Obsidian Curse (A Stacy Justice Mystery Book Five)

by Barbra Annino

  Badb said, “Then show some respect. And for Goddess’s sake, wash your face and stop blubbering.”

  I rolled my eyes, wiped my nose with my sleeve. “Fine.”

  Before I headed into the bathroom, I checked one more cupboard for the emergency Kahlúa I always kept on hand when Lolly visited me. My great-aunt was the oldest Geraghty Girl and the one whose train didn’t quite pull all the way into the station. Liquor sharpened her senses so we usually kept a steady supply on hand to spike her coffee when the need arose.

  “Yes!” It was there, behind the chicory coffee can. I knocked back a shot, then poured another into a tumbler and mixed it with cream. The daisies Chance had brought were sitting on the counter and I burst into tears all over again.

  Badb sighed. “This is pathetic.”

  Danu was a little more understanding. “Perhaps we should slap her?”

  Badb and Danu discussed the best methods to penetrate the worlds so they could properly torture me, while I tried to gain my composure.

  I stuck my head under the kitchen faucet and washed my face with Dawn dishwashing liquid because I didn’t want to turn my back on these two sadistic banshees.

  I took a deep breath and faced them. “Okay. I’m better.” I sipped my cocktail. “What did you want to discuss with me?”

  The orb bobbed up and down. “Tell the Mage that the Leanan Sidhe has escaped. You must find and bind her. Pickle is there to escort her back to the Otherworld.”

  “That’s it?”

  Danu smiled. “That’s it.”

  I downed the rest of my drink, rinsed the glass out, and put it in the sink. “Sounds simple enough.”

  Danu and Badb exchanged a look that sent a chill through the room.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Wait a minute. Who is the Leanan Sidhe?”

  Danu said, “The Mage will fill you in. That’s all for now.”

  “No, Danu, wait.”

  The bubble popped and they were gone.

  I grabbed the Blessed Book and a sweatshirt and slipped outside to head to the Geraghty Girls’ House, wondering who the Leanan Sidhe was and how I was supposed to find and bind her.

  I didn’t get very far because Blade Knight was standing on my porch holding a pizza. I checked his other hand for a tequila bottle, wondering if he had read my mind, but saw nothing.

  The sweatshirt was covering the book, thankfully. I clutched it to my chest.

  “Mr. Knight, what are you doing on my porch?” This guy was starting to creep me out. If we didn’t have something incredibly painful in common, I would have stabbed him in the shoulder already.

  “I brought you a peace offering.” He held up the pizza box. “I’m afraid we didn’t get off on the right foot and since we’ll be working together, I wanted to make it up to you.”

  How did he know I hadn’t eaten? “First of all, we”—I motioned from myself to him—“are not working together. Second”—I crossed my arms—“how did you know I wanted a pizza? What if I’d had a dinner date?”

  The author glanced behind him. “Well, I imagine you did, but the man who came in with the daisies and left in the truck didn’t stay long enough to eat. Didn’t look too happy either.”

  “Are you stalking me?”

  He looked confused at that, hurt even. “What? No. I just wanted to talk with you.”

  I glared at him. “How did you know where I live?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Who sent you?” Had he seen Pickle disappear into the tree? Or had he assumed I was talking to myself? Neither option appealed to me.

  “No one—”

  “What’s your game?” I stepped forward.

  “I don’t have—”

  I poked him. “And don’t lie to me!”

  “I’m not lying. If you’d just let me explain.”

  “I really don’t think I want to listen to anything you have to say.”

  Thor came around the corner then, eyeing Blade Knight first and then the pizza box.

  The man shot a glance at Thor and swung back to me. When he spoke, the words tumbled out. “Look, I was here earlier. I stopped by to talk to you. I saw the man leave, figured he was your date and you got into a fight, maybe you skipped dinner.” His brow furrowed as he glanced at my head. Probably the Bit-O-Honey wad was making an escape. “So I thought I’d be chivalrous. Bring you hot food and maybe you’d be more open to my proposal.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “That’s how I would write it. A mysterious stranger swoops in to save the day.” He raised one eyebrow like he was Clark Kent.

  I rolled my eyes. This guy had me very confused. At first he seemed threatening, then he seemed threatened by me, now he was being sweet and arrogant at the same time. Which irritated the hell out of me. I say pick a personality and stick with it.

  Thor inched over to our visitor, still eyeing the pizza box. A long trail of drool clung to his muzzle. He licked his lips. He didn’t seem too concerned about Knight, but I suspected maybe the aroma of fresh mozzarella and oregano was impeding his instincts.

  “What kind of pizza?”

  “The works. Extra pepperoni.”

  My stomach rumbled at the sound of that. Thor looked at me hopefully. Like, Can he stay? Please, can he?

  “Before I even entertain the idea of sharing a pizza with you, I want to know how you found out my address.”

  He nodded toward the Geraghty Girls’ House. “I didn’t. I’m staying next door and I saw you come up the driveway through the window.”

  Damn. Now I’d never be able to shake him.

  I sighed. “Okay, but before I invite you in, I want you to know you’re not that mysterious.”

  He smiled. “I’m not?”

  I shook my head and turned to open the door. “I’m afraid not. I know exactly who you are, Joseph Conrad.”

  The author’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard. He wasn’t smiling as I held the door open for him.

  Chapter 10

  My cottage was too small for a dining table, so Blade Knight set the pizza box on the counter and stood in front of the breakfast bar. Thor sat near him, smacking his lips and looking at the man with hope and hunger in his eyes.

  I didn’t say anything more for a few minutes. I just let him stew on the revelation that I knew his real name, what happened to him all those years ago, and that I could also shake up a person’s nerves if I had to.

  There were paper plates in the drawer next to the refrigerator. I grabbed those along with some napkins and two waters.

  When I turned around, the author was staring at me with a look I couldn’t quite make out. Apprehension? Curiosity? Anger? He shook his head as if trying to erase a thought and the confident demeanor returned.

  “I was going to tell you who I am. I just didn’t want to mention it in front of the editor,” he said.

  “Why not?” I handed him a plate and a napkin, set the water in front of him, and opened mine.

  Blade Knight took a long pull from the bottle. “I was afraid he’d want to do a story on me, and that’s not why I came back here.”

  I pulled some crushed red pepper from the spice rack near the stove and set it on the counter between us. Blade opened the pizza box and the tangy aroma of pepperoni and tomato sauce made my stomach rumble. I grabbed a slice and slid it onto my plate, sprinkling it with the red pepper flakes.

  Then I focused my gaze on Blade. “Why did you come back here?”

  He met my eyes, steadied himself and said, “To find the son of a bitch who killed my parents.”

  Joseph Conrad had been nine years old when his parents were bludgeoned to death in their own home. I was just a baby myself, but when you grow up in a close-knit community, stories tend to travel through time. The police had determined it was a robbery gone wrong,
except the only items the thief or thieves actually made off with were a few books, some artwork, and a computer. The boy was an only child, his parents had no close relatives that anyone could find, and so he entered the foster care system and became a ward of the state.

  When the man standing in my kitchen became Blade Knight, I didn’t know.

  He reached for two slices of pizza. He put one on the paper plate and flipped the other one to Thor, who caught it midair and swallowed it whole. The dog sat down patiently waiting for a second serving.

  I gauged the man’s body language, the easy way he seemed comfortable in this situation. Most people find Thor threatening, but Blade didn’t seem to have any qualms about my 180-pound Great Dane.

  But if he was in Amethyst to find out who murdered his parents, what did he want with me?

  I grabbed another slice of pizza, dabbing the grease with a napkin, and contemplated my next question.

  “Why now? Why after all this time?”

  He thought for a time before he spoke, measuring his words carefully. “A lot of reasons. First, because I’m older, wiser, and I have the money to track this thing wherever it leads. Second, I’m tired of finding justice only through my work. I can put a hundred killers away between the pages of my books, but all the while, a real killer—or killers—is still out there roaming free. My parents deserve better than that.”

  I was surprised to hear his voice crack. Surprised too at the wave of empathy that washed over me.

  We had a lot in common, Blade and I.

  His leg twitched suddenly. It wasn’t obvious if you weren’t looking for it, but I was. It was an unconscious movement, his body betraying him. He was holding something back. Either that or he was lying to me.

  “What’s the real reason? The smoking gun?” I asked, an edge to my voice.

  Blade reached for two more slices of pizza and tossed one to Thor. He didn’t meet my eyes for a moment. He drank more water and I did the same.

  Finally he said, “Before I tell you that, you have to agree to help me.”

  I wasn’t fond of ultimatums. “And why would I do that?” I asked, eyes narrowed.

  He reached his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and I whipped the athame out of mine and put it to his throat.

  “Whoa! Easy, Miss Justice. It’s just some newspaper articles.”

  I kept the knife to him, told him not to move, and reached inside his coat pocket. I pulled out a stack of newspaper clippings.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I’m…cautious. Single woman living alone and all.”

  The author glanced at Thor, whose head was cocked. The dog was looking at me as if I’d just shot the man who invented Milk-Bones. The dog snorted off to the couch.

  “Yes, I can see why you’d be jumpy. I mean, when your only safeguard is an animal the size of Chewbacca,” Blade said. He rolled his eyes.

  Get a grip, Stacy.

  I put the knife on the counter and sifted through the articles. Most of them were written by or about me. The first was the story regarding my father’s murder. Then there was the cold case about the dead girl bricked up inside the wall of Cinnamon’s bar, along with a few other crimes I had helped put to bed. There were articles about my family, the town, historical pieces regarding Amethyst. Murders that had taken place here, missing persons reports, unusual unexplained sightings, and more.

  “Okay, now I’m convinced you’re stalking me, Mr. Knight.” I slapped the papers to his chest.

  What was he doing with all of these articles? Did he actually think I knew something about his parents’ murder?

  “Call me Blade, please.” He shoved the news pieces back inside his coat.

  “Do I have to?”

  He ignored that and said, “It wasn’t about you. It was about Amethyst. I’ve always felt that the key to my parents’ murder—the reason they were killed—had something to do with this place. I’ve been a longtime subscriber of the Amethyst Globe. By the way, I like the new sex column.”

  I moaned. Of course he did.

  He continued. “Come on, Stacy. May I call you Stacy?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “You have to admit there’s something strange about this town.” He glanced out the window in the direction of the Geraghty House. I could see that the lights were still on in the kitchen. “I suspect, too, that you know a lot more about it than I ever could.”

  Oh boy. How deep was he going to dig? It was my turn to twitch. “I still don’t see why you think I could help you with this. I was barely crawling when the murders happened.”

  Spellcasting, yes. Crawling was new.

  He tapped his jacket where he had tucked away the articles. “I don’t just think you can help, I know you will.”

  “Are all bestselling authors as cocky as you?”

  “Only Patterson.”

  “And what has you so convinced that I’ll agree to this?”

  Blade Knight shifted so that we were toe to toe. He was several inches taller than my five-foot-six frame. He lowered his head to stare right at me, right through me, to the hidden parts very few had ever reached. I sucked in a breath.

  His voice lowered to practically a whisper and my heart thumped. “Because there’s a hunger inside of you that lives to see the bad guys get theirs. It’s a need you have that refuses to fade away no matter how many killers you put behind bars. You’re driven to see things through to the end of the story wherever it leads, and what’s more, you’re good at it. Maybe the beast is fueled by your father’s death. Maybe it grew from your mother’s abandonment. Or maybe it’s an insufferable fear that you can only keep buried when the world is balanced. When right wins over wrong. Whatever it is, Stacy Justice, I know you can’t turn away from it or it’ll consume you from the inside out.”

  His words tore through me and for a moment, I was stunned. Everything he said was so personal, so intimate. It was like he had his finger on the pulse of my subconscious. As if he could read the map of my soul with the touch of a button. I stared at him in bewilderment for several heartbeats.

  When I regained my composure I said, “Are you always this dramatic?”

  “Yes. It’s my one flaw.”

  “Besides your name.”

  He smiled. “Besides my name.”

  I turned away from Blade to wash the pizza grease from my hands and to think.

  He was right about one thing. I knew what it was like to feel forgotten. To feel as if there was no hope, no justice in the world when it came to the people we loved the most.

  Except I had found justice for my parents. And didn’t Blade—irritating as he may be—deserve the same for his?

  I took my hat off and ran my fingers through my hair, forgetting I still had a wad of Bit-O-Honey stuck in it. Then I plopped the hat back on my head.

  Blade gave me a curious look as if he had completely forgotten to ask me about something, and since I still didn’t know how much he had seen on the street with Pickle—or if he could see Pickle—I stopped him as soon as he opened his mouth.

  I held up a finger. “Rule number one. No questions.”

  He grinned. “Is that a yes?”

  I nodded. “I’ll help you. On my time. On my terms.”

  He smacked his hands together and said, “Yes!” Then he picked me up and swung me around.

  “Okay, rule number two. No touching, no picking up, no swinging of any kind.”

  He set me back down. “Sorry.”

  “Now tell me about the smoking gun.”

  Chapter 11

  I looked at Thor, whose eyes were growing heavy as he snuggled deeper into the sofa. “What do you think, buddy? Did I just make a huge mistake?”

  He pawed at the air, grunted, and flipped onto his back to settle in for a nap, unconcerned about anything but his full belly and his s
leepy head.

  While I was waiting for Blade Knight to retrieve something from his car, my phone made a typing sound, indicating I just received a text.

  It was from Chance. I hate fighting with you.

  I texted back. Me too.

  Chance: You know you have nothing to be jealous about.

  Me: And you have nothing to be nervous about. I’m not afraid. Not of you. Not of us. It’s complicated right now, but there are things I need to tell you. I will as soon as I can.

  Chance: I know you will. TTYL. xoxo.

  Me: XOXOXO

  I slipped the phone into the back pocket of my jeans as Blade Knight walked through the door carrying a beat-up-looking camel-colored satchel. He carefully closed the door behind him.

  He set the bag on the counter. I pulled a stool up to where he stood and hopped onto it.

  Blade launched right into the story. “I moved into my first foster home with only one box of belongings. That was the rule. Take only the essentials, leave the rest. Over the course of the years of being shuffled around from one dysfunctional household to another, I had forgotten all about the box.”

  He looked at me, eyes dark, defiant. Sincere. I felt for him in that moment. For the frightened little boy he must have been.

  Blade ran a hand over his face. “When a person is under that much stress, with no room to breathe in between blows, the only way to survive is to bury it. All of it. Lock away every bit of garbage, every shred of fear, so no one can find your vulnerabilities.”

  “Because vulnerabilities can get you killed,” I said softly.

  He was taken aback by that remark and gave me a curious stare.

  “I wrote a story on repressed memories,” I said, which was complete baloney. I knew all about the dangers of exposing your weak spots strictly from experience.

  Blade nodded, satisfied with that answer. “I repressed so many memories, my therapist had to use a shovel to dig them out. All but one. That one, I still kept in here.” He pointed to his heart. “Until recently.”

  “Your parents’ murder?”