by Pat Esden
Em tucked her knees to her chest. She filled her mind with a peaceful image of tall evergreens and a river washed gold by the sunset. The cool smell of a breeze wafting off of the water. The warm aroma of pine. Peaceful. Tranquil. Comforting. She counted slowly, lulling herself. One. Two. Three…
Her mind drifted to that slushy April night in Saratoga Springs, New York. The witch ghost standing at the entry to the park. Their eyes had met, so much warmth and strength conveyed in that one frozen moment, and then the choice had been laid before her. Freedom. Death. Love.
It was funny how connections worked. She and the ghost in the park. Alice and her. Her and Gar. She had the strange feeling she might like Gar, if she could talk the ghost into moving on. In a way, it felt like maybe she already did.
Chapter 3
TAMPA—Teen tarot reader found dead in theater bathroom. The body of nineteen-year-old Alice Brown was discovered in a backstage bathroom after an anonymous 911 call reported an overdose at the Royal Palm Playhouse. According to Tampa Police Sgt. Phillip Ball, the tarot reader was a well-known transient in the Tampa area. How she gained entry to the theater remains unknown.
—From Florida Daily Herald, March 23
Em woke up to the hungry mews of kittens. She slid out of bed, made a fast trip to the bathroom in the hall, then returned only long enough to collect the box full of kittens before heading downstairs.
Traces of pre-dawn light glimmered in the building’s tall windows, casting shadows on the artsy graffiti-covered hallway walls and worn floorboards. Normally, she didn’t get up before anyone else, but it wasn’t fair to let the kittens go hungry any longer—nor wise to let their cries wake up the investigator in the room next door. Besides, the solitude and quiet felt good.
She padded in stocking feet past the office where Gar had interrogated Devlin last night, then down the wide main staircase to the first floor and the living room that overlooked the gardens. The room was enormous, its vaulted ceiling stretching up two stories. The sleek, modern furniture interspersed with potted palms reminded Em uncomfortably of the hotel lobby in Atlanta where her aunt had booked events every year. She could still see the moniker her aunt and mother had given her on the sign out front: This Weekend Only. Violet Grace. The World’s Youngest Psychic Medium. She had to admit, seeing signs like that had been a thrill at first. But facing rooms full of people had always frightened her. That was, until her aunt started plying her with “special” sodas and Creamsicle-flavored drinks, not to mention the whipahol and Jell-O shots.
The box of kittens tilted in her hands as the white one scrambled to the edge, crying as if begging to be let out.
She took a fresh grip. “Hold on. I’m going to make you breakfast, then I’ll clean that smelly box of yours.”
Em hurried around the room divider and into the lounge. As she headed for the hallway to the dining room, she made a point of keeping her steps quick and her eyes averted from the bar that spanned one wall of the lounge.
A rustle came from near the bar.
She stopped midstride. She’d been certain no one was up. Maybe it was Devlin’s dog.
She pivoted. A towheaded boy slept on the sofa, dressed in Spider-Man pajamas. There was another rustle and a snuffle of breath as he shifted in his sleep to face her. It was Peregrine, Chandler’s son. Chandler was one of the witches who lived at the complex, but her apartment and artist workshop were in a concrete building near the main gate. There was no reason for Peregrine to be here, especially since he was in the third grade and this was a school day. But that wasn’t the only thing that was off.
Em sniffed the air. Coffee. Freshly brewed.
She tiptoed out of the lounge and went into the dining room. That room was empty, but a murmur of voices echoed out from the kitchen. What was going on?
She nudged the kitchen’s swinging door open with the kittens’ box. As she stepped inside, the ever-present aroma of homemade bread and drying herbs mingled with the coffee scent. Everyone who lived at the complex was gathered around the kitchen island: Devlin, Chandler, and Brooklyn. Chloe was there too. Technically she had an apartment by the University of Vermont campus, but she spent most nights with Devlin. The only missing full-time coven member was Midas. Like Chloe, he had an apartment elsewhere and attended the university, which most likely explained his absence.
“Good morning, sleepy head,” Chandler said, smiling at Em. She was close to thirty years old with broad shoulders, short-cropped hair, and sleeves of dragon and monkey tattoos. Her tattoos resembled the sculptures she created out of scrap metal and car parts, including the flying monkeys decorating the complex’s gateway, and the other ones that had been animated by Merlin’s Shade and wreaked havoc around the city.
“I was about to come up and get you,” Chloe said. “Didn’t you get my text?”
“Ah—I didn’t check my phone. What’s going on?”
Devlin cleared his throat. “Gar went for a run. While he’s not around, I thought we should all talk.” There were pieces of toilet paper stuck to Devlin’s chin and jawline as if he’d nicked himself shaving. He had on the same cable-knit sweater and shirt as yesterday—not normal at all for him. Not that he was overly prissy about clothes, but he usually looked as neat as a cover model.
He took a sip of his coffee, then shoved it aside. “Things aren’t looking good.”
A wave of dread rolled over Em. She rested the kittens’ box tentatively on the empty stool next to Brooklyn’s. They needed to be fed, but they’d have to wait. This sounded even worse than she’d feared.
Brooklyn glanced at the box. She was younger than Chandler by at least five years. She had thick dark hair that brushed her shoulders and soul-deep eyes that hinted at her Haitian heritage. “Chloe told me you rescued some kittens. They’re so tiny and sweet.” She wrinkled her nose. “They stink. You want me to feed them while you change their box?”
“Um.” Em glanced at Devlin. His jaw was set, impatience written on his ordinarily relaxed face. She turned back to Brooklyn. “Maybe after we talk?”
Devlin’s expression softened. “This won’t take long. But we need to get to it. Gar could come back at any moment.” He scrubbed a hand over his head and took a breath. “The issue is, Gar doesn’t believe Athena is—” His voice choked.
Chloe rested her hand on his arm. “I can tell them if you want.”
“No. I’m fine.” He lifted his chin and continued in a measured voice. “Gar and the High Council don’t believe my sister’s dead. They’re convinced she deserted the coven, like our mother did.”
“What?” Em couldn’t believe her ears. Even if Athena wasn’t dead, she’d never have deserted the Northern Circle. She’d spent years rebuilding the coven after their mother’s irresponsibility had nearly bankrupt it.
“Are they crazy?” Brooklyn said.
“In Gar’s case, that might be true.” Devlin offered Brooklyn a smile, but it instantly faded. “The Council claims Rhianna has an airtight alibi that proves she was elsewhere during the time when we claim she was here impersonating Athena. Supposedly she has witnesses who are beyond reproach.”
Chandler thumped her coffee mug down on the island. “That’s ridiculous. What does the Council think we have to gain by lying?” Her voice dropped. “I smell something stinky, and it isn’t just those kittens.”
Heat seeped up Em’s neck. She sidestepped away from the island, carried the kittens’ box to the other side of the kitchen, and set it on the floor by the fridge. They didn’t smell that bad, though she agreed that there probably was something going on with the Eastern Coast High Council.
She opened the fridge and took out the jug of kitten formula, listening to Devlin explain that Gar had refused to say who Rhianna’s witnesses were or where she claimed to have been during that time.
“There has to be a way to convince Gar we’re telling the truth,” Chloe
said.
Brooklyn’s voice turned sly. “I could whip up some special brownies. Bend him to our will.”
“No potions or spells,” Devlin said firmly. “That would be one way to get in even deeper. Make no mistake, Gar is a smart and powerful witch.”
Chandler blew out a frustrated breath. “He reminds me of my birth mother. She always ran hot and cold. But after my father died, trying to communicate with her was like talking to a brick wall.”
Em listened closely, intense sadness gripping her as Alice’s unstable moods and torment flashed through her mind. She felt bad for Chandler’s mother, and stranger still, she felt worse for Gar. He was in anguish. But he was a good person, her instincts told her that—and they screamed for her to defend him. Devlin, Brooklyn… none of them got what his problem was, not at all.
“What do you expect?” Chloe said. “Gar’s father is a loup-garou.”
Em’s eyes widened. A loup-garou? Her aunt had claimed she’d met one once, a human who could shift into wolf form at will. It made sense that genes like that could make a man aggressive and instinctual—doubly so if he were haunted. It also explained why Gar had gone running before daylight, a time when normal humans would have a hard time seeing. But it didn’t make him a horrible person.
“He’s a loose cannon,” Devlin added. “Even if he most likely can’t shift, given his mother’s a full-blooded heritage witch.”
Chandler nodded. “Definitely trouble with a capital T.”
“It’s not Gar’s fault!” The words flew from Em louder than she’d intended, and they landed in a lull in the conversation.
Everyone swiveled to look at her.
Devlin frowned. “What are you talking about?”
She thumped the jug of kitten formula down on the counter by the fridge. “Gar can’t help the way he is. He’s haunted—in turmoil.”
“How do you know that?” Chloe asked. “You haven’t met him yet, have you?”
“Before you picked me up last night, I saw him driving through the city. We met in the upstairs hallway for a second too. Both times I saw the ghost. I’m a hundred percent sure it’s a haunting.” She bit her bottom lip. “I should have said something sooner. It was stupid not to. I was going to tell you first thing this morning. I guess… I was so worried about the kittens, and tired.”
Chloe raised her hand to quiet Em. “It’s fine. Do you know who’s haunting him?”
“Not yet. But once I meet him face-to-face I will, especially if I touch him.”
Devlin jumped up from his stool, his gaze hard on Em. “Stay away from him. He may not be planning on interrogating you. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“We should banish the ghost,” Brooklyn suggested. “Wouldn’t that solve the whole issue?”
Em folded her arms across her chest. “No. We need to figure out why it’s not at rest and help it find peace.” Her body went hot as she resisted the urge to state the obvious. After Athena had been killed and Rhianna had used her skin to make the necklace, Athena’s spirit had come to them in the form of an orb. None of them had realized who the orb was at the time, and Rhianna had shouted a spell to banish it from the house. If the orb hadn’t been evicted so quickly, they most likely would have figured out it was Athena and put a stop to Rhianna before things went as far as they did.
Chandler raised her voice. “I think we need to determine who the ghost is before we decide anything. Definitely before we confront Gar about it.”
“I agree,” Devlin said. His gaze remained on her. “Do you have something in mind?”
Chandler rubbed her arm, her sleeves of dragon and monkey tattoos radiating energy. “I’m not a medium like Em, but my psychic powers are probably second to hers. If the two of us went somewhere private—like my apartment—we could work together to draw the ghost away from Gar. It would have a hard time resisting the pull of our conjoined energy. We could find out who it is that way.”
Eagerness coursed through Em, and her pulse picked up. “That’s a great idea. While we’re at it, we could also try again to reach Athena. With Rhianna gone, the banishment spell has probably weakened. If we could find out where Athena’s body is and prove to the High Council how Rhianna used her skin…”
She let her voice trail off, embarrassment prickling the nape of her neck as everyone fell silent and the conversation died. Why had she said such an inconsiderate thing? Her aunt would have given her a backhander for being so cavalier in front of a murder victim’s family.
“If you want”—Brooklyn came to her rescue—“I’ll make sure Peregrine gets to school on time, then you and Chandler could start right away.” Her gaze went to the kittens’ box. “I don’t mind taking the fleabags to the vet either. Personally, I think the coven should adopt them. I saw a mouse in the greenhouse this morning.”
Em’s emotions shifted, a mix of gratitude and determination washing away her self-reproach. She smiled at Brooklyn. “Do you mind telling the vet about the garbage bag and the railroad tracks? The police might be more likely to do something if the vet’s the one who reports—”
She stopped talking as the door to the kitchen swung open and Gar swaggered into the room as if it were a coffee shop he visited every day. The sheen of sweat from a hard run shone on his face and soaked the front of his T-shirt. Mud splattered his shoes. His camo cap was turned around backward. Everything about his stance said, “Don’t mess with me.” Not to mention the hazy tempest of the ghost slicing the air behind him.
His gaze cut a path across the room to her, steel-blue eyes zeroing in like a bullet from a sniper rifle. “I haven’t talked to you yet.”
The unyielding timbre of his voice shot straight into the center of Em’s being, making her pulse jump from fear and reminding her that Gar saw her as a member of a disreputable coven he was investigating, not as someone determined to help him.
Devlin stepped between them, his back to her as he blocked Gar’s line of sight. His shoulders squared. “She is a new initiate—brand new to the Craft. She has no responsibility for what happened.”
“Of course she doesn’t.” Gar’s tone was so level that Em couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or sincere. He sidestepped Devlin and advanced on her, bringing with him the frenzied energy of the ghost.
She swallowed drily and lifted her head to meet his steady gaze.
“You’re the famous Violet Grace. The world’s youngest medium. I believe that’s your moniker.”
“That was my moniker,” she said, matching his even tone. “But I’m not that person anymore. She’s gone. Dead.”
A pleased smile flicked across his lips, one that touched his eyes. She caught a glimpse of something else in his eyes as well, a question burning in their depths so fiercely it made her heart skip a beat. His eyebrows raised.
“Yeah?” she said, confused.
He swiveled away from her and toward Devlin, as if he’d changed his mind about asking the question, or perhaps he’d never intended to. The ghost’s hazy outline flared upward into the air behind him, and his voice sharpened. “Well, Devlin, it looks like I’m late for breakfast.”
The cords in Devlin’s neck tensed. “We weren’t having breakfast. We were talking about you. You didn’t think we wouldn’t, did you?”
“I suppose not.” Gar took his cap off and ran a hand over it. “What I’m contemplating is who I should question first this morning.”
Em raised her voice, hoping to draw his attention back to her so she could look in his eyes again. “I know Rhianna is lying about Athena. I saw her spirit. It came to us in the form of an orb.”
Ignoring her, Gar glanced at Chandler. “I’ll speak with you first. Eight o’clock in the office.”
Chandler? Em could only stare as Gar snagged an orange from the fruit bowl by the fridge, then marched back out the kitchen door and vanished as it swung shut behind him.
What had he avoided asking her?
And, Dear Goddess, what was she going to do? Without the addition of Chandler’s energy, it would be a lot easier for Gar’s ghost to refuse her summons.
Chapter 4
Etched goblets tiny enough for fairy hands,
Cinderella champagne flutes sparkling with candy-flavored liquor.
Drink this. The Queen of Hearts smiled.
—Journal of Emily Adams
Memory from third grade. First Drink. Aunt Lynda.
Once Chandler went into the office for her interrogation, Em slipped upstairs with a bundle of clean towels. She waited by the window in her room until she saw Chloe take off for the university and Brooklyn leave to bring the kittens to the vet. They all assumed she’d head to Chandler’s apartment and attempt to lure Gar’s ghost by herself, since Chandler’s interrogation could go on for hours, or even all day. But Em had come up with a new idea.
Carrying the bundle of towels in her arms, she tiptoed back out into the hallway and paused, listening for sounds. No voices or footsteps filtered up the staircase from below. No sounds at all. She crept to the guest room door. Nerves fluttered in her stomach as she eyed the doorknob. As a High Council investigator, Gar had to be experienced with staying where he wasn’t welcome. It wouldn’t be out of the question for him to have cast a spell against intruders. Unless, of course, he was so messed up or egotistical that he believed no one would dare intrude on his privacy.
She prodded the knob with a fingernail. No electric prickle or vibration shot up her finger, nothing to indicate the presence of a spell. She grasped the knob and turned it. So far, so good.
Slowly she pushed the door open and stepped inside, leaving it ajar so she’d hear if anyone came up the stairs. She might not have enough time to escape, but she had the perfect alibi for her intrusion. After all, there was nothing suspicious about a housekeeper dropping off towels and straightening up a guest room.