by Cassi Carver
Kara finished rinsing the plate, set it in the rack and turned to Abbey. “What does that mean, ‘you were’?”
Abbey and Jaxon exchanged a glance. It made Kara feel like her two best friends were conspiring against her. Finally, Abbey smiled and shook her head. “It doesn’t mean anything. I was agreeing with you.”
“I know you. You were hinting again. Julian’s barely been gone two months, Abbey.”
Jaxon sighed, but Abbey held her ground. “No, sweetie, he’s been gone a lot longer than that, and you need to let him go. It’s not right that you’d rather spend your nights with cold-hearted criminals than warm-blooded men.”
“I don’t need another man in my life to be happy.”
“Well, I doubt it’s possible for you to be any less happy than you’ve been lately,” Abbey fired back.
Yes, it had been six months since Gable almost severed Julian’s head, but Kara had hoped Julian was regenerating. She’d never comprehended the bottomless chasm of real loneliness until two months ago when Gavin had told her that the regeneration had stalled and Julian was truly dead. And then, within a week, Gavin himself was gone—not dead…but he might as well have been with the way he buried what was left of their friendship without a word of explanation.
“No offense, Abbs, but you know the people who say it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all—they’re full of shit.”
Abbey set her fork down and rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers. Kara noticed her cheeks were pale—well, paler than usual. She hadn’t been the same since the attack, but this was different. She sounded tired. And not just tired of Kara’s crap.
Frowning, Kara wiped the drops of water from the counter and hung the dishtowel. Now wasn’t the time to pick a fight with Abbey if the sickness was coming back. “Are your cuts oozing? You said you’d tell me if they started to bleed again.” Jaxon pierced Kara with a warning glare. “What? I’m not allowed to bring it up? Is it our dirty little secret that Abbey’s brand hasn’t healed yet?”
Jaxon stood and carried his plate from the table, scooping the contents into the trash, then putting the ceramic dish into the sink with a bit too much force. “She doesn’t like to be reminded of it, mistress. Let her be.”
Jaxon might hold Abbey through the nights when she couldn’t sleep, then act like everything was fine during the days, but Kara wasn’t going to play that game. “I’m sorry, I’m not going to pretend she’s all right when she’s not healing.” Kara frowned, and her eyes moistened at the corners. “Lift up your shirt. Let me see.”
Abbey pulled at her loose-fitting top, absentmindedly adjusting the bandages there. “Forget the wounds, already. I proved to you tonight that I can hold my own out there. Besides, I’m not letting you make this about me. You’re the one who gets her kicks from chasing tourists after work.”
“You know I appreciate your help, Abbey, but you shouldn’t be throwing spells until you’re back to normal.”
Abbey raised her hand and slammed it down on the table. “Stop! Stop worrying about me and acting like I’m a broken porcelain doll. You’re driving me crazy.”
“But it’s getting worse every time. The brand has never come apart again so soon. I know it bothers you that we never go hunting together anymore, but damn it, you haven’t healed from when Gable attacked you.”
Abbey narrowed her eyes, looking angrier than Kara had ever seen her. “And what can you do about it?”
Kara stepped back. “I…” she began, but she didn’t know what to say.
“Exactly! My grandma has done every spell she can think of. Nothing works! And I know how this hurts you. You think of that day, think of losing Julian every time you look at me.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I know you feel bad you can’t help, and that only makes me feel worse. I don’t have the energy to feel guilty over your guilt. Please stop. No more looking for cures. No more hovering over me. Promise.” Abbey put her hands up in supplication. “Just start living your life again, and let me live mine.”
Was Kara actually making it worse for Abbey simply by wanting to make it better? “Abbey…”
Abbey rose to her feet, but her voice was low. “From this moment on, you’ll let it go, Kara. Promise.”
Kara swallowed and tried to block Jaxon out of her peripheral vision. He leaned slightly toward her with a burning gaze, as if willing her to acquiesce. She had no clue how to pretend she wasn’t responsible for the festering wound etched into her oldest friend’s belly. But she’d do it for Abbey, if that was what she really needed. “I promise,” she whispered.
Abbey smiled, walked to Kara and squeezed her tight. “Thank you. It’s going to get better, Kare-bear. You’ll see.”
“The wound?”
“Missing Julian.” She released Kara, reached one pallid arm out to retrieve her purse from the counter and shook her red hair back. “Let’s go, Jaxy. That movie isn’t going to watch itself.”
Jaxon kissed Kara on the forehead, lingering for a moment after Abbey left out the front door. “Sometimes I worry more about you than her, mistress. Gable may have broken her body, but he couldn’t break her spirit.”
Kara stood there slack-jawed long after the door closed behind him.
It was such a mess. Kara was Jaxon’s mistress, the woman he’d given his warrior’s vow to, but Abbey was his true companion. They never tried to make Kara feel like a fifth wheel, but she envied the bond that had sprung up between the two since the night Jaxon had bundled up Abbey’s limp, bloody body and flashed her to a remote location to nurse her back to health.
Now Abbey didn’t want to go anywhere without her hunky security blanket, and Kara wasn’t even allowed to worry about her. Damn it.
Not a minute after they’d gone, a fist rapped against her door. Kara frowned and went to answer it. When were these tenants going to learn to call her cell instead of popping over when they had an apartment issue?
“Yes?” she prompted, scanning the thin man up and down. He was dressed in jeans and an old SDSU sweater, and she didn’t recognize him from the building.
“Kara Reed?”
Her eyebrows crept up. She didn’t like the feel of him. “Yeah?”
He pulled a cream-colored envelope from the pocket of his hoodie and held it out to her. She took it from him and frowned at the blood-red wax seal stamped on the back.
“What’s this?”
He smiled and turned to go, saying over his shoulder, “You’ve been served.”
“Served?” What the hell? Who would want to sue her? She didn’t have two dimes to rub together.
Kara watched his retreating back until he disappeared into the elevator, then closed her front door and went to lean against the kitchen counter. She flipped the envelope over to see that the front bore her name, Kara Teresa Reed.
When she broke the seal, a feeling like slithering centipedes trailed from her fingertips up her arms. Not sensing any lethal intent, she fought the urge to slap at her skin. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the elaborate calligraphy, then the words almost jumped from the page.
Kara Teresa Reed,
You will appear before the council of the Northwestern Coven of Witches on Saturday, October 12th at six in the evening to stand trial for crimes against Abigail Sellers. In accordance with our laws, if you do not appear before sunset on this day to defend your actions, your life is forfeit.
Claudius Sellers
High Priest of the Northwestern Coven
Kara let the paper fall from her hands. “Holy shit.”
Chapter Two
After picking the paper up and reading it five more times, Kara pulled out her phone and dialed. “Hello?” she said when an old woman’s voice came on the line. “Grammy D?”
“Kara?” came the quiet reply, then the sound of a door closing.
“I’m sorry to call, but I just got the strangest letter from—” she looked at the words again, “—the Northwestern Coven of Witches. I swear,
I think it’s from Abbey’s uncle Claude. It’s a summons to stand trial for what happened to Abbey—and it says ‘Claudius Sellers, High Priest’ right at the bottom.” She couldn’t believe those words had just come out of her mouth. How was this possible?
“You haven’t said anything to her about it, have you?”
“No, she’s at the movies with Jaxon.”
“Good. I think it’s best she doesn’t know. She worries more for you than she does herself, and I’m not sure how she’d take the news.”
“Is Claudius really the high priest of his coven?” It wasn’t like she’d recognize him if she saw him on the street, but he was Abbey’s uncle. How could she not know this?
“Yes, he’s the younger brother of Abigail’s deceased father.”
“That means Abbey’s dad was…”
“The leader of the Northwest. And when Claudius is gone, Abigail will be high priestess.”
Her jaw dropped to her chest. “You’re kidding me. Abbey, a high priestess? Her dad was in charge of all the witches in Northern California?”
Grammy D let out a sigh. “No, sweetie. The northwestern hemisphere.”
“Oh. My. God! How could she keep this from me?”
“She doesn’t accept her fate. You know she’s never been one for politics. And now you’re caught in the middle.”
“But you knew about it? You didn’t call me?”
Her voice was hushed. “I’m so sorry. I just found out about the summons, but I’m forbidden to talk to you until this is resolved. I want you to know that I did everything I could these past months to satisfy the council. The ladies and I would still be trying new spells to heal Abbey if the council hadn’t issued an injunction.”
“An injunction? That sounds serious.” She had no idea the witches were that organized. She’d met several of Abbey’s witch friends over the years, but she’d never learned much about the hierarchy.
“Oh, sweetie, I won’t lie and say it isn’t. The council takes all threats against witchkind very seriously. If it had been random human violence, they would have been satisfied with the perpetrator’s death, but when they heard the Fallen were involved…” Her voice trailed away.
Kara swallowed. “What do you mean? Do they have something against the Demiáre?”
“They tolerated their presence while the treaty was being upheld, but now…”
“Now what?”
“You have to understand, with two such powerful groups trying to live outside human knowledge, it’s in our best interests to get along. But the Fallen have taken advantage of our people too many times, Kara. And when the son of an Aniliáre king mutilates the niece of the high priest of the Northwestern Coven, there’s bound to be a reckoning. I held it off as long as I could.”
“A reckoning?” Her mind couldn’t grasp what Dora was saying. “But Abbey’s my best friend.”
“Claudius cannot allow the Fallen to get away with injuring the future high priestess. He turned a blind eye when I swore to him I could heal her, but now, there’s nothing more I can do. Honor demands it.”
“But I killed Gable. Isn’t that retribution enough?”
“According to Claudius, the punishment must be dealt by the hand of the wronged.” She paused, then rushed out, “I have to go.”
“No, wait! Grammy D—” Kara began, but the call disconnected. She put the phone down, placed the decree on the counter with numb fingers and wrapped her hands around her arms. “I am so screwed.”
Not more than a minute later, the sound of Kara’s cell phone ringing brought her head up. She’d known Grammy D wouldn’t leave her hanging like this. But then she looked at the number and sighed. Crap. She couldn’t deal with Tray while the witch decree was staring back at her from the kitchen counter with its one angry red seal of an eye.
“Hi, Tray. You just missed Abbey. Again.” But this time it was true. She’d thought Abbey’s brokenhearted ex had given up weeks ago.
“Hey, Kare-bear.” His voice sounded tentative, not at all like the macho San Diego P.D. detective he was. “I was looking for you, actually. That’s why I called your phone.”
Tentative—but still a smart-ass. She was proud of herself for not mentioning that when he was looking for Abbey, he’d never had a qualm about blowing up Kara’s phone.
“How are you?” From the sound of his voice, he wasn’t good. And with Abbey unwilling to take his calls, there wasn’t a thing Kara could do for him.
He ignored her question. “I have a favor to ask. I know I haven’t been around much, and this is probably unexpected, but I was hoping I could talk to you tonight.”
“Sure. I’m listening.”
“No, I mean in person.”
Apparently the saying was true—when it rained, it poured. Kara balled her hand into a fist and silently shook it at the heavens. “I, ah…don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come over, Tray. Abbey will be home in a couple of hours.”
“I can meet you. Please.”
“Can you give me a hint as to why?”
Tray sighed. “I’d rather not. I need you to trust me. You did once.”
Yeah, before you became Scary Stalker Boyfriend, she thought. But that wasn’t fair. Tray had been through as much hell as any of them, maybe more. “Name the place.”
She jotted the address on a sticky note, then quickly changed into jeans and a black sweater and pulled her long brown hair back in a ponytail. She was in no mood for sparkly eye shadow, leather skirts and boots that could stomp someone’s skull in. The witch summons and Grammy D’s subsequent refusal to talk to Kara were skull-shattering enough.
Kara shoved the summons into her pocket and a minute later exited the lobby onto the busy street. With only a couple weeks of daylight savings time left, tourists crowded the streets. It was like a snapshot on the front of a greeting card that she could count on no matter what craziness was happening around her. Once it started getting cold, the homeless would retreat to shelters and the tourists would thin out. Still, in San Diego, even Christmas Day could be a sunny seventy-five degrees.
She skirted a family with a double stroller and two crying babies, then glanced at the sticky note, trying to visualize the restaurants in the area where Tray wanted to meet. Maybe it was a coffee house.
She looked up at the scaffolding above her before walking into a tunnel made of plywood and two-by-fours. Something was always under construction downtown. She hated the cramped walkways, but they protected people from falling debris and kept pedicabs off the footpaths.
The cranes hefting huge steel beams to the top of the latest high-rise condominiums were shut down for the night. Kara stepped to the side for a happy young couple who had their arms twined around each other’s backs. When the guy leaned in and nuzzled the girl’s neck, she giggled and reproached him, “Not out here. You’re gonna have to wait.” But then she sashayed her hip against his, probably just to drive him crazy.
Kara inwardly rolled her eyes, glad they were going in the opposite direction. With the mood she was in, she couldn’t stomach more of the sugary display.
She was no more than five steps past them when the world exploded around her.
Kara’s ears buzzed with a sound like static over a broken radio. Her neck craned at an awkward angle, and the feeling was just coming back to her extremities. Every nerve ending hurt.
She opened her eyes, but the night sky was darker than it should have been. It took her a moment to grasp that the hard, pockmarked surface under her cheek was the sidewalk. Her neck twisted sideways because there was something heavy on her head, but when she tried to lift her hand to push off the oppressive weight, she realized her arm was pinned.
She groaned and wriggled her arm inch by inch into the shelter of her body until her fingers brushed her chest. Pricks of pain dotted her skin. She blinked up at broken shards of compressed wood, just inches from her face.
“Kara!” someone called. Still hearing the fuzzy sound, she wasn’t sure if it wa
s her imagination.
“Kara,” it came again, as the pressure on her legs suddenly relented. Grunting replaced the static as someone worked over her. “Take my phone and press speed dial one,” a man’s voice said. “I’m a police officer. When you get someone on the line, tell them the location and that Tray Oaks is already on the scene.”
“Tray?” Kara murmured. What was he doing here?
“Hold on, Kara. I’ll have this off of you in a second. Someone grab that side and lift on the count of three. One. Two. Three!”
Suddenly, Kara could move again. Her neck throbbed as she slowly rolled to her back. The first things she saw were a crowd beginning to form around her and Tray’s anguished face dropping down beside her. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I think so.” She tested her moving parts. They all seemed to be working. “What the hell happen—” she began but was cut off by a stifled gasp.
“Oh my God! There are two more under there, and they’re not moving,” a woman cried.
“Where?” the man beside her asked.
The woman pointed a shaky finger at the demolished walkway. “U-under the beam. The whole thing came down on top of them.” It sounded like she was hyperventilating.
Seeing images of the young lovers in her mind, Kara tried to sit. They might be hurt. “Help me up.”
When she reached for Tray’s arm and began to turn to assess the damage, he pulled her to his chest like a father protecting his child. “Don’t look, Kara.”
“What?” She pushed away and searched the rubble until she saw them.
Oh my God was right. They weren’t merely dead. They were flattened. Two pairs of shoes peeked out from underneath splintered boards and a thousand pounds of steel. A thick, red pool of blood ringed the edges of the debris.
“No. I don’t understand. How could this happen? How could a beam fall from out of nowhere?”
Everything ached, but nothing as much as her throat when she tried to hold back her rising bile. She’d never seen anything like it up close. Yes, she dealt with victims of abuse on a regular basis, but she hunted criminals with a certain sense of detachment just to keep herself sane. She couldn’t find that same distance now.
