by S. E. Babin
“That’s a longer story,” Hank said. “He revealed the secret of the property to an organization who tried to take her down. Unsuccessfully, I might add. I don’t know who it was, but, according to Portia, they are no longer operating in Midnight Cove. She forced him to sell and made him sign what was supposed to be an ironclad non-disclosure agreement.”
“Except it wasn’t,” Pepper added.
“Well,” Hank hedged. “It actually was. If this lawsuit goes through, Mr. Haverstock is going to be in a bundle of trouble. Even if it doesn’t, he’s going to have a lot to deal with. But if Midnight Cove Realty succeeds in getting a rescission, Mr. Haverstock is going to be a rich man.” He shifted on the couch, careful not to jostle my foot. “I also suspect he will be swiftly relocated to avoid Portia’s wrath. Right now no one knows where he is.”
“Back to me,” I said. “What if I don’t want that responsibility? I was never asked.”
“There’s something else,” Hank hedged. He slid a guilty look my way.
“Spit it out,” I said. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. I loved this property. I loved everything about it. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to be some kind of makeshift guardian of a door that I didn’t fully understand.
“Your magic.”
That got my attention. I tried to sit up a little bit straighter. The pain meds were slowly kicking in. Not as gratifying as morphine, but the intense pain had dulled somewhat. “Okay. What about it?”
“Portia isn’t just the founder of that agency. She’s incredibly powerful. She’s able to sense disturbances…” His voice trailed off.
“In the force?” Pepper quipped.
“Sort of,” Hank said with a rueful laugh. “In the veil.”
My heartbeat picked up. I had a horrible feeling I knew where he was going with this.
“Midnight Cove lies directly underneath the veil between the living and the dead. The town was designed so Portia could keep an eye on it.”
Lucien’s gaze narrowed. “What is Portia exactly?”
Hank shook his head. “I don’t know, but power beats off of her like moonlight.”
“So Portia is some kind of guardian?” Pepper asked.
“Sort of,” Hank said. “She wasn’t forthcoming with too much information. Portia said the veil has been weakening over our town for the past several years.”
“I weakened it further, didn’t I?” I knew something was off with that spell.
The look in Hank’s eyes told me the answer.
“But what does that mean?” Pepper asked. “Can it be fixed?”
I had no need to raise Dolores anymore, though I wasn’t sure now if I should work anymore at all.
“I can’t tell you specifics,” Hank admitted. “Portia wants to meet with you soon.”
I chuckled. “She may have to come here,” I said. “I won’t be driving for awhile.”
An apologetic look crossed his face. “She plans to be here this evening.”
“Hank!” I glared at him in outrage. “What the hell?”
He raised his hands in defeat. “I couldn’t stop her! She’s a bit of a steamroller.” He looked at my friends. “This concerns all of us. All of the town. It isn’t Helen’s fault, but when she attempted to bring someone back through the veil who had been gone so long it caused a rift. Portia wants to discuss it with all of us.”
Lucien looked horrified. “Why me? I haven’t been involved in any of this.”
“You became involved when you started spying on Helen,” Hank barked.
Lucien had the grace to look ashamed, but his expression quickly turned mutinous. “First I almost get attacked by a rabid puppy. Then I get fired and Helen ruins my upholstery.” He gave a dramatic sigh. “You’re like Typhoid Mary,” he grumbled.
“Margo isn’t rabid,” I said as she let her head flop onto her paws. “Getting fired is probably going to keep you out of jail. Now you can do the community a service by testifying against them if it gets that bad.”
“And who will protect me?” Lucien pouted.
Hank looked Lucien with barely concealed patience. “You’re a vampire.”
Pepper laughed and tried to disguise it by coughing.
“Yes,” Lucien drawled, “but corporations are way more dangerous than my pointy teeth.” He gnashed said teeth for a second before rewarding us with a wide grin.
I rolled my eyes. “Can it, folks. So Portia is coming here. Soon. Is there anything we can do to prepare?”
“Hor d’oeuvres?” Lucian said hopefully.
Pepper threw a pillow at him.
“I’m afraid not,” Hank said. “She didn’t say much more after that.”
“Great,” I said. The pain medicine was dragging me down. “Mind if I take a nap?”
Pepper and Lucien popped right up. “Sorry!” Pepper said. She turned to Lucien. “Can you take me home?”
“As you wish,” Lucien said. “I need to spend some time job hunting anyway, so it works out.” Lucien leaned down, lifted my hand and kissed the top of it. “Farewell, lady. I shall see you soon.”
I tried not to grin but failed. “See you later, weirdo. Thanks for saving me. I’ll reimburse you for having your leather cleaned.”
“No need, my dear. It’s rare I get to act as champion to a lady so fair.” He set my hand down, straightened, and motioned for Pepper to lead the way. He left Hank with a long look.
When the door finally shut, Hank let out a long breath.
“Oh, God, there’s more?”
“There is. Do you want to take a nap now or later?”
“Meaning do I want the bad news first?”
Hank adjusted the pillow and pulled my foot onto his lap carefully. “It’s up to you.”
“How bad is it?”
“You’re going to be busy once your foot heels up.”
“That doesn’t sound bad. I need to get back to work.”
He laughed. “Helping Portia repair the veil. You’re the only necromancer in Midnight Cove. She needs your specific powers to help. Souls are slipping out. She can’t control the dead but you can.”
“I should have taken a nap first.”
Hank gently moved my foot up from his lap and gathered up my dishes. “The end result would have been the same. Portia needs you right now.”
I snuggled back down into the couch. “Did she say anything about you and me?”
“Not a word. I don’t think it’s in her policy to comment on anything.” He gave me a hopeful look. “Is there an us?”
“Ask me when I finish my next nap.”
Hank barked out a laugh. “Will do.”
11
A nudge on the shoulder woke me from a really good nap. I blinked only to see Hank’s handsome face above me. Him waking me up was beginning to be a habit.
“Hey. Portia will be here in about an hour. Need some help getting up?”
I did. Mother Nature was urgently calling my name. I also needed to figure out how I was going to manage getting dressed. I was wearing a pair of jogging pants Pepper had grabbed for me earlier and a tank. I needed to at least wear something halfway decent to receive what amounted to seeing the president. Of our town at least. She was a very important person and right now I looked like something the cat had dragged in.
I nodded and Hank slid his arm around my waist. The proximity of him brought up memories of us in that truck, and I realized I wanted that. So very bad.
I tilted my face up to his as he helped me sit up. Hank stilled.
“Helen, if you don’t stop looking at me like that, I’m not going to answer the door when Portia comes.”
I brushed my lips across his. “I don’t see that being an issue.”
His arms tightened around me and I could feel the shudder in his powerful body. “You just got out of the hospital.”
“I didn’t injure the important parts.”
Hank’s soft laugh against my mouth made me smile.
“Plus, you’re under
the influence.”
“Oh, think of all the fun we could have!” I exclaimed.
Hank gently lifted me and carried me into the bedroom.
“Oh, yay!” I said.
Hank snorted. “This is for clothes. Not for fun.”
“Boooo,” I said. I snuggled against his chest.
Lucien was drop dead gorgeous, kind, and funny. Hank was...comforting. Handsome in a way that made me want to run my fingers through his hair and have babies with him. He felt like home. Like everything I’d ever wanted. He had to be the one.
He carefully set me down in the front of the bathroom. “It could get awkward if you needed additional help, but I’ll help if you really needed it.”
I held on to the door jam. “No thanks. We’re just now getting to the stage where we think we’re both amazing. Let’s not ruin that.”
“Good plan,” Hank said. “I’ll shut the door after you and wait just in case you need anything.”
I hopped into the bathroom and waited for him to shut the door. Then I made the mistake of looking at myself in mirror. “Holy smokes,” I whispered to myself at I stared back at the hot mess that could not possibly be me.
My hair floated around my head like I’d gotten happy with a balloon and some static. My eyes were ringed with dark shadows probably from the blood loss and exhaustion. My lips were almost white and my cheeks had no color. And I had flirted with Hank in this condition?
I let out a hysterical giggle.
“Helen?” he called through the door.
I pressed both my hands to my cheeks. “Nothing!” I called. “Everything is fine.”
I managed to do my business, clean myself up and brush my teeth, but I still look like I’d been steamrolled by Death himself.
When I exited, Hank was sitting on the edge of my bed. “Do you need any help getting dressed?”
I probably did, but I wasn’t going to take it. “Undressing? Yes.” I winked at Hank and hopped over to my underwear drawer. “I could probably use a shower, but she’s supposed to be here soon, right?”
Hank nodded. “Unfortunately. We can order Chinese food if it’s all right.”
“Sounds good.” I shooed him out of my room.
It took me a whole lot of struggling to get dressed but I managed it somehow. I swiped on some lip gloss, mascara and blush and called Hank to bring my crutches.
Instead he came in the room, swept me up in his arms, and carried me out.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
A blush crept up my cheeks. “That’s awfully polite of you to say.”
He let out a huff of laughter. “I mean it. Even high and injured.”
He helped me sit in the recliner and brought me a blanket for my legs. I’d put on a dress just to make it easier on myself, but I was chilly.
Hank brought me a cup of cocoa and my heart melted a little bit. “Did you make this?” I asked in awe.
He pressed his lips together. “I had a very idyllic, yet feminist childhood. My mother taught me to cook at a very young age.”
“Your mother sounds like a wonderful woman.”
“She is,” he said. Just as he was about to lean down, the doorbell rang.
“You ready for this?” he asked me.
I gave him a manic smile. “Not even a little bit.”
“Me neither,” he agreed and headed to the front door.
Portia was quite a bit different than I expected. She was short, had wild blonde, curly hair, and curves for days. She looked like a mix between someone’s sweet southern grandma and a pageant queen. I liked her immediately.
She brushed into the house like it was hers, took a sniff and asked Hank for a cup of hot chocolate. How she’d known he’d made some, I had no idea. As soon as she spotted me, she came over, grabbed both of my hands and clucked in sympathy.
“You poor dear! How are you feeling?”
“Much better,” I lied. I felt like I’d been hit by a semi truck with a grudge and then it came back around for a victory lap and hit me again.
“You’ve had quite a trying week, haven’t you?”
I wasn’t quite sure how much she knew or how I should answer that. She patted me on the knee. “You don’t have to answer that.”
Hank came back into the living room with a cup of hot chocolate, and I took a moment to marvel at the weirdness that was my life right now. Everything had been totally fine until I’d gotten that damn letter on my doorstep.
Margo who had been outside chasing who knows what scratched at the door. As soon as Hank handed Portia the mug, he went back to let Margo in and the puppy scrambled her way over to Portia. Disaster was just about to strike because hot chocolate and puppies don’t mix when Portia said, “sit”. And Margo did. Just like that.
Hank and I exchanged glances.
“Good, Argos.”
“Argos?” I questioned.
Portia grinned. “Yes. Well, a resurrected Argos if you will.”
Hank sucked in a surprised breath. She glanced up at him. “Ah, I see you’ve connected the dots.”
“How in the world?” Hank marveled.
“Helen is a necromancer, Hank. Of all people, she would understand this. Argos is my dog. Well, was my dog. He has been with me through the ages. Before me, he was with my very good friend Odysseus.”
I swallowed hard. “No. Way.”
“Argos, speak.”
I reared back in my chair waiting for Argos to start waxing poetic about something, but she merely barked.
“Thank God,” I muttered.
Portia laughed merrily. “She cannot actually speak, but she understands everything. As I’m sure you’ve found out.”
“This is really Odysseus’ dog?”
“Quite,” Portia said. “He was resurrected a few days after his death, though we were forced to pass his soul into a female body.”
I marveled at Margo. Well...Argos. The legend behind the dog was sad and borderline cruel, as most things having to do with mythology were. Argos was Odysseus’ faithful companion. When he returned home after being gone for twenty long years, Odysseus was forced to be in disguise. His dog was the only one who recognized him and greeted him with a wag of his tail because he was too old and weak to get up. Odysseus was unable to pet his faithful dog for fear of revealing his identity, and Argos passed away shortly after. It was one of the stories that always made me the saddest.
“This is amazing.” I stared at Portia. “But why give her to me?”
“Because you hold great sway over both life and death. You have not yet fully explored your powers. Argos was given to you for protection, for all is still not well. But he was also given to you as a companion.” She smiled gently. “I believe the two men in your life like pets, no?”
Hank’s eyebrows went up. “Two?”
Portia made a tsking noise. “Surely you don’t think Lucien is foolish enough to ignore the beauty and wit of the woman sitting right in front of me?”
Hank’s face said that was exactly what he’d thought.
“Surely if you grow too comfortable and think you’ve already won with minimal effort, you deserve to lose the game, yes?” Portia asked.
Hank’s face turned thunderous. Anger was evident in his posture and the way he clenched his fists open and closed.
I stared wide-eyed at Portia. “Um. I’m not sure that’s what we’re here to talk about?”
“We aren’t, but some things still need to be said, dear.”
Portia moved over to my couch, carrying my hot chocolate with her.
“Am I still allowed to call her Margo?” I asked, gesturing to the floppy puppy still sitting there still as stone.
“Of course. She is a girl now, after all.”
“Will she age?” It would be pretty weird having a puppy forever.
“Of course. But it won’t be typical. She will be young for a very, very long time. The magic that now sustains her is different. She was raised by a powerful necromancer, but sh
e has my magic as well.”
I studied her, almost bursting with the need to ask her what she was but remembering Hank’s reaction last time I did.
She winked as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. “I’m sure Hank filled you in on what I said.”
Hank was still standing there glowering and I wasn’t sure how to make him feel better.
I nodded.
“Your magic is disruptive to the veil, Helen.”
When I opened my mouth to protest, she held her hand up. “I’m not saying it’s bad. No magic is innately bad. It’s only bad when wielded by the user who has nefarious purposes. But this recent client you took on asked too much of you and you let your heart get in the way.”
“Did Dolores die because of me?”
Portia gave me a sad smile. “Let me try to ease your conscience. Dolores’ death was a result of you drawing her long-dead son through the veil.”
I closed my eyes and took a breath. If that was easing my conscience, she was terrible at it.
“Hear me out, Helen. If you had not held that appointment, she would have passed away in her sleep peacefully three days later. Either way, she would be gone.”
“Did she suffer?”
Portia shook her head. “The shade you raised siphoned her energy. She likely didn’t feel a thing.”
“That still isn’t great. The shade was dispelled, correct?”
At this, Portia hesitated. “Yes and no. Anthony is back behind the veil, but he has left remnants here. Remnants the others are attracted to. There is a rift in the veil right now. A small one, but lower level entities are escaping.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means mischief is afoot, my dear. And that I will need your help in the upcoming months.”
“What about the door and the people who are trying to take my property?”
Portia’s face went positively mutinous at that. “You let me worry about them. No one is taking anything. But we do need to talk about the door.” She smiled at me.
“It’s not just a door, is it?” I asked.
Hank had finally sat down on the opposite end of the couch. The anger had been replaced with an expression that looked almost...thoughtful.
