Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Colleen Gleason

  A short elevator ride brought me to the ground level. From there I followed the signs to the cafeteria as instructed by my all too observant nurse. Shuffling through the line, I fixed a cup of much-needed coffee and grabbed a donut I didn’t need at all apart from the added sugar high. Finally, I reached the cashier, who looked at me like I was the sole survivor of a horrific car crash. She had no idea. At this point, being hospitalized from a car accident sounded like a well-deserved vacation from the never-ending disaster my life had become.

  My donut didn’t survive the trip back to the I.C.U. Licking the last of the sticky glaze off of my fingers, I caught sight of Matthison’s wife talking to his doctor as I savored my coffee and rounded the corner leading to the depressing hallway outside Matthison’s room.

  I had been going over and over what I would tell her as I waited earlier for a report from the doctors, but was let off the hook when a nurse made the dreaded phone call. I froze. She hadn’t seen me yet. She’d never know I was still there. As much as I wanted to tuck tail and run, I forced myself to stand a little straighter and walked over to my former captain’s wife.

  I saw the blow coming, but neither moved out of the way nor tried to block it. She had every right to be angry. Her husband wasn’t supposed to be lying in a hospital bed in Shock Trauma, never mind working a case as if he were my partner. He hadn’t worked a case on the streets in years, and if it weren’t for my involvement, he wouldn’t have been working this one. He was my mentor at SPTF and the closest thing I had to a friend before my involvement with the Council. Still, I let him walk right into the Inquisitors’ trap with me.

  There were a number of reasons why the Council only pretended to let the Norms be involved in the workings of Others, and I was staring one of them right in the face. Mrs. Matthison raised her hand to slap me again, angered further by my lack of reaction to her first strike, and then dropped her hand and her head as sobs wracked her body. I made no move to comfort her. She would never accept it; the blame was evident in her eyes. She left me standing there in the hallway to return to her husband’s bedside.

  Taking that as my cue to exit, I retraced my steps back to the elevator and the ground floor. Instead of going to the cafeteria, however, I followed the signs to the main entrance. Walking out of the hospital, I was unsure as to how I was getting home. My pockets were empty, no bus or cab fare, and I didn’t have my cell. I didn’t even have change for a pay phone—if they even still had payphones.

  Sitting outside on a bench next to the automatic doors trying to collect my thoughts, I’d just decided to go back inside and ask the person at the information desk if I could use the phone to call for a ride when I heard footsteps approaching. I looked up out of curiosity and cursed the fates.

  Masarelli was walking briskly toward the main entrance, and I couldn’t even dare hope that he hadn’t seen me. He slowed his pace as he got within a few steps of the bench I was sitting on. I stifled a laugh. If Matthison hadn’t needed to be rushed to a hospital, I would have chosen a swim in the frigid Atlantic Ocean over my rescue by Cash, Matthison’s wife’s assault, not undeserved, and Masarelli’s imminent questioning. All I wanted was to get back to my place, take a shower, and slip into some clean clothes. That seemed further away now than the miles between Boston and Salem.

  I raised my hand to stop the barrage of questions I knew were about to come.

  “I don’t suppose you’d pretend you didn’t see me and let me come in on my own to fill out a report?” I asked, sounding as exhausted as I felt.

  “No, I don’t suppose I could.”

  “You’re a dick,” I grumbled.

  “Yeah, well you’re to blame.”

  That stung. He had certainly won that exchange. It didn’t often happen between us. I usually took great satisfaction in putting Masarelli in his place, but my heart just wasn’t in it right now. He gave me a sideways glance, unsure what to make of my lack of interest in our usual ball-busting.

  A herd of nurses came through the automatic doors, allowing more of the light from inside to push at the darkness that was so effectively cloaking all of my cuts and bruises. Masarelli looked shocked at my battered appearance, making me wish glamour were one of the skills I had gained. He was used to seeing me in blouses and pencil skirts with high heel boots. He was unaccustomed to my tattered jeans, shredded shirt, and bloodied skin. His face darkened as he took in every detail.

  “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you all the details if you give me a ride back to my apartment,” I said.

  He looked at the automatic doors. I knew he was thinking about Matthison; that he should see him, but he wouldn’t get any information from someone who was in a coma. I was his only chance to get a break in this case.

  “Deal.” He acted confident, like I’d done exactly what he wanted me to, but I could see his desire to take it back the minute the offer left his mouth.

  It was killing him to do even the littlest thing to help me. I had been his nemesis at SPTF since pretty much my first day. I didn’t want his help any more than he wanted to give it, but right now I couldn’t see a faster way of getting back to Salem.

  “I’m ready to go whenever you are, Detective,” I was trying not to say anything that would cause me to lose my ride.

  Masarelli’s car was just what I expected, a mess. I would have given anything for a towel to cover the seat with, and that was saying something, given the state I was in. I tried to hide my disgust and got into the car.

  “I’ll start driving when you start talking.”

  Not wanting to spend a minute more than necessary in the garbage heap he called a car, I began filling Masarelli in on everything that had happened. I conveniently skipped over the third dead witch, of course. Matthison had enough problems with his health at the moment. He didn’t need any trouble at SPTF when he returned. I knew Masarelli wanted his job, and with the opportunity to be running the department while Matthison recovered imminent, I wasn’t giving him any ammunition to make the position permanent.

  I picked up my story with Matthison confronting Mahalia about the Malleus Maleficarum and the subsequent argument about withholding information crucial to solving the case. I skipped over the zombie-raising via Graive Larrick altogether. I only told him what he needed to hear for me to get home. So, he thought Matthison had stormed off with me underfoot because Mahalia wasn’t giving him full disclosure. I described in great detail the ambush at my apartment and the torture that ensued on Winter Island. This was what he most wanted to know about, and I had no reason not to tell him.

  By the time we pulled up to my apartment, Masarelli knew everything he was going to know. He parked in an empty spot two spaces down from the spot where Matthison and I had first encountered the Inquisitors.

  “They had no interest in him. They gave him a chance to escape, and he wouldn’t go,” I looked out my window, the scene fresh in my mind, as he put the car in park.

  “He couldn’t abandon you to the Inquisitors. You’re still part of the team as far as he’s concerned.” Masarelli was trying to make me feel better? Would wonders never cease?

  “Déjà vu,” I said, breaking up another awkward moment in which someone I deeply disliked tried to be nice to me.

  “I’d be an even bigger asshole than you think I am if I didn’t at least tell you that I have serious reservations about you going into your apartment so soon after being attacked.”

  “Well, you can rest with a clear conscience and consider me warned, Detective.” I opened the car door to get out.

  “I’m serious, Kincaide. You should find someplace else to stay. Surely someone in the Council could put you up for a few days. Seems the least those witches could do.” Masarelli had no idea what he was suggesting. Owing the Council a favor could be just as hazardous to my health as the Inquisitors could be.

  “They got more than they bargained for when they took me. I doubt very seriously that they’d try to grab me again.” I wish I felt as confident a
s I was pretending to be.

  He opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off by thanking him for the ride and made my way up to my apartment.

  Chapter 8

  I cursed as I reached the front door of the three-level, converted Victorian I called home, realizing I didn’t have my keys to the entrance door or to my third-floor, walk-up apartment. Just as I was contemplating kicking the door down, Ms. Costa, the widow in the second floor apartment, came out to walk her dog.

  “Hi, Ms. Costa,” I said as I squeezed past her, out of the cold, and into the stairway leading up to my apartment and its hot water.

  “Maur—” The rest of my name came out in a gasp as she caught a good look at me on my way past her.

  I didn’t stop to explain, taking the stairs two at a time, despite my body screaming at me to slow down. Healing this fast had its advantages, but it was also exhausting. Sure, I’d feel better tomorrow, but right now I needed food and sleep. But first and foremost, I needed a shower.

  I hit the landing on the third floor and came to an abrupt stop. Guess I wouldn’t need the key I kept hidden in the little light fixture beside the door. My door wasn’t damaged, except for the knob and locking mechanism. They must have bumped the lock.

  I pushed the door open slowly and hit the light switch on the wall. A minute passed before I stepped inside. I didn’t hear or see anyone. Nothing seemed to be out of place. In fact, the place looked exactly the same as it had when I’d left it. What kind of burglar busts into a place and doesn’t take anything? Or maybe it wasn’t a thing they had been after. Maybe they had been looking for a person. The Inquisitors had planned a good old-fashioned snatch and grab. Just one problem with that—I hadn’t come home yet. So, they had camped outside for an ambush in the parking lot instead.

  Deciding the immediate threat was gone; I closed the door and slid the chain lock in place to keep it that way. I’d have to pick up a new doorknob and a deadbolt from the hardware store as soon as possible. Or maybe I should just get out of my lease. If this shit kept up, I’d probably get evicted anyway.

  I started undressing as I walked to the bathroom, adding to the trail I had left the night before. Damn! Had it really only been a little over twenty-four hours since Mahalia had awakened me with the news of another murder? It felt like a month had passed. My heart sank as I thought about Matthison laying in the I.C.U. Those bastards were going to pay for what they had done to him.

  I turned the shower on, waiting until the water was hot enough to melt skin before climbing in. I jumped when the water hit the brand on my neck and turned the heat back a little. Adjusting the showerhead setting to jet, I stood under the water as it beat the grime off of my body. The water swirled pink around my feet for a long time as I scrubbed away the dried blood. Some was the Butcher’s, but most of it was mine. Not that it mattered. He was the one who was dead. After washing my hair twice, I stood under the water until it ran cold and clear.

  I grabbed a towel off the rod, dried off, slipped into my fuzzy, purple robe, and wrapped my hair up in a towel turban. I walked out of the bathroom just in time to see a hand slip through my front door and try to undo the chain.

  I charged the door, slamming it on the intruding hand. There wasn’t time for anything else. If whoever was on the other side was armed to the teeth, I was up shit’s creek without a paddle because all I had were my bare hands. My sword was in the bedroom.

  “Ouch, Maurin, what the hell?”

  “Amalie? Is that you?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer from the sound of her voice.

  “Yes! Are you going to get off of my hand and open the damned door or what?” The witch sounded a lot less mad than I would have been if she’d smashed my hand in a door.

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry,” I removed my weight from the door.

  Amalie slipped her hand out, and I closed the door so I could undo the chain lock.

  “A little punchy, are we?” Her sarcasm faded when she caught a glimpse of the brand on my neck. “What the hell is that?”

  My hand immediately went up to cover the scar that would be a permanent reminder of my run-in with the Inquisitors. I was already getting tired of people asking me about it.

  “Exactly what it looks like,” I was already heading back to my kitchen to find something to eat.

  “I brought you some breakfast. I’m no gourmet chef or anything, but I can manage pancakes and bacon. I even brought you a dirty chai latte. Luckily for you, I didn’t drop it when you decided to crush one of my hands in your door.” She set a paper bag and the coffee cup down on my table. “I know you don’t normally go for lattes or anything like that, but trust me, you’ll like it.”

  I sat down at the table as she rooted through my kitchen. “What are you looking for?”

  “Syrup. Found it. It’s real maple, too? Nice.” She handed me the syrup and a fork.

  I opened the paper bag and pulled out a Styrofoam container. “I thought that you said you made pancakes and bacon. You keep Styrofoam containers at your house?” I teased her a little, more to lift my spirits than anything else.

  “No, jackass. I made them at the Daily Grind. My uncle’s usually there anyway, to prep for the morning rush, so he let me use the kitchen.” She sat across from me at my little bistro-style table.

  I opened the container. “I thought that you said there was bacon.”

  “It’s in the pancakes, so stop thinking and start eating. It’s good! You like pancakes. You like bacon. You’ll like them together. Now, stop acting like a finicky toddler and eat the damned food.”

  I realized I was really too hungry to care, so I poured the syrup on top and dug in. She was right, they were really good. Making short order of the short stack, I pounded the latte. As much as it pained me to admit it, she was right about that, too. I’d have to ask her later what exactly a dirty chai latte was. Exhausted after finally putting something in my stomach, I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open.

  “I thought for sure that the double shot of espresso in that chai latte would have kept you up long enough to tell me what happened, but I guess not,” Amalie’s shoulders dropped, evidently a little disappointed her ploy to keep me up didn’t work.

  “So that’s what makes it dirty. I am impervious to caffeine. You of all people should know that,” I said, earning a smile from her. “I appreciate you coming over here and bringing me food, really I do, Amalie, but I’m about two minutes away from passing out right here at the table.”

  “It’s cool. Get some sleep. I’ll get Cash to fill me in.” She got up to leave.

  “Thanks, I’ll call you when I— Wait, what?” I tried to process what she’d just said, but my brain wasn’t firing on all pistons.

  “Cash. He’s outside. I’ll just get him to tell me what he knows, and then you can fill in the gaps later. No biggie.”

  “Why is Cash outside my apartment?” I asked, too tired to actually be upset.

  “He went to the hospital to pick you up, but you were already leaving with that greasy detective, so he followed you. He’s been keeping an eye on you, on pack orders, since you got home.” She paused long enough to look appalled that I would question why someone was posted outside my apartment. “Geez, Maurin, you were taken by the Inquisitors! Don’t you think we’d have someone here to make sure that didn’t happen again?

  “Yeah, makes sense. Just surprised it was Cash, I guess.” Stifling a yawn, I rubbed my eyes.

  “He agreed to do it. Well, it was more like Roul told everyone else who volunteered that Cash was already doing it. I think Roul wants to keep Cash busy and away from the pack while he’s here. Oberon looked pretty pissed about it too, but Mahalia wouldn’t have let him come anyway. She’s got him working on a spell or something with Graive.”

  I closed my eyes and rested my head in my hands when she mentioned Oberon and Graive. After everything I’d gone through, I really didn’t want to fall asleep thinking about the two of them together.

  “Ok
ay, you’re obviously exhausted. I’m going to go keep watch with Cash. Can’t let you sleep too long, though. I’m supposed to bring you back to Mahalia’s in a few hours.” She started to leave, but stopped just before opening the door. “Hey, can I take a picture of your neck? I want to send it to Mahalia. I don’t have a clue what it means, and it might be important.”

  “Go ahead.” I yawned, unable to muffle it this time.

  She took a quick picture on her phone and left. I slipped the chain lock back into place and dragged myself to bed. I was out almost as soon as my head hit the pillows.

  Sleep wasn’t the escape I had hoped for. I woke in a cold sweat three times. Every time I closed my eyes the Butcher was there, except in the dream I never got my hands free. The Ringleader decided I’d be more likely to talk after I’d played a few of the Butcher’s favorite games. The third time, I woke up holding my stomach, certain my insides were falling out. Sleep eluded me after that.

  Ditching the robe, I got a good look at all of the different shades of purple, blue, green, and yellow covering my body from the varied stages of healing. The ring of purple around my eyes from the boot that had landed there more than once was especially attractive - a nice accent to my dark brown eyes. After a quick reminder that the Butcher was dead, I started picking through my closet for something to wear - settling on my favorite pair of low-rise, boot-cut jeans, a long-sleeved, black, fitted hoodie, and thick wool socks.

  Back in the bathroom, I brushed my teeth and the knots out of my hair, sweeping it to one side so I could see the brand on my neck in the mirror. It looked more like an algebra problem than an ominous symbol from the Inquisitors a K cut across the middle by a line with three dots. There was one on each end of the line and one a little to the left of the K. I’d never seen anything like it and hadn’t the slightest idea what it meant. Hopefully, Mahalia had already looked at the picture Amalie had on her phone and could tell me what it was, because I wasn’t doing anything else until she did.