by Gina LaManna
I winced. “I was seven.”
“Yeah, well, my family’s not the most observant,” George said wryly. “Anyway, if you think this’ll help Lucia, I’ll do it. I owe her bigtime.”
“Okay,” I said, walking him through the basics of what would happen next. I then explained the reversal process. “When you go invisible, just sit on the couch so I don’t accidentally hurt you.”
“Cool.”
I raised my hands and muttered the Invisibility Incantation—a tricky little spell I’d learned during police training. Unfortunately, it was illegal to turn ourselves invisible while on the job—too much potential for abuse of power. Therefore, I was a little rusty and forgot about the ending stanza of the incantation, which left George’s head blissfully visible above the slight fuzziness of the invisibility Residuals.
“Gah!” He yelped, glancing at a reflection of himself in a shiny chalice decorating my bookshelf. “I thought all of me was invisible! Did you behead me? Where’s my body?”
“Sit,” I demanded. “This should be enough.”
He sat, his head floating like a balloon without a string. Things got even more strange when he adjusted his hair with an invisible hand, and it looked like he was being attacked by a poltergeist.
“Sit still,” I said crossly, trying to aim at him with the reversal and missing. It was a good thing I’d left his head untouched so I had at least some point of reference for the spell.
“I am! Hurry up. This is giving me a queasy stomach.”
I huffed out the antidote to the spell and watched as his body slowly and surely tingled back to normal. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
He put his head in his hands. “I feel sick. I definitely do not want to die by beheading—it’s the worst.”
“You weren’t beheaded! Don’t go around telling people I beheaded you,” I warned, shaking my finger at him. “Word travels quickly, and I don’t want to have to explain myself. Now, I need you to slather this all over yourself.”
“Why?” He accepted the proffered bottle of Residual Remover and gave a quick glance at the label. “Lucia saw colors in the Residuals. Is that what you’re looking for?”
“It looks like green spider mites are eating your flesh,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Yes. They are colorful—these are lime green. And yes, we all see Residuals the same, or at least similarly enough.”
“You’re worse than my sister—she didn’t make them sound disgusting.” He uncorked the bottle. “Will this really wash them away?”
“That’s what I want to find out.”
George peered at the instructions on the bottle and began applying its contents. While he did, I reviewed the facts involving Sienna. I knew for certain that there had been the same lime green Residuals all over her the day I’d shown up at the morgue. She also swore that she hadn’t returned to the morgue during the period of time when the bodies had been taken—but that wasn’t true. Ursula had said otherwise.
But the part that didn’t add up for me was the Residual Remover. As I watched George scrub the Residuals from himself, I was impressed by how effective the illegal substance was turning out to be. Especially since George couldn’t see his Residuals either. Theoretically, if Sienna—an incredibly skilled necromancer—had meant to cover up her Residuals, she would have succeeded.
“Wow,” I said, studying George. “They’re almost completely gone.”
“Really? What color am I now?”
I gave him the side eye. “Your Spell Splash is turd brown.”
“You really have a way with words,” George said, but he smiled. “Does that help you solve...whatever it is you’re muttering about?”
I extended a hand and recapped the Residual Remover. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it does. But it doesn’t answer who The Farmacist is. Unless...”
“What?”
My spine went rigid as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. “I have to get to the precinct. Sorry to kick you out, buddy, but you’ve got to go,” I said. “I have something I need to do.”
“But—”
“Go downstairs and get something to eat—pizza’s on the house,” I said. “I’m going to find your sister.”
Chapter 22
“Get the hell away from him.” I blew through the door to the interview room and came to a dead stop at the sight of the empty table before me. “Where is he?”
Lieutenant Peter Abbott turned around, an easy smile on his face. “Dani, what are you doing here?”
I squinted, wondering if I’d gotten this whole thing wrong. If everything had become so convoluted that I was looking at my closest friends and colleagues in a dark and twisted way. It was with horror and a sinking stomach that I wondered if I’d become so jaded by my past that I couldn’t stand to trust in the true bonds of friendship any longer.
Then I saw it. The slight green sprinkle to his pointer finger—a speck of Residual dust he hadn’t managed to wipe away with Residual Remover.
“Where is he?” I asked. “Where’s Juno?”
“What are you talking about?” Peter asked. “They just took Juno away—I finished questioning him ten minutes ago and was putting together some notes.”
“Where’s your notebook?” I asked as a creepy sensation slithered down my spine. I called out to the empty room. “Juno! Can you hear me?”
“Are you feeling okay, Detective?” Peter glanced around. “I just told you—he’s not here.”
While Peter spoke, I let my eyes wander around the room in search of something—anything—that felt off balance. It wasn’t until I ducked and peered under the table that I found it—a giant swarm of Residuals from an Invisibility Incantation. I couldn’t see Juno’s body—but he was there, no question about it.
I moved before Peter could process and shot the antidote for the Invisibility Incantation straight at Juno’s body. The spell hit its target dead on, and in a flash, Juno returned to full view. His hands and legs had been cuffed, his mouth bound with tape. Likely some sort of Shusher had been invoked to keep him quiet. His eyes were wide, terrified, but a hint of relief shone through.
I didn’t have time to reassure him because Peter had snapped to attention. I dodged a shot from the lieutenant’s Stunner and threw my body across the room using the table as a shield. I crouched out of the line of fire as he spoke.
“Don’t move or you’re dead, Dani,” Peter said. “Or better yet—I’ll kill your friend here. Cooperate, and the street merchant lives.”
I could hear my heart as it pounded against my chest. “Let him go, Peter—I’ll cooperate. Where’s Matthew?”
“Away on an urgent mission,” Peter said. “Along with Nash. There’s nobody to help you, Detective, so don’t get any ideas.”
“You’ve got a good thing going here, Peter, don’t you,” I snapped. “It’s brilliant really—The Farmacist. Who better to mask a deadly web of drugs than a narcotics cop?”
“Shut up, Dani.”
“Where’s Lucia?”
“I said shut up—we’re going. Your little street rat’s coming with us.”
“No!” I barked. “Leave Juno, and I’ll go willingly with you.”
“Can’t do that,” Peter said nonchalantly. “He’s a witness.”
“Turn him invisible,” I instructed. “I’ll go willingly with you—I swear. If I come away from this alive, I’ll set Juno free. If I don’t, his fate is in your hands. You know it’s a good deal, Peter—you won’t get both of us out of a police station without someone noticing.”
Juno’s face paled, and it was all I could do not to look at him. It wasn’t the best solution, but it was better than Peter killing him this very second. And if Juno traveled with us, it would only make things more dangerous for us both. I knew in my heart that Juno wasn’t making it out of this situation alive unless I made it happen.
“A game,” Peter said with an amused smile. “I like it. You’ve got a few more hours to live, Juno—if you’re lucky.”
&nb
sp; My heart beat rapidly at Peter’s promise. “Turn him then, and let’s move.”
“Nice try, but I’m not taking my Stunner off your chest,” he said. “Do it quickly. One wrong move and—”
“—I’m dead, I know,” I said. “You’ve made yourself clear.”
I raised my hands, muttered the Invisibility Incantation and an apology afterward, watching as all of Juno disappeared before my eyes. Peter barely waited for the Herbals vendor to vanish before he shot a hit of Moving Magic toward Juno’s body. A thump sounded from the far corner, along with the whooshing of air from Juno’s lungs as his body hit the wall and slumped the floor. Unless another Reserve stumbled in the room and noticed an odd pile of Residuals, I was Juno’s only chance of survival.
“How shall we do this?” I asked as Peter marched to my side and pressed the Stunner into my back. “Are we skipping merrily through the front gates, or would you prefer a different option?”
“We’re going to the flight deck and leaving here on a double. You so much as flinch on that broomstick, and I’ll stun you off the side. Falling three hundred stories doesn’t make for a nice open casket, and I know Mama DeMarco will be pissed if she can’t see her daughter laid out nice and pretty.”
Peter had thought this entire scenario through. I could see he’d been prepared for my arrival with a backup plan. Even the interview room he’d booked lined up next to a back staircase that was completely unused at this time of night. The dinner hour had come and gone, and most officers had either stepped out for a bite to eat or gone home. The station was all but deserted due to the limited number of night shift staff.
Peter quickly checked out a double broom, keeping the Stunner pressed to my back all the while. I didn’t get a good glimpse of the bored desk attendant, and he didn’t bother to look at me. Peter nudged me onto the broom the second we reached the flight deck, and before I could even think about calling for help, we were headed straight into the skies.
“Where are we going?” I asked. “Why are you doing this?”
“Shut up.”
Peter’s penchant for discussion died completely as we sailed up, higher and higher, as the moon seemed to crystalize the air around us. We passed through flimsy clouds, and I briefly debated the pros and cons of trying to throw Peter from the broomstick. However, seeing as he held the gun, my chances were slim, and he’d been right about one thing—a three hundred story fall didn’t look good on anyone.
“Here we are,” he said, alighting at the very top of one of the newest high rises in town. “Floor 407. Highest around.”
“Not the sort of thing a cop salary will buy you,” I said wryly as we came to an abrupt landing on a flight balcony. “What’s the name on this place? I imagine you didn’t register it under Peter Abbott.”
“One doesn’t need a name when they pay cash,” Peter said, and led me into the ritzy apartment that oversaw all of Wicked. “And The Farmacist always pays in cash.”
“Why did you bother to bring me here?” I asked. “If you were going to kill me, you would’ve dumped me from the broom and made it look like an accident.”
“Because I’m just getting started,” he said with a dry smile. “And I have a use for you. Now, give me your wrists.”
I did as he said, feeling the clink of black, magic-proof handcuffs as they slid over my wrists. I racked my brain for what use I might be to Peter alive but came up with nothing. That’s when I realized he didn’t want to keep me alive...he just wanted to kill me when the time was right.
“You want to use my death as a distraction,” I said. “You think it’ll make people forget about Harmony.”
“If I frame Grey for your murder,” Peter said happily, “your vamp will be so angry and bereaved he’ll kill that dog himself. Then King will go to jail, Nash will be upset at the loss of his sister, and Harmony will fade gently into nothingness...”
“What happened to make you this way, Peter? You swore an oath to protect people.”
“We all desire money and power and wealth,” Peter said with nonchalance. “The only difference is how far people are willing to go to get it. It’s a sign of strength, Dani. You could’ve been strong, too, if only you weren’t so damn concerned with justice.”
“For what, this?” I raked my eyes past him, studying the shiny floors of the stinking rich apartment. Everything in it spoke of wealth: the golden-plated sinks, the glossy black counters, the marble statues everywhere. It was worse than the Golden District. “Wealth?”
“We both know it’s more than that,” he said easily. “Unfortunately, I can’t kill you yet—so for now, you’ll be reunited with an old friend. I’ll need the wolf marks on your neck to match up with the time of death.”
“Leave Matthew and Grey out of this,” I snarled. “This is between you and me.”
“No, it’s not. That would make things easier.” He glanced outside, as if he’d prefer to just tip me out the window and let me fall. “I’ll be back.”
Then he grabbed me by the arm, opened the door to the first bedroom, and threw me inside. Just before my head hit the wall, I caught a glimpse of a familiar face.
“Lucia,” I said, and then clunked into unconsciousness.
Chapter 23
“Get away,” I snapped at the hands touching me as I struggled to consciousness. “Get the hell away from my head.”
“Chill, Detective,” Lucia said with a small snort of laughter. “I’m trying to help you.”
I sat up, helpless to ward off much of anything since my hands were cuffed behind my back. It took a moment for the situation to sink into place, seeing as I’d just had my head knocked against a solid cement wall.
Slowly, the sights filtered into my brain. Lucia stood before me, her hands loosely tied in front of her body with magic-proof rope that would allow her the flexibility of movement without the use of her powers. She was currently dabbing a substance that was likely blood from my forehead with a rag.
“You need an ice pack, but we don’t have that luxury in here,” she said. “Sorry. But if it helps, I think you look badass with a black eye, Detective.”
For a long while the two of us watched one another, uneasy and injured and captive and upset. And then we both burst into laughter. Lucia was able to semi-throw her arms around my neck and pull me into a hug.
“Man, am I glad to see you!” She gasped and laughed all at once. “It’s been what...weeks? A month? I’ve lost track of time.”
“I’m so sorry we didn’t find you sooner,” I said. “We didn’t know what to think, and—”
“I know. I wrote the note—Peter made me,” she said. “Did you find the message? Is that how you got here?”
“It was brilliant,” I said, offering a grin. Then my grin faded, and the somber moment returned. “If you hadn’t thought to do that, I might have believed the letter. Your brother thought you eloped with some guy, which is why he didn’t call the cops earlier.”
“I had a good mentor,” she said in explanation. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have thought of that little trick. You told me about it yourself.”
“Well, we’ll have to remember it. Though the mention of The Isle sent us on a wild goose chase for a bit,” I said, thinking of Grey. “I’m afraid it cost us precious time.”
“Detective—”
“Let’s just get out of here,” I said, interrupting. “We can sort through the details later.”
“No,” she said sharply. “You need to know.”
I sat back, surveying the near-empty bedroom in which we were held captive. “You loved Peter.”
“Yes. I was ready to elope,” she said. “My brother wasn’t wrong—if Peter had asked, I might have gone with him and left the rest of the world behind. How did I let this happen, Detective? People are dying because of me now. I became a cop to help people. I dated Peter because I wanted to fall in love. And look where I ended up.”
“People aren’t dying because of you,” I said firmly. “You couldn’t
have known. Nash was Peter’s partner for years, and he didn’t see this coming. Understand? None of this is your fault. You are very good at your job, Lucia. Without the clues you left behind, we never would’ve caught onto Harmony or been able to find you. Now—I’m not sympathizing with you any further. Put on your big girl thong and let’s get out of here.”
“I hate thongs.”
“Me too, but I hate the word panties more,” I said, and cringed. “Tell me what happened as we search this place.”
“I’ve searched it,” she said, gesturing to the sparse room. There was a bed, a small lavatory with no mirror, and not much else. It was the equivalent of a prison among the clouds. “There’s nothing.”
“Then start talking while I give it a look,” I said. “How did Peter pull everything off? Has he told you the full story?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said wryly. “We’ve chatted plenty. He makes me eat dinner with him every night. He talks all the time, which is horrible. I mean, every time he opens his mouth, he gives himself another reason to kill me.”
“He hasn’t...” I froze, peeking under the bed before turning to look at her. “Since you’ve been here...”
“He hasn’t touched me, no,” she said, meeting my gaze. “Nothing like that. I think he just wants company. He’s alone in his secret, filthy rich little world, and he still thinks I’m some sort of friend. Twisted, huh?”
I cocked my head to the side. “I’ve heard worse. Tell me about your cases.”
“A few things I was investigating weren’t adding up. I’m assuming you took a glance at my open cases,” she said, quickly and efficiently walking me through her caseload. “The bit with Farmer Marcell, and then the necromancy claim, just didn’t feel right. Then I noticed something new and big was happening in the drug world. Marcell was Peter’s informant—not sure if you knew that.”
