by Pat Esden
Cold fear crept into Em’s bones. She didn’t like the sound of this, especially the part about not waiting and taking off in the truck if something happened to Gar.
She nudged Chloe’s hip. “Don’t you think we should have an alternate meeting place, like in case one of us gets separated?”
“That’s a great idea,” Chloe said. “How about the Dunkin’ Donuts around the corner? The Council wouldn’t dare make a scene in a public place like that.”
Gar glanced over his shoulder at her. “Sounds good to me.” His voice toughened. “One last reminder: If any of you suspect someone is in fact Rhianna in disguise, or if you see a man or woman wearing jewelry or anything made from human skin, or if you sense something is off, try to act as if nothing is wrong. Don’t do anything.”
Devlin shot a glare at Gar. “Don’t worry. I can control myself, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Good.” Gar continued, all but ignoring Devlin’s flare. “Now let’s get this meeting over with.”
As Gar opened his door, Em quickly reviewed their plan in her head. They’d all enter the building together. She, Chloe, and Devlin would wait outside the hearing room while Gar had his scheduled meeting. With luck, he’d get permission to extend the investigation for another week, ostensibly to locate Athena’s body to prove their case. If he failed, they’d all go into the hearing room and Gar would prompt them through a series of questions designed to strengthen the case for an extension. No matter what happened, once they were done with the meeting, they’d find a private spot and Chloe would use her pendulum to locate Merlin’s crystal. Its location would hopefully help them figure out who Rhianna was in league with. After that, they’d leave and exhume Saille’s body as soon as possible, since that was a move the Council and Rhianna wouldn’t expect them to make.
Satisfied that she didn’t have any last-minute questions, Em climbed out of the truck and stuck close to Gar as he led them out of the garage and into an alley. Actually, calling it an alley was misleading—at least, it wasn’t the kind of alley Em was used to hanging out in. There were no dumpsters. The pavement wasn’t slimy with grease or cooking oil. No discarded syringes. No broken bottles. This was more of an artsy pedestrian walkway with potted trees and flowers. A small awning bowed across one section, sheltering café-style tables and chairs. The aroma of hamburgers, fries, and beer hung in the air. Even from where she stood, Em could tell other alleyways intersected with this one. In the distance, one of them opened onto New Haven’s main street, with the park-like Green beyond that.
Sadness ached in Em’s chest, and she had to look away from the Green. When they’d driven past it on their tour, she’d seen hundreds of ghosts there. It wasn’t surprising, since the Green sat on the remains of a massive early cemetery. But it seemed like over the centuries the High Council should have helped more of the spirits find peace. It was truly awful and negligent.
Em pushed her thoughts of the ghosts aside as Gar herded them to a nondescript door in the back of the Council’s brick building. The sign over it read: “Employee Entrance. No Trespassing.”
He pressed a buzzer, then opened the door and held it to let everyone else go inside first. Chloe led the way, with Devlin on her heels. As Em started through, Gar trailed a finger across the nape of her neck. “You look amazing,” he whispered.
Her face heated. Tingles rushed up her neck and across her scalp. “I figured I should try to look a little dressy.”
“I wish we were going someplace private.” His hand lit on her waist for a moment.
The heat in her face turned molten. She punched him playfully in the shoulder, then straightened her spine and marched through the doorway and into the building.
The entry was small, gunmetal gray, and box-like. A bank of elevators took up one wall. Another smaller door labeled “stairs” stood next to them. No windows. No alternate way out.
She tucked her hand into her jeans pocket and touched her A.A. medallion for strength—but her fingers brushed something else. Her knife.
She swallowed hard. Unlike the pick-a-roos, it wasn’t in an undetectable case. “Gar,” she said in a sharp whisper. “I have my knife on me. Is that okay?”
“Technically, no.” He smiled and smoothed his hand down his forearm, a gesture she assumed meant he was wearing his dart gun device. Then he stepped ahead of her, a cool, businesslike air settling over him as he approached the elevator, where Chloe and Devlin were waiting.
“What floor are we going to?” Devlin asked.
“The fourth.” Gar punched numbers into the keypad, announcing them one at a time. “1-0-31.”
Em repeated the numbers to herself a couple of times to make sure she wouldn’t forget.
The inside of the elevator was as sterile as the entryway. Faint classical music filtered in from overhead. Gar pressed the fourth-floor button. The elevator glided upward until it stopped smoothly.
Em stepped toward the door, waiting for it to open.
The music began to repeat the same droning song. A long second passed. Then a minute.
Gar stood perfectly still, staring ahead with his shoulders squared. Nervousness burned in Em’s stomach. Sweat dribbled down her back. How long were they going to stand there?
She elbowed Chloe and widened her eyes to indicate her concern.
Chloe shook her head as if to say she had no idea what was going on.
The music stopped.
Em held her breath, expecting to sense the prickle of a magic scan or the choking sensation of deadly gas being pumped in through the air system. She was waiting for something—anything—to happen.
A woman’s voice chirped, “Welcome Special Investigator Remillard, and guests. Your identifications have been verified. You may proceed.”
The elevator door skated open. Em dashed out, grateful for freedom, and took a gulp of fresh air. But a healthy knot of worry remained lodged in her chest. She hadn’t felt or seen a thing. How exactly had they identified her? At least they’d let her keep her knife.
Sticking close, Em followed Devlin and Gar into a museum-like vestibule. Floor-to-ceiling display cabinets, statuary, and paintings crowded every inch of the room. On either side, arched doorways led into wide corridors lit by dragon-shaped chandeliers.
As they passed the cabinets, Em took a closer look at their contents. One held only gauntlets and torques, studded with jewels and etched with images of faeries. Another cabinet contained bronze skulls. A glowing longbow hung in a black box. An oil painting depicted witches dancing naked under the light of a full moon. Swords. Scrolls. A summoner’s bowl. Ancient things she couldn’t identify.
An unusually dark watercolor in a black frame caught her eye. The background of the painting depicted a blood-smeared grave. In the foreground, demonic wraiths spun in glee, their hollow eye sockets enlarging into darkness and their elongated tongues flicking as their rotting flesh vaporized into a mass of putrid-green haze. Eyeballs were skewered on one the wraith’s bony clawed fingers, like a disgusting shish kebab.
Chloe hooked her arm with Em’s, snugging her close. “That’s nasty.”
“They’re worse in person, take my word for it.” Em hadn’t encountered one in years, but that didn’t make this reminder of their existence any less disturbing—wraiths were completely immoral and vicious.
Chloe shuddered, then quieted her voice even more. “The main museum is downstairs. It’s amazing. But how they acquire items is less impressive. They acquisitioned a cauldron from my Aunt Holly last summer. It had been in my family for centuries.”
“That would piss me off,” Em said. She hugged herself and wondered if the Council had ever acquisitioned something from her ancestors. When they’d cursed the medium for what she’d done to Sarah Winchester, had they brought things like the medium’s Book of Shadows here?
Gar’s raised voice echoed the small
vestibule. “This way,” he said, leading them to the corridor on their left.
Doors lined one side of the corridor. Tall windows ran the length of the other side, with armed guards stationed between them, feet firmly planted, arms behind their backs, black shirts and pants perfectly pressed. The only other people around were two men in hooded robes, chatting a couple dozen yards down the hallway. Gar strode directly toward them, so fast Em had to jog a few steps to keep up.
As they approached, the men stopped talking and the taller one turned to greet Gar. His robe’s gold-edged hood hid most of his face, but Em caught a glimpse of a cleft chin covered with a stubble of gray beard. She studied his hands, long and slender like a musician’s, with dark brown skin. Gold rings etched with runes and studded with crystals encircled all his fingers, including his thumbs. A long green stole embroidered with gold constellations and other symbols of the Craft draped over his shoulders. Em’s suspicion that he was a member of the High Council was based purely on the elegance of his attire, which conflicted with the basic black robe the man beside him wore.
“On time as expected,” the tall man said to Gar. He brushed back his hood, his hawk-sharp eyes homing in on Gar’s bruised nose. He chuckled. “Found yourself some trouble as usual, I see.”
Gar ignored the comment and tilted his head toward a doorway a few yards down the corridor. “Is Morrell here yet?”
The man frowned. “Is there something specific you want to talk to him about?”
“I wanted to clarify that I plan on addressing the Council first by myself.”
“That’s smart. Keeping this as uncomplicated as possible would be preferable for everyone involved.” He glanced meaningfully at Chloe.
Gar smiled. “She’s here as the Northern Circle’s new high priestess.”
“That makes sense. However, it doesn’t change my mind about keeping this simple.”
“I feel the same way.”
“I’m glad we’re in agreement.” The man stroked his stole, as if wiping away a wrinkle.
As the conversation switched to a discussion of protocol, Em stepped back from the group. The man didn’t seem interested in her, and she preferred to keep it that way.
A prickle of magic traveled over her body and she realized that the shorter man in the black robe had his eyes trained on her. Even with his hood up, she could see his face clearly. He was around Gar’s age, with tufty blond hair. His eyes were pinched and his skin had a gray-white sheen, like a damp raw clam.
Watch out for the voice of the dead. Watch out, the whisper of distant ghosts warned, voices so remote they most likely were reaching out to her from the Green.
“You’re the infamous Violet Grace,” he hissed. His gaze drove into her, his magic needling her skin as if reaching for her soul.
Em clenched her jaw and drew up her magic, blocking his intrusion before he could penetrate any deeper. She locked her eyes on his. “Violet Grace doesn’t exist anymore.”
“From what I hear, she was mostly a fraud anyway.” His magic released her, the needling sensation gone in an instant. But she kept her eyes hard on his, anger rolling into fury.
Chloe’s fingers clamped her arm. “We need to get to the waiting area.”
“Right now,” Devlin said, his voice stiff.
Em intensified her gaze, keeping it on the guy and pouring magic into it. There were hundreds of things she wanted to snarl at the jerk, but he wasn’t the first to accuse her of fraud, and she was certain his probing had shown him the accusation was false. She was sure of something else as well. He might have worn a gold emblem of a cauldron encircled with leaves on his cloak, an insignia that most likely designated him as a potion master or something similar. But the ghosts had called him “voice of the dead,” a term they sometimes used for mediums. He was a man who couldn’t have missed the fact that Gar was haunted.
In one powerful stride, Gar closed the short distance been him and the pasty-faced guy. “Some of the most powerful witches have assumed the persona of a fraud.” He loomed over the guy like a wolf sizing up a coyote, then turned his back on him and faced the taller man. His voice turned pleasant. “I’ll see you shortly.”
The Council member dipped his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, as if the confrontation had amused him. “I’ll tell the High Chancellor that you’re here.”
As Gar strode away from them and down the hallway, Em glued herself to his side. She could still feel the guy in the black robe watching her, which was more than a little disturbing.
“In here.” Gar marshaled them through the doorway and into a reception room with windows that overlooked rooftops and buildings on the other side of a street. Upholstered chairs and potted palms ringed the edge of the room. In one corner, a computer, neatly stacked files, and someone’s half-eaten sandwich sat on a desk. Next to the files, a selection of athames glistened in a glass box.
Gar steered them toward the far side of the room, to a group of chairs stationed under the windows. Em wanted to ask him about the men they’d met—especially the creepy asshole—but she kept it to herself. She didn’t need another trip in the elevator to know it was wiser to stay quiet until they returned to the truck.
“I’ll be right back,” Gar said. “Fifteen minutes, at the most.”
Though Em longed to hug him and wish him good luck, she nodded coolly and settled into a chair.
From where she sat, she had a partial view of the room Gar entered. He passed a narrow table with at least a dozen chairs along one side. In front of that, a single metal stool sat in a spotlight. It looked more like the setting for an interrogation than a hearing.
Chloe squeezed Em’s hand. “Scared?”
“Kind of.” Em laced her fingers with Chloe’s, barely able to breathe as Gar vanished from her line of sight.
“It’s going to be okay,” Chloe whispered.
“I hope so.” She released Chloe’s hand. “You didn’t happen to notice a drinking fountain? I’m so dry I can barely swallow.”
“I didn’t see one. I’ve got some mints, if that’ll help?” Chloe pulled out a roll of Breath Savers and offered one to her.
“Thanks,” Em said. A mint was a better idea than going back into the corridor. She took it and popped it into her mouth. It tasted spicy and clean, exactly like Gar’s lips. Sick worry crept up her throat, killing the fresh taste. She spotted a bottle of water on the desk. Drinking it would help settle her stomach, but the bottle sat beside the half-eaten sandwich. Clearly it wasn’t up for grabs.
Voices reverberated from the room Gar had disappeared into. Though she couldn’t see who was talking, she could make out bits of the conversation.
“It’s a waste of Council funds,” a woman snarled.
A man scoffed. “We all know where this investigation is leading.”
“The evidence isn’t pointing in that direction,” Gar stated flatly.
More voices joined in, arguing loudly.
One rose above the rest. “Isn’t this supposed to be a closed meeting?”
A person in a white robe sprinted into view and pulled the doors shut, muting their voices so that Em couldn’t understand a word.
She closed her eyes. Please, please, please, she prayed. Dear Gods and Goddesses. Dear Alice, please watch over Gar. Take care of him and give him strength to get through this.
The whoosh of a door opening brought Em from her prayers. Her eyes flashed open. The meeting couldn’t be over this soon, could it?
She scanned the room, her hope dissolving when she discovered it wasn’t the door to the hearing room that had opened. It was one beside the desk.
A long-legged brunette in spiked heels and a tight white dress darted out and to the desk without so much as a glance their way. She snatched the bottle of water and an athame, then retreated the way she’d come, closing the door behind her.
Em turned to see what was wrong. Chloe was hunkered down in her chair, head bowed as if she were attempting to stay out of sight. Devlin draped an arm around her. “Don’t worry about it. She didn’t even look your way.”
Mystified, Em glanced from them to the door the woman had retreated through and back. “Who was that?”
Devlin’s jaw tightened. “That was the Vice-Chancellor’s wife.”
“Oh, shit.” Em gulped a breath. Just what they needed. She wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d run into the Vice-Chancellor himself. He worked here. He was probably even in the meeting. But her? She was a cover model or something like that. “What’s she doing here?”
Chloe groaned. “Whatever it is, it can’t be good. The woman is a—” She stopped talking and touched her wrist, rubbing her fingers across her ever-present charm bracelet. “That’s strange.” She took the bracelet off and let the pendulum charm dangle down, like she’d done when she’d scried for Merlin’s crystal.
The pendulum began to swing rhythmically, side-to-side.
“Did you ask it something?” Devlin said.
Chloe shook her head. “No. It started moving on its own—while it was still on my wrist.”
Goose bumps crept up Em’s arms. Chloe might not have intentionally asked the pendulum to locate anything, but they’d planned to use it to find the crystal later. “Maybe it sensed your intention,” she suggested.
The pendulum stopped mid-swing, then lifted like a finger to point at the door the Vice-Chancellor’s wife had vanished through.
“The crystal,” Chloe whispered. “She has it.”
Chapter 18
I bear no reflection
only rippled waters disturbed and unsettled.
—Journal of Emily Adams
Week two. New Dawn House. Albany, New York.
Chloe jumped to her feet and beelined for the door. Devlin lunged after her, seizing her arm and holding her back. “No, Chloe. We have to wait for Gar.”