by Jasmine Walt
“Yes,” she says with a sigh. “The previous renters left it in bad shape.”
“Why did you go to it that night?”
“Someone was interested in seeing it. They called and requested a showing in the morning. I went to open up the windows and air it out.”
“Do you have the name of the person who wanted to see it?”
“I should, somewhere. But I can’t remember. That whole night…it’s just a blur.”
“Do you remember talking with me?”
She looks a little startled. “We spoke before?”
“Yes, that night.”
“I don’t remember you, and I would. You have pretty green eyes like my daughter.”
“You asked for me. By name.”
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. Everything from that night is blurry.”
“You spent the next two days in the hospital, correct?”
“Yes. I had a terrible headache and was just so out of it. I hardly remember anything. I don’t even remember going to the house. All I remember is what the police told me after.”
“Did the doctors find out what was wrong?”
“No. They think it might have been from stress.”
“And you’re better now?”
“I was better the next day. Weirdest thing.”
Yeah. That is weird. Too weird.
“What about your call log? Is their number still there?”
“Oh, probably. I didn’t even think about it. After I missed their appointment and they didn’t contact me back, I assumed they weren’t interested. Especially if they heard about the blood.”
She gets up, cats following her, and returns with her phone. She scrolls through her calls and holds the phone out for me to see. “That’s the number. See how late they called? Nine p.m.! Hardly gave me any time to get the place checked on, though it’s a good thing I went over, right?”
“Right.” I copy down the number, thinking the late call was done on purpose, knowing Mrs. Green would have to go over there that night and discover the blood. “Thank you, Mrs. Green. I’ll be in touch if we find anything further on your case.”
Once I’m back in my car, I pull up a simple Google search and enter the number I got from Mrs. Green’s phone. The service in the area sucks, and it takes a few seconds for my results to load.
“Is that right?” I say out loud, looking at the top hit. I check the number just to be sure I didn’t make a typo.
I didn’t.
Whoever called Mrs. Green to set up what had to be a bogus appointment was calling from Silver Living. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. Gemma works at Silver Living, but this happened before I met her. And there are countless others who could have placed the call, from patients to doctors to the slew of other people who work at a nursing home. Just because Gemma works at Silver Living doesn’t mean she’s behind this.
But she very well could be.
“Hello, Detective,” Lyra says when I step into the shop. “Are you here to shop?”
“Yes, just shopping today,” I assure her, and go right for the crystal necklaces. “This is all I need.”
“They’re pretty, aren’t they?” She wraps one in tissue paper.
“Very.” I get my credit card from my wallet. Lyra wraps up the other necklace and rings me up.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Actually, yes.” I hand her my credit card. “I think you know my friend Gemma, right?”
“I do! She’s been coming in here for years.”
“Who is the older lady who came in here with her the other day? We’re supposed to all get together this weekend and I forgot her name.”
“That’s Marissa.”
“Has she been coming in here for years too?”
“Only when she’s desperate.”
“What do you mean?”
Lyra makes a face. “I follow the Three-Fold Law—you know, where what you put out into the universe comes back to you and it should never harm anyone—and I believe anyone who practices should. Marissa…she’s more of a believer in personal gain. I’ve made my opinions known and have refused to sell her ingredients if I know the spell will do harm.”
“Do you know how she and Gemma got to know each other?”
“Through work, I think.”
“Work? Marissa’s a nurse too?”
“Goodness, no.” Lyra raises her eyebrows. “She lacks the compassion for that. I want to say she handles insurance. She probably enjoys denying people coverage.”
“Thanks, Lyra. It’s nice to know who to watch out for.”
“Anytime, darling. I can sense raw power in you. It needs to be nurtured in the right direction.”
I turn to leave, then stop and go back to the counter. “I believe the person who killed Josh might go after another who shares his beliefs. Just to be safe, I’m going to get an officer to keep watch over you.”
Lyra’s hand flies to her chest. “Am I in danger now?”
“I don’t believe so, but I’ll stay until the officer arrives.”
“Thank you, Detective. I knew there was something special about you the moment you walked through the door.”
I step out front to call the station. Lyra could very well be a target, and she has a wealth of information about her Wiccan and Pagan customers. It could be catastrophic if the killer got his hands on her.
23
I sit at my desk, staring at a calendar. The more I look into it, the more it adds up. And the more it adds up, the more I know Gemma was involved.
And the stupider I feel.
Someone from Silver Living called Mrs. Green to come out and look at that house late at night. The house was set up to look like a mass murder had gone on, and I was likely to be called out to investigate it. Someone did something to Mrs. Green, trying to make her forget who she spoke with as well as get her to rattle me.
And the body stolen from the morgue? Guess where he spent his final days on hospice care. Silver Living. The night the fake baseball bat was planted was the night the hex bag was stuck to my car to attract the ghouls. I saw Marissa and Gemma the next morning, and they both looked shocked to see me.
I never told Gemma where I live, I’m sure of it. Yet she knew my house is old and big. I lean back, pulling on a strand of hair. The Memorial Day flyer! She saw it in my car and knew it was for my neighbor’s party. That’s how she figured out where I live and what my house looks like…and how Marissa was able to find it and snoop around…which she did while Gemma and I were out together. Gemma was on her phone constantly, probably talking to Marissa.
And that day I chased down the robber who stole Gemma’s purse. She saw me use my powers. She had to, and she’s known all along who I am. I clench my jaw, so angry at myself for not seeing right through this shit. Was I that desperate for a friend?
There’s only one way to know for sure. I grab my purse and storm out of the office to go to Gemma’s house. Fuming, I get into my car and try to calm myself down. I don’t want my hands catching fire and burning my car up. And maybe there’s an explanation for all this.
“Stop being stupid,” I tell myself, pissed there’s a small part of me that wants this to not be true. Gemma used me, and if she had anything to do with the ghouls…My fingers start to smoke.
Calm down…calm down…calm down. I inhale, hold it, and let it out. It does little to ease my anger. Jacques got hurt, really hurt, from the ghoul attack. I look up Gemma’s address, follow the GPS’s directions, and get to Gemma’s little house in record time. Her car is parked in the driveway.
Squeezing my fists closed, I get out, go up to the front door, and ring the doorbell. She doesn’t answer. If she suspects I know, she’s not going to answer. I ring it again and peer through the window, trying to catch a glimpse of her.
Instead, I see a knocked-over lamp and shattered glass. Oh. Shit.
I go to the front door and try the knob. It’s unlocked. I step in and see clea
r signs of a struggle.
“Gemma!” I shout, rushing through the house. The back door is wide open, and little drops of blood trail down the wooden deck. Cigarette butts litter the stone path going from the deck to the garden, and I know Gemma doesn’t smoke.
“Shit.” I push my hair back and get my phone, dialing Gemma’s number. I might be pissed at her, but I sure as hell don’t want her to become the latest victim in my investigation.
Her phone rings inside the house.
I rush back in, finding it on the counter. There’s one other missed call, and it’s from Marissa. From five hours ago.
If Gemma is alive, she’s living on borrowed time.
The killer must have gone into a rage of sorts after Anna got away and went for the next person on his list. He could have taken her right after he left the minimart. If that’s the case, she’s probably dead already.
I hold my phone in front of me, ready to call this in and get every available cop in the city to try and find her so we can catch this killer, but I hesitate. Calling this in will take time. Time we don’t have. We’re not any closer to finding the killer.
But there might be another way.
There is a location spell in the book, and if I can get it to work, I’ll know exactly where Gemma is. But if I can’t get it to work…I’m wasting time. Biting my lip, I make up my mind. I rush into Gemma’s room, looking around for her hairbrush. I find it on her bed. Taking it, I rush out to my car and fire up the engine.
Whipping out my phone, I order my team to put out an APB for Gemma as I speed all the way home. The moment I pull into the driveway, I spring out of the car and run into the house to grab the grimoire. I don’t remember the specifics, but I do know Jac said this was a fairly easy spell as long as the caster can channel the energy correctly.
But I don’t have a map.
Mumbling obscenities to myself, I print out a map of the city spanning four pages, and tape them together. Using one of the crystal necklaces I got from Lyra’s today, I hold it in one hand and Gemma’s hairbrush in the other.
I close my eyes, lifting the necklace off the paper until the tip is barely brushing against the surface.
“Where are you, Gemma?” I whisper, and imagine energy coming in, wrapping around her brush, and going to the crystal. The chair starts to move, and the crystal goes to the right side of my paper like it’s being pulled by a magnet.
I print out a bigger section of just that area, hoping to narrow down the location further. It worked. I think.
At least now I have an address.
24
I park a block away from the address I got from the location spell. The crystal landed on an old warehouse that sits empty for most of the year, opening in the fall to sell Halloween props and costumes before abruptly closing and storing their inventory overnight to sell again the next year.
The building is in shambles but has been brought up to code while keeping the creepy feel. The owner says it helps bring in customers, and he must do pretty well considering that’s his only business. The place is the perfect backdrop for an episode of Supernatural, and it’s almost annoying how stereotypical the killer is.
The building has been a subject of controversy among this neighborhood for the last few years. It’s an obvious eye sore, and a rich developer has been trying to buy out the land from the storeowner. They’ve gone back and forth and even landed in court. I never paid much attention to the case, but it looks like they’re at blows again.
There’s a For Sale sign out front, with a public showing of the property in two days. People will pass through here…and discover a body.
My heart races so fast I can hear each and every beat resounding through my head. I flatten my hands on my jeans, wiping them dry before pulling my gun from its holster. Waiting until a car drives by, I get out of my car and make a dash across the street, slipping behind the ivy-covered chain link fence and out of sight from passersby.
Everything inside me tells me this is wrong. I should have called this in. I shouldn’t be going into an unknown building without backup. I’m going against every fiber of my good-cop being, but what am I supposed to do? Call this in and say a magic crystal landed here on a map? If I said I’m here on a hunch and it turns out to be nothing, I’ll have wasted valuable time and resources. I’m not here on a hunch. I’m here because of magic, and there’s a good chance I’m walking into nothing.
Silently, I move through brambles and overgrown grass, inching closer and closer to the building. It’s quiet, though it’s not like I expected to hear Gemma’s screams of horror and protest.
The smell of cigarettes fills the air. I pick up the pace and move around to the back of the building. Bright sunlight streams down on me and I squint, looking at the building. The entire thing is dirty and dusty, and looks like no one has stepped foot in it since last Halloween.
Then I see the marks on the cement path by one of the doors. The door has been pushed open and closed several times, scraping clean paths in the dust on the cement. It could be the killer.
Heart hammering even faster now, I creep forward and see what looks like smeared blood on the doorframe. It’s been wiped away, leaving behind a rust-colored stain. It’s easy to overlook, but I’ve seen it enough to know exactly what it is.
Looking around, I pull my phone from my pocket and call the station, giving my location and requesting backup. Protocol tells me to wait until they arrive, but my instincts scream that I don’t have much time, and if I don’t go in now, Gemma might not make it. I go to the door, finger poised over the trigger of my gun, and listen for a moment. Hearing nothing, I push the door open, immediately going on the defense. Nothing jumps out at me and attacks.
Waiting a beat, I close the door behind me so nothing looks out of place, and slink further into the building, going through the front of the store. The shelves are set up, and a few leftover Halloween decorations remain, casting eerie shadows throughout the building.
A set of swinging double doors leads to the storage room, which is filled with boxed-up decorations and costumes. Through there, a single metal door opens into the rest of the warehouse, which hasn’t been touched since its days as a women’s hosiery manufacturer. It’s dark and dank, full of halls and rooms that make it like a fucking maze.
Voices float down the hall, and I stop, ducking into a doorway, and raise my gun. But the voices don’t grow louder. Whoever is talking isn’t moving. I suck in a breath and turn my head to listen. The voices are muffled and I can’t make out the words.
Moving away from the door, I start down the hall again, following the voices. They echo, making it harder to understand. Then they suddenly stop talking, and organ music fills the air.
“What the fuck?” I mouth to myself. With practiced patience, I stay calm and continue down the hall, keeping constant vigilance. The music gets louder, and the tune is familiar but I can’t place it.
The hall comes to a T, and I pause, tipping my head to figure out what direction the music is coming from. The sound echoes throughout the building, making it hard to pinpoint.
I close my eyes, listening. Right when I think I determined where the music is coming from, it stops. The feeling of being watched hits me hard, making my skin crawl.
A chorus of voices breaks out, carrying the same tune as the organ, and it hits me. I know why it’s familiar. It’s a hymn commonly sung in church.
“Shit.” I run down the hall, and the music gets louder. Our killer thinks he’s ridding the world of sinners. If he’s playing prerecorded church services, Gemma might still be alive.
The hall stops at another set of double doors, but unlike the others, these are locked. I step back and look at the frame. Like the rest of this section of the building, it’s weak and crumbling. I’ll have better luck going for the hinges than for the lock.
Mustering all the strength I have, I kick the door, hearing the frame crack little by little each time. It weakens, hanging unevenly from the hin
ges. I step back and use my shoulder to hit the doors hard in the center. They cave in, and I tumble down, getting splinters in my hand on the way.
Ignoring the pain, I push up onto my feet, gun raised. I’m in a processing part of the warehouse, and the old machinery has been left untouched, collecting dust and cluttering this place. The windows have been covered, and I blink rapidly, trying to focus my vision.
A red light on a CD player glows from the back of the room, and next to it, tied up on one of the machines, is Gemma. She’s gagged but tries to scream when she sees me. Blood drips down her chest, and the start of a pentagram is smeared on the wall behind her.
Oh shit. I interrupted the killer.
Breath leaving my lungs in a rush, I hold out my gun and whirl around. The fucker could be anywhere, hiding behind a machine or lurking in the shadows. Fuck! I need to get Gemma. She’s losing a lot of blood and won’t last much longer.
I fight against the urge to blindly run to her, and force myself to take careful, calculated steps, looking ahead of where I’m going. I don’t see the murderer, but that doesn’t mean he’s not in here.
A preacher’s voice booms from the CD player, starting a sermon about cleansing the earth of the devil’s poison. What a fucking lunatic. I get to Gemma, and she starts thrashing against her restraints, tears rolling down her face.
I turn around again, taking one final look for the killer before lowering my gun. I keep it in my right hand and pull the gag from Gemma’s mouth.
“Ace,” she sobs.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell her, forgetting I’m pissed at her and trying to untie the rope around one of her wrists. I can’t get it one-handed, but I don’t want to set my gun down. I fumble with it for another few seconds, hands shaking with frustration.
I don’t have time to waste. I have to untie her. The more time I waste, the less likely we are to get out of here alive. Setting the gun down on the machine next to her, I’m able to undo the knot on her left hand.
“Ace!” she screams as I reach for her other hand. I don’t get a chance to find out what’s happening. Something hits me on the back of the head.
