by Krista Walsh
Denise tossed the empty alcohol bottle into the first aid kit and tore open the sterile swabs. “Bob took the kids to stay with his parents for a few days. We thought it would be best until the police catch whoever killed that young man. So close to home. He wanted me to go with him, but we can’t afford my giving up shifts at the hospital right now.”
At the worry in her friend’s voice, Daphne reached out blindly for her knee, then patted it. “We’ll figure this out.”
She winced as Denise finished bandaging her back, then braced herself as Denise and Emmett helped her sit up. Denise went into her room and then the kitchen, coming back with a white Las Vegas T-shirt and a tray loaded with two tumblers of whiskey and a bottle of cola.
“Really?” Emmett asked, crestfallen. “I think I’ve earned a real drink.”
“Nice try, kid,” said Denise. “You barely look older than fifteen.”
“I’m seventeen,” he grumbled.
“Still too young under my roof.”
She helped Daphne slide the T-shirt over her head, then handed her a glass and passed the bottle to Emmett.
Daphne took a sip and felt her eyes roll upward at the soothing sharpness of the alcohol. “I owe you big time.”
“Yes, you do. You can start by satisfying my curiosity about what happened tonight,” Denise replied, casting a glance at Emmett.
The young man’s face was ashen, but his gray eyes bore into Daphne’s with a harsh stubbornness.
“Nurse lady’s right,” he said.
“You can call me Denise,” Denise said with an amused smirk, then shifted her gaze back to Daphne. “It’s the least you can offer for getting blood on my afghan.”
Daphne opened her mouth, then found she had no idea what to say. “Uh…”
Denise glared at her, clearly assuming she was evading the question. “I’ve been patient, Daphne, and I’ve kept my nose out of your business, but now you’re coming to my home. You’ve already involved me part of the way — it’s only fair to let me know what I’m involved in.”
Emmett nodded. “And I was there when that creature attacked. I saw you fight it off. I’d say I’m already involved, too.”
Daphne closed her eyes and took a minute to put her thoughts together.
Her magic was her best-kept secret. Desperation had forced her to reveal herself, but that didn’t mean either Denise or Emmett needed to know more than they already did. On the other hand, Emmett didn’t look like he was about to let this go, and Denise looked past the point of swallowing her lame excuses and vague responses.
I’ll answer their questions as honestly as I can. If they don’t ask, I won’t tell.
“Anything I tell you goes nowhere, is that understood? If I hear one hint of a rumor about me, I’ll know who it came from, because no one else would dare spill the beans.”
Denise hmphed. “You should know me better than that.”
Emmett raised the corner of his mouth. “There’s no one I could tell anyway.”
Emmett’s desire to know the truth filled Daphne with a familiar empathy. He reminded her of how she used to be — on the search for something bigger from life, believing there had to be more out there than the lousy hand she’d been dealt.
She drew in a deep breath. “There’s no way in all the seven hells you’re going to believe me, but I’m what you might call a sorceress. Someone who can manipulate the elements and use the energies that run through the world to my advantage. It’s a bloodline thing.”
She could have told them that her bloodline went back to a certain popular legend, but she always worried that it would sound like bragging.
“So there you go, Emmett, you were right. I shot light out of my hands. But it’s not actually light, it’s energy. Some people call it magic.”
Her explanation was met by an uncomfortable silence.
The clock on the far wall of the living room ticked the seconds away until eventually Denise said, “Maybe you shouldn’t have had that whiskey.” Her dark eyes were tight with concern. “You’re in shock.”
Daphne laughed. “I did tell you.”
“She’s not making it up,” Emmett said. His gaze was steady on Daphne’s face, appraising her. “I saw it happen. The light from her fingers.”
Denise shot him a look, and Daphne knew she was questioning whether they were both drunk or on drugs.
She didn’t want to do it, parlor tricks went against every value she’d been raised with, but with the cat half out of the bag and no way to shove it back in, she saw no other option.
Holding her glass out in front of her, Daphne twitched the fingers of her other hand, and the whiskey rose into the air, a perfect amber sphere. She flattened it into a sheet and then swirled it around Denise’s wrist before dropping it back in the glass and taking a sip.
Denise’s mouth hung open, and Emmett slapped his knee and said, “I knew it.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have had this whiskey,” Denise said, her hand trembling as she set the glass aside. “Holy shit, Daphne. You’re like a character out of one of those superhero shows.”
“I know it’ll take a while for everything to sink in,” said Daphne, “but this isn’t the first time you’ve dealt with the consequences of magic. It’s just the first time you’ve known about it.”
The nurse’s eyes widened. “You mean all those times you came to see me? The undiagnosed pain?” Daphne nodded, and Denise shook her head. “Strangely, this doesn’t surprise me as much as it probably should. I’ve seen so many things in my career that magic is not that much of a leap.” She reclaimed her drink and took a sip. “It explains a lot, actually.”
Emmett nodded slowly. “It does. So what was that thing that attacked us?”
Daphne’s shoulders slumped. Exactly the question she’d hoped he wouldn’t ask. “I have no idea. I’m going to have to talk to my mother to see if she recognizes it from anything she’s read. I have a database of creatures I can look through, too, but at this point it might as well have been an animated block of charcoal.”
Emmett looked down at his drink, and Daphne caught a hint of disappointment. She bristled at his reaction. Just because she didn’t know the answer now didn’t mean she wouldn’t find out. Who was he to question her abilities, anyway? She frowned.
“Is everyone else safe?” Denise asked, her brow knitting. “This thing attacked you at the old hospital, and the young man was murdered there.” Her brow smoothed again as her eyebrows shot toward her hairline. “Do you think they’re connected? Did the thing that attacked you kill him? Should we get everyone off the street?”
Daphne chewed on her lip. “They’re connected somehow, but I haven’t figured it out yet. You should be all right, though.” When Denise’s worry didn’t fade, Daphne leaned forward to grab her hand. “I’m going to stop whatever that creature is. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Denise focused her gaze on her. “I believe you, Daph. I just hope you don’t get killed in the process.”
***
It was nearing midnight when Daphne and Emmett left Denise dozing on the couch with the television on. Daphne’s back twinged, but most of the pain was gone. The whiskey and her magic had worked a miracle.
They followed the path behind Peony House and winded down the service road to the car. The Honda was still parked in the shadows under the trees, and Daphne didn’t get the sense that anyone had been near it while she’d been gone.
“You hungry?” she asked Emmett, opening the driver side door.
“Starving.”
He climbed into the passenger seat, and Daphne drove them back to town.
The Leaky Carafe stayed open until two o’clock in the morning, yet another reason why it was one of Daphne’s favorite haunts. She waved hello to Jean behind the counter, then chose a table at the far end of the coffee shop.
Emmett sat across from her, his leg jogging under the table and his fingers tapping a silent rhythm on the surface. He danced in his seat as though he had to go to t
he bathroom, but he’d left his sleeves pulled up, and Daphne confirmed what he’d told her earlier about the drugs. Not to say he was completely clean, but his arms certainly were.
“Maybe you should ease off the caffeine,” she suggested. “Herbal tea instead? My treat.”
He grimaced. “Coffee. Please.”
Daphne shrugged, went to the counter, ordered two bagel sandwiches with their coffees. Her stomach grumbled, and she realized she hadn’t eaten anything since her bagel earlier that day.
Her mother would be so smug.
She grabbed the food and returned to the table, somewhat surprised that Emmett hadn’t cut and run while she was gone. He stretched and bumped her arm as she passed, and only her quick reflexes prevented her from spilling her second coffee of the day.
Emmett watched her unwrap her sandwich and didn’t take a bite of his until she started in on hers.
“It’s not poisoned,” she said through her mouthful.
“I’m not worried about that. I’m just putting my questions together. Can’t ask them if I’m stuffing my face.”
Under the bright fluorescent lights, he wasn’t quite as skeletal as he appeared at Peony House or in the dim light of Denise’s living room. A hint of dark fuzz covered his skull and made his small ears appear to stick out more than they actually did. His eyes were a light gray and held the same warmth she’d heard in his laugh.
She took another bite of her dinner and asked, “What else do you want to know?”
“I don’t know,” Emmett said, unwrapping his sandwich. “I’ve never met anyone with real magic before. What else can you do? When you threw water in my face, was that magic?”
“Yes.”
“Can you cast any type of spell?”
“Within reason,” she replied. “I need to learn it first. The ones you’ve seen me cast are ones I’ve picked up over the years, so they come quickly and naturally. To do anything new would take training.”
He frowned and took a bite of the bagel, asking around his food, “Is that why you believed me about the ghosts?”
“Yes.”
“So they’re actually there? The hospital is actually haunted?” His mouth contorted as though he’d eaten something unpleasant, and Daphne suspected it wasn’t the bagel.
“Yes.” She frowned. “But it’s not that simple. Something’s wrong with the house, and that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
Emmett dropped his gaze to his food, his expression grim. “Did Jack die by magic?”
“I think so,” she said. “That’s why I’m looking into it. Avery and Kealey are the best detectives New Haven has to offer, but if this has a supernatural origin, they won’t be able to solve his murder on their own. Maybe you can help me.”
“How?”
His gaze flicked upward to meet hers — hesitant, intrigued.
“Did anything else happen around the hospital other than the noises? Have you seen anything strange?”
He chewed on his lip and tapped his thumb against his coffee cup. “I don’t know if it’s anything, but…two weeks ago, I was at the hospital. Probably around midnight. Jack was with me. We were smoking, playing a few games of poker with this old deck he found in the trash. Car pulls up to the house and we go on red alert, right? We’re not supposed to be there, sure, but neither’s anyone else. That’s why it’s such a good place. So we look out the window and there’s this big guy walking up to the house. Midnight and he’s in a suit.”
He sounded incredulous that someone so well-dressed would show up at the hospital, but his description brought Charles Ancowitz to Daphne’s mind. She wondered if he was Emmett’s mystery man.
“Anyway, door slams, and we hear him shout something inside the house, though we couldn’t make out what it was. More footsteps, him slamming around maybe, and then a shriek. Guess he found who he was looking for. Starts raging at this woman.”
“Could you hear anything they said?”
As if Emmett thought the coffee would supply his answers, he peered into it the same way Daphne would a scrying bowl. “Her voice was too quiet to make out anything, but she sounded frantic. Like she was pleading with him to do something. All I heard from him was that whatever she wanted was too dangerous and he wouldn’t allow it.” He frowned. “It’s weird…”
“What?” Daphne asked when he fell silent again.
He raised his gaze to meet hers, the furrow between his brows deep. “The fight went on for a while, but then it just stopped. I heard a slam. Heard the front door open and close, and Jack and I watched out the window as the guy went back to his car. We looked for the other person to leave. But the woman…she never came out.”
8
After they finished their poor excuse for dinner, Daphne dropped Emmett off on a dark, poorly lit corner. In spite of her reservations, he claimed it was a regular haunt, so she left him there and headed home.
As she entered her apartment, guilt followed her. She should have offered to put him up on the couch.
Her sympathy disappeared when she went to remove her watch and found it missing. She dug through her purse and found he’d snatched a twenty as well.
“Son of a bitch.”
She considered going back out and tracking him down, but at that time of night he would already have disappeared. Accepting that she’d likely never see him or her misappropriated items again, she hoped he at least used them to get a place to stay for a night, or maybe a couple of solid meals.
She stripped down to her underwear, tossed Denise’s T-shirt on the growing laundry heap, peeled off the bandages, and eyed her gouges in the bathroom mirror with a frown. The four slices were deep and red, but otherwise the flesh looked healthy. No poison or venom to worry about, at least. She sent another wave of magic under her skin and let that sit, taped the bandages back down, then bundled herself in an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants.
Although fatigue had worn her out on her drive home, her bed held no appeal. Her thoughts raced too quickly for her to attempt sleep.
Her brain replayed the scene at the hospital, drawing out the details of Crispy’s black hole of a mouth, the crunchy skin, and the stinging agony of the tongue lash. She’d never heard of anything like it before and wondered if anyone in her circle might have. As she began to make a mental list of people she could ask, her thoughts drifted to the group she suspected as being most likely to cause trouble whenever anything unusual or supernatural came into her life.
Keeping her steps soft and her noise to a minimum in case her mother was still awake, she went into the tiny second bedroom she used as an office and dragged open the top drawer of her filing cabinet. In the front were her beige work files — story tidbits, contact information, old copies of her favorite articles. She slid past all of them until she reached two red folders near the back. She pulled them free and set them down on her scratched and worn maple desk.
Before opening them, she headed to the kitchen and poured a double shot of bourbon. After the night she’d just had, the bottle would be lucky if it survived until morning.
She returned to the office and sagged into her wheeled wooden chair to open the first file. A woman smiled up at her in black-and-white print from the top photograph in the pile. She was strikingly beautiful. Thick hair cascaded over her shoulders and disappeared below the frame, and her dark eyes glinted with secrets. Her high cheekbones gave her an aristocratic look that inspired an urge to smack the smile off her face. Allegra Rossi — model, haughty bitch, and one of the most skilled succubi in her family of twenty-four siblings. Twenty-five before her brother, Antony, was killed right in front of her.
Daphne ran her fingers over the scar on her cheek, Antony’s gift to her before he died.
Eight months ago, yet it felt like a lifetime and days ago all at once. She riffled through the remaining four photos to stare at the faces of the other two women and two men in the file.
Daphne had met them all on the same night, when she’d been transported o
ut of her office into a magically sealed room and tasked with finding the murderer of the same warlock she’d fought four months earlier. Jermaine Hershel, the son of a bitch. Even dead he couldn’t stop causing trouble. His death had triggered a spell to gather the seven people most likely to have killed him. Some of them were species she hadn’t known existed — hybrids of the most unusual kind.
“The invisible entente,” he’d called them in his letter, Daphne remembered with a sneer. As though they were some underworld protectorate working together to save the world. From where she sat, they had worked together to save themselves, and that was the end of it.
Daphne had changed so much since that night. Her own relationship with Jermaine had been one of dark magic and ambition. Jermaine had encouraged her drive to reach the top, and although he’d been as trustworthy and humane as a cancer cell, she had followed him as the easiest means to her desired end.
She thought she’d changed the night they fought, when she had absorbed most of his magic, saved his would-be human sacrifices, and walked away without killing him. But that had been only the start of her transformation. The night in the locked room had been her real turning point. Confessing her crimes had broken her, made her see that her ambitions weren’t worth the darkness of that path.
She’d kept tabs on the other five survivors of that trapped room ever since. Each of them had a darker side that made them capable of committing merciless and hard-to-detect crimes. She didn’t trust any of them not to go in that direction — the one she’d rejected.
But in this case, unless one of them had spent too much time at the tanning salon, none of her locked-room friends was her crispy-skinned attacker from the hospital.
Daphne passed her hand over her face and took a sip of her drink. The alcohol burned down her throat and fizzled against her magic, most of its potency gone before it hit her bloodstream. Usually her resistance to drunkenness came as a blessing, but tonight it was a definite curse.
She set the folder aside and opened the other, an index of all the creatures she knew that lived within New Haven’s city limits — a surprisingly large number given the relatively small population. Most of them had adapted to society and no one was the wiser, while the others stayed underground. She went through each name, hoping to find one that fit with her attacker or Charles Ancowitz’s red magic.