“Call them,” I said. “I’m sure they will help you.”
I watched the door closed behind Petra. Pain radiated from the top of my head, down the sides of my face, into my jaw I took half a Norco from my purse and washed it down with water from the office cooler. The physical pain was only one of the reasons I didn’t like my psychic senses turning on. Feeling another’s agony as if it were my own was heartbreaking.
After Petra left and I could sneak out of the handbag manufacture’s office, I drove straight to Dee’s house in Manhattan Beach. I’d been here so often that I was very comfortable inside, but the upscale Spanish-style outside with it’s always neat and manicured landscaping would never feel like home to me. It was one of the reasons we didn’t live together even though we spent nearly every night together either under his roof or mine. Some of the other reasons were more problematic.
I parked my little yellow Subaru in his driveway and walked to the front door. The slight frizz of the wards protecting his house tingled along my skin. Dee’s door didn’t have a doorknob, keypad, or any visible way to open it. He’d once described his house as a fortress. There was enough magic guarding the place to make that true as far as I could tell. I muttered the spell that unlocked the door and walked into the house calling, “Dee? Where are you?”
A little burst of soft magic tapped my shoulder. A tiny shower of sparks drew my eye to the back door that led to the decent-sized yard. Dee drew his power from the earth. Likely he was outside lying in the grass to gather the energy to heal his damaged body. I drew my power from the ocean. The Gate had once said that Dee was of the earth and sun, while I was seawater and the moon, and we balanced the other. I didn’t know about that, but we did seem to like each other’s company. I supposed, then, it was no surprise that I was a Pisces, though barely, having been born on the cusp, while he was a Taurus. I didn’t believe in astrology, but it was funny how a lot of things about us seemed to fit our astrological designations.
He was sitting in a chair on the lawn, an empty chair beside him, his bare feet on the grass. He turned his head as I came out the back door.
Even though I knew him well and even in the dark, he still took my breath away—six feet tall, hair so dark brown it was nearly black and blue-gray eyes that displayed his Mexican/Irish heritage, with a face and body the gods would weep to possess—in my opinion, at least. Others might find his face a little too striking with those high cheekbones, his body a little too thin for those who liked their men muscle-bound. I’d never been drawn to the pretty boys or the overtly buffed out men and thought Dee was stunning. Lately he wore his hair shorter than when I’d first met him, ‘business length’ and lightly gelled, and was clean-shaven. It was a good look on him, but I missed the rakish pirate style he’d favored before. He hadn’t said so out loud, but I was psychically attuned to him and knew that with his thirtieth birthday approaching, he felt it was time to look a little more professional.
I gave him a peck on the cheek. “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” he said. “Pretty much all fixed now. How did the job go?”
I laughed once as I settled into the chair next to him. “That VP will have some explaining to do about all the knockoff purses in his desk drawers. I’ll write up a report tonight and email it to the office.”
Dee reached out and took my hand while still looking over the lawn to the flower and herb garden against the back fence. I appreciated that about him—his quietly affectionate ways.
“Something odd did happen while I was there,” I said, and he turned his full attention to me.
I told him about Petra and the missing aunt. That I’d given her a card for Danyon and Peet, and he might wind up meeting her soon.
When I’d finished the tale, I fell silent in that antsy quiet that meant that while it’s nice where you are, you’d rather be somewhere else.
“I’m getting the distinct impression you want to go home,” he said.
Dee isn’t psychic the way I am, but he clearly had native ability. He could read me, but we knew each other pretty well, so that wasn’t all that surprising. But he’d also learned to do a few things—like following a signature, the unique frequency every living thing has—which I’d have thought only a full psychic could do.
“They’re scratching at my mind,” I said. “Petra and her missing aunt. I like to go home and see if I can’t draw up a bit more information.”
Sometimes my subconscious mind had picked up more information than my conscious mind realized. I used a sort of automatic drawing as a way to bring that information to the surface. All my drawing stuff was at my house.
“There’s paper and pencil here,” he said.
I frowned. Drawing here didn’t feel right for some reason. “I think I should go home.”
“Okay.” There was a hint of disappointment in his voice. “Call me in the morning.”
I nodded that I would. “I might do a little poking around for the aunt.”
He shot me some side-eye. Dee wasn’t a fan of my poking around on my own. Natural male protectiveness, I supposed, which I already knew Dee had in abundance. But he also knew I’d do what I wanted anyway, so there wasn’t a lot of point in protesting. Any more than my protest would stop him from chasing down even the darkest of magical foes. All in all, he had a whole lot less to worry about with me than I had with him.
I drove home and parked in my small, one-car garage and let myself in the back door. I always loved coming home to my 1900s-built beach house—and my California King bed.
The bed called to me now, but I shunned it, pulling a drawing pad from the closet in the third bedroom, the one I used when I felt creative, and a set of Prismacolor pencils. There was more to Petra’s story about Aunt Mich, I was sure of that.
Here’s the thing about the knowledge—it comes to me like a blow to the inside of my head and makes me a little sick but practically never tells me everything I need to know. To focus the magic within me but that I sometimes had trouble channeling, I got out my drawing pad and pencils, cleared my mind, and let my hands tell me what my brain didn’t understand yet. I carried my tools to the kitchen, sat down at the big oak table, closed my eyes, and picked a pencil. Often the color chosen gave me a clue of what rattled around just out of reach in my subconscious.
The color I’d pulled out was a very dark charcoal gray, the color of shadows.
I sighed, shut my eyes, and picked two more pencils. Blue and yellow—certainly more cheerful colors than the dark gray. Maybe the drawing—and therefore the hints to Petra’s missing aunt—wouldn’t be too depressing. I closed my eyes again and began to draw. I drew, eyes shut, until the feeling came over me that the drawing was done. I opened my eyes and took a look.
There were shadows all right—lots of them. Also, water like a pond, river, the ocean, or maybe a swimming pool, and a buff brick skyscraper more like a downtown office building than apartments.
My fingers itched, and my stomach felt queasy.
These were bad, bad signs.
2
People think of Los Angeles as this sprawling monster that meanders all over hell and gone, but the actual city itself and its downtown are quite compact. The parking, however, is horrendous both in price and availability. When I went downtown, I usually parked in a strip mall lot on First Street in the Little Tokyo area—ten dollars for the day, which was a bargain, and you could walk to pretty much everything from there or grab the DASH half a block up on Alameda. The inexpensive DASH shuttles would take you to just about anywhere downtown you didn’t feel like walking.
I got a parking stub from the friendly man at the lot entrance and found a spot to leave my car, thinking I’d walk toward the Financial District, mostly because it would take me past the Bradbury—a plain old brown-brick building from the outside, but spectacular inside. Parts of the movie Blade Runner had been filmed there, so people worldwide had seen the interior without knowing it.
I stepped out of my car, my m
ind focused on the grid I’d planned to walk in my search for the buff stone building. Something had pulled me to downtown this morning, an itch that could only be scratched by driving up here and then going wherever I was drawn. I had to think it was the question of Aunt Mich, which was still on my mind even though I’d turned Petra over, I hoped, to Danyon and Peet.
A shiver ran up my backbone, but a nice kind. Almost of their own volition, my feet carried me out of the lot to the light at the corner and across the street to a large condominium complex. I walked fast, wondering how we’d wound up at the same place at the same time. Could just be a quirk of fate; could be something stronger and less pleasant. Could be something with a body attached. Another shiver ran up my spine—this one not so nice.
I stilled my steps. After all that had happened last fall with Brad Keel and the other people killed by the same beast, I’d agreed to keep consulting to Danyon and Peet only if they didn’t ask me to use my psychic abilities on any death jobs.
A death job was just what it sounded like: a case where someone had died, usually murdered but not always, and the family wasn’t satisfied with the explanation the police or doctor had provided. Danyon and Peet and would take pretty much any kind of case if the money was right, but they excelled in cases where someone had gone in first but either hadn’t found an answer or given one that the client didn’t accept.
The sudden tightness in my chest screamed death job and murder. My commonsense started insisting I get back in the car and head home. But something had drawn me downtown and something had brought Dee to the same location. I wanted to know what those something’s were. Curiosity often gets the best of me.
I swallowed hard and made my feet move forward until I saw Dee and Tyron Danyon.
Tyron was “ordin,” a term for the non-magical. Ordin, as in ordinary. I really disliked that expression. As if the magical were not only different, but better. The whole attitude irked me. It especially irked me because I liked Tyron and didn’t care much for any word or attitude that seemed to dismiss him or any other of the non-magical as ‘less than.’
I’d called Dee before I’d left this morning and gotten his voice mail. I’d said I was off to chase a feeling about the missing aunt and would call him later. I’d seen that Juliana Peet had left a message for me, but I’d ignored it. As a consultant I could work or not as I pleased. Today I pleased to not.
Along with his new business-length hair, Dee was wearing his usual business clothes—a finely tailored navy suit, ivory shirt, navy and burgundy striped tie. No client would guess that under that nice suit and shirt were arms bearing magical tattoos. I’d traced each one with my fingers as we’d lain in bed and he’d taught me their meanings.
None of those clients would guess that near his heart was a tattoo of the numeral 1 embraced by a crescent moon—the protective sigil I’d designed, and which had once helped save his life.
I felt a prickle on my neck and knew someone was staring at my back. I turned and saw Juliana Peet.
“Oona!” Juliana said and flashed that warm-but-cold smile of hers. She was dressed in her usual very expensive business suit—black today—silver shirt, and Louboutin shoes—ruby red—with stiletto heels that went on for days. “You got my message to meet us.”
The message I hadn’t listened to—and yet still wound up here.
“What’s going on?” I said, meaning what was the job the three of them were here for—not why was coincidence stretching itself thin today.
“As I said in my message, we’ve been hired for a death job and could use your talents.” Juliana paused. “We very much appreciate you coming.”
Neither Juliana nor Tyron were exactly sure how much they believed in Dee’s magic, despite the proofs they’d seen. Both were more willing to accept that I was psychic and could pick up things most people couldn’t. They both knew, too, that I didn’t want to work on any job that involved death. I would have been surprised that Juliana had even called me for that kind of work, but I knew her well enough to not be. She was all about success and didn’t understand anyone feeling differently.
“I’m on a case of my own,” I said. “I don’t have—”
Juliana raised her eyebrows at that. As a consultant I was free to take on any jobs I wanted on my own, but she thought I really shouldn’t. Also, she thought I was there because of the message she’d left on my phone—and was as confused now as she was annoyed.
A silence set in between us and stretched on while traffic cruised by at the wide intersection of Alameda and Second Streets. I could feel Juliana and Tyron growing restless. Dee was waiting it out to see who won—Juliana or me. His money was on me, which made me smile inside.
I have a stubborn streak that can raise its head and hiss at the oddest moments. That streak was telling me to walk away, just to show Juliana I was my own woman, not her lackey. My sensible side knew Dee would appreciate my input. He’d started walking toward us, not rushing, just ambling over.
Damn that man. He knew I’d help out for him. Aunt Mich was on my mind, but I could look for the buff-colored building now or in thirty minutes. I didn’t have the feeling she was in the building, just that it had something to do with her. It could have been a place she’d worked five years ago for all I knew. And while I’d felt the aunt was in enough danger that I’d recommended Danyon and Peet to Petra, it didn’t feel so imminent that I’d call the police myself or give up sleep over it.
A screech of brakes made all four of us turn quickly and look to the street. A man was standing in the middle of the intersection brandishing both hands over his head like someone at a sporting event doing the wave. A middle-aged woman in a black Prius was stopped only inches away from the man. She looked frightened and horrified in equal measure. Traffic was backing up behind her. It was pretty clear the pedestrian didn’t have much of a clue as to what he was doing or why and that he’d stand where he was, waving his arms in the air for a good long time if no one helped the situation along.
I stepped toward the man at the exact moment Dee did. Maybe he and I were so psychically linked that I’d subconsciously known what he was about to do and joined him. Maybe we’d both had the same desire to help at the same moment. I wasn’t going to analyze it now.
We trotted to the arm-waving man. From further back in the queue now, drivers who couldn’t see the cause of the holdup began honking their horns. Why is it that when one person honks, everyone else feels compelled to join in?
Dee sidled up to the man and said, “Hey, Bud. How ya doing?” The man dropped his arms and stared at him, goggle-eyed. Dee gently touched the man’s elbow and I knew he was setting a light spell on him, just enough to sober the man up, or settle him down, or do whatever it took to normalize him long enough to get him out of the street. Dee was a lot of things and compassionate was one of them.
“You could give him a little more,” I said low but loud enough for Dee to hear. “Get him back on a steady path.”
“Come help us on this job,” he said. “Just today. Nothing more after that.”
“It’s a death job.”
“I know,” he said. “But if you could give us a direction to follow . . .”
“Some boyfriend you are,” I muttered but nodded agreement.
Dee took a breath and blew it toward the man. The man blinked, his eyes clearing, and looked around as if unsure how he’d come to be in the middle of the road with cars stopped in all directions around him.
But he must have had some awareness of what had happened because he nodded to Dee and said, “Thanks.” He smiled at me and said, “Bless you, child,” then strolled the rest of the way across the street, turned and walked up Alameda with the sure steps of someone who knew exactly where he was going.
“Good work,” I said softly.
Dee gave me a closed-mouth smile. “I would have done it even if you hadn’t agreed to help us.”
“I know.”
We turned around and crossed back to where we’d
started. Tyron and Juliana hustled over and met us, both of them focused on Dee who gave a small nod.
Tyron punched my shoulder. “I told Juliann that you’d help. You never could resist a mystery.”
I rubbed my shoulder. Tyron was a big, burly guy with auburn red hair fading to white at the temples—the kind who never seemed to understand just how big and burly and strong they are. He favored khaki shorts, tight t-shirts, and neon-colored Nike running shoes, giving him a bouncer-at-a-beach-bar vibe. Sometimes I thought he dressed that way strictly to hide his laser-sharp business brain.
“Not for long,” I said. “I have something I need to do.”
“Sure. Sure,” Tyron said. “It’s in this building. We need to get the concierge to let us in.”
He said concierge like I was supposed to get that the title was a joke.
We made our way to a security booth outside the front entrance of the condo complex.
“Going back in?” the woman in the booth asked.
Tyron nodded while Juliana said, “Yes. Could you unlock the front door?”
The woman came around inside the building and opened one of the two huge glass doors that were the entrance. I followed my colleagues inside, more than half sorry I’d agreed to do this.
As we walked down an outside corridor, I inventoried the place—three stories high with a ton of condos uniformly painted tan with brown trim around an open square in the middle, rather like an old fortress. A well-watered grass area with neat and tidy flower plantings filled the open square. A large pool surrounded by a concrete patio was dead center, the jewel in the setting. Tables with big brown canvas umbrellas sprouting from them and blue deck chairs were scattered in what seemed at first a haphazard way but was, in reality, thought out to give a variety of paths from the pool to the four gates, one in each direction.
“In here,” Dee said as we passed a door.
My heart shuddered in my chest.
Tyron pulled a key from his pocket and used it to unlock the unit. I followed the others inside, lagging a little behind. I’d been around all the death I could take for a while already, and here I was walking right into it again.
Barbed Wire Heart: Oona Goodlight book two Page 2