Ground

by Kirsten Weiss

  Closing my eyes, I focused on the energy sizzling between my body, my hand, and down the chain.

  “Jayce,” Karin said more urgently.

  I shook my head. I was getting somewhere.

  Heat flared beneath my hand.

  “Jayce!” Karin shouted.

  I opened my eyes.

  The map was on fire.

  “Crap!” I snatched my hand away, pulling the pendulum to my chest.

  Karin grabbed the water pitcher and dumped it on the flames. A pool of water darkened the checked tablecloth, dripped off the ends of the fabric, plopped onto the hardwood floor.

  Ashen faced, Lenore peeled the soaked map from the table and stared through the burnt hole in its center. “Does that mean the unseelie is somewhere in the center?”

  “It means the unseelie noticed what we were up to and got through all the wards around this house,” Karin snapped. “I told you—”

  “Well, we had to try something,” I said.

  “Every time we go off using magic half-cocked,” Karin said, “there's a disaster.”

  “You mean every time you use magic half-cocked,” I said. “I've never had a problem with it before.”

  Karin paled, and she looked away.

  Shame scorched my cheeks. It had been a low blow. Karin had only really come into her magic this past year, and she'd had a rocky beginning. I opened my mouth to apologize.

  “We need to re-set the wards,” Lenore said.

  “Right,” Karin said, gruff. “I'll check the ones outside.” Avoiding my gaze, she strode from the dining room.

  I hurried after her. “Karin, I didn't mean it—”

  “It's fine.” She stalked down the short hall. She paused beside the front door and slipped into her sensible shoes, lying beside the rag rug. “You're right. Just because my magic works a certain way, it doesn't mean I should try to make you do the same.”

  “Stop being so reasonable and let me apologize.”

  “You don't need to.” She wrenched open the front door and took a quick step backward. “Oh!”

  Phoebe England stood on the porch, her hand raised to knock. The realtor’s smile wavered, her teeth white against her olive skin. She dropped her fist, encased in a woolly, gold-brown glove that exactly matched the color of her hair. “Hi, Jayce, Karin. Is the whole family here?”

  “Oh.” I said. Crap. I'd forgotten I'd sort of told her Lenore was selling our aunt's house. “Uh...”

  And of course, Lenore chose exactly that moment to wander to the front door. “What's going on?” she asked.

  I whirled to face her and mouthed, Go with it!

  Lenore's brow wrinkled.

  “Hi, Lenore!” Phoebe waved. “Jayce told me you were thinking of selling.”

  Lenore's eyes narrowed. “Did she?” she asked, her voice flat.

  Lenore was so gonna to kill me.

  “I was in the neighborhood and saw your lights were on,” Phoebe said. “I could see the three of you through the front window. I had some materials in my car on local property values, so I thought I’d drop them by. I'm assuming all three of you have an ownership stake in the house?”

  “Yes,” I said quickly. “Thanks so much, but now's not—”

  “Come on in,” Lenore said. “What else did Jayce tell you?” she asked in a honeyed voice.

  Aghast, I watched Lenore lead Phoebe into the dining room.

  Karin shrugged and followed.

  Phoebe sniffed. “Do I smell smoke?”

  “We had a small accident with a candle,” I said, fidgeting.

  “I'm sure the odor will go away soon.” Phoebe set her big leather purse on the table, noticed the soaked cloth, and shifted the purse to a dry spot. “Did you know that the scent of baking bread can help sell a house? Oh, here they are.” From her bag, she pulled out a red-and-white folder with her realty’s logo on the cover. She handed it to Lenore. “This house really is lovely. I can imagine how hard it must be to think about selling. You must have so many memories.”

  “I hope Jayce told you we haven't made any decisions yet,” Lenore said.

  “She did,” the realtor said. “And if I seem overeager, I apologize. There just isn't any new construction going on in Doyle, so if you do sell, I know I'll be able to get you top dollar. If the rest of the house is like this room, you won't have to make any improvements to hook a buyer.”

  “So we won't need Eric's house flipping services,” I said.

  She grinned. “I bet he'd love to get his hands on this place. There's always some crazy thing that people want to add. Sauna showers are hot right now, no pun intended.”

  “We don't have one of those.” Lenore opened the folder, and her eyes widened. “The house down the road sold for over a million?”

  “Um, thanks, Phoebe,” I said, steering the realtor from the room. “We'll look that stuff over.”

  “No problem and no pressure. Let me know if you've got any questions.”

  “Actually, I do have one question,” I said in a low voice. I followed her onto the porch and shut the door behind us. “It's about Matt Zana.”

  Phoebe stilled. “Matt?”

  “I know you two were having an affair.” I didn't know it, but I was getting desperate.

  Phoebe went white. She grasped my wrist. “How—? Jayce, for God’s sake don't say anything. He's gone now, and it will kill his wife.”

  So the rumor was true. The affair might have killed Melanie if she'd found out while Matt was alive. But had it killed Matt? Because it made a strong motive for his wife to murder the handyman. The wind rustled in the browning oak leaves, and I shivered.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “I won't say anything to Melanie.” I couldn't imagine an uglier conversation.

  Beneath her fawn-colored coat, her shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”

  “But she may already suspect. She thinks he's been having an affair with someone.”

  “That doesn’t entirely surprise me.” She lowered her head. “He was filing for a divorce.”

  “Really?” That made another motive. “And Melanie knew about it?”

  “I don't know. No. I don't think so. I don't know.” The color rushed into her face. “Matt was more than a simple handyman. He had bigger plans.”

  “What sort of plans?”

  She flushed again. “It's not important anymore. You and your sisters are fishing around for answers, aren’t you?”

  “Not my sisters.” Keep them out of this. “But I am.”

  “I heard about what happened last summer, about you and Karin and that woman’s murder. Do you really think the police need your help?”

  “Probably not, but they did use my pickup to dump Matt’s body. It feels personal.”

  “Well. Thanks for not saying anything.” She adjusted the shoulder strap of her purse. “I heard the police brought you in for questioning again. Have they said anything to you about his murder?”

  “Not a thing.”

  An odd expression crossed her face, one I couldn't read. “Well. Thanks again.” She hurried down the porch steps and vanished between the cars parked in the driveway. I backed into the house and shut the door. On the street, an engine revved, drove off.

  So Matt had plans. I was certain they hadn't included dying.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Karin offered to drive me home, and I suspected it was to lecture me. But it was late, and my muscles were so taut I thought they might snap from beneath my skin. So I agreed to the ride and braced myself for well-meaning advice.

  It didn’t come.

  My sister was quiet as we piled into her Ford Fusion. She was quiet as we wound down Doyle's darkened streets, the stars glittering above us. She was quiet when she slowed to turn into the alley behind Ground and parked beside the exterior, wooden stairwell. And her quiet rattled my marrow with alarm.

  I glanced through the rear window, the skin between my shoulder blades prickling. But no lights followed behind us
. Shaking off my paranoia, I followed Karin out of the small car.

  I dug my keys from my macramé purse, my breath frosting the air. Beneath the cheap, metal lamp nailed to the stairs, I fumbled with the lock on the metal door to Ground.

  “Nick and I are getting married,” she blurted.

  I dropped the keys. They jangled, striking the pavement.

  “Married?” A warm bubble of happiness radiated from my chest, and I threw my arms around her. “That's wonderful! Congratulations!” I pulled away, releasing her. “Why didn't you say anything sooner? Does Lenore know?”

  Her cheeks flushed flamingo pink, and she tugged down her soft, blue knit cap. “With everything that was going on, it didn't seem right to tell anyone. But then not telling anyone didn't seem right either.”

  “We need to call Lenore! You need to call Lenore. She'll kill me if she finds out I heard about this first.” I knelt and picked up the fallen keys.

  “It's just...” Her hazel eyes widened, anxious. “Am I doing the right thing?”

  “What are you talking about? You two love each other. You were made for each other! Besides, who else but another lawyer is going to put up with all your systems and policies?” Karin organized the things in her dishwasher by size, shape and usage.

  “I'm serious,” she said. “He knows what the curse means. But... Am I being fair to him?”

  “By letting him make his own decisions?” I raised a brow. “It would be unfair to make the call for him.” The words came easily, but did I really believe them? But it was different with Brayden. Unlike Nick, Brayden didn’t believe. He couldn’t make an informed decision.

  “It's not only about Nick.”

  “You're worried about yourself.”

  “No! Well, yes, but that's not why...” She bit her lip. “I'm being stupid, aren't I?”

  “Only a little.” I pinched my thumb and forefinger together.

  She punched me lightly on the arm. “Thanks.”

  “Don't thank me.” I unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Lenore and I are taking you out to celebrate and getting you totally drunk. So call her quick.”

  She grinned.

  On impulse, I darted forward and squeezed her in another bear hug. My little sis was getting married!

  A crack shattered the alley’s stillness.

  Karin cried out and sagged against me, her weight driving me down. My knees folded. We tumbled into the coffee shop. I hit the linoleum hard.

  Karin rolled onto her back. The light from outside cut a diagonal line across her face, laced with pain and surprise.

  “What?” I stared. “Karin?”

  A crimson pool spread from beneath her.

  “Karin?” I shook her.

  Her eyelids fluttered closed.

  “Karin!”

  Icicles of fear speared my throat and chest. Instinctively, I kicked shut the door, but it caught on Karin's legs. Half-sobbing, I pushed her limbs aside and slammed the door, bathing us in darkness.

  Lurching to my feet, I flicked on the light, illuminating the narrow hallway. My cell phone lay on the floor beside Karin. I grabbed it, called nine-one-one.

  “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

  “I need an ambulance! I'm at Ground, at three thirty-three Main Street. My sister's been shot.” My legs gave out. I stumbled against the wall, slid down it. “Hurry,” I whispered. “This is Jayce Bonheim. I'm at three thirty-three Main. I need an ambulance.”

  “Are you in a safe place?”

  I crawled to Karin. My knowledge of first aid was rudimentary. Pressure on the wound.

  She lay on her back, and I didn't see any blood on her front, so her bodyweight was providing her own pressure. If I turned her over, the blood might gush free, killing her.

  A gunshot. She’d been hit by a gunshot. My breath came in quick, painful gasps. I grasped Karin's hand and felt (or imagined?) a faint squeeze. She was alive. She had to be.

  “Hello?” the dispatcher asked.

  “Three thirty-three Main Street! Hurry! She's been shot!” I dropped the phone.

  Ignoring the blood seeping into the knees of my jeans, I held one hand, palm down, over her torso and the other hand palm up. I closed my eyes and connected to the earth and sky, felt the energy run through me, and I prayed. I called every angel I could think of, begged for divine healing.

  Hot energy flowed through the crown of my head, down my arm and into Karin's body.

  She lay unmoving.

  My magic wasn't enough. “Please,” I whispered, I didn’t know to whom. “Please.”

  Someone pounded on the front door.

  I tore myself from my sister and raced through the dark coffee shop. Blue lights flashed through the windows, a dizzying strobe.

  My thigh banged into a table, and a bolt of pain shot up my leg. Cursing, I stumbled to the front door and threw it open.

  Two sheriff's deputies — Hernandez and Denton — stood on the sidewalk.

  “Jayce?” Hernandez asked, his handsome face grim. “What's going on?”

  Police? I didn’t need police! “I need an ambulance! Paramedics!” I moved to shut the door.

  Denton stepped forward, grasping the door. “Someone's been shot? Where?”

  Hand shaking, I pointed to the kitchen. “Karin.”

  The deputy brushed past me. I turned to follow.

  “Jayce,” Hernandez said. “Denton was an army medic. He'll take care of her. What happened?”

  A siren wailed. The ambulance. Please, let it be the ambulance and not a freaking fire truck or another sheriff’s deputy.

  “I don't know,” I said, my words a sob. “We were standing at the back door. There was a shot. Karin was shot.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Dazed, I shook my head. Was I wrong? Had I misinterpreted that crack? I didn't know anymore. I believed in fairies, but I was having a hard time believing in a gunshot. But something had hurt my sister, and it hadn’t been me. Or had it? A strangled laugh escaped my throat.

  “Come on.” Gently, Hernandez led me to a chair. “Where are the lights?”

  “By the kitchen curtains.”

  He strode to the curtains and flicked the switch. The overhead lights came on, glinting off the counter, the polished wooden tables. I looked at the red-paned windows. Karin had sat at that table yesterday, banging on her computer. I couldn't breathe.

  A paramedic in a thick, blue parka hurried inside. “Where?”

  Hernandez pointed to the kitchen.

  A second paramedic, one I didn’t know, strode into the café and followed the first at a trot.

  I moved to go with them. They'd know how she was. They'd tell me she'd be all right.

  “No.” Hernandez laid gentle hands on my shoulders. “It's a small space back there. They'll need room to work.”

  Things were happening too quickly. I had to fix this. I couldn’t fix this. I raised my hand to claw my hair and realized I was still holding my phone. “Lenore. I need to call our sister.”

  “You sit. I'll call her.”

  Confused, I stared at him.

  “I'm a book lover,” he said, prying the phone from my hand. “I’ve got her number. Sit.” He guided me to an out-of-the-way table. Not Karin's, thank God. I closed my eyes and told myself she'd be okay. She had to be.

  More people in uniform arrived, filling the café. This was my fault. She'd been shot here, at Ground. Someone had been waiting. Waiting for me? An ache pierced the back of my throat.

  The sheriff strode inside. She wore an ugly red holiday sweater, jeans, and a pinched expression. I guessed I'd caught her off duty. “What happened?” she barked.

  Hernandez spoke to her in a low voice. She nodded, came to me.

  “My sister.” I leapt to my feet. “They won't tell me—”

  Someone brushed the kitchen curtain aside and a paramedic backed out, carrying one end of a stretcher.

  I gasped.

  He angled past the counter.

/>   I braced my hand on the table. Karin on a stretcher. Not a black body bag. Karin. She was alive. I wound through the tables, banging my hip on a chair. “Is my sister going to be all right?” I asked the paramedic facing me.

  “She's in serious condition. You should notify any other family members.”

  I swayed. Notify. Karin was dying.

  “Miss Bonheim,” the sheriff asked. “What happened?”

  “We were outside the back door.” I tracked the movements of the paramedics. “My sister was shot.”

  “How'd she get inside?”

  “The door was open. I pulled her through.”

  “Did you see the person who shot her?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “I didn't see anyone. I have to go to the hospital.” And I didn't have my truck. I wanted to shriek, to punch someone. Karin wouldn't have even been here if I hadn't needed a ride. “I need my truck!”

  “You'll get it back tomorrow,” the sheriff said. “Hernandez, drive Miss Bonheim to the hospital.”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  I raced out the door and hurried to the waiting police car, its blue lights blinding. I yanked open the passenger door and jumped in.

  Hernandez slid inside more slowly.

  “Hurry,” I said.

  He pointed to the ambulance, and my sister being loaded into the back. “We'll follow them. It won't do any good if we reach the hospital before they do.”

  “What's taking them so long?” My hands fisted in my lap.

  “I got ahold of your sister, Lenore.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “She said she'd meet us at the hospital.”

  One of the paramedics leapt inside the ambulance. The other closed the doors and hurried to the front.

  “Buckle up,” Hernandez said and turned on the siren.

  We raced to the hospital, the seatbelt pinching every time I leaned forward to make us go faster. Which yes, was totally irrational, but my sister was shot, dying, and the roads weren't that slick. I drove faster on these roads than that stupid ambulance did. “Is he a new driver?” I muttered.

  “She'll be all right,” Hernandez said.

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “Just a feeling. Cops get feelings.”