The Darkest Edge of Dawn cm-2

by Kelly Gay

  “It’s been quiet. No one coming or going. We could go back, wait out the solstice. He’s got to come out eventually. That star is there, and he needs you.”

  “No, I don’t want to give him any more time.” I chewed softly on the inside of my cheek, staring down Pryor Street at the myriad squares of light from the skyscraper windows. Determination settled over me. I squared my shoulders. “Let’s go tomb raiding.”

  A slow grin spread across my partner’s face. “I love it when you think all criminal and vengeful, Madigan. Warms my heart.”

  * * *

  It had started to drizzle again and the air was veiled in a gossamer layer of gray. The entire area took on the atmosphere of a cemetery; the warehouses stood out like gigantic tombstones.

  We left Hank’s car two streets over, careful with our steps because the “fog” was already settling near the ground. Not being able to see our feet in front of us made our progress slower than usual, but it also gave us time to scan the surroundings. Hank had given a heads-up call to the surveillance team that we were about to enter the warehouse. What he didn’t mention was our intent to take the contents of the tomb. That little surprise was just for Llyran. Without the star, his plans were useless.

  Still taking precautions, we did a perimeter check of the warehouse, not seeing any lights from the windows or doors, and then took up positions near the side door. I sensed it was empty once again, not protected by wards, which I found odd. With something so precious inside, why was there not a single ward on the place? The side door was locked this time, making me wonder if last time it had been left unlocked by accident or on purpose, and who had locked it since. I used the Nitro-gun to freeze the lock. Hank kicked it, shattering the metal.

  We entered quickly, hurrying through the long building to the back room where the sarcophagus was kept. There were no candles burning this time. The room was completely dark, and the whispers were gone, making the room seem even more bereft.

  I knew it before I flicked on my light. The room was empty. Completely bare. No agate sarcophagus. No candles. No seal on the floor.

  “Shit.”

  “Now what?”

  “Call the surveillance team again. Find out why the hell they didn’t see anything.” I paced, thinking. “Let’s try the penthouse in Helios Tower,” I said, already marching out of the room. “Maybe Llyran returned there.”

  Hank left his car in the care of a valet with specific instructions to leave it in front of the lobby, flashing his badge for added intimidation when the valet started spouting tower rules and regulations. Then we entered the Topside lobby of Helios Tower and went straight for the elevators.

  Once inside, I hit the button for the forty-sixth floor and then doublechecked my weapons. Hank and I stood shoulder to shoulder, our game faces on as the floors flashed by on the counter overhead.

  Forty-four. Forty-five. Forty-six.

  The doors slid open and without hesitation we strode down the hallway to penthouse number eight. I took up position near the door, my back against the wall and weapon drawn. Hank stood in front of the door and got ready to kick.

  Inspired, I held up my hand to him, and then decided to check the door handle.

  It wasn’t locked.

  Remembering what had happened here last time made my nerves raw. I did not want a repeat joyride through the darkness. I pushed gently and let the door open by itself. Deep breath and then I ducked inside.

  The penthouse was brightly lit, catching me off guard. I scanned the surroundings, feeling the hairs on my arms begin to rise in forewarning. My chest suddenly constricted, and I blinked back tears as my throat closed.

  I met Hank’s gaze, and his was as confused as mine.

  The energy all around this place was not as it should have been. Sadness and grief immobilized me as we pushed into the main living room, our backs to one another, using our senses to scan the open space. Something was very wrong. My throat thickened with heavy sorrow.

  “Outside.” Hank’s voice made me jump.

  I turned, weapon trained, to see two figures on the terrace. My eyes widened. “No, no, no, no …” I raced to the terrace to find Bryn in a T-shirt and pajama pants, covered in blood, hair up in a ponytail, feet bare, kneeling over a body. The wind blew against me as I approached.

  Oh God. No.

  My weapon remained trained on my own sister, and I was already blinking back tears. “Bryn?”

  Her head lifted and she looked over her shoulder, her eyes red and puffy, red dots on her cheeks, her lips swollen and wet. She turned back around and wept, her shoulders shaking. I didn’t want to step forward. Didn’t want to see who was lying there.

  But I knew. I already knew.

  My friend. My teacher. The nymph with the emerald eyes and beautiful green aura.

  His hands were bloody and scratched, obvious signs of a struggle he didn’t win. His body was sunken like Daya’s, laid flat out on the terrace. My fingers flexed around my Hefty and I raised my hand, using the back of it to wipe at my tears.

  Hank brushed passed me, his weapon dropping to his side as his expression paled. My head was shaking in denial. Aaron was not dead. It couldn’t be. Not like this. I sank to my knees, letting my weapon go limp on the stone, still holding it in my hand, and doubling over to let my forehead hit the cold terrace, trying to hold in the scream of rage, loss, and guilt.

  “No … no … Goddammit!” I cried to no one, letting my anger out in maddening groans of protest. I had to do something. Had to work. Had to move. I rose, wanting justice for my friend, for a good person who hadn’t deserved to die like this.

  I grabbed my gun, dragging it along the stone as I stood, my insides shriveling into a tight, searing, breathless knot.

  “What happened, Bryn?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

  Her wide, aching, confused gaze met mine. “I don’t know …”

  “You don’t know? How the fuck can you not know?! How did you get here?! Did you see it happen?! Did you try to help at all or did you just stand there and say I don’t know?!” I was shaking hard, crying, tasting the tears on my lips.

  Bryn’s skin paled and a look of pure mortification passed over her.

  “Charlie,” Hank said.

  “What?!” I shouted, throwing up my hands and then turning to my sister. “How long have you been up here? Have you called the paramedics?”

  “Charlie, that’s enough.”

  Deep down, I knew it was more than enough, but hurt was flooding out of me so fast that I didn’t know how to stop it or make sense of it. I turned away, storming to the terrace ledge, grabbing onto the railing and finally letting it out, screaming until I had nothing left, until my voice went useless, my throat burned, my lungs nearly collapsing.

  I had to save Aaron. He couldn’t be dead. He was supposed to live a long life, convince Bryn to love him as he loved her. Someone in my family was supposed to have a happily ever after, for Christ’s sake. I stretched back from the railing and leaned down, letting my head fall in between my arms as I held on tightly. “We have to fix this,” I whispered and then turned, saying it louder. “We have to fix this.”

  Hank closed his cell phone, and Bryn looked up from her vigil at Aaron’s side. “The medics are on their way. Liz is coming, too, and the chief.”

  “He doesn’t need a goddamn medic! He needs help! He needs us !”

  Bryn sniffed. “What are you saying?”

  “Black crafting. Earth magic. Whatever we need to do to save this body and keep it fresh …” The two of them looked at me like I’d finally lost it. “Llyran is collecting their life forces into that damn ring. If we find the sonofabitch, take the ring, and get Aaron’s life force back into his body, then maybe we can save him. Bring him back.” I stilled, realizing just how insane that sounded. “He’d do the same for any one of us.”

  Bryn wiped her wet face with her arm and nodded. Her shoulder trembled. Her mouth went tight, trying to stop herself from bursting
into tears once more. “I didn’t do this, Charlie.” Her bottom lip trembled, and I could see the horror she faced, not knowing how they came to be here, what part she played. “I couldn’t have. I love him.”

  “I know.” I shook my head in regret and sorrow, hugging her. “I know.”

  18

  “Can’t we spell his body so it won’t deteriorate?” I asked.

  “That’s death magic, black crafting,” Bryn answered. “You’re going against the laws of nature, not working with them.”

  Okay, so my sister’s knowledge was out. I folded my arms across my chest and leaned back against the kitchen counter and watched the activity over Hank’s shoulder. The medics were putting Aaron’s body into a cold bag to slow the death process. The chief stood over them, issuing orders, and occasionally shaking his head.

  “I can reanimate a corpse,” Liz said, “but I don’t have the knowledge to get the soul back inside, or spell a body to keep it in stasis. I think we need a Master black crafter for that.” She glanced around the room. “You guys must know someone, right?”

  Since black crafting was technically illegal, most practitioners performed in secret. There was only one Master Crafter I knew, and from the uncomfortable way Hank and Bryn were looking at me, they knew just who I was thinking about.

  The woman I commonly referred to as The Bitch.

  The chief barreled through the sliding glass doors, pushing them wide so the paramedics could remove Aaron’s body. Silently we watched them roll him out. For a long moment, no one spoke as the chief sidled up to the counter on the other side of Liz, sighing heavily and sitting on one of the stools.

  “She won’t help us,” I said. Not since I fractured her jaw with a fury-packed right hook.

  “Who won’t help?” the chief asked.

  Bryn gave him a knowing look. “The O.W.”

  That was the thing about being beaten to death by a ghoul hired by the Master Crafter who had slept with my husband and ruined my marriage—everyone ended up knowing all of the sordid details.

  A frown pulled the chief’s eyebrows together. “What the hell is an O.W.?”

  “The other woman,” Bryn said quietly.

  I ignored the slack jaw on the chief’s blustery face. “She’s not going to help. She tried to have me killed, remember? You think she’s going to suddenly forget that I punched her in the face for sleeping with Will and just let bygones be bygones?”

  The last thing I wanted to do was revisit Will’s addiction to black crafting and the woman who had taught him, spent time with him, and ultimately rose to his challenge one night when he boasted he’d become too skilled to be coerced by anyone. She’d had him in bed and breaking his marriage oath with the snap of her fingers. And the night she ordered my execution was the night Mynogan and Titus saved my life and altered my DNA. All because of lies and deception. Years’ and years’ worth. It was a wound that I didn’t think would ever heal—that sting of betrayal from someone who claims to love you …

  “What about Rex?” Hank suggested. I met his gaze before he glanced away, but I saw in that brief look that he’d seen my hurt and was redirecting me back to the task at hand. “Will was a crafter. He’d gotten pretty good if he went up against the Bitch herself. Maybe Rex can access his knowledge …”

  I shook my head. “No. Revenants only have access to the short term memory, and when that fades, that’s it.”

  “So we’re going to need a Master Crafter and a necromancer,” Bryn said. “One to keep Aaron’s physical body in stasis and one to reanimate him when the time comes. The soul, though, must go back by itself. We can’t force it. But once it’s back, Aaron’s natural healing process should kick in and repair any damage.”

  “Can we bring someone over from Charbydon?” I asked the chief.

  “Lots of red tape and travel time, Charlie.”

  “Okay,” I muttered, releasing the counter. “I guess it’s her, then.” She’d surely make us pay for the favor. “And I’ll go. She needs to know up front I’m involved. I don’t want her finding out when she gets to the station and then backing out.”

  “With the cold bag, you have approximately three hours to get her to the morgue to spell his body before it begins to suffer damage. Too much damage, and I’m afraid no amount of healing will save him,” Liz said. “I’ll monitor the bag, and his temperature. Our biggest concern is the brain tissue.” She turned to the chief. “Give me a ride back?”

  “Sure. And Madigan?” he said, standing. “Don’t piss her off. She might be our only hope of saving Aaron’s life.”

  Yeah. That and finding Llyran and getting the life forces back, if they hadn’t been used already. If we found that ring in time, we might actually be able to bring Aaron back from the dead.

  “That leaves one big obstacle,” Hank said. “We need to find our killer.”

  “What about me?” Bryn asked in a small voice.

  “What about you?” I said.

  “I was at the warehouse. I was here when he died. I’m being used, and I don’t remember any of it. Maybe there’s a way to tap into what I’m forgetting to find Llyran? I … I need to make this right,” she said with a glassy, pained look. “Aaron’s dead because of me. I need to make this right.”

  “Hypnosis might work,” Liz offered. “Doctor Berk is highly experienced. Bryn can come to the station with me and the chief. You guys go get your Master Crafter, and we’ll meet at the station.”

  Are you sure? I asked Bryn with my gaze. She nodded, her chest rising and her conviction firm. “Okay. Hank, you’re with me. Bryn’s with the chief and Liz. Hopefully we’ll meet you back at the station with … What’s-her-face.”

  Nuallan Gow.

  No one in the ITF would’ve known she was our resident Master Crafter if not for Will sitting down with me the morning after and telling me everything. He’d been completely stunned by the ease with which she’d coerced him, by the fact that he’d done something with her that he’d never thought he’d do. But he’d been solely responsible for lying, living a secret life, and making that damn bet to begin with. He never should’ve done it in the first place. And once he’d come clean, starting the twelve-step addiction program for black crafters and pretty much straightening up his entire life, I’d actually considered a reconciliation. And then he’d turned around and made a deal with a Revenant. He hadn’t learned a thing.

  Bringing up the past like this did nothing for my mood, and by the time Hank drove his car down Gow’s street, I was ready to blow a gasket.

  “You sure she lives here?” Hank’s words brought me out of my thoughts as he parked against the curb and shut off the engine.

  We looked out the window at the two-story home with landscaped yard, porch straight out of Southern Home Magazine, white Christmas lights, and a welcome wreath on the front door.

  Buckhead was the playground for Atlanta’s elite. Extreme white collar all the way and not a place anyone would ever think a black crafter, much less a Master, would call home. But everyone had their secrets. Even in the swanky neighborhood of Buckhead.

  “Yeah. She lives here with her two-point-five kids, Labrador retriever, and devoted husband.” While she had completely destroyed my life. She’d earned her title.

  “Let me do the talking.” Hank got out of the car.

  I followed him up the steps and waited as he rang the doorbell. A jingle proceeded the open door, and we were greeted with the Labrador—which had just been a guess on my part—and a slim, highly seductive-looking woman in a white cocktail dress and upswept brown hair streaked with gold tones.

  The Bitch herself. Nuallan Gow.

  Hurt and anger mushroomed in my gut like a cold burst of wind. My fist curled into a tight ball. She took one look at me and slammed the door.

  I leaned forward and rang the bell again, holding it down. When that didn’t work, I started making a little tune with the doorbell. “Jingle Bells.” It was the holiday season, after all. I could do this all fuck
ing night. And I was certain she didn’t want her husband coming to investigate.

  No matter how hard we tried, Hank and I had been unable to pin the ghoul attack on her. Her followers were completely devoted, and the creature who carried out her orders to kill me had taken the fall completely and willingly.

  There was a huge scandal when I’d accused her of being a black crafter, but she and her husband had the luxury of money and attorneys on their side, and no one believed an upstanding citizen like herself would ever do something so terrible. The ITF was clearly grasping at straws.

  The click of her heels made me release the doorbell and stand back once more, linking my hands behind me, so I wouldn’t be tempted to punch her in the face when she answered.

  The door opened and she stepped out onto the wide front porch, closing it quietly behind her. “I am having a dinner party, Detectives.”

  I rolled my eyes as her perfume reached my nose, perfume that hid the stench of black crafting’s telltale scent of wet ashes. She had no aura whatsoever, which was no surprise. She kept a tight lock on her extracurricular activities and hid any and all signs of what she truly was.

  Her dark, bewitching gaze fell on me, her lush red lips thinning as they dipped down. Her beauty, I liked to imagine, was a glamour spell, and in real life, when all the crafting was stripped away, she was a haggard old witch.

  “We’re in need of your skills, Ms. Gow,” Hank said. “We’re hoping to save a life, a very good one.”

  My hands twitched, but I kept them firmly locked. The struggle inside of me was so great that sweat broke out on the small of my back and my heart was pounding from the hurt of old memories, and the injustice that came with it. She never gave a damn about breaking up my family, changing the entire future for me and my kid, or the pain my child had gone through during the divorce. None of that mattered to her. She’d had her fun and then moved on, leaving me and my family to pick up the pieces. I wanted to stab her in the face, but since I couldn’t do that, I sent a silent plea to the Powers That Be that karma would come back a thousand-fold and bite Nuallan Gow in the ass.