Karma

by Nadine Nightingale

  “Amanda?” Alex’s voice is distant.

  An antique cabinet next to the door shakes. A drawer flies through the room like a freaking fighter jet, and a photo frame lands in front of my feet.

  “Amanda, what’s going on?” Alex’s voice is closer now.

  I want to answer. Really, I do. But my eyes are glued to the photo on the floor, my jaw is somewhere down around my knees, and my voice took a vacation. What in God’s name? I blink several times, but the girl from my vision continues to smile at me. The one Hedwig had been so certain would lead us to Jesse. Standing in front of a lake house in a polka-dotted bathing suit, she has one arm around Hedwig and the other on the shoulder of a man with hollow blue eyes and grayish hair.

  I pick up the photo and rub my eyes. Yep, I’m one hundred percent sure. This is the girl with the raven hair. My skin crawls, and the hair on my neck stands. Why didn’t Hedwig say she knew the girl?

  “What the hell happened in here?” Alex hollers, gun still drawn, looking over the mess. “Amanda, what the fuck did you do?”

  My lips move, but not a single word comes out.

  His warm hand squeezes my shoulder. “Manda, talk to me.”

  “She knew her,” I croak.

  “What? Who?”

  “The girl from my visions. The one with the raven hair,” I say, passing him the photo. “Hedwig knew her.”

  The instant Alex touches the wooden frame, a howling wind blows through the room. A fraction of a second later, gray smoke appears next to the antique cabinet.

  He swallows hard. “Damn, is that…”

  “A ghost? I’m afraid so.”

  Alex scans the room for a weapon. “Get the iron bar,” he orders, pointing to the fireplace.

  My last run-in with a child-spirit didn’t exactly end well for me, but there’s something about her that tells me she’s not here to hurt us. I rub my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Relax, she’s not vengeful,” I assure him, walking toward the apparition.

  “Follow me,” she whispers.

  And I do.

  Alex is next to me in no time. “Christ, what the hell do you think you’re doing, Manda?”

  “Following my gut,” I reply.

  “Down there,” the spirit says as the knob of the basement door turns and the door sweeps open.

  I look down the stairs, but it’s pitch black. Chills travel down my spine. Something’s wrong. I smell trouble.

  “You’re fucking crazy,” Alex yelps. “Couple of hours ago, you were almost killed by a spirit, and now…” He trails off.

  And now I’m about to follow one into a basement that is darker than night itself. Yeah, I am nuts for real, but I’m okay with that. “You can stay here if you want,” I say before I head down the stairs.

  The hunter wouldn’t be heroic if he didn’t follow.

  The steps wail under my weight, and my heart beats faster than Usain Bolt’s while running the hundred meters. I would never admit it, not even under torture, but I’m glad Alex is right behind me. I feel safer with him there. Warmer.

  Hell, it’s so damn dark I can’t see my hand in front of my face. Digging in my bag for my phone, I take another step and trip over a large object. My knees and hands connect with the floor. A sharp pain jolts through me.

  “Manda?” Alex shouts. “Are you okay?”

  Getting back on my feet, I wipe wet palms on my jacket.

  “Amanda, say something.” His voice roars through the basement.

  “I’m good,” I assure him. “Stumbled over something.” The question is what?

  The metallic clicking of the Beretta’s safety lock being removed echoes off the walls. “Don’t move,” he commands. “I’m gonna find the light switch before you break your goddamn neck.”

  “Wouldn’t that be the answer to all your prayers?” I snap, running a hand over the ripped fabric around my knee.

  “Oh c’mon, isn’t the you-almost-killed-me card getting old?”

  My lips curl into a smile. “Nope. Never,” I say as the lights come on.

  Standing on the other side of the basement, Alex looks at me. I literally see the life draining from his face. He strides toward me. His aura is a mixture of shock and fear. “Amanda, don’t freak, but I think you’re bleeding.”

  I’m what?

  Alex examines my bloody palms. “Are you hurt?” Worry thickens his voice. “Manda, did you hurt yourself?’

  I don’t know. Did I? My hands, my jeans, my shoes, they’re crimson red. But there’s no wound, no pain. Just lots of blood.

  What the…

  I spin around. A large pool of blood tickles into the floor by the stairs. Something that looks a lot like linguine ai frutti di mare is scattered all over the cement, and in the midst of it all is Hedwig. With a fucking hole in her head.

  Running toward the bloated body, Alex curses under his breath.

  It’s a good thing I haven’t eaten anything, because what I see turns my stomach upside down. Hands folded in a praying position, eyes glazed and lips stitched together with black thread, the old woman is decomposing on the floor. A scene right out of a fucking Saw movie.

  I know Alex’s hand is on my shoulder, but I’m too numb to feel it. “Wh-what happened here?” I stammer.

  Kneeling next to me, Alex points at the wall. “Looks like someone was trying to send you a message.”

  I slowly lift my gaze and read Stay Out Of This, Witch, Or You Will Be Next! Of course, the artist used blood. If it weren’t Hedwig’s, I’d probably laugh at the cliché.

  Dumbstruck, I look from Hedwig to the message. This is a nightmare. Stuff like this only happens in movies or books. Not in real life.

  “What’s that?” Alex asks, pointing to a shiny, silver chain wrapped around the old woman’s praying hands.

  I swallow the urge to puke. “Dunno.”

  Hedwig’s bones crunch like cornflakes when he pulls it out of her grip, stiffened by rigor mortis. “Fuck,” he whispers, holding a silver ankh pendant between his thumb and index finger.

  My heart pumps faster than ever. I know this necklace. Worse, I know who it belongs to.

  ****

  Mister Sinister’s nose bled, and he moaned in pain. He had his back pressed against a brick wall, but his crazy eyes were fixated on me. “I’ll kill you, bitch. I’ll fucking kill you.” The guy was the equivalent of a human parrot. “You’re dead,” he said. “Both of you.”

  He meant what he said, but I didn’t… No, I couldn’t waste my time on him. Hell, I had bigger fish to fry. The witch hunter with the mesmerizing eyes still stood in front of me, his gaze traveling over my body.

  “Why the hell are you walking all by yourself in the middle of the night?” he asked, voice hoarse and sexy as hell.

  I didn’t reply. I was too busy forging a plan to get as far away from him as possible without being burned at the stake.

  “Sweetheart,” he hissed. “Do you hear me?”

  Loud and clear.

  “Alex?” Another voice floated through the starless night. “Dude, where the hell are you? I’ve got us a room with Pay-per-view TV and the Asian babes are on.”

  Alex, or hunter, or whatever his name was, turned around. “I’m here.”

  Out of the shadows stepped a taller, but slightly younger version of the hunter. Drinking in his appearance, I had no doubt these two were related and possibly gods in disguise. Same hair color. Identical sharp face structures. Bodies to freaking die for.

  “Whoa,” the younger one said with a boyish grin as he came closer. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a date with Miss America? I would have gladly given you the key to our room.”

  “I don’t do threesomes,” Alex said, pointing to the asshole on the ground.

  “I’m going to kill y’all,” Mister Sinister said, wiping blood off his nose.

  The younger guy, whose aura also revealed fifty shades of hunter, cocked a brow at Mister Sinister and laughed. “Buddy, knowing my brother, you’re lucky you’
re still breathing.”

  Alex was still worried. “Seriously, are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  The question snapped me out of my pathetic delirium. I forced my spine upright and crossed my arms. “I was fine until you stuck your nose in business that doesn’t concern you.” The bitch switch had turned, and I was just getting started. “Who do you think you are? Captain freakin’ America?”

  The younger hunter stepped closer, the moon casting light on his chocolate-colored eyes. “Damn,” he said. “Where did you find this one? I like her already.”

  “Found her in time to save her from this jerk,” Alex replied with a cocky-as-hell grin.

  Lava flooded my system, and I got right into his god-like face. “You saved me?” My laughter echoed off the brick walls. “Look, I know you have this whole knight in shining armor fantasy going in your head, but I’m not a damsel in distress, and I sure as hell don’t dig your Prince Charmin’ shit.”

  “I take it back,” Chocolate-eyes said. “I don’t like her. I fucking love her.” He flashed me a brilliant smile. “I’m Jesse, and this,” he pointed at hunter-heroic, “is my brother, Alex.”

  “Amanda,” I muttered, still not sure why I hadn’t run yet.

  Jesse put an arm around me as if we were old hunting buddies. “How about I buy you a drink, and you keep dissing my brother?”

  Alex shook his head. “I bet she’s got somewhere to be.”

  I should have walked away. I should have told him his brother was right, but I didn’t. Challenging my inner bitch never ended well. “Actually.” I faced the jerk with the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. “She would be delighted to join you.”

  “Awesome,” Jesse said, directing me out of the alley.

  Not sure if it was his open-minded baby-blue aura, the fact that he liked me for being a bitch to his brother, or the silver ankh pendant hanging around his neck, but I kinda liked this dude.

  ****

  Sirens blare like hellhounds, and I push the memory away. Jumping to my feet, I grab Alex by the shirt. “We gotta go.”

  He didn’t move. “He killed her,” he says, not taking his eyes off the silver necklace that swings between his thumb and index finger. “Jesse killed her.”

  “You don’t know that,” I say softly as the shrill sound grows louder.

  Empty eyed, he looks up. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  Chapter 19

  Paramedics, officers, and crime scene investigators—the cozy Victorian crawls with people. “Man, this shit is getting weirder by the second. First the abductions, and now this.” Even without looking, I know the rookie cop behind me is pointing to the smeared voodoo symbols. “Ever thought we might be dealing with a satanic cult?”

  “Dude, didn’t you pay attention at our last seminar? Satanic killer cults don’t exist,” his partner explains proudly.

  “Yeah, well, how about you tell that to the woman downstairs whose brain is sprinkling the walls?”

  Officer Know-It-All sighs. “Killer cults are a myth. Satanic serial killers, however, are very real.” A hundred bucks says he got that from a Criminal Minds episode.

  “Don’t know, man,” the other one whispers. “Call me crazy, but I doubt it’s a coincidence that X-Files over there found the body.”

  X-Files, or in other words, Alex, stands across the room next to Detective Good-Looking. “It’s too late to run,” he says. “Don’t worry, I got this covered,” he assures me. Guess what? While I’m stuck under the scrutiny of a grumpy detective who watches too many Homicide Hunter episodes, Alex is having a nice little chat with the dude’s partner. Way to go, Alex.

  “Miss Bishop, are you still with me?” Intense charcoal eyes stare at me.

  Shifting my attention from the two rookie cops behind me to the older detective in front of me, I let out a frustrated breath. “I’m right here.”

  “Good.” His raspy voice has the same effect as fingernails on a chalkboard. “Then please answer my question.”

  Question. Right. What was it again? Have you ever seen a unicorn? No. Would you date Bart Simpson? No. Ah, now I know. It’s the same damn question he’s asked me about a million times. “No,” I say, moaning. “There was nothing out of the ordinary. Hedwig didn’t open the door, and when we walked in to check on her, we found this.” I point to the fucked up room.

  Alex and I had agreed to stick to the initial story, and while we had most officers convinced we’d walked into this mess for no other reason than being responsible citizens who cared for their elders, the aura of Detective Grumpy told me he didn’t buy the story.

  “Right,” he muttered. “Tell me again how you know Hedwig Beauchamp?”

  I saw the protective shield around her house and knew she was a witch.

  I let my head fall against the back of the soft flowered sofa. “She is—” Clearing my throat, I correct my mistake. “She was a friend of my grandmother’s.”

  Tapping his thick fingers against Hedwig’s ebony table, he arches a brow. “I see. And you’re grandmother’s name was,” he stares at the notebook in his lap, “Caroline Bishop?”

  “Yes.”

  Shifting to the edge of his armchair, he pulls one side of his mouth up. “How come Hedwig never mentioned her?”

  Feeling like the main suspect in a stupid crime show, I realize two things: A) Detective Grumpy is like a pit bull, and B) he takes this case personally because he probably knew Hedwig. Awesome. Next time Alex asks me to trust him, I’ll run.

  “They hadn’t seen each other in ages, but since I was in town, I thought I would drop by to tell her Grams died four years ago,” I explain.

  “Hmm,” he mumbles, jotting down each and every word. “One more question, Miss Bishop.”

  That’s what he said two hours ago.

  “Why did you go into the basement? You could have waited for the cops.”

  Oh, you know, the spirit of the little girl who led me down the stairs probably figured I was more capable of solving this crime than you.

  Rubbing my temples, I swallow the annoyance that’s pricking at me. “The basement door was ajar, and since my friend over there,” I point to Alex who’s now looking at me, “is an FBI agent, I asked him to check it out.”

  “And that’s when you fell into her blood?”

  Oh, for the love of God. Unable to hold back my anger, I jump up. “No! I shot her and thought it would be fun to wear her blood as a trophy. Isn’t that what you want to hear? Seriously, this is ridiculous. The whole interview is a waste of time. I mean, shouldn’t you be out there looking for her killer?”

  A deadly silence creeps over the room. Everyone freezes, and all eyes are on me. It only takes a second until Alex is next to me. A calming hand on my shoulder, he faces Detective Grumpy. “Is everything, okay?”

  “No,” I say, pointing to the d-bag. “I’ve answered all his goddamn questions, and he still thinks I’m some kind of Natural Born Killer.”

  Alex frowns. “Calm down, Manda. The man’s just doing his job.”

  His job? He’s supposed to be out there looking for a freaking serial killer and a bunch of abducted kids. “I doubt that.”

  Detective Grumpy rises from the armchair, pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket, and wipes his mouth. “You know the drill, Agent Remington. I have to ask these questions.”

  “I know,” Alex says, hands in his pockets. But when his eyes find mine, he understands if he doesn’t get this douche off my back, I’ll lose it, and that could get us into real trouble. Stepping toward the man, he points to the door. “Can I talk to you, Detective Titcher?”

  The muddy brown aura around the guy tells me he’d rather eat the glass shards on the floor than leave me without supervision.

  “In private,” Alex adds when he senses his hesitation.

  Detective Good-looking steps between d-bag and me. “It’s all right, Rick. I’ve got this.”

  A frown on his face, Titcher follows Alex to the front door, leaving me with his partne
r. “I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Bishop.” Now that’s more like it. His words are sincere, his aura says compassionate, and his looks tell me he’s the kinda cop who uses his handcuffs in his free time. Bring it on, baby.

  I shrug. “Thanks, but I didn’t know her that well.”

  “Still. It’s hard to stumble—” He cuts himself off and glares at my blood-soaked clothes. “I mean…it must be terrifying to walk into such a horrific scene.”

  He has no idea how horrific that scene truly was. Between finding Hedwig and snapping Alex out of his trance-like state, we had two minutes until the cops showed, and while Alex hid Jesse’s pendant, I’d wiped off the message on the wall. Or at least I tried to make it un-readable.

  “I’ve seen worse,” I whisper, thinking of Isobelle. The second he squints, I realize my mistake and mutter a lame excuse. “On TV.”

  “I understand.” Sitting on the sofa, he pats the empty spot next to him. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

  Glaring at him, I shake my head. “Thanks, but your partner kept me sitting long enough.”

  A faint smile on his lips, his gaze drifts to the door. “He’s—”

  “A douchebag?”

  “I was gonna say old-school, but I guess douchebag does the job.”

  I run a hand over my tired face and find myself smiling at the handsome detective with the pale gray eyes. “Did he know Hedwig?”

  He nods. “They go way back. He was the leading detective on Scarlet’s case.”

  “Scarlet?” My eyes go wide with curiosity. Without wanting to, I take a seat next to him.

  “Scarlet Griffin. She was the grandchild of Hedwig’s ex-husband, Walter,” he explains, a wave of emotions flickering across his eyes. “Real sad story. Kid drowned in Lake Isabella, and her father, John, vanished the same day. Guess it was too much for Hedwig and Walter’s relationship. They got a divorce and from what I heard, never spoke again.” He averts his gaze. “It’s what losing a kid does. Fucks up the best of us.”

  My head reels. Scarlet was Hedwig’s step-grandchild? What the fuck is going on here? “And why was there an investigation?” I ask, knowing there’s more to the story than a missing person’s case and a drowned child.