by D. G. Swank
“No.”
Detective Powell got out of her car and joined us in the patch of grass in front of the house. “Where’s Rhys?”
“She’s really upset,” I said. “So she went inside already.”
The detective nodded. “I understand. Let’s get this taken care of and leave her to her grief.”
Rhys had left the door open, so we went inside and found her curled up on the sofa, her feet tucked to one side. She was staring at the empty TV screen.
“Do you want me to get you a cup of tea, Rhys?” I asked, desperate to make this better for her, which was ridiculous. The only thing that would make it better was time…and, as much as I hated to think about it, space from me.
She turned to me with a cold stare. “I think you’ve done enough.”
My stomach clenched, and Jack wrapped an arm around my shoulders and said, “I’d like a glass of water.” He turned to the detective. “Detective Powell? Water? Hot tea?”
She glanced from me to Rhys and back again with her sharp detective’s eyes, and Lord only knew what she was thinking. “Water would be great.”
I nodded and went into Rhys’s small kitchen, grateful for the excuse to leave the room, which Jack had no doubt guessed. I’d been here more times than I could count, and I knew where to find everything, including Rhys’s favorite tea, her go-to comfort drink. She’d claimed not to want any, but I needed to do something, so I filled her kettle, scooped the loose tea leaves into a small tea strainer, and then found her favorite mug—a pale blue china cup with pink flowers that her grandmother had brought to her after a trip to England. While I waited for the water to boil, I filled two glasses with ice and water.
The apartment was small, so I could easily hear the conversation between Rhys and Detective Powell. How long had she known Abby? Had she been depressed or under a lot of pressure in her grad program? When had Rhys realized something was wrong?
Rhys broke down several times, but she had finished her statement by the time I entered the living room with the two waters and a cup of tea—milk and sugar already added, just how she liked it.
Rhys gave me a cold stare. “I told you I didn’t want tea.”
I sucked in a breath. In the whole time I’d known her, she’d never been so hateful.
Jack, who was sitting next to her on the sofa, put a hand on her knee. “Piper’s just trying to comfort you.”
Rhys kept her cold, hard stare trained on my face. “It’s pointless, especially since this is her fault.”
Jack sat up slightly, clearly caught off guard, but Detective Powell latched on to that like a dog with a bone.
“What makes you say that?” she asked in a nonchalant tone. I wondered how good of a detective she actually was because it was obvious she was barely suppressing her interest.
“One of her demons did this,” Rhys snapped, turning her attention to the detective. “But we can’t talk about demons, can we? Because that just makes us sound crazy.”
I shot a nervous glance to Jack, who wore the perfect mask of compassion and concern for his distraught friend.
“Demons,” Detective Powell said. “I’ve heard rumbling about demons and monsters since the Lost Colony reappeared. Even Piper seems to have a new profession because of it.” Her eyes narrowed as she turned her attention to me. “A very lucrative one from what I hear.”
Jack sat up straighter, his body tense. He was on the defensive to protect me. “While Piper’s charging for her services now, she spent the first six months of her business doing her work pro bono.”
“But I hear she still got paid,” the detective said. “She let her clients tip her generously. And I hear she now charges one hundred dollars for a visit and still takes tips.”
I hadn’t wanted to charge at all, but Hudson had insisted. He said I was providing a service and I deserved compensation. It still felt wrong, but my upcoming tax bill on the house convinced me in the end.
This wasn’t good. I’d been dropped as a suspect from Gill’s case, but she’d clearly still kept tabs on me. Maybe she wasn’t so sympathetic after all.
The detective leaned forward, catching Rhys’s gaze. “Am I correct?”
Rhys glared back at her. “Don’t pretend to be my friend when we both know that you’d sell your mother down the river for a really great case.”
Detective Powell gasped.
“Don’t worry,” Rhys said. “I’m gonna give you one.” She gave me a dismissive glance, then turned back to the detective. “Piper thought she was a fake up until, like, two weeks ago, when she started actually seeing ghosts. Turns out she’s also a demon slayer. Apparently it’s in her family line. She’s killed three of them, but apparently there’s more out there and one of them ordered Abby to kill herself so she could give Piper some bullshit warning.” Rhys’s eyes narrowed. “Does that about cover it, Piper?”
The detective stared at her, stunned. Apparently this wasn’t the confession she’d been expecting.
My blood turned to sludge, not because she was telling the police detective everything, but because of the hate in Rhys’s eyes.
“Rhys,” Jack said in a gentle tone. “This has been a shock. Maybe you should get some rest.”
“Rest?” Rhys asked. “Do you think a nap is going to fix this?” She stood, ignoring him when he called her name again. “Do you have any more questions for me, Detective?” she asked.
A battle was waging across the detective’s face, but then she calmly closed her notebook. “No. I think that covers everything. Thank you for speaking to me when you’re clearly so distraught.”
“Then I’m going to take that nap. Y’all can let yourselves out.”
“Rhys,” I said, my heart in my throat. “Let me stay with you.”
Her eyes were full of anger. “Do you want to help me, Piper?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then get the hell out.”
Tears flooded my eyes. “Rhys.”
She stormed past us and headed to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
We all got to our feet, and I stared up at Jack, completely clueless about what to do.
Sympathy filled his eyes and he pulled me into a hug, tucking my head under his chin as he held me close. “She just needs time, Piper.”
But I wasn’t sure all the time in the world would make a difference.
“I’d like to talk to the two of you,” the detective said, “but since Ms. Sanders has asked us to leave, perhaps we should talk outside.”
I hated to leave her like this, but it was obvious she blamed me for Abby’s death—a blame I fully accepted. Sure, I hadn’t killed Abby, but my friendship with Rhys had. The best thing I could do right now was leave.
We walked outside, and I locked the door behind us with the key on my key ring.
“You have a key to her apartment,” Detective Powell said.
“Nothing slips past you, does it?” I snipped, immediately sorry. She was about to grill me about Rhys’s statement, whether she bought the part about the demons or not.
The bodies of the three Guardians who’d been slain by demons had been found under Helen’s Bridge two weeks ago. While the official statement was that wild animals had attacked the three men, just like they’d attacked Gill, I knew the police had to be suspicious. I’d been a suspect in Gill’s murder. It wouldn’t be a stretch for the police to question me about the other deaths.
No one was around, so Detective Powell headed for the shade of a large tree in the house’s front yard and turned to face us.
Jack clasped my hand in his, and the detective tracked that too. I considered jerking my hand away, but the damage had already been done and there was no denying I found comfort in Jack’s touch.
“Are you two dating?” she asked, her attention now on Jack.
“No,” he said, still holding my hand. “Piper and I are friends and partners.”
“Not that that’s any of your business,” I snapped.
She ignored me and kept her attention on Jack. “Partners in what?”
“Hunting demons,” he said without hesitation.
I turned to face him, about to ask him if he’d lost his mind, but the calm, self-assured expression on his face stopped me.
“Demons?” she asked with plenty of skepticism. “You all really believe that?”
“Yes,” he said, “demons.”
An array of emotions played over her face and some of her smugness faded.
“It’s true that plenty of people see the supernatural in all kinds of things that have a rational explanation,” Jack said in an insistent tone, “but what if some of them are right? How do you explain the Lost Colony’s reappearance? Unexplained phenomena have increased at an alarming rate over the last month, and you know it. We all do.”
She remained silent.
“After Gill Gillespie’s death—when your colleague brought Piper in for questioning—you were quick to dismiss Piper as a suspect.” Jack paused, giving her a chance to respond, but she remained stone-faced. “I know she had an alibi, and homicide was ruled out. But you know that wasn’t an animal that killed Gill. Don’t you? Surely you must know, on some level, that we’re really working with the paranormal.”
She still didn’t respond.
“And then I asked you about the students in Durham,” he continued. “Haven’t you made the possible connection to Lars Benson yet?”
She looked even more grim.
“You know that Piper and I have a connection to the paranormal. You recognized it back when Gill Gillespie died. Why are you denying it now?”
“The truth?’ she asked. “I was hoping that you two were responsible for some of the crazy stuff going on over the past few weeks and somehow I’d catch you in a slip-up.”
Fear constricted my chest, making it difficult to breathe, but Jack’s hand tightened around mine, grounding me. Somehow he was completely unfazed.
“Maybe that’s what you told yourself at the time,” Jack said, “but I think deep down you know something is going on and you want to know what. You want to protect the community.”
She made a scoffing noise, but it wouldn’t have earned her any acting awards. Jack was a good study of people, and he was obviously right to some degree.
“How does your own attack fit into this?” she asked him.
Understanding filled his eyes. “If you know about my attack, then you know it’s consistent with Gill Gillespie’s death, as well as with the condition of the three bodies found on Beaucatcher Mountain. If Piper had done that to me, why would I be working with her now?”
Indecision covered her face, and I could see that part of her believed it could be true, but the rational part of her was clearly fighting it.
“What if we could prove it to you?” Jack asked.
“Jack!” I protested, jerking my hand to free it from his hold, but he held on tight.
“How would you prove it?” she asked.
“Piper can see ghosts and demons. What if she takes you to her next ghost appointment?”
“Jack,” I said in a stern tone. “You have no right to offer that.”
He glanced down at me. “We need her, Piper. We’re going to keep running into the Asheville Police, and it’s not a bad idea for us to have someone who believes us.”
“First of all,” the detective said, “I think you far overestimate my influence on the force. I only made detective about six months ago. I’m a rookie. Low on the totem pole.”
Jack gave her a soft smile. “Someone is better than no one.”
“Second,” she continued, ignoring his statement. “You’re presuming that I want to see a ghost.”
“I think you do,” he said calmly, still holding her attention.
She took a breath and stared at the door to Rhys’s apartment for a second before shifting her gaze back to me. “Let’s say I buy the whole supernatural bit. Help me understand how her girlfriend plays into this.”
“Two weeks ago, a few spirits appeared to Piper with warnings,” Jack said. “They were different than the other ghosts she sees.”
“Jack,” I growled. “Enough.”
“Why the big secret?” the detective asked with barely concealed hostility.
I held my ground. “While Jack obviously thinks he can persuade you to suspend your disbelief, I have my doubts. And I can’t afford the distraction. Not with everything else going on right now.”
“Did you kill Gill Gillespie?” she asked with an expressionless face. Maybe she wasn’t such a horrible actress after all. Still, it was a wasted effort. I knew exactly what she was thinking.
“No. You know I didn’t. As you are fully aware, I had an alibi, and I thought it was already established that Gill’s death wasn’t a homicide. Your report said that Gill was murdered by an animal. Are you trying to say you didn’t actually believe what you wrote?”
“I know what I wrote,” she said tightly. “But animals don’t murder people.”
“No,” I agreed, “but demons do.” Jack had opened this door, so I might as well walk through it. “The demon that killed Gill was the same one that attacked Jack. He exorcised it from a parishioner’s house, but the demon waited for him outside and nearly killed him. I first encountered Valvad in the house I was hired to clear the night of Gill’s murder, only I didn’t realize it was a real demon. I thought Gill was trying to scare me away. It asked if I was the demon slayer, and I told it that it had the wrong person. It was looking for Gill.” Indecision wavered on her face, so I pressed on. “The demons think there’s someone out here who’s intent on killing them. Valvad killed Gill out of self-preservation.”
“Is someone intent on killing them?”
I gave her a sardonic smile. “Intent and fate are two very different things.”
“Piper killed Valvad and another demon two weeks ago,” Jack said. “On Beaucatcher Mountain. But the demons killed the three men under the bridge first.”
“How do I know you’re not concocting this story to try to absolve yourself from those men’s deaths?” Even as she asked the question, I knew she’d just throw out my answer—she’d likely do anything to keep from accepting that demons were wandering around. I understood. I hadn’t wanted to believe it either.
“The news said those three men were killed by the same animal that killed Gill. If I killed them, why would we even bring them up?”
“Olivia,” Jack said in that soft tone he used to comfort people. “Let Piper introduce you to a ghost. Come to her next ghost appointment—the O’Keefes, right?” he said, tossing me a brief glance. “Come see for yourself. What do you have to lose?”
“So you can try to convince me that some creaks and whispers in an old house are a ghost?” she asked in a snide tone. “Do you really think I’m that gullible?”
“No,” Jack said. “I expect you to believe your own eyes and ears. If you touch Piper, you can see what she sees. You can even touch the ghost.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What kind of trick is this?”
“No trick,” Jack said. “What do you have to lose?”
She gave us a hard stare and then threw up her hands. “Fine. I’ll do it. But if I think you’re trying to trick me, I’ll arrest you both for fraud.”
She was acting like we’d twisted her arm, but there wasn’t just fear in her eyes—there was also excitement. Olivia Powell wanted to be a believer. She only needed the proof. And I was expected to deliver.
Chapter 10
“You should have talked it over with me first, Jack,” I said as he walked me to my car. “You had no right to make that offer. What happens if there’s no ghost in the O’Keefe house? I had a client last week who didn’t have one.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said.
This was a terrible idea, but there was no putting the horse back in the barn now. “You’re buying my lunch,” I grumbled. “I’m starving.” But then I shot a glance at Rhys’s apartment
door and my anger faded to anxiety. “She hates me now.”
Jack’s eyes darted to the door and back, and he offered me an encouraging smile. “No. She’s upset and she said things she didn’t mean.”
“I’m not so sure, but I do know she shouldn’t be alone.” I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and pulled up my text app. “I’m going to ask one of her friends to come check on her.”
“That’s a good idea,” Jack said.
I texted one of her friends from her graduate program, explaining the situation, and she immediately agreed to come by.
Jack looked as relieved as I felt. “Now that Rhys is somewhat taken care of, let’s get something to eat.”
“Yeah.” And yet my appetite had suddenly vanished.
He pulled me into a hug. “She’ll forgive you.”
I wasn’t so sure, but I nodded against his chest and squeezed him, thankful I had him in my life. “Thanks for being here, Jack.”
He pulled back and grinned at me. “I told you I’m here for the long haul. Now let’s go eat. Your next appointment is in West Asheville. Max has been raving about some new restaurant off Haywood. We could try it.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Sounds good.”
I followed him to the restaurant, feeling lucky to find a parking space that wasn’t a block away and to get a table right away. After we ordered, Jack leaned his forearms on the table and lowered his voice. “Like I told you, I did some research last night. The bad news is that I couldn’t find anything about the Great One. Too many results came up. I spent a good hour sorting through them, but there was nothing of use.”
“Okay,” I said, not surprised. He was right. The Great One was too vague. It was a name anyone with a god complex might call themselves.
“The Nunnehi were a different matter.”
I sat upright. “And?”
“They are from the Cherokee belief system.”
“Native American? Are they demons?”
“No, actually kind of the opposite.”
“Angels?”
He made a face. “Not exactly. More like they watch and occasionally guide.”
“Isn’t that what angels do?”
