Midnight Shadows (Sky Brooks World: Ethan Book 3)

by Emerson Knight

  “You’re a terrible businessman,” she teased.

  “The number I called you from is a direct line. It was a pleasure meeting you again,” I said.

  I left the bar in a hurry to continue the charade. Once home, I wrote “David” on the back of the burner phone and set it on the coffee table in front of me. There was nothing to do but wait for her to forward me the contact information of her witch.

  CHAPTER 7

  Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke with my head spinning. Only when the dizziness passed a few seconds later was I able to blink my vision clear and see Dennis glowering down at me from the foot of my bed. His once white shirt was torn open, revealing a gaping gory wound, as if something had latched on to his throat and shredded his torso with razor-sharp claws, rending bone, flesh, and viscera into tatters.

  “Tell me why,” he said, his voice broken with anger.

  His hands were clenched fists, but there was no sign of a pistol. I glanced about the room, noting the bedroom door was closed. My nearest weapon was the knife sheathed to the headboard of my bed, just above the lip of the mattress, but I wasn’t sure it would be effective against whatever Dennis had become. He certainly wasn’t among the living.

  “You’ll tell me why you killed me,” he moaned. “And then you’ll die.”

  I caught the slight dip of his hips just before he leapt. Tossing the top sheet aside, I spun off the bed, swiping the knife from the sheath in the process. My foot caught in the sheet, pulling it with me as I landed. I stumbled awkwardly on my feet, immediately dropping to a defensive posture with the knife raised, but Dennis was gone. Still on guard, I jerked my foot free and walked around the bed. No sign of blood anywhere. No scent left behind.

  The bedroom door remained closed.

  I slowly pushed open the bathroom door with the fingers of one hand. Empty. Glances at the floor revealed no sign of blood there, either. As I turned back toward the bedroom, something bright in the waste bin caught my attention. Tipping it with the point of the knife, I saw the waitress’s silver necklace I’d tossed there previously.

  I spent the next several minutes searching every corner of the house and found no sign that Dennis had ever been inside. The front and back doors remained shut and locked, as were the windows. Believing I’d missed something, I searched once more. Finally assured, I returned to my room, dropped the knife onto the end of the bed, then sat next to it.

  I don’t believe in ghosts, I thought, leaning forward as I slowly ran my hands through my hair and caught my breath. How else could I explain the lack of evidence that Dennis had ever been in my house? For the first time, I wondered if I was losing my edge. His wasn’t the only death I’d caused in my life, and no matter how careful I was, his likely wasn’t the last. Guilt was dangerous. Until that moment, I’d efficiently kept it at bay. Had it finally caught up to me? My mind drifted to the dizziness that afflicted me just before each encounter with the dead detective.

  That’s not my imagination, at least.

  Unable to manufacture an answer, I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. It was three in the morning. My body vibrated from adrenaline. I doubted I’d get back to sleep before sunrise. Unsure what to do, I sat there with my conscience, trying to wipe the vision of Dennis from my mind. It clung stubbornly, etched in vivid guilt. Unable to shake it, my gaze drifted toward the open bathroom door and the waste bin just inside. Uncertainly at first, I rose and walked over to stare down at the delicate silver chain laying haphazardly there.

  I scowled.

  Turning my attention to the counter, I drew a fresh tissue from the box and reached down to pinch the silver between my fingers, then raised the chain to dangle at my eye level. Like all were-animals, I’d spent my life fearing silver. The mere touch of it seared flesh, causing nearly unbearable pain while simultaneously inhibiting our natural healing ability. Nearly.

  Carrying it back to my room, I returned to the edge of the bed and dangled the chain once more. The image of Dennis, his torso torn open, remained vivid in my mind, refusing to leave me in peace. Without thinking, I extended my forearm, then slowly rested the end of the chain onto my skin. Searing pain erupted in my mind, burning away Dennis and guilt and anything else. As I slowly piled the chain onto my arm, there was nothing at all but cleansing pain.

  I endured it, clenching my teeth and forcing myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Pain was a weakness I could control. Burning. Searing. In. Out. When I thought I couldn’t endure more, I took one more breath, then slowly lifted the chain, leaving a winding, blistering, black-and-red tattoo where it had lain across my flesh. Keep breathing. In. Out. I closed my eyes and endured the aftermath, resisting the urge to get up and treat my wound. Slowly, steadily, the biting pain dulled and faded as my natural healing ability took over.

  I sat silently, enjoying the comforting clarity of mind as the pain receded. After a long moment, I transferred the necklace to my left hand and repeated the process on my right forearm.

  By midmorning, I’d still not received a message from Caroline. After a run and a shower, I donned a long-sleeved t-shirt to cover the fading wounds on my forearms, then met Josh at the retreat’s library. From the look of him, he’d already been at the walnut table for hours. His hair was more disheveled than usual, and he had a focused intensity as he glanced up from a book to greet me.

  Without formality, he gestured to two books that were farthest away from him. “Dive in,” he said. I slipped into the chair across from him, picked up one of the books, and started skimming for anything that might help us understand the Clostra. While I focused on a single text, Josh’s attention wandered from one to the other and then back again in some sort of logical flow that only made sense to him. While I could help with the research, the bulk of the work fell to Josh, and he was tireless in his drive for answers.

  After hours of quietly poring through books, I sat back in my chair, rubbing the strain from my eyes. Lack of sleep was getting to me. My mind drifted to the memory of Dennis standing in my room. While I wasn’t willing to discount him as a figment of my guilt, I thought to pursue another possibility.

  I watched as Josh turned his head from one open book to another. “Have you ever encountered a type of mind magic?” I asked, not entirely clear how to word my inquiry.

  He paused and blinked at me. “Why do you ask?”

  I couldn’t explain, not without revealing my role in the detective’s fate. I held my brother’s gaze evenly, waiting as if he hadn’t asked the question. Eventually, he gave up and answered.

  “It’s out there, but it’s rare.”

  “Why rare?”

  He sighed, anticipating a prolonged disruption to his study, then leaned back in his chair. “It would be difficult to detect if someone was under the influence of that kind of magic, which makes it dangerous. A talented mind witch could wreak a lot of havoc. Plus it’s a specifically hereditary talent, which means it would be easy to eradicate by cutting off the bloodlines that carry it.”

  By killing off the bloodlines, just as we killed off the dark elves. “They’ve all been eliminated?”

  Josh shrugged. “There are probably a few bloodlines that went underground. I’ve never encountered a practitioner, or their magic.”

  “Any idea how it works?” I asked.

  “No.” His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized me. “If you tell me why you’re asking, I could probably be of more help.”

  Frowning, I glanced out the nearest window. When I’d arrived at the retreat, it had been a clear day, yet a heavy rain angrily battered the pane.

  “Coffee?” I asked, rising.

  His lips thinned as he shook his head at me. “Why do I bother to ask?”

  “Precisely.”

  In the kitchen downstairs, I found the pot empty and growled. Josh, probably. I changed the filter, added the grounds and water, then wandered out of the kitchen while I waited for the coffee to percolate.

  I found Gavin pacing angrily in th
e entryway of the house, glaring at the door as if waiting for someone. He saw me and stopped.

  “The Master of Mischief is here,” he said with a sardonic tone. “And his sister.”

  “What?” I asked, baffled. The Master of Mischief could only mean Gideon, but there was no reason for an elf to be in the pack’s retreat, not without my involvement, a damn good reason, and plenty of negotiation beforehand.

  Gavin returned to pacing, his mood darkening. His tone was full of accusation as he stated, “Winter brought him.”

  Before I could demand an explanation, Dr. Baker came through the door, removing and hanging his wet coat in a hurry. He was a tall, slender man with silver hair. Mercury rises tonight, I remembered, noting his normally calm demeanor was replaced with an agitated look. He should be home, preparing. As a were-tiger, he was like all felidae, subject to Mercury in the same way that canidae were subject to the moon, but the anticipation of Mercury affected each differently. For Dr. Baker, the anticipation put him on edge, sometimes severely.

  “What happened?” he asked both of us as he strode toward the clinic.

  “Skylar is fine,” Gavin called after him.

  Dr. Baker turned, confused.

  “She called you here to treat Gideon.”

  “She said Sky was injured.”

  “That’s because she knew you wouldn’t come to treat an elf.”

  I unclenched my jaw. “Abigail?”

  Gavin nodded. If Winter had a weakness, it was her some-time lover, Gideon’s sister. As the son of Darion, one of the elves’ most beloved leaders, he would have no trouble receiving the best treatment that their kind could provide. While Dr. Baker’s reputation as a miracle worker was well deserved, he had minimal experience working with the other supernatural races. If Abigail wanted his help, something was amiss—or afoot; she was ambitious, and cunning.

  The rain, I realized, frowning. As an elemental elf, Gideon was able to manipulate the weather in a localized area. If he were injured or sick, he might do so unconsciously.

  Dr. Baker’s brow tightened into a knot as he glanced between us, then he turned with a scowl and continued on toward the clinic. I followed him while Gavin remained behind.

  Dr. Baker pushed through the double doors with me close behind. Inside, we found Gideon laying supine on one of the beds, his eyes closed. His twin sister anxiously stood over him. The pair were tall and thin, with blond hair that Abigail wore longer. Like most elves, they were unusually attractive, with handsome narrow faces, aquiline noses, delicate lips, and long lashes over expressive violet eyes.

  Winter stood close to Abigail, deliberately avoiding my gaze. Sky was there as well.

  There’s a surprise.

  She seemed pointedly determined to ignore my presence.

  Dr. Baker took in the situation at a glance. “He shouldn’t be here,” he insisted, directing his attention to Gideon.

  Winter tried to explain. “I know but—”

  “No,” he snapped, jarring her. “There are no excuses. He shouldn’t be here. What you have done is unacceptable, and you know that.” His voice softened as he added, “You’ve never been able to deny her, which has always been your problem. That weakness cannot become our problem, and you promised it wouldn’t.”

  “He’s here now,” she said gently. Her expression was pleading as she asked, “Will you please just look at him?”

  He patted her shoulder comfortingly. “I will see what I can do.”

  Abigail’s violet eyes watched with an anxious intensity as he gently lifted one of Gideon’s eyelids, then the other. “When did this happen?”

  Who did it was the question on my mind. Gideon had been expected to take the leadership role after his father’s demise, but he’d refused. As the story went, he preferred his free-living ways to the constricting demands of leadership, but I suspected he feared the incredible expectations of responsibility. Instead, the mantle of leadership fell to Mason, but an election was on the horizon and there were rumors that Gideon was considering putting himself on the ballot. Abigail was the most likely source of those rumors, in my opinion. Does he know that his sister might’ve gotten him killed? Though Dr. Baker had yet to determine what afflicted Gideon, it was clear that he had been the target of an assassination attempt. Abigail thought so, or she wouldn’t have brought him to us.

  Mason had recently drawn the elves into an alliance with the witches. If he saw Gideon as a threat to that alliance, Gideon’s survival might be of value to the pack.

  “It’s been about two days,” Abigail answered as Dr. Baker continued his exam. “We were supposed to meet for lunch, but he didn’t show up. You are aware of my brother’s reputation.” Gideon never seemed to tire of booze and women. “It isn’t unusual for him to sleep in and miss our lunch if he had a very active evening the night before. But when the hard winds and rain started in our neighborhood, I knew something was wrong with him.”

  Sebastian entered behind Dr. Baker as he asked, “Your doctors have no idea what’s wrong?”

  “We’ve already lost four to similar symptoms,” she explained. Her voice cracked, but in a forced way. “They were only alive for five days once it started. No one seems to be able to help him. Some didn’t even try. I just couldn’t sit back and wait for him to die.” She wiped tears from her eyes, smearing her mascara.

  At least her concern for her brother is genuine.

  Sebastian walked up to the table to scrutinize Gideon’s limp form. “The four that died, were they potential candidates for leaders?”

  Abigail appeared stunned by the question.

  Does she think we’re stupid? We were often underestimated by the other supernatural factions, which gave us an advantage over them.

  She sidled closer toward Winter, taking her hand. Abigail answered with a reserved tone, “Three of them would be ones I would consider potentials.”

  “You don’t think this is a coincidence?” Winter asked Sebastian.

  “Coincidences do not occur as often as people would like to believe,” he explained, “and almost never in situations like this.”

  I didn’t envy Sebastian, to be thrown into such a critical choice without any forewarning. There were several political factors to consider. The ramifications of our intervention depended on an accurate assessment of who was responsible for the assassination attempt. We would be putting the pack at risk, but the potential rewards might be worthwhile should Gideon survive to become the next elven leader.

  Sky’s desire was plain. Her chin was up and she was watching Sebastian with expectant eyes, almost willing him to protect Gideon. Once again she would make a rash decision without fully comprehending the stakes, but I begrudgingly acknowledged that for all she’d seen with us, she’d yet to become jaded. She still believed in a moral high ground. I could appreciate that, but she needed to also learn that someone who appeared helpless might in fact be a poisoned dagger waiting to strike.

  After a long, pensive moment, Sebastian asked Winter, “You are aware that last month the witches and elves became allied?”

  She nodded, expecting the worst but ready to accept his decision. Abigail’s mouth opened as she read the fatalism in her ex-lover’s expression. Sky appeared about to interject herself into the conversation when Sebastian turned to Dr. Baker.

  “Examine him,” Sebastian directed. “Do what you can, but we cannot be involved for more than twenty-four hours. If he cannot be helped within that time, then please accept my condolences for the loss.” He turned to leave, but hadn’t made it out the door before his phone rang. He frowned as he glanced at the number, then answered the call. “Yes, Mason,” he said, allowing just a hint of annoyance in his voice.

  “You should worry about yours, and let me deal with mine,” Mason said in his raspy Australian brogue. With our enhanced hearing, phone calls were rarely private. “Aren’t you tired of poking your nose where it never belongs? Send her away.”

  Sebastian smirked. “Obviously, if she
is here, you aren’t taking care of your own.”

  “As usual, you have found your way into business that isn’t yours. I am asking this time. But if I were in your situation, I would consider the request thoroughly and do as I ask.”

  I bristled at the elf’s insolent tone. Since Mason had formed his alliance with the witches, his arrogance had become brazen.

  “Of course,” Sebastian said coolly, his broad lips spreading into a bright and dangerous smile. “I will give it as much consideration as I give you.” He disconnected the call, then turned to Dr. Baker. “Take as much time as you need. I want Gideon alive.”

  Abigail visibly relaxed against Winter, who responded with a comforting kiss on the lips, then gently stroked Abigail’s cheek.

  I followed Sebastian out of the room as he walked toward his office.

  “What’s your assessment?” he asked.

  My answer was immediate. “Abigail’s involved, somehow.”

  “See what you can find out.”

  I nodded and started up the stairs toward the library to brief Josh when I heard Gavin downstairs.

  “I have better things to do than babysit Winter’s girlfriend’s brother,” he grumbled.

  Sebastian answered, his tone casual, “If I cared, that would be a different story, now wouldn’t it? You’re here. If Mason decides to act on his threat, I need you, but most importantly, you’ll do it because I requested it.”

  I heard the front door open and the click of a woman’s heels on the hardwood floor. Backing down a couple of steps, I saw Kelly in the entryway. Instead of her usual medical smock, she appeared dressed for a date. A cream wraparound dress clung to her curves, and her face was framed by a thick corkscrew halo. Dark mascara and liner shaded her walnut-colored eyes. Her lips and cheeks were highlighted by a deep coral color.

  “Why are you here?” Gavin asked, suppressing his agitation.

  She smiled, ignoring his harshness. “Dr. Jeremy called me.”

  Leaving them, I walked up the stairs to find Josh where I’d left him, bent over several books, seemingly reading them all at once. As I joined him, he gave me a forlorn look while slumping in his chair.