Catching Echoes (Reconstructionist 1)

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  “Teresa Vern acted like she knew you?” Jasmine said, as if she’d just processed my earlier observation.

  “Not exactly. She was smiling when she opened the door, then she saw Kett.”

  My cousin excavated her arm from the cashmere blanket, extending her hand, then beckoning toward the second brown-paper bag resting on the hardwood floor beside me. “Gimme.”

  “They’re for later.”

  “Gimme, gimme.” Her dark blond curls danced around her face as she leaned toward me, but she couldn’t quite reach the bag.

  I sighed, deliberately nudging it with my elbow just enough that she could snatch it, chortling gleefully to herself over scoring her bounty.

  “So … she knows someone else named Wisteria.” Jasmine freed a chocolate pastry from the bag, inhaling its scent deeply and with great satisfaction.

  I smiled. “It’s just a niggling idea.”

  “Pain au chocolat.” Jasmine murmured the French to herself as if speaking to a lover. She took a bite of the pastry. “No magic though,” she said around her mouthful. “If Teresa or someone else in the house were magical, you would have known. Or Kett would have, for sure.”

  I shook my head, but not in disagreement. Jasmine was right, but something still felt off. Adepts instinctively knew each other, even if they couldn’t feel or see magic, or even not knowing what type of power the other Adept wielded. For me, meeting a person of unknown magical persuasion was like the feeling of eyes boring into the back of my neck or nails on a chalkboard.

  That spoke volumes about how I viewed the Adept community.

  Jasmine shivered whenever an unknown Adept was near. A light shiver, like after a well-earned sneeze.

  “I’ll dig deeper into the Verns,” she said.

  “How’s that guy?” I asked, changing the subject clumsily.

  “Which one?” Jasmine laughed. “The sorcerer or the werewolf?”

  I inadvertently swallowed my coffee wrong, then had to cough it out. “I thought he was a witch,” I wheezed.

  “Nah. Old news.”

  “That was only three months —”

  A vampire was standing at the base of the Murphy bed. Completely startled, I dropped my coffee. Jasmine started choking on her half-eaten pastry.

  I glared at Kett.

  He stared back.

  Jasmine continued to cough. My best friend was going to choke to death because I’d been startled. I scrambled forward to pound on her back, but she cleared her throat enough to gasp.

  “Jesus, buddy.”

  The vampire — his cashmere sweater was royal blue today, but otherwise identical to yesterday’s — raised an eyebrow at Jasmine. Then he leaned down to retrieve my travel coffee mug. It had come to a rest against his black leather brogues. Thankfully, it had been almost empty.

  “How …” I started to say, then stopped myself.

  “… the hell did you get in here?” Jasmine finished my thought. She waved her hand toward her own coffee, and I handed it to her.

  “The apartment is not warded against me.”

  “What?” Jasmine hissed, giving me a look.

  “Why should it be?” I asked, disgruntled. “How many vampires live in Seattle?”

  “Two,” Kett replied.

  “What?!” Jasmine screeched.

  “He’s joking.” I stood and walked to the linen cupboard built in beside the Murphy bed. Retrieving a gray hand towel from the upper shelf, I crossed back to mop up my spilled coffee.

  Jasmine stared at Kett.

  He smirked at her.

  She glared back.

  His smile turned charming.

  Her glower turned flirtatious.

  I stopped myself from groaning out loud.

  “A cleaning spell would be more effective,” Kett said as I wiped the last of the coffee up from beside his foot.

  “So would knocking,” I snapped.

  “On the contrary. This way, I get to see you in your natural habitat, unfiltered.”

  Jasmine laughed, but she sounded a little unsure of herself.

  It hadn’t struck me as a joke either. I also wasn’t a fan of big bad vampires scaring my best friend. “I can get the apartment warded.”

  “Not quickly,” Kett said. “You are the only witch of note in the immediate area.”

  I smiled at him.

  He narrowed his eyes at me.

  I deliberately widened my grin. “You should get your records updated.”

  Two could play the ‘I know more than you’ game. Kett thought he could goad me into using magic, or admitting I was incapable of even basic witch spells. Well, not incapable. Just out of practice and happy to stay that way. It was simpler and safer to keep my magic functioning as it currently did.

  “A name would be helpful,” Kett said.

  I laughed quietly. A number of witches — though most of them were half-blood or less — did call Seattle home. I didn’t actually know whether any of them were capable of creating wards of a level that could keep a vampire of Kett’s power out of my apartment. But as soon as we finished our investigation, I was going to be giving Pearl Godfrey a call. She’d know who to talk to, even if I had to pay to fly someone in.

  “Pax Johnson,” Kett said, letting the subject drop.

  Jasmine untucked her bare legs from underneath the bedding, reaching for her laptop. She’d slept in a T-shirt and panties, though Kett didn’t seem in any way affected by the amount of skin flashed his way. I’d known my cousin was a flirt, and that she liked to follow through with the occasional tryst, but I had no idea Jasmine had such a death wish. Though I suppose a human psychologist wouldn’t have been surprised, even knowing only the gist of our shared childhood.

  “I got an address for Pax last night,” Jasmine said, her fingers dancing across her keyboard. “And this is interesting … Ben Vern was logged in until three in the morning playing Unseen Arcana. His IP address indicates that he went back to his mother’s, or was within a few blocks of the house while playing. Should I friend him?”

  “I have no idea what that means,” Kett said dismissively. Then he turned and left the room.

  “I guess we’ll meet him in the car,” I muttered.

  Jasmine snorted.

  I left her to get ready, gathering my own things. We were off to Tacoma, the land of blown glass and Almond Roca. Poor Pax Johnson. Though I wanted out of the investigation as soon as possible, I hoped he wasn’t the vampire behind the other boys’ deaths. If that turned out to be the case, it was unlikely that Kett would let him live another night. Though maybe that was a good thing. I doubted very much whether there was any rehab for vampires.

  Not that I had any say in the matter, nor any power to stop the executioner of the Conclave.

  Though that wasn’t exactly a revelation. Still, in this situation with the boys, my powerlessness irked me in a way it rarely did.

  ❒ ❒ ❒

  Technically, Tacoma was only an hour and fifteen minutes from Seattle — or from my apartment, specifically — but in traffic, the trip could easily take upwards of two hours. Apparently, Kett had timed our drive directly between the morning and lunch rush, though. I wouldn’t have expected anything less of him.

  The vampire didn’t mention my unprofessional behavior from the previous night, or my getting caught in the echo of a death vision like a complete beginner. So I didn’t offer up any more apologies.

  Jasmine chatted away from the front passenger seat while her fingers flew over the keys of her laptop. Kett’s and my reticent responses didn’t faze her one bit. She was still gathering information on all five of the boys, sifting through their messaging and other online activity and looking for leads beyond Tacoma.

  She was also looking further into Teresa Vern at my behest — though we didn’t bother mentioning that to the vampire, who would have just sneered at us paying extra attention to a nonmagical he’d already dismissed.

  Relegated into the back seat again — the farthest away I
could get from the electronics in the dash and Jasmine’s devices while still having a seatbelt — I was more than happy to have my cousin take the lead. She was trained for it. I would just get underfoot, or I might even hamper an investigation into nonmagicals if I touched the wrong thing.

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t go by his school?” Jasmine asked.

  “No,” I said sharply, the single word immediately undermining my own determination to stay as uninvolved as possible.

  “The reconstructionist is wary of my presence around schoolyards,” Kett said. His indifferent tone betrayed no emotion.

  “Yeah? I get that,” Jasmine said.

  I stifled a laugh. Trust Jasmine to back me without question, and trust her to do so out loud whether or not it was rude.

  “We will drive by his home while his parents are at work and his siblings are at school,” Kett said. “It will give the reconstructionist time to walk the site, as she prefers.”

  I didn’t answer. Kett didn’t need constant confirmation about whether or not he was correct in his assumptions.

  “If there is nothing there,” he said. “Then we will proceed to the school.”

  “Got it covered,” Jasmine said. “He attends a high school a few blocks from his house.”

  “It’s amazing that all this information is so easy to access,” I said.

  “Facebook is my friend,” Jasmine said. “Plus, having Dennis’s computer helped. After I broke the main password, everything else was just digging.”

  Pax’s family lived in a neighborhood a few minutes east of downtown Tacoma, where a series of housing developments appeared to have been built in the early- to mid-nineties. Beige siding, cream trims, terra cotta-colored garage doors, and low fenced backyards dominated.

  It was just after noon when we pulled up across from Pax’s. The well-maintained two-storey house practically occupied the entire lot. I likely could have touched the neighboring houses to either side if I stood between them. A large development was being built across the street, and the painted plywood wall encircling it ran the entire block. Concrete was in the process of being poured, but no framing had gone up yet.

  “No hedge,” I said, eyeing the flat green lawn and treeless front yard. “The neighbors and any construction workers are sure to notice me wandering around in broad daylight.”

  “Looks quiet on either side,” Jasmine said.

  I glanced around the neighborhood. Other than the construction at my back, the entire block was comprised of ten- to fifteen-year-old matching homes with more fences than trees.

  “It’s not raining,” Kett said. “But there are no children’s toys scattered in the yards and no people walking dogs. Everyone is at school or work.”

  “Fine. If I get arrested, I expect to be immediately bailed out.” I opened my door.

  “I’m sure the investigating mundane could be convinced of the merits of your trespassing,” Kett said dryly. “Without the use of handcuffs.”

  I shook my head, hoping the vampire wasn’t suggesting that I spell a police officer — or worse, that he’d be pleased to get involved himself. The Convocation frowned heavily and judgementally on magic used anywhere near humans.

  I closed the door of the SUV, strolling across the street. But before I could reach the opposite sidewalk, a floppy-haired teenager pedaled around the corner and nearly mowed me down on his bike, which he then dumped on the lawn of the house I was just about to check for residual magic.

  I paused, awkwardly aware that I was sticking out like a sore thumb in the otherwise empty neighborhood.

  The teen jogged up the few concrete steps to the front door, tilting a couple of evergreen-filled terra cotta pots on the landing until he found a key. He was completely oblivious to the fact that I was standing frozen at the edge of the street.

  I pivoted away, casually crossing back to the SUV.

  Jasmine stepped out with her laptop in hand as I approached. “That’s Pax. See?” She raised the computer in front of me, holding the screen as close to my face as she dared. “Same Mariners T-shirt.”

  “Wouldn’t he have a key to his own house?” I glanced back over my shoulder. Pax had gained entrance and disappeared within. “And he’s obviously not a fledgling vampire.”

  Kett, now wearing an unbranded baseball cap pulled low over dark sunglasses, climbed out of the driver’s-side door.

  Jasmine had returned her attention to her computer without answering me.

  “Shall we?” Kett sauntered across the road without waiting for me.

  I immediately hustled after him.

  “He has a free period after lunch today,” Jasmine called from behind us.

  I glanced back at my best friend in disbelief. That sort of information really shouldn’t have been so readily accessible. She settled back into the passenger seat without acknowledging me.

  I tripped over the curb, managing to not fall face first on the sidewalk. Kett was halfway up the driveway and heading around the side of the house.

  “Wait,” I hissed after him. “Think about what you look like.”

  He paused.

  I joined him, casting my voice low. “We should knock. You can’t go skulking around the side and back of the house looking like that.”

  “Looking like what, witch?”

  “Like a … well, like a grown man stalking a teenaged boy.”

  Kett stiffened his shoulders and stared at me. His sunglasses were so dark that I couldn’t see his eyes. “You are suggesting I look like a pederast.”

  “Well, you’re not a salesman.”

  Kett quirked his lips.

  Perhaps the idea of selling things door to door amused him. But I wasn’t laughing. I was so out of my comfort zone that it was making me antsy. I didn’t like being less than composed, ever. It gave people ideas about how easy I was to manipulate or distract.

  “The front door, then?” He lifted one pale eyebrow high enough that it cleared the top of his glasses.

  I nodded, becoming aware that I was inadvertently clutching my bag with one arm crossed protectively across my chest. I dropped both arms, stepping up to the front entrance with the vampire by my side.

  It still unnerved me that Kett could walk around under the sun unscathed. Being under cloudy skies in Vancouver was one thing, but this was full daylight with only a hat and sunglasses for protection.

  “Why would he answer?” Kett asked as I reached for the doorbell.

  “Why wouldn’t he?” I pressed the bell, hearing it chime a sweet tune inside the house. “It’s his home. His neighborhood. He feels safe here.”

  Kett didn’t respond.

  Heavy footfalls approached the door from inside. Pax opened the door, half a slice of pizza crammed in his mouth. He narrowed his eyes, looking at me, then glancing at Kett, then back to me. He was taller than Kett, but gawky.

  Before I could speak, the boy said, “Already Christian here,” and swung the door closed.

  Kett stopped it with the flat of his hand.

  Pax glared at him.

  “We aren’t here to sell you anything,” I said.

  “Let go of the door, buddy,” Pax said, ignoring me.

  “Tell me about the immortality pact.” Kett’s voice was flat but demanding.

  Pax’s mouth went slack. The hunk of pizza dropped from his suddenly limp hand. He had tomato sauce smeared on the side of his face.

  “Don’t,” I said, assuming that Kett was exerting his influence on the teen. But Pax’s gaze flicked to me when I spoke. He was just surprised, not ensnared.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. Then he retrieved the piece of pizza from the floor and crammed it into his mouth.

  “Your concern for humans is almost admirable,” Kett said, speaking to me but looking at the teen. “Or would be, if I intended any harm.”

  “No one should ever be made to do anything against their will,” I said stiffly.

  Kett looked at me. I didn’t bothe
r meeting his gaze.

  Pax’s eyes had widened, ping-ponging between us. He wasn’t stupid enough to miss the veiled threat in Kett’s words.

  And I wasn’t interested in playing games. “Your friends are dead,” I said.

  The teen shifted his feet. He was still holding the door with one hand, blocking our entrance to the house with his body. I wondered if Kett could cross the threshold uninvited, or if that was another myth about to be blown to pieces as well.

  For Pax’s sake, I really hoped not.

  Technically, the vampire had entered my apartment without issue, though I suspected that my working with him might have been invitation enough. Or maybe it was that I spent so little time in the apartment, and invested so little of myself into it, that it wasn’t actually considered my home. It was highly unlikely that any vampire, including Kett, would be able to cross any of the thresholds held by a Fairchild in Connecticut. For good or evil, the coven had owned and occupied those properties for hundreds of years.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with it,” the teen said with utter sincerity. “You guys cops?”

  “Not in the sense you mean,” I said with a glance at Kett.

  The vampire had reverted to staring at Pax.

  “I knew it was stupid,” the teen said. “Vampires don’t exist. Neither does immortality.”

  Kett stilled. Actually, Kett was oddly still all the time. It was his magic that shifted, as if moving inward somehow. I really didn’t want to feel his magic. I shouldn’t have been able to inadvertently feel his magic.

  I fought a sudden sharp desire –– an almost overwhelming need –– to step to one side, forcing more space between me and the vampire. I didn’t want to affect the dynamic of the conversation. I didn’t want to jeopardize Pax.

  Because vampires most certainly existed.

  “You said no to the others?” My question caught in my throat, but the teen didn’t seem to recognize the death threat standing at my side. Colby’s girlfriend, Luci, had been much more aware of her surroundings. But then, she’d slain her vampire boyfriend only a couple of days before meeting Kett.