have enough troubles right now.”

  “She’s our suspect,” said another man, coming up behind the other. He was the Jack Sprat to Angry Man’s rotundity. In his thirties, with sandy hair and bland blue eyes, he wore a button down shirt with no jacket. He too had a badge but no gun.

  “I didn’t do it,” I said. Partially because I was probably expected to, and partially for Lee. She had to know I didn’t do this. She had to believe me.

  “Jade, these are detectives with the State Police,” she started to say, but Angry Man pushed past her and grabbed my arm.

  I almost hit him in the face with my palm like Alek had been teaching me to do, but figured I shouldn’t add assault to my growing record. So I shook his hand off, giving him my best “I will fucking murder you” look instead. I’d learned that from Alek also. He had a very convincing murder face.

  “Come with us,” he said.

  Apparently I was a good student, because Angry Man backed off and let me stumble out of the cell on my own. They led me out into the bull pen. It was empty but for Jack Sprat, who preceded us. From there I was taken to the interview room, which was about ten degrees colder than the rest of the building.

  I knew from cop shows that this was to make me uncomfortable, but the cool air felt good on my feverish skin. All I needed was a drink of water, ten hours in a shower scrubbing myself down with sand, and I’d feel almost normal again.

  Oh, and for Samir to be dead and Steve to be alive. That too.

  I folded my arms on the metal table and put my head down, closing my eyes against the glare of the fluorescent lighting. I’d rested a little, but I was far from strong. Miles and acres and lightyears and parsecs away from being strong enough. My body felt hollow, like a bell that had been rung too many times and now was left with the semblance of vibration and noise.

  “Your name is Jade Crow?” Angry Man asked.

  “Lawyer,” I said. Fuck these guys. I had such worse problems, they didn’t even know.

  “You are being charged with first degree murder,” Jack Sprat said. “Why don’t you tell us your side. Did that man try to hurt you?”

  He probably thought he sounded genuine. He sounded like an asshole.

  “Steve,” I said, baited into raising my head up and talking. “His name is Steve.”

  “Was Steve,” Angry Man said. His thick lips were pressed into a wormy line in his palid face and I started to wish I’d hit him.

  “Why did you kill Steve?” Jack Sprat asked.

  “I didn’t,” I said. “Lawyer.”

  “If you aren’t guilty, why do you need a lawyer?” Jack was losing his patience.

  I stayed silent and looked down at the table. My hands were the only thing covered in blood. I stank of it—my jeans, my shirt, everything was spattered and soaked. I resisted looking across into the two-way glass, not wanting to see myself. I probably looked like a Native American version of Carrie. Though my mouth tasted like shit and ass, I didn’t want water anymore. I’d just throw it up.

  “Look, you’d better talk to us. You know they still have the death penalty in Idaho, right?”

  “You want to spend the next decade rotting in the Pocatello Women's Correctional Center?” Jack Sprat added.

  “I thought you were supposed to be good cop,” I said, baring my teeth at him.

  The younger detective started to say something but a quick hand motion from his partner stopped him. Angry Man, now looking more comically sly than angry, approached the table and sat down across from me.

  “Look, Jade, we’re trying to help you. That crime scene, well, it was ugly. But we do just want to understand. Let’s get off on a better foot here, all right?”

  “Wait, so now you are good cop? I’m so confused.” I folded my hands, trying to obscure the worst of the blood. I just wanted to stop thinking about blood. About Steve’s blood. My stomach twisted and I swallowed hard to keep the acid down.

  “I’m Detective Dickson and this is my partner, Detective Baldwin,” Angry Man said.

  I tried to choke back a laugh and failed, snorting painfully through my nose. “Wait, so you’re telling me that you guys are Dick and Balls?”

  “You fucking crazy bitch,” Balls growled, coming at me.

  Dick could move, I’d give him that. He got between his partner and I and ordered the younger man to go get me a soda.

  “Dick and Balls. That’s funny,�
�� he said, his face tight and his eyes mean in a way that said he was lying through his teeth but still trying for the good cop role. Definitely wasn’t going to get callbacks for that part.

  “What? You guys have never heard that one before? Seriously?” It seemed stupidly obvious and cops liked nicknames. At least TV cops did.

  “There’s a blizzard outside, Jade. We just want to get home to our families. So why don’t you go over your version of events and you can have a shower and get some sleep.”

  “L. A. W. Y. E. R,” I said, spelling it out for him. Then I put my head back down and closed my eyes again.

  Balls came back with a cup of coffee which I didn’t touch. The acidic, stale smell alone made me more nauseated. I kept my head down and my eyes closed, ignoring their various questions until they finally left the room after Dick cuffed my right hand to a ring in the table.

  Samir was out there. He wanted Clyde’s heart. So he’d said.

  “A diversion,” Tess whispered in my head.

  I was inclined to agree. Oh, I was sure Samir did want the heart. Somehow he knew I hadn’t eaten it. Maybe because of the bag. It was Samir’s creation, after all, so he might know when something was inside it. I’d given the bag to Alek to hide, so I wouldn’t be tempted by the power in it. I wanted no part of that evil.

  Which, I admit, was looking stupid and squeamish of me now. Samir had been toying with me. Wiping my own floor with me, if I was honest. I didn’t want to be honest. I wanted to commit some serious murderating for real.

  So why Clyde’s heart? Why kill Steve? What was Samir going to do next and how the hell did I get out of this stupid place and find him?

  And what the fuck had I done in my shop?

  “You went back in time,” mind-Tess said. With my eyes closed, I could see her, the beautiful ghost in my head sitting on a rock inside a silver circle. “That shouldn’t have worked.”

  “It sure fucked me up,” I muttered, remembering the weakness, the sputtering and utter failure of my powers.

  I reached for my magic again and the tap turned on. More of a bathroom sink kind of tap than the firehose I was used to, but better than before. Maybe enough that I could bust myself out of this joint. There was no clock. I could have been unconscious for minutes or for hours.

  Samir knew I had something, or more importantly, someone, more than one someone, to lose now. Again. And he had who knew how much of a head start on hurting them.

  Fuck the law. I wasn’t staying in here. Gripping my D20 in my left hand, I channeled my magic down my right arm and threaded it around the handcuff.

  Wolf appeared beside me and whined, pressing her head against my side. My magic stuttered and halted, fading from my control.

  “The fuck you doing?” I whispered to her.

  Voices from the bullpen drew my attention just as the door slammed open. A petite woman with wheat-blond hair and bright blue eyes sailed into the room, carrying a briefcase and the air of command. She pulled a chair away from the wall, set her briefcase on the table, and then kicked the door shut with her heel.

  I relaxed slightly. Maybe I wouldn’t have to add running from the law to my résumé just yet. The cavalry had arrived.

  Kate Perkins, Esquire, was as much a bomb as she was bombshell. She was joint partner in the only law firm in town, Perkins & Smitt. Harper liked to call them Perky and Smitten, which was apt enough since an astronaut could have seen the giant torch Harrison Smitt was carrying for the beautiful blonde. Kate’s real name was Katya Gararin and Harper had told me she was a cougar shifter who had come over from the Ukraine with her family, fleeing the Iron Curtain.

  I’d met Kate about three years before when she needed documents translated. She’d tracked me down after one of the shifters who owned the RV park outside town, Mikhail, had told her I was fluent and did translation work. I was certified to do work for the court in six different languages, though not all of them under my own name. She’d been a breeze to work for, paid on time, and didn’t ask questions.

  Since then, I’d been doing odd translation jobs for her when she needed, but I was still surprised she had shown up here. She didn’t do criminal law that I knew of beyond the occasional DUI or pot-smoking bust.

  “Are you hurt?” Kate said, looking me over.

  “Not physically,” I muttered. “Are you my lawyer?”

  “The Macnulty girl called me. I called Sheriff Lee, who said you’d been arrested for murder. Can we do this in Russian?” she added, switching to Russian with an exaggerated look at the two-way mirror.

  “Don’t trust Dick and Balls to keep client confidentiality sacred?” I glanced at the mirror also and wished I hadn’t. I looked worse than a horror movie in the dark glass. A wraith. A nightmare.

  “Dick and…” she trailed off and laughed. “Dickson and Baldwin. Nice one.”

  “I didn’t do it,” I said in Russian, unable to share her mirth. “The man who did is out there, and he’ll do this again.”

  “I know you didn’t do it,” Kate said, her own face turning serious in a blink. “I saw the crime scene photos and talked to the coroner.”

  “Assuring yourself of my innocence before you took me as a client?”

  “Yes. I was. I like you, and I owe Alek, but I don’t need a first degree murder case.” She sat back in her chair and watched me.

  After a long moment she continued, “As soon as those idiots get their evidence in order, they will also realize it’s impossible you did this. I’m going to make them clean you up, and then we’ll answer some of their questions. Did you say anything to them yet?”

  “Other than calling them Dick and Balls?” I said. “Nope. I can’t exactly tell them the full truth. I’d just end up in a straight jacket.”

  “You are lucky I owe Alek,” she said, but her mouth twitched in a half smile.

  Kate left and came back with a Styrofoam cup of water and a warm washcloth. She glared at Dick until he undid my cuff and they let me wipe off my hands. I resisted quoting Shakespeare, since Lady Macbeth had actually been a killer and I didn’t really want to draw unnecessary parallels. But I was freakishly glad to have at least some of the blood off my hands.

  “My client is willing to answer some questions,” Kate said, after looking at me to see if I was ready.

  There were only three chairs in the room, so Balls was forced to stand awkwardly against the wall as Dick sat across from us, placing a brown folder on the table.

  “Will she answer why she killed Steven Jones?”

  “If this is your line, we’re done,” Kate said, starting to rise from her chair.

  “She was kneeling over the body, with the murder weapon in her hands. We have a damned deputy as witness, not to mention whoever called nine-one-one.” Dick shook his head.

  Someone had called nine-one-one? That explained how quickly the deputy had found me. But no one had been around.

  “Male or female?” I asked.

  “What?” Balls and Dick both squinted at me.

  “The caller. Male or female?”

  Dick pulled open the file folder and skimmed down what looked like a report sheet. I wondered again how long I’d been out. Long enough for crime scene photos and Kate to check with the coroner. I looked down at my hands again and then at the bloody rag.

  “Um, did I just destroy evidence?”

  Dick and Balls exchanged another look, this one more worried.

  “Nobody examined you? Did they are least take pictures?”

  “I was kind of unconscious,” I said.

  “She was out cold. Besides, witness. I told you already.”

  “Did you process her in at all?” Kate gave the detectives a flat look that said she was super unimpressed.

  “She’s been charged with murder. The DA will make it official in front of the judge tomorrow. If he can get here with all the damned snow.” Dick tapped the folder. “It’s all here.”

  “Did you look at the coroner’s report?” Kate spoke like
she was dealing with children, each word carefully enunciated.

  “Yes.” Nods from both men.

  “How much did Mr. Jones weigh?”

  “A couple hundred, I guess.”

  “Two-hundred-thirty-seven pounds. How much does my client weigh?”

  “I’ve always been taught you don’t ask a lady her age or her weight,” Dick shot back with an angry smile. The meanness was back in his eyes, but beads of sweat popped out on his forehead like dew.

  “One-thirty,” I said. I saw where she was going with it, and relief snaked through me. I was about to be exonerated through science. The irony was not lost on me.

  “So, this girl took down a man who outweighed her by over one hundred pounds, without defensive marks or bruising on either of them, then used a length of what appears to be guitar string to half sever the victim’s head, again without leaving a cut or bruise on herself. Not a mark on her hands. Nothing.”

  I obediently held my hands up, palms out. Tried really hard not to hear her words and think about Steve’s throat gaping. About his dead eyes. I failed and had to turn aside, dry-heaving again. I put my head between my knees to fight the dizziness, but it was a mistake. My pants were coated with blood and all I could smell was sickness and death.

  Kate gently patted my back and made me drink some of the water. I tried to tell her it would just end up on her expensive shoes, but she waved that off.

  Both detectives were quiet for a good minute, chewing over what Kate had just pointed out. I probably had sexism on my side on this one, since it was pretty obvious from their expressions that they had no trouble doubting a skinny chick like me with my non-existent nerd muscles had taken out a big grown man like Steve.

  “That’s for the DA to decide. She’s been arrested. Now, if she has an alternate story she wants to tell, we’re listening,” Dickson said finally.

  “It’s okay,” I said, looking at Kate. “I’ll tell them exactly what happened.”

  Except, of course, for the parts that would bring the men in lab coats.