by Martha Woods
“Amy.”
“Amy, if you don’t talk to me, I will have you thrown in a cell. See how that helps you rethink your position on this issue.”
“Fine,” he finally says. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 9
I’ll give it to Rick, he is a man of his word. He walks me straight to a holding cell and even slams the bars shut, just like in a movie. He raises his eyebrows as he stands waiting, as if just simply being in the cell will make me start talking.
When I still don’t speak, he sighs. “Fine, Amy,” he says. “When you’re ready to tell the truth, you can come out.”
“You can’t hold me if I’m not being arrested,” I say. “I know my rights.”
“Fine,” he says, “I’ll book you for Vivienne’s death.”
I scoff at this. “On what grounds?”
“Video records from the lobby show that there were several terse exchanges between the two of you, Amy,” he says. “In one, you were downright threatening to her.”
“More like the other way around,” I say. “She was quite nasty to me, to the point that I threatened to go to human resources about it. When we went to lunch, it was her idea because she wanted to apologize for how she acted. I was never anything but professional.”
“Then how do you explain the video?” he asks.
I shrug. “Someone must have tampered with it,” I say. “You have no real evidence on me, and I suspect that her autopsy results prove the same. I did not like her, but I would never hurt someone like that. You know that about me.”
He makes a face. “Whatever,” he says. “Just cool your jets in here for a while. Think very carefully about how you want this to go. I would hate to have to bring these charges down on you, I really would. Tell me the whole truth or be arrested for Vivienne Lockhart’s murder.”
I stare at him for probably ten full seconds and I am pretty sure my heart stops beating for the whole duration.
“This is not you,” I say.
“I could say the same,” he counters.
“You know me, Rick,” I say. “You know that I don’t do a thing unless it is relevant to a case. You know how hard I work. You know I am always above-board. And you know I could never, ever kill someone. Not unless my life or the life of someone I love depended on it.”
“Look, I thought I knew you, but you haven’t been yourself for a long time, and you know it. I don’t know what has happened to you, because I suspect you are telling me only a fraction of the truth. So just tell me. Just tell me the truth. Give me a break in this case. That is all I need.”
“You’re that desperate?” I ask. “You’re so desperate for a break in this case that you would take me down to get it? Even though you know I didn’t hurt her? What did the coroner’s report say?”
He chews on his lip and refuses to make eye contact.
“Rick? What did it say?” I push.
“It said she had a heart attack,” he says. “Which I think is hooey. She was a young, fit woman. No way she just had a heart attack and died.”
I eye him with disbelief. “Are you kidding me? You’re threatening to book me on a murder charge for a woman who clearly died of natural causes? You’ve lost it.”
“I will do what I have to do to get you to talk to me,” he says.
I sit down on the single cot in the cell and fold my arms over my chest. I am not talking. Not now. No way.
Rick just shakes his head and walks off, leaving me in the small space. It’s okay. He can’t hold me. And he can’t charge me. I will just wait him out.
About an hour later, a young, female police officer comes down to deliver dinner. She unlocks the cell doors and heads inside, putting the tray on the small table next to the cot. I eye the meal, a metal cup of coffee, a plastic cup of water, and a plate with mashed potatoes, some kind of grey-looking meat, and some green beans that look as if they were canned the year I was born. I would not eat a meal like this if they paid me. Hunger strike it is, then.
I open my mouth to make a snide remark but as I look at the officer, she shimmers slightly and then her form begins to change.
Suddenly, she becomes Alvin Quick.
I laugh out loud.
“I am glad you find incarceration amusing,” he says.
“I find you amusing,” I say. “You can just…turn into anyone you want? What are you?”
“Oh, what would be the fun in telling all of my secrets?” he asks.
“Well, I like learning new things,” I say. “I am an inquisitive person. I don’t think I have met anyone like you.”
“I assure you that you have not,” he says smugly. “But I am not easily baited, and I did not come here to preen.”
“I think you like to preen,” I say. “Just sayin’. So, you came here to finish what you started in the warehouse, then?”
“I do not like killing witches,” he says. “Especially not ones with such raw talent. You could be so good, had you the right training.”
“You were going to use me in your psychotic sacrifices,” I say. “So don’t tell me you hate killing witches, or that killing me would be a big waste. You had Damon under your spell so he would kill me. And you tried to kill me again last night.”
“Well, the sacrifice would not have been a waste, now would it? Your womb, your blood…they would have created a life. Only the strongest, purest, most untapped power can make this spell work.”
“Wait. All of those women were witches?” I ask. “No way.”
“All recruited to the Centerfold Club based on the raw, pure abilities that lay latent within them,” he says. “All chosen.”
“Oh my god,” I say. “And the club itself?”
“You already know,” he says. “Warded to enhance their gifts. And when they are ready to reveal themselves, I take that power. I take the blood. I take the womb. And it joins the growing collective that will create an army of purebred witches with gifts this world has never seen before.”
“So why are you monologue-ing?” I ask. “Just an evil-guy thing?”
“So smart,” he says. “You have so much to say, don’t you? Well, here’s the thing: I don’t want you dead. I just want you to go away.”
I feel my eyebrows meet in the middle. “Huh?”
“You’re strong, capable. You have great abilities within you, ready to explode. I do not wish to take that from the world. But you need to leave. The police will never figure this out, not without you. So let it go. Take your Hunter boyfriend and leave while I finish my work. This is inevitable, Amy. The world needs to be cleansed. Changes need to be made, bloodlines need to be purified. The creatures of this world are dirty, reckless. They are inhuman. Dangerous. Filthy. But we are pure. You are pure. So go.”
“You are really crazy, aren’t you?” I ask. “Wow.”
And then I can’t breathe. My windpipe is being constricted, crushed. My hands are at my throat, clawing, as if I can pull away whatever invisible force is clamped down there.
“You have forty-eight hours to decide,” he says. “I hate wasting good witches, but I will kill you if you do not leave. I want you to collect the human and leave. Never come back. Never look back. Walk away. This is very generous. You know this.”
I fall back on the cot, dizzy and gasping for air as he releases me.
“Forty-eight hours,” he repeats.
Alvin Quick turns into the female officer once more, walking effortlessly out, shutting and locking the bars behind him. He whistles a happy tune as he walks away.
Chapter 10
I think I have fallen asleep on the hard cot, as I jerk awake as soon as I hear the sound of the metal bars opening again. It’s Rick, and he gestures that I can leave with a big sweep of his hand.
I stand and stretch before heading out, holding my head as high as I can. As I pass, though, Rick grabs my arm.
“Amy,” he says. “You are free to go now.”
“Well big surprise,” I say. “You have no reason to hold me.�
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“This would be so much better for both of us if you would just talk to me.”
“Yeah, you’ve said that already,” I say with an eye roll.
“You’re being childish,” he counters.
“Well, you’re being ridiculous. Just let me get back to my work. I can solve this. I’m very close.”
“You’re not coming back to work, Amy. Not with this stuff hanging over all of us. Maybe never.”
I feel sick to my stomach. Maybe never. I swallow and look away from him, trying to hide how much this hurts me. “Remember when I was a rookie, Rick? I screwed up a case, lost some evidence. Do you remember that? And you fought for me. Told the Captain that I was one of the best investigators you’d seen, that I had so much potential. You told him that I had a great eye, that I’d made a mistake but you were sure I wouldn’t make it again.”
“I do remember that. And I stand by your instincts, but you’re hiding something from me, and that is inexcusable.”
“What if what I’m hiding is something that would blow your hair off your head? That would be so hard to swallow that your head would spin?” I ask.
“I’ve seen an awful lot in my long career, Amy. Don’t be dramatic. Whatever you think you know, I’ve probably heard it all before.”
“Not this,” I say.
He sighs deeply. “Well, I’m weary of this. So here’s the deal. You have forty-eight hours to decide if you want to tell me what you know, tell me the truth, or turn yourself in for Vivienne’s murder. The clock is ticking.”
“I used to think the world of you,” I say venomously. “You were my idol, my mentor. And the Rick I know would never do this. Never. You know this is wrong.”
A little bit of color reaches his cheeks, the only sign he has given so far to indicate that he really gets how wrong this is. He doesn’t say anything, however; he just says, “Forty-eight hours, Amy. Don’t let me down.”
I make the walk to my car, feeling the weight of exhaustion and time and stress as I practically fall into the driver’s seat. I should go straight home and get some sleep. Instead, I make the short drive to Faye’s shop, hoping she will be back from her vacation. I need some guidance. Or, at least, I need someone familiar.
When I arrive, it’s Tariq I find at the counter, helping a young woman who is very clearly sending vibes that she would like more than just help with the crystals she is buying. I get it; he is quite good looking. I watch him and think he and Cara would make a pretty couple.
The last thing I have time for is matchmaking, but Cara told me she is not so into Troy. And she deserves a nice guy.
As the young woman leaves, she slides a piece of paper across the counter and winks. She heads for the door with a backward glance and a flirty giggle.
“Looks like you had an admirer,” I say. “Faye’s not back?”
“She is still gone,” he says.
“Any word on how long she will be gone?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I have other news, though. I still speak with some of the local werewolf packs. I have a couple of friends that I made when Afia was alive, they warned me to lay low. That there are at least two dens stirring, ready to start killing witches on the spot.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why kill witches with no provocation?”
“Rumors are spreading,” she says. “They have heard of the cleanse, about the Centerfold Murders, about Quick’s legion of loyalists. Creatures are ready to kill witches just on principal. They do not know friend from foe, so they will kill us all.”
I rub my hand over my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “This is getting out of hand,” I say. “I have to put an end to Quick, and soon.”
“I agree,” Tariq says. “I will help you.”
“I’ll need your help,” I say. “But when I say soon, I mean within the next forty-eight hours.”
“Two days?” Tariq says, surprised. “That seems…aggressive.”
I tell him about my time in jail, about Quick’s ultimatum that I take Damon and leave town, and about Rick’s decision to book me on a murder I didn’t commit if I don’t tell him everything I know within forty-eight hours.
“Surely, he has no evidence on which to charge you,” Tariq says.
“A few terse conversations in the lobby,” I say, “which is hardly enough to make the charge stick.”
“Perhaps you should tell him everything you know,” he says.
I laugh at this. “Tariq, these are police officers. Everything is black and white to them. And our kind, all of the supernatural, it lives in the grey. Do you know what I mean? They wouldn’t believe me if I told them. And even if they did believe me, they have no tools or training for dealing with this kind of thing.”
“What is your relationship to this Rick person?” he asks.
“Oh,” I say. “Well besides the fact that he was my boss? He was my mentor. I really looked up to him. Kind of a father figure, I guess? I don’t have much of a relationship with my own parents, so…”
“And do you really believe that someone with whom you were close would allow you to go to jail for a crime you did not commit?”
“Well, I think he is grasping at straws,” I say. “He is desperate to close out these cases. He hates media attention, and he hates not having answers. I believe he knows I have the answers, so he is pulling out every trick he can to get to what I know.”
Tariq exhales heavily. “Well,” he says, “I cannot make this decision for you, and I know it must be a hard one. On one hand, you could just lay out the truth and see where it leads…”
“And he could have me committed to the loony bin,” I say.
“Or you can keep it to yourself and hope that he is – how do you say it – bluffing? Bluffing about the murder charge.”
“This is called being stuck between a rock and a hard place,” I say.
“I do not envy that you have to make this decision, but I am willing to fight beside you, either way. What you are doing, trying to stop Alvin Quick? That is a righteous path. A right path. I will help you however I can.”
“Thank you, Tariq,” I say. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.”
He pushes his lips together. It is kind of a smile, but more of a look of solidarity. “Think about what you want to do and I will try to think of a plan to help you, whichever way you decide to go.”
I give Tariq a hug. Anyone who knows me knows I am not a hugger, but I just really like this guy. He is level-headed, open, helpful. He is what I need right now and while I have come to appreciate Faye, in spite of her idiosyncrasies, I just really needed someone I could really talk to, who wouldn’t respond in riddles, or make me feel judged.
The drive home is quiet. I think a lot on Quick’s offer. It would be so easy to just walk away. I could go anywhere, get a new job, start a new life. I could pretend that a crazed warlock isn’t ravaging the creature population, killing people. Really, why do I care? I didn’t know that these creatures even existed a year ago. And I’m a witch. Surely, I could find someone to wipe my memories, let me start over without the crushing guilt I know I would feel if I walked away without trying my best to stop it. Still, I have been through so much. I have fought and nearly been killed by a werewolf Shaman. I have been Awakened to my own abilities. I have freed Cara and Vincent from a bloodthirsty vampire. I have beaten three sister-witches to get Damon back. I have lost him, and found him, and lost him again. I have been used like a toy. I have lost my job, lost my close relationship to my boss.
Maybe some would choose to walk away. To take this offer as a clean start, a way to wipe the slate and move on. And I am tempted. But only a little, because I am also a person who finishes things, and not for any other reason than because it is right. My sense of right and wrong is almost too rigid, sometimes, and what Quick is doing is not right.
So I know, without a doubt, that I cannot leave.
My stomach rumbles, as I realize I haven’t had much to eat today at all. Whi
le I daydream about food, I wander up into my apartment, only to find Damon sitting at the kitchen table, looking quizzically at all of my notes and maps and articles.
He is clean-shaven, wet-haired – he must have taken a shower. As I approach, he turns, I can see confusion on his face. It is all I can do to just make the walk in, to pull the chair out opposite him, and to sit down.
“Hello, Amy,” he says.
Chapter 11
“Um, hi,” I say. “You’re awake. Was Alexis here?”
He shakes his head slowly. “No, not today.”
“So you know she’s been here?”
He shrugs. “Vaguely. I’m…not sure what was real and what wasn’t. I feel like I heard snippets of conversations here and there. Some very vivid. I…experienced things. I think I might have been dreaming sometimes. I don’t know.”
I feel heat rise in my cheeks as I think of the vivid sex dream I had last night.
“Are you okay, Amy?” he asks.
My mouth falls open. “Am I okay?” I ask. “You’re the one who was injured, semi-comatose.”
He looks around at the evidence of my obsession with this case, then back at me. “I feel like I have been so selfish. I’ve been thinking about myself, protecting my own feelings and myself. I think I’ve been careless with your feelings, with you.”
“No,” I say. “No. That’s not true at all. If anything, I have been distant. I haven’t really opened myself up. I don’t know if I can ever be…good…for someone. You know?”
“We both come with baggage,” he says. “Mine are my biases. I have grown up hating creatures, all creatures. Vampires, werewolves…they were only things to be killed. And you shoved all of my shit into my face by loving him, by trusting him.”
“Him. You mean Vincent.” It’s not a question. “I didn’t mean to shove it, or him, into your face. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never purposely do that.”
“I know,” he says. “And it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I love you. I know you love me, and I will take whatever you can give me. And if you need to love him, too, then I will learn to live with that. I just want to be with you.”
