Authors: Melissa F. Olson
“Well…neither of them had much ability, I’m afraid. What you would call power.”
I nodded. When I paid attention to my radius, I experienced both Kirsten’s and Eli’s power as two distinctive hits on my null
radar: Eli as sort of a low throbbing and Kirsten as a steady buzz that flickered if she flexed her magic. A witch with less power would register as a much lesser buzz. “So you think someone may be killing…what, minor-league witches?”
She hesitated. “Maybe. It might not be that simple, though. In terms of magical ability, Erin and Denise had something else in common. They both dealt with the future.”
“Fortune-tellers?” I said, unable to keep the skepticism out of my voice.
She held one hand out flat and teetered it from side to side in a “kind of” gesture. “Both women were active in our society”—the witches’ word for their union—”but like many witches, both of them were really only talented with one thing: in this case, predictions. Denise read tarot cards on the Third Street Promenade, a block from the pier. She was very successful at it, but that was all she could do. Erin had even less natural magic. She got…feelings, about the future. But they were very vague.”
“What do you mean, vague?”
Her eyes searched the ceiling above my head, as if she might read off an example. “She worked as a loan officer at a bank, and she would sometimes get a feeling about the people who applied. That they were going to be successful, or that they would fail miserably.”
“Was she right?”
“Always, as far as she knew. But she never knew why or how something was going to happen, just sort of a general sense. I remember another witch, Stella, telling me that Erin had called and told her to keep her kids home from day care that day. Erin had no idea if that meant that the building would explode, or one of the kids would fall off the swing set, or what. She just told Stella not to let the kids go.”
“What happened?”
Kirsten smiled a little. “Stella kept the girls home, and that day there was a pinkeye outbreak. It wouldn’t have been fun, but it wasn’t exactly life threatening, either. You can see how it was sometimes frustrating for Erin.” She sighed. “And now they’re both dead, and I’m just…so…” Her fists clenched over the pile of coaster bits.
Premonitions, suspicious deaths, magical theory…yep, I was way out of my depth. There was an obvious answer here: Jesse wanted to know more about the Old World’s connection to Erin’s death, and Kirsten wanted to figure out who’d killed Erin. It was a match made in heaven—if I could convince Kirsten to participate. “Kirsten, I’m sorry. But I’m not an investigator. Would you be willing to talk to Jesse about all this? Detective Cruz, I mean.”
She looked at me as though I’d just suggested that she mow her lawn naked. “Absolutely not,” she said firmly. “We don’t involve the police, Scarlett.”
“This is different. He already knows about the Old World, and Dashiell already knows about him. Jesse can
help
you.”
“I’m not concerned with Dashiell and the vampires. Detective Cruz is with the human police. Do you have any idea the things that have happened whenever authorities got involved with witches?”
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes at that. “Kirsten, come on. We’re talking about LAPD, not the Spanish Inquisition. There are no witch hunts anymore.”
“Do you know how hard we worked, how many of us died, to get it this way?” she countered, her voice rising. “The second you invite an officer of the law into our problems, you’re opening a door that we might not be able to close again.”
I blinked. I would bet every penny in my meager savings account that Kirsten votes for the far left, spends more than $100 on a haircut, and eats sushi at least once a week. This old-fashioned hell-and-brimstone outlook came out of nowhere.
She saw the look on my face and sighed, dropping her current mangled coaster. “I’m sorry. It’s been an awful day.”
“No worries.”
“You don’t know much about me, Scarlett, but I come from many generations of witches. There were witch hunts in Sweden a century before the trials here in Salem, so there’s a certain attitude about the police that has been sort of…ingrained in me, you could say. I know Detective Cruz did good work in helping you find that man who killed the vampires, but I will
not
bring the police into witch affairs.”
“Look, I promise I understand where you’re coming from,” I said. “But last fall, when I got cornered into working with Jesse, he really proved himself. And he hasn’t shown any interest in persecuting the Old World since then.” This was true. After some initial shock, and excluding this current problem with his crime scene, Jesse seemed to view the Old World the way other people view tigers at the zoo: fascinating, exotic, and interesting to look at from a distance, but you wouldn’t want to go prying and poking into their business. For the last few months, he’d kept a respectful distance from Old World affairs. I very much approved of this attitude.
Kirsten sighed. “Maybe he hasn’t. I’m not so prejudiced as to assume all police detectives are ignorant and hateful. But look at it this way: he still has to follow rules and uphold laws, and you know those very rarely mesh with our need for containment. What happens if the killer is Old World?”
I sat back, thinking it over. It was a fair objection. Jesse believed in law and order. If the search led to a vampire or a werewolf, he might decide to just arrest them and damn the consequences. And there would be consequences.
I had spent less than three hours in this time zone, but I already had myself a classic rock/hard-spot scenario. If I didn’t give Jesse something, he’d go to Dashiell, which could get him killed. On the other hand, if I told him about the witches without Kirsten’s permission, I would probably lose my job—and maybe worse.
Christmas in New York was sounding pretty good right about now.
“Kirsten,” I began again. “Two witches being murdered in a week can’t be a coincidence, can it?”
“No.”
“And there is every possibility that whoever is doing this will kill again.”
“Yes.” She stared morosely at a broken coaster, then picked up one-half and started to bend it again. “I’ve done what I can. I’ve told all my witches about Denise and Erin, and I’ve canceled the Solstice Party.”
That surprised me. I don’t really socialize with the witches, but even I had heard of the Solstice Party. Every year, Kirsten throws a blowout celebration for the witches on the night of the winter solstice, usually December 21. It’s sort of like any other holiday party, as I understand it, but has a lot to do with the significance of the solstice to witchcraft, something I didn’t know much about. Okay, didn’t know anything about.
I pressed on. “Then you must know that you need help. Jesse is a trained investigator, and I trust him. I don’t know what will happen when he catches the person, but if you don’t ask him for help, someone else might die.”
That was harsh, but I knew all about having the death of loved ones on my conscience, and it wasn’t something I’d wish on Kirsten.
A long minute ticked by on the clock above the door, while Kirsten chewed on her lower lip and weighed what I’d said. Finally, she asked, “You’ll work with him? Keep him from exposing us, and keep him safe from magical attack? I don’t want any more deaths, especially a member of the police.” From the tone of her voice it was clear she was worried less about Jesse’s personal safety and more about getting the wrong kind of attention.
Now it was my turn to hesitate. Setting Jesse up with Kirsten had seemed like the perfect way to get him off my back, but I
hadn’t planned on being involved any further. Running around with Jesse didn’t seem to pay very well, and we were a long way away from my actual job description.
When I didn’t answer right away Kirsten looked over at me, disappointment written all over her face. “What do you need,” she asked tiredly, “to care that my witches are dying?” Before I could answer, she had picked up her purse and rifled for a moment, finally pulling out a worn photo. She slid it along the bar, not forcing me to look but definitely inviting me. I picked it up.
It was a group shot, a dozen or so women at what looked like a Halloween party, though this particular group might have dressed up just about any time of the year. They were wearing long black dresses and black pointy hats, grinning at the camera. I spotted Erin in the front row, with a shy, happy smile that showed none of the nervous secretiveness I’d seen in the picture at the apartment. Kirsten leaned over and tapped her finger on the shoulder of another woman, a slightly heavy caramel blonde in the back row. She was laughing, opening her mouth so that the toddler in her arms could shove in a piece of candy. The little girl had her mother’s blonde hair and a tiny witch hat of her own. Her face was smeared with chocolate, joy lighting it up like a firecracker.
“Denise?” I whispered.
Kirsten nodded. “And her daughter, Grace. Gracie. Who will now grow up without a mother. Is that enough, or shall I start pulling out cash?”
I turned the picture facedown on the bar, shame washing over me. Kirsten had risked her life to save me, and I’d just forced her to practically beg for my help. “No. It’s enough.”
And it was.
I arranged for Kirsten to join Jesse and me at brunch the next morning, and finally headed back to Molly’s. By the time I got to the house, it was after three, and I was swaying on my feet. I locked
the door carefully behind me and went straight for the stairs up to my bedroom. I didn’t bother turning on the light, just transferred the contents of my pockets to my nightstand and allowed myself to tilt onto the bed, clothes, jacket, and all. I kicked off my shoes, pulling the corners of my quilt over my shoulders and snuggling in. At the last moment I remembered to set my alarm clock for nine.
The phone rang.
I looked at the clock in my hands, wondering if I had fallen asleep so fast I hadn’t even noticed, but no, the time still said 3:32. I picked up my cell phone and peered at the caller ID, my eyes protesting against the bright flash of the screen. I flipped open the phone.
“Jesse, I agreed to meet up at ten. You’ve got to—”
“Scarlett,” he interrupted. “Stop. It’s not about that.” I went silent. “Do the names Sara and Liam Reed mean anything to you?”
“Never met ’em.” I yawned hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’d remember ’cause Sara and Liam were my parents’ names.”
There was a terrible, pregnant silence. Goose bumps broke out on my biceps. “Jesse?” I said uncertainly. “Are you still there?”
When he spoke again, his voice had cop detachment. “A couple named Sara and Liam Reed were found dead in a stolen Jeep over by Laurel Canyon. It’ll be a while before they can do the autopsies, but the cause of death is probably cutting wounds to the wrists. Only there’s no blood in the car.”
When I remembered how to breathe I said, “Cuts, not bite marks? Is there a chance it’s
not
Olivia?”
His voice was steady, but the detachment was gone when he said, “I don’t think so. There was no blood
inside
the car, but she
used some of it to write on the outside of the windshield.” His voice trailed off, and I had to work not to snap at him. He shouldn’t be sparing me. This was my fault.
“Just tell me,” I said through my teeth.
He sighed, long and sad. “It said
Welcome home
.”
I tried to talk Jesse into letting me come to the crime scene, but he was adamant that I stay put. I told him that I had probably seen way more crime scenes than he had and would know how to spot anything out of the ordinary. He pointed out that Olivia might just be trying to lure me out into the open so she could kill me. The argument ended when Jesse said I’d be arrested if I got within fifty feet of the Jeep, and I tossed the phone on the bed next to me and stared at my bedroom ceiling.
I felt torn in half. A big part of me—hell, maybe the majority—wanted to just curl up in a ball and sob, for Liam and Sara Reed, for their families, for myself. Then there was the part of me that seethed with frustration. Why was she doing this? Was she trying to make me crazy too? And if so…was it working? Unable to hold still, I put on my running shoes and went into Molly’s room to pound away on her treadmill for a while. After only a few minutes, though, the adrenaline was burning its way out, and I could already feel the edges of the queasy emptiness that would replace it.
Over the hum of the treadmill, I thought I heard something chime. I climbed onto the side rails and pulled the emergency clip in one movement, freezing in place. The doorbell rang again. Scrambling off the machine, I raced back into my room and grabbed my Taser off the charging station, cursing myself for not carrying it with me in the first place. I sped down the stairs and paused a
few feet from the door, panting. Should I look in the peephole? I’d seen a movie where a guy had gotten shot in the eye that way. But Olivia wouldn’t use a gun, would she? Then again, who knew what Olivia would do—
“Scarlett? It’s Eli.”
I mentally slapped myself in the head. You couldn’t just yell, “Who is it,” could you, Scarlett? I stepped close to the door and closed my eyes, concentrating on my radius. Yup, a werewolf, and no other supernatural creatures with him. I opened the door.
He was leaning into the doorway, arms on each side of the frame, wearing the same jeans and tank from the bar. Werewolves don’t really need jackets, even in December. He took one look at me and said, “Cruz didn’t tell you I was coming, did he?”
“Uh, no.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you planning to Tase me?”
“Oh.” I looked at the Taser in my hand and stuffed it into the pocket of my jacket, which I was still wearing for some reason. “Come on in.”
He stepped through the doorway, and I had a surreal moment of wishing I’d picked up the place. Molly and I aren’t particularly tidy, and rejected outfits were flipped over the back of most of the furniture. But it wasn’t really the time. “I don’t need protection,” I began automatically. “If Jesse told you to bodyguard me, I’m doing just fine by myself. It’s not like she can get near me, and—”