To the Grave

by Monica Corwin

  I took pride in staying and watching them get angry when they can’t expel the evil out of me by lighting some candles and wafting some sage. It was usually entertaining to think about, but then it hit me. The numbers on the card were a pin code for a high security garage that I parked at when I visited senators and high profile politicians in Chicago. Supers were ingrained in all aspects of society. And some of them paid good money for the custom magical codes I could provide.

  A sharp pain seared through my head. My mind fighting back against the flood of memory threatening to break through. No, I just needed to figure out which high profile politician I met the night someone so brutally killed me.

  Chapter 4

  The garage opened after I punched in the numbers. I knew enough about myself to know I’d never prostitute for work, or information, or anything. So my mind couldn’t be protecting me from that. But this garage was notorious as a meeting place for politicians and their mistresses. There had been two scandals centered around it in the last five years. Paparazzi had taken to parking outside the gates in case they would catch a glimpse of their next big story.

  The code changed regularly, and only a couple dozen people got such direct access. Why did I have it? The non-prostitution worried me more now that I considered it. Obviously, this information connected to my death, or I would know what my business here had been.

  A mid-sixties round balding man approached from the opposite direction with a lecherous grin. If he stopped me, I’d have to run. I pasted a scowl on my face, and he kept walking. What was it with senators and Asian women? Like a fetish or something.

  Two more men walked by, one kept his head tucked as if he didn’t want anyone to see him, and the other stared openly like the first one. I tried not to scowl at him and failed miserably. To be fair, my resting bitch face rivalled the pros.

  The hotel passage I felt the strongest about was one I actually enjoyed visiting. The interior had that vintage feel you can’t buy. It was built in the early 1900’s and withstood fire, flood, and disease. It made me feel younger just walking in the door. I headed straight to the strategically placed house phone and dialed the number on the card. It clicked to a voicemail automatically and relayed a room number and time: 724 at 6:00 pm.

  At moments like this, a girl knows how to wait. The bar beckoned from across the lobby, and I avoided the gazes of men looking to pay far too much for company and woman curious if I might make their job easy tonight. I sat at the bar, and it took two seconds for the bartender to size me up. “The girls usually sit at the high tops. Let’s the guys get a better look at the total package.”

  I slid a $20 across the counter and closed the black blazer over the cream shell I’d worn just to blend in. “I’m only here for a drink. Bourbon and Ginger Ale please. With a lime.”

  He chuckled, took the money, and brought back a medium shelf cocktail. It still burned a little going down despite the heavy soda pour. Man was not getting a good tip. I spun on the stool and scanned the lobby in case anyone wandered through I might recognize.

  “You look like you’re lonely,” a male voice said from nowhere. He’d slipped in when I’d been distracted and sat down next to me.

  “I’m not lonely. I have a bourbon,” I supplied, hoping he would take the hint. He chuckled softly and fixed his gaze on me. One brown eye one green. Not totally terrible looking, mid-40’s, although who was I to judge. With my ancestral genes, I was a 30-year-old woman in the make and model of a twenty-year-old. His suit said money, but his tie said married.

  “Do you come here often?”

  I crossed one leg over the other and stared him down. “Take a hike cowboy. I’m not here looking for a date. The bartender says, try a high top.” I waited for him to go away, but he ordered a drink and then one for me, same of what he got himself. A gin martini, stirred.

  I pushed it back. “I’m not playing hard to get. I really just want to be left alone.”

  He glanced up and stared over my shoulder. I felt it behind me, and it took all the composure I had not to get up and run away screaming. The man across from me had more sense, stumbling to his feet and backing away. He couldn’t even know what stood behind me, but it was instinct in him to flee.

  The creature came around and took the stool across from me. He was tall, over six foot, with honey golden blonde hair pulled up in a bun at the crown of his head. His eyes were steely gray, and everything in me froze at his smile.

  “I figured you would feel more comfortable here, amongst others. Maybe you would allow me to talk with you before you run away from me.”

  I tipped back the rest of my drink and signaled the bartender for another. The creature pushed away the other man’s drinks and ordered whatever I was having. Even the bartender wanted to get away from us as quickly as possible.

  “Little Witch,” he said, his voice even and calm. “What am I going to do with you?”

  My default setting when facing a creature who could snap me in half ran to sarcasm. It was home. “Forget I exist is probably my favorite choice.”

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked, lifting his lightspeed delivered drink to his perfectly formed lips. Him standing here amongst the humans looked like a before and after on a photo-shopped image.

  “I don’t know who you are, but I know what you are.”

  “Can you bring yourself to even say it, Little One?”

  On normal days, people got punched for calling me little. Today, I valued my trachea where it was. “No. I can’t say it.”

  “An honest, dark witch. How novel. My name is Michael. You may call me by that name, if you wish.”

  Naming a thing out loud gave it power. Not a chance in hell I’d say his name out loud. I wasn’t sure if that was a test or not.

  “And you are?” he asked. I had zero doubt he knew well who I was.

  I swallowed, tried to think of a way to get the hell out of here, but failed. Not without pissing it off probably. “My name is Danilo. But everyone calls me Dani for short.”

  “Ah, Dani. I have heard of you. Have you heard of me?”

  Every super heard the story of the fairy who styled himself an archangel. The archangel Michael to be specific. “I have.”

  “You called my room a short time ago. The same as you did last week before your recent demise.” They weren’t questions. They were statements of fact, so I remained quiet. I clutched my drink like a lifeline. Unsure if I should chug it back and pound them down to make my deathblow hurt less, or stop drinking to keep my brain sharp in case I could get away.

  “What do you want?” I ventured.

  “What do you want?” he countered.

  Honesty didn’t hurt me any. “To figure out what connection you have to my most recent death, so I can learn about some murders and how they are connected to a turn that is coming. Is that you?”

  One of maybe twelve left of his kind, it wasn’t a bad question.

  He chuckled softly, and it was unnerving. Like a child with a villain laugh. “No, however, I’m flattered you think me powerful enough to bring about a turn.”

  Well, if it wasn’t him, then whatever lurked out there had to be worse, and I drew a blank on what could be worse than a fae. I started to ask another question, but he held up his hand. When I flinched back, he dropped it softly to the bar top.

  “I don’t mean you any harm. I simply want to ask you some questions.”

  He spoke soft and slow as if he didn’t want to spook the wild animals.

  “I suppose that might be okay. If I can ask you some questions in return.”

  “I’ll make you a deal, Little Witch, for your gumption. I’ll answer one of your questions for each of mine. I’ll even let you begin.”

  Girl knew how to take a gift when she received one. “Did you kill me?”

  He shook his head. “I did not kill you. Although, I admit my curiosity to how you are reborn and die.”

  That didn’t bode well for my future safety. Fae lived to be an
cient and were often searching out the new and unusual just for a thrill. If he got curious enough, I could end up his new science experiment. If he didn’t kill me, then why was that number in my wallet? My usual assumptions were coding based. But he didn’t seem like the kind of creature needing my services.

  “Do you know who I work for?” he asked.

  “No. I don’t.”

  He nodded, and I glanced around the bar, noticing it had cleared out to everyone except the bartender who huddled at one side of the bar, studiously not looking our way.

  “It seems we are both being very unhelpful to each other,” he said, before twirling his low-ball glass around the gleaming bar top.

  “Maybe we just haven’t been asking the right questions.”

  “Touché. Your turn, Little One.”

  I looked down into the amber tinged melted ice. The question needed to be right as I didn’t know how much longer he’d allow the inquisition. Plus, fairies were notorious for double sided answers and riddles. “What did you know about me before you sat down beside me today?”

  Another smile. Another tilt of his head as if he wanted to study my insides. “Everyone knows about the two feuding families who killed each other off.”

  I opened my mouth to correct him, but he shook his head ever so slightly, and I locked my lips together.

  “What would it take to break your curse?”

  It pained me to tell him, but he likely knew the answer and wanted it verified. If I lied, he’d know instantly. And I had no intention of finding out the repercussions of that. “One coven of white witches would be required to lift my curse. One coven of dark witches to lift Angel’s side.”

  “Twenty-six witches in all. And the casting would kill them? It’s hard to find a coven these days.” He spoke as if he were talking to himself. “And your Angel is working on his schooling still, I think.”

  He didn’t ask the question, so I remained silent not providing any more information than necessary. “Your next question,” he said, waving at me to continue.

  “Do you know what’s coming?”

  The weight of gaze was beginning to turn my stomach. While the fae were technically considered light creatures, they had corrupted their power. To be near them felt like looking at the face of the sun, they shone so brightly in that light. And only after the light blinked out, you realized you were burned to a crisp in the process of seeing something so beautiful.

  “I will answer, and it will be your last question. There is nothing coming except what is delivered by your kind.”

  I swiveled on the chair trying to think quickly. It wasn’t levelled like a threat, nor did it sound comforting coming from him. He stood up, and I jerked back against the seat.

  He leaned in so close, his lips were almost touching mine. He smelled like honeysuckle and every woman’s fantasy. “Stay safe, Little Witch. You intrigue me. But know the one who killed you is after you for ruining a little ritual.”

  In a flash, he disappeared and the air seemed to suck back into the room. I took a deep breath, finished my drink, and high tailed it home. I apparently had a killer to find before he found me.

  Chapter 5

  To recap. Now I needed to find my murderer before he murdered me...again. No big deal. I delved into research on the few days I’d been dead and remembered why I loved the internet so much.

  The main problem turned out to be the world sucked, and everyone died while I lay in the funeral home. Because of so much awful shit, my net sailed too wide, and I pulled back everything.

  I clicked to see what I could learn about the local area, but there wasn’t much as our little suburb stayed quiet. A knock came at the door, interrupting me. “Come in,” I called, half focusing.

  The door opened with a squeak, but no one spoke. “What do you want, Angel? Kind of in the middle of something here.”

  He rapped on the door hard, and I tore myself away from the screen. His hands went into a flurry, and I sighed loud and long. “Too fast.”

  He copied my exaggerated sigh and re-signed.

  I spun around in the chair and faced him. “I don’t have plans tonight, but I find it curious that you want me to have plans.”

  He ducked his head and pressed his hair behind his ear. “Aw, kid, I think you’re blushing. Do you have a date?”

  He signed again, and I put my hands up to stop him. “Did you just say you have a date with one of the witches upstairs? I just want to be clear about that.”

  His only response was to roll his eyes and walk back down the hallway. I had to clear out tonight, so he could woo one of the virgin ice queens upstairs. Didn’t sound appealing, but I also didn’t want to sit around and watch that courtship. I shuddered and turned back to my computer.

  Angel and I had a strange relationship. We mostly avoided each other, but there was some respect there for our shared misfortune. Roommate relationships were fraught with worse tension I was sure.

  I dove back into research, this time on the mysterious fae. The internet failed me on that front. Not that I expected to find a wiki page for the creature. He’d been alive longer than most countries had borders.

  I decided to give it a break and check on some of the projects I had running. Well, there wasn’t a ton of demand for magicoding, but I did have one major project in a dating app. It allowed magical beings to contact other magical beings. Only supers could use the app, or even find it, and it used my magic specifically to locate other beings so a person might know which supers out there were looking for love, or simple companionship.

  A prick of pain started in my eyes and blinked a few times trying to clear it before pulling up my coding windows. It hurt more, and I pressed a few keys with my left eye open. Then it hit me. Maybe my recent murder had to do with my coding skills. A project or something could be involved, and that was why my eye felt like it might explode if I kept looking at the cursor. But, I’d coded for Sly just fine with no pain. That was a different kind of coding, though. This was magic built into the code itself. 1s and 0s and dark magic, oh my.

  I clicked through the application windows until I found the one that hurt the most to look at. Of course it would be the only one I’d actually made money from. Super Love. Unfortunately, a lost bet made with Sam resulted in that title.

  Instead of staring at the back end through my control panel, I pulled the app up on my phone and clicked through the sign in to get on. Only one profile popped up, and it belonged to one of the witches upstairs. Not Tiffani-with-an-i thank goodness. Wonder what she would put in a dating profile. Looking for love. Must be able to live with two sisters. No darklings need apply.

  I snickered and then refreshed, seeing if it would update. Nope. Nothing else. The witch had a white ring around her profile picture. I’d built that feature into the app so supers could search by magical denomination if they wished. Not that many cared in this day and age. Only the hard core chose to stick to whatever magic they called home. There had even been some talk about witches using both sides of magic.

  Another profile popped up nearby. A dark magic shifter of some kind. I didn’t recognize him. I wondered if Sam would know him. The new ping smacked me between the eyeballs. If magical creatures, and witches in specific, were in danger of being cut down by some unknown threat right now, what if I used the app to warn our kind?

  I could drive around the local area and make sure any place where supers congregate was warned against the threat. And I could warn others I saw in passing. The main problem I faced was my kind generally didn’t advertise. So, if I showed up randomly spouting apocalypse scenarios and serial murder, they might not listen, or worse, attack me.

  I sat my phone down and faced my computer. What if I used the in app message function to send a message to all the supers on the site? It would take me time to code it in. Plus, the magic required would mean I’d need to make a serious sacrifice. Not a death big, but there would need to be some pain involved. Would it be worth it?

  Note
to self. If I make it to the future, code a magical emergency alert system for things like this.

  I sighed and fought though the pain in my head to open up the app again. I wondered how many dick pics this message was going to invite to my profile. Maybe I can code it in from the app itself and leave me out of it completely. That sounded like a way better plan. Plus, if any of the white beings saw a message from a darkling, they might not answer it anyway. No telling who would see it or who would just delete it thinking spam or disinterest.

  A knock on my door tore me away before I could really get into the code and think of how to weave more spell work into it. I spun on the swivel chair, and Angel poked his head in and signed something fast.

  I watched and waited for him to finish the question. Mostly because I felt bad for not listening the last couple of days from my edge. “The new Wi-Fi password is on the refrigerator.”

  He left again, and I turned back to the computer screen. I changed the password on the Wi-Fi when I got paranoid which meant it got changed almost every day.

  If I could code the warning into the system so that it didn’t register on a magic affiliation, that would be step one. Or maybe it could use the sign-up email addresses to do it. I accessed the deep part of the messaging particians. A window popped up from the computer at the corner of my screen, and I clicked over. My anti-virus software started pinging at me.

  “Why are you telling me about a virus?” I asked my computer. I clicked it to see what sort of virus my computer said I’d contracted. I put magic in my firewalls, not much could slip past that.

  The second the anti-virus warning box opened, and then my computer blinked before going dark.

  “Hmm…that is not good,” I told it.

  I tried to restart it in safety mode, but nothing. All I got was a white blinking cursor at the top of the screen. Not even a hard reboot brought up the right menus. What could completely wipe and fry my system like that?