by Becca Fox
“Okay, fine. What if they turn out to be cursed too?” Charlie threw his hands in the air. “What then? We’re all just going to sit around the table and share our feelings about our shitty situations? What good could possibly come of it?”
“Are you serious right now? We could compare stories, find out what we have in common, maybe even figure out some way to convince Death to end our curses!”
“Charlie,” Uncle Vic said before the vein could pop out of my brother’s forehead. “Jasmine’s right. They could know something that might help us. Or better yet: you could know something that might help them. For years, we believed you two were the only ones burdened by Death’s magic.” He made a face. “For lack of a better term. But if these people are cursed too…At the very least, it means you’re not alone. Doesn’t that comfort you? Doesn’t that make you a little curious as to why Death chose the four of you?”
Charlie looked from me to Uncle Victor to the mirror and back. He seemed torn between grudging intrigue and his bull-headed desire to keep me safe.
“Okay,” he said after a while. “Okay, but I’m talking to them.” He pointed at me as he walked toward the door. “You stay right there.”
“But—”
The door shut before I could finish protesting. I groaned up at the ceiling and then stepped closer to the glass. Pressing my hands against it, I leaned in until my forehead was touching the cold, hard surface. My uncle stayed beside me. A part of me wished he would’ve stopped Charlie, made him realize I was the best person to talk to these strangers about Death since I was the one who saw her on a regular basis. But Uncle Victor had always been determined to let Charlie make his own mistakes. It was one of the things that made him a great parent. It was still frustrating to watch, though.
Charlie stormed into the interrogation room. The door slammed against the wall and bounced back to whack him in the arm.
I slapped a hand against my forehead.
Face reddening, my brother closed the door with a little more care and stepped up to the table. All the while the Smiths watched with renewed interest.
Uncle Victor ran a hand down his face and kept it over his mouth. Whether he was nervous or embarrassed on Charlie’s behalf, I couldn’t tell. I crossed my arms to keep my hands from shaking.
Charlie pulled out the chair our uncle had been sitting in moments before and dropped into it. His face was hidden from view. I didn’t like that. Why couldn’t we have multiple cameras in there?
“Hello,” Angela said with a hesitant smile. “Where is the girl?”
“She can hear you,” Charlie said, already on the defensive. “That’ll have to be enough.”
I cringed. That was no way to build rapport.
“You can press that button there to speak,” Uncle Victor said, pointing at the strange-looking keyboard before the computer monitor. “Go ahead and introduce yourself.”
“Thank you,” I said with a grateful sigh. Leaning forward, I pressed the button and spoke at the screen. “Hello, Smiths. Please, forgive my brother. He’s wary of strangers. I’m Jasmine. It’s very nice to meet you.”
Angela sat up and peeked behind Charlie as if looking for me there.
Charlie scowled over his shoulder before turning back to the Smiths. “You wanted to talk, so talk.”
Jerald raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth—probably to tell Charlie to watch his attitude—but Angela spoke up before he could get a word out. “How do you know our mother?”
Uncle Victor held his hand out to stop me from responding. “Don’t take over the conversation. This is good for Charlie.”
I grudgingly stepped back.
“Just so we’re clear,” my brother said, the discomfort evident in his voice, “when you say ‘our mother,’ you’re talking about a lady with an…underworld vibe…right?”
Angela sighed and glanced at her husband with a relieved smile. “We haven’t had much contact with her but yes, that does sound like our mother.”
“I’ve never actually met her. Jasmine is the one who visits her regularly, but not by choice. Our…guardians made a deal with our mother to spare us from death when we were babies,” my brother said, choosing his words with care. “The abilities we gained as a result of that deal were too much for them in the end. We were brought here to live with our uncle. We use our abilities to help him solve murders.”
“Our mother gave you abilities?” Angela leaned forward, her eyes alight with excitement. “What kind?”
Even Jerald seemed interested. He regarded Charlie with a look which said, “Oh really?”
“I see things. Jasmine feels. But I can’t tell you anything else,” Charlie said, his voice hardening into a kind of warning. “We keep the details secret for our own protection.”
Angela nodded. “Yes, of course. Fascinating. We’d love to talk more about these abilities…” Her gaze darted up to the camera before lowering back to Charlie’s face. “Elsewhere.”
Charlie scoffed quietly as if to say, “We’ll see about that.”
I couldn’t help tapping the button this time. “Be nice, Charles.”
He glared at the glass behind him and spoke through gritted teeth. “Will you stop interjecting, please?” Turning back to the Smiths, he said, “Your eyes. Are they naturally brown?”
“Yes,” Angela said, sharing another look with her husband. “Aren’t yours?”
My brother shifted uncomfortably in his seat before changing the subject. “So, how do you guys know our mother?”
“That is a long and rather painful story.” Angela’s voice was soft. “One we can’t tell here.”
“Oh.”
“But if you wish to know everything we know about our mother and the Wards, you can read my journal.” Angela used her pointer fingers to draw a rectangle in the air. “It’s a brown leather notebook about this big. Your uncle will find it among our confiscated possessions. It’s for you and your sister only.”
I pressed the button one more time. “That’s very generous of you. Thank you.”
My brother gave a short, frustrated exhale.
Angela smiled at the mirror. “You’re most welcome, Jasmine. I do hope to speak to you face to face one day.” Looking back at Charlie, she said, “It was a grand coincidence that we passed into your state at this time. We truly had nothing to do with those murders. As my husband said, we’re pacifists and have no desire to hurt the Wards or their associates. The journal will prove that as well. But we’ll do as your uncle asked and stay in the city, in a hotel close by. If you have questions about anything you read in my journal, please don’t hesitate to come find us.”
“Thanks. We’ll keep that in mind.” Charlie stood, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Sorry we, uh, interrupted your sabbatical.” Then he hunched his shoulders and left the interrogation room.
◆◆◆
The Smiths were released. Uncle Victor went to find Vanessa to tell her everything he could tell her about the interrogation. Charlie and I were headed back to our apartment, arguing about how we’d each handled our meeting with the Smiths, when Anthony came around the corner.
The sight of him made me want to hide. Ever since meeting his kids and attempting suicide, things had been awkward between us. I felt even guiltier for taking up so much of his time. The thought of not seeing him every day was painful but I wanted him to be happy. So I kept trying to convince him it was okay to leave the precinct. The problem was...he was my doctor, teacher, and friend. He knew me. He could tell something was wrong but he wasn’t going to come right out and say it.
“Jasmine,” Anthony said when he caught up to us. “What happened? One minute I’m editing your essay while you’re putting together welcome baskets for the new hires, and the next you’re gone.”
“Welcome baskets. Really?” my brother said with a snort.
“Sorry. Something…curse and case-related came up.” I glanced around us at the various officers working at their desks, and tried to look mor
e relaxed than I felt. “How’d I do on the essay?”
“I’ll need to check your references but you followed the rubric well.” His scrunched brow broke my heart. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah,” I said cheerfully, cutting Charlie off. “It’s late. Why don’t you head on home? We can pick up where we left off early tomorrow morning.”
Anthony put his hands on his hips and regarded me thoughtfully. “You’ve been awfully dismissive lately. Have I done something to offend you?”
Well, look at that. He just came right out and said it.
I swallowed hard. “No, Tony. I—” Glancing at Charlie, I said, “Could you give us a second?”
He shrugged. “Sure. I’ll see you downstairs.” Then he ambled over to the elevator.
I nodded toward the left most aisle between desks and the two of us started walking. “Sorry I’ve been so weird lately, but you had to have known this day would come sooner or later. I’m all grown up now. I’ve been able to take more and more classes online as they’ve become available. I have other teachers who can help me with my school work. I don’t need you as much as I used to.” I wrung my hands, averting my gaze. “Your boys on the other hand—”
“I knew seeing them had upset you,” he murmured with a shake of his head. “You don’t have to worry about them, Jazz. They understand the commitment I’ve made.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You don’t have to be so committed to this job anymore.”
He stopped walking to stare at me. I took a deep breath and faced his hurt expression head on.
“I don’t want you to feel like I’m chasing you away. You’re like a second father to me and I love you. I’m going to miss you always being around but I finally feel...sort of independent. It’s time for you to cut back on your hours.” I reached out to take one of his hands. “You understand, don’t you?”
He nodded slowly. “Yes, I suppose I do.” Clearing his throat, he carefully extracted his hand from mine. “I’ll talk to your uncle about creating a new schedule that meets your current needs.”
I’d hurt him. Dammit. Dammit! That wasn’t what I wanted at all. He’d spent all these years taking care of me. I just wanted to take care of him for once. But how could I explain it to him in a way that he would accept? He was always insisting he was fine.
“Thanks for understanding,” I said, my voice breaking.
He smiled, a painful, forced, horrible thing. “Of course. Should we head back downstairs?”
“Yeah. Okay.” I glumly followed him.
Chapter 28
Charles
Jasmine seemed sad after Anthony went home for the day. I was tempted to ask her about it but she kept her nose in Angela Smith’s diary for the rest of the evening.
I spent that time making something for Esmer. I wasn’t sure what I was doing, exactly. I just let my hands work. There were plenty of bamboo sheets in my storage area from a project I’d done several weeks ago; I used my rotary tool kit to cut out stars in various sizes. I looked up the sheet music for some of Esmer’s favorite songs and printed them using my sister’s printer. Jasmine had already brewed tea to sip while she was reading so I borrowed some to stain the music sheets. I used them to make roses. Putting my soldering torch to good use, I burned the edges of the petals. The last of my aluminum sheets were cut into music notes; I spray painted them black. While digging my hands through a crate of older crafting stuff, I unearthed a quilting ring from that weird phase in Jasmine’s life. It was sitting over a sheer white curtain and some thick black ribbons.
Suddenly, I knew what I was making for Esmer. My arms were heavy laden with the wooden hoop, the curtain, and the ribbons as I returned to my work station. It took time to thread the fishing line through the stars, the roses, and the music notes. I accidentally destroyed a few of the flowers. In the end, it worked out. I was proud of the finished product. Now all I needed to do was find a ceiling hook. I rooted around my random hardware drawer until I unearthed one big enough to suit my needs.
“I’m going out,” I told Jasmine, carefully folding my new creation into a spare cardboard box. It barely closed around the wooden ring.
“Okay,” she murmured, barely taking her eyes off of the leather-bound book in her hands. Whatever Angela Smith had written must’ve been good, but I wasn’t too curious.
That wasn’t true. I was curious but even more uneasy. All these years, I’d been happy to brand Death as a spiteful, otherworldly bitch with too much power and not enough creativity to put it to good use. But now I had to wonder...Were there others besides the Smiths? Was there a pattern to Death’s actions, maybe even a motive? Could there possibly be a way to reason with her, some hidden knowledge or leverage we could use to free us from this curse? It was a dangerous train of thought, one I wasn’t keen on exploring. It would be too devastating if it ended up leading nowhere.
I guess that’s why I’d been so hesitant to talk to the Smiths. They embodied hope, and hope promised a new kind of pain I didn’t want to experience. I’d resigned myself to this life. In my weakest moments, I’d fantasized about freeing my sister from the curse because she deserved better, but I’d always known deep down that there was nothing either of us could do. Now? I didn’t know. Jasmine had been ready to talk to complete strangers, was hungrily absorbing every word in the journal, was willing to do anything to find an answer. My instinct was to pretend I’d never met the Smiths, throw the stupid diary away, just keep surviving. Protect myself and my sister at all costs.
Maybe it was narrow-minded and cowardly, but it was the truth. I knew what Jasmine would say if I admitted any of this to her. So I stayed quiet. I would let her curiosity and determination run its course. If it turned out I was right and there was no lifting the curse, at least I’d be prepared to pick up her pieces, having not allowed myself to hope in the first place. If she did find something…well, I’d gladly embrace hope then.
I tugged a windbreaker on and stuffed my phone in my back pocket. With the box under one arm and my skateboard under the other, I jogged toward the elevator.
I knew Uncle Vic probably had a ton of paperwork to do. It would be awkward to skate with this box but I could do it. Plus, Esmer didn’t live too far from the precinct. The weather report hadn’t predicted any rain for tonight. I would be fine. I just had to find my uncle and let him know where I was going.
Thing was, I couldn’t find him.
I expected him to be at his desk, typing or making calls to find proof of the Smiths’ story. But he wasn’t there. The desk lamp was off and his computer was dark. I walked the length of the first floor, scanning the few remaining people still working past the traditional clock out time. He wasn’t talking with any of them. I stopped by the tech department and the morgue to see if maybe he’d gone looking for more clues. The intern running our killer’s profile picture through the facial recognition software said my uncle had left with Vanessa a while ago. Dr. Ochoa was sewing up the Y incision on Mr. Delaney’s chest when I poked my head into the autopsy room, a solitary white coat standing between empty silver tables.
Maybe he went out to get dinner? He usually texted me or came down to the apartment to ask us what we wanted to eat before heading out, though.
I finally stopped by one of the desks near the break room and whipped out my phone to call him. But then—
“I just don’t understand why you always take Charlie’s side. I know he has psychic powers but he’s still basically a kid.” It was Vanessa. Her voice was coming from the break room. “He hasn’t been trained for this job. Not like I have. I could’ve helped.”
“It wasn’t Charlie’s call. I decided not to invite you into the interrogation room. From the way my niece and nephew were acting, I deduced they were psychically connected to those suspects somehow. They wouldn’t have been comfortable talking about it or using the extent of their abilities while you were around, so I did what I thought was best for the case. It wasn’t done maliciou
sly, Nessie. Please, believe me.” My uncle hadn’t raised his voice but it was stern enough to silence any more objections.
Or so I thought.
“All right. Fine. Why won’t you tell me what you discovered then?” Vanessa challenged.
“I’ve told you exactly what you need to know.”
A frustrated exhale. “I can’t help you solve this case if I don’t know all the details, Vic.”
“You’re helping plenty.”
“This isn’t fair! This is a high-profile case, not to mention a really juicy one. Assisting can get me recognized, maybe bump me up to detective! You can’t sideline me now.”
I shoved my phone back in my pocket and stalked toward the break room. She was lucky Uncle Victor had let her shadow him for this long, lucky he’d shared any details with her at all. He hadn’t done that for anyone else. She had no right to demand more.
“I promise I’m not sidelining you.” My uncle sounded tired all of a sudden. “I gave you my conditions when I first allowed you to start shadowing me. The details of Charlie and Jasmine’s gifts are secret, and I have the right to exclude certain case details if—”
“If those details come too close to revealing the true nature or extent of their abilities,” Vanessa finished for him in a mutter more appropriate for a five-year-old. “I know, but after all this time and everything we’ve been through…”
I stopped in the break room’s doorway.
My uncle leaned both palms against the counter and stared at the coffee maker while it brewed his umpteenth cup of coffee. Vanessa Burkley stood beside him with a hand on his arm. I couldn’t see the expression on her face because her curly hair was in the way, but I was sure she was pouting.
“Haven’t I earned your trust yet?” Her voice was almost too quiet to compete with the decrepit coffee maker’s coughing.
Uncle Victor glanced at her. I only saw his profile from where I was standing, but something about that pause made me hesitate to make my presence known. He was staring pretty intently at her face. I stepped back. I had to move fast but not too fast, otherwise they’d see movement out of the corners of their eyes. Or maybe not; they did seem really absorbed in each other.