by Amber Benson
She grasped the handle and turned, but didn’t open the door. Instead, she stood there, hand on the cold metal, willing herself not to be a coward. She slowly began to count to ten under her breath, steeling herself to rise to the occasion—and as the number eight passed her lips, she threw open the door.
There was no one there.
Of course there wasn’t.
She sagged in the doorway, and the adrenaline, which up until a few seconds earlier had been coursing through her veins like fire, evaporated. She felt nauseated and weak with exhaustion, her legs boiled noodles that could barely hold her up. Black dots flickered at the edge of her vision, and if she hadn’t just downed two espressos’ worth of coffee, she might’ve given in to her body’s demands and passed out.
Then she noticed the tarot card poking out from underneath the woven sisal doormat. She knelt down, her fingers sliding the card from its resting place. She held it up so she could get a better look at The Fool from the Rider-Waite tarot deck.
She turned the card over and saw someone had scrawled a message in black pen on the back.
Beware the Fool.
She stood in the doorway for a few long minutes, back pressed against the doorframe as she peered out into the late-morning light, the tarot card held tightly between her fingers. A prickle on the back of her neck told her whoever had left the tarot card was still in close proximity, watching her carefully. She squinted, eyes roaming the confines of the wooden deck and koi pond, looking for some sign of her visitor.
Nothing. Only the lingering scent of a spicy men’s cologne.
Her eyes cut through the wall of bamboo separating Eleanora’s bungalow from the neighboring house, but she couldn’t discover her watcher’s hiding place. Human eyes can only see so far, and, in the end, Lyse was not a formidable adversary. Cold and sick-feeling, she finally gave up the search and went back inside, closing the door behind her.
The click of the deadbolt being thrown into place was quick and sharp, the sound dying almost as soon as it was born. Anyone who was close enough to hear it would know its meaning:
Lyse was scared.
* * *
Lyse placed the tarot card on the kitchen counter faceup. She didn’t want to see the spidery writing on its back, and holding it made her feel strange.
She began to pace, not sure what her next move should be. She didn’t want to leave the house, but there was nothing for it. She’d told Dev she was going over there, to the old Victorian that had been in the Montrose family for over a century, and Dev would’ve made sure the rest of the coven—Arrabelle, Daniela, and Lizbeth—would be coming, too.
Wait.
Daniela lived across the street. If Lyse asked, she would totally come over and walk with her to Dev’s house.
She felt foolish as soon as the thought entered her head. She was a grown woman, not a child. She should be able to leave her house without an escort. But once she’d had the idea, it wouldn’t leave her mind and so she crossed the kitchen, picking up the phone receiver one more time.
She realized she didn’t know Daniela’s phone number—but Eleanora’s old handwritten address book was still sitting on the shelf below the telephone. She thumbed through it, recognizing few of the names inside. Finally, she found the page where Eleanora had written Daniela’s name and phone number. It looked more recent than many of the other entries, written in pencil instead of the blue ink Eleanora had used for the rest of the address book.
She dialed Daniela’s number and waited, holding the receiver tightly to her ear. The line rang three times before Daniela picked up.
“Lyse?”
She must have Caller ID, Lyse thought.
Daniela was an empath, and that meant her magical abilities were completely unconnected to fortune-telling or precognition. Caller ID was the only way she could’ve known Lyse was on the other end of the line.
Thank God for technology.
“Hey, yeah, it’s me,” Lyse said, twirling the cord tightly around her finger, so the tip went a bloodless white. “Not sure if Dev called you or not, but I’m heading down to her place and thought we could walk together?”
“What’s up? You don’t sound so good.”
Daniela was astute when it came to reading human emotion. She didn’t have to touch Lyse to know something was wrong.
“Long story,” Lyse replied. “Long one that’s best told to everyone at once. And I’m gonna need you guys to tell me what to do. Some bad shit . . .”
She stopped there, her throat constricting as she felt hot tears burning her eyes.
“Lyse?”
Real concern in Daniela’s voice.
Lyse fought back the tears, pushing all the swirling emotions away.
“I’m okay,” she said, fighting to sound a little brighter. “Nothing we can’t figure out.”
“When do you wanna go?”
Lyse thought for a moment before answering, then decided she didn’t care how immature her vulnerability made her seem. She really didn’t want to be alone.
“Can you come get me now?”
She hung up the phone and felt better almost immediately. The coven mates Lyse inherited from Eleanora were more than just friends now, more than family even . . . it was as if they’d become a part of her soul. Her connection to these women went beyond the physical world.
Another knock at the door drew her from her thoughts—but something was wrong. It was too soon. There was no way Daniela could’ve gotten ready and made her way over to the bungalow in such a short amount of time. True, Daniela only lived across the street, but in her gut, Lyse knew the petite, rainbow-haired woman was not the person standing outside.
The knock came again and Lyse grabbed the poker, moving to the door. She pressed her palm against the wood.
“Go away! I’ll call the police if you don’t get out of here!”
There was a slight hesitation and then:
“Lyse? It’s Weir. Will you open the door, please?”
She dropped the poker and unlocked the door, disengaging the deadbolt with a loud thunk. In a moment he was standing in the doorway, filling it with his strong, solid presence. His blond hair was mussed, sticking up at odd angles, windblown because he’d walked over from the house he shared with his sister, Lizbeth.
Weir was gorgeous, firm, and real when nothing else in her life felt that way. She liked him, liked the way he looked and smelled. Liked that he was covered in beautiful nautical tattoos—something she’d meant to ask him more about but hadn’t gotten around to doing yet.
“Is Lizbeth here?” he asked, his voice taut.
She shook her head.
“Is something wrong?” Lyse asked. Weir wasn’t here for her, and she felt disappointment bloom in her heart. “I saw her this morning. Up by the swing. But that was a while ago.”
“Dammit, I told her to stay in the house today.”
He turned to go, distraction like a film over his eyes.
“If she’s not here, then maybe she’s in Elysian Park,” he muttered, almost to himself. Then addressing Lyse: “Two detectives came by the house—a man and a woman. There was something really creepy about them. They wanted to talk to her, but when I went looking . . . she was gone. They were not happy.”
The mention of the word detective shot a bolt of fear through Lyse’s heart. Had they come to question Lizbeth about Lyse’s uncle? That didn’t make any sense—how could they have known Lyse mentioned anything about the previous night to Lizbeth?
Weir turned to leave, but Lyse grasped his arm, her fingers wrapping around the thick bicep underneath the light corduroy jacket. Touching him—even through fabric—made her shiver.
“Wait, I’ll go with you.”
He nodded.
“Okay, yeah, more eyes the better.”
She released her grip on his arm
and he went for the door. It appeared her touch didn’t ignite the same electric feeling in him that it did in her. She knew he was worried, that fear might be jamming the circuits—or maybe it was just the terrible way they’d left things the last time they were together.
“Wait. Daniela. She was coming over,” Lyse called out to Weir as she grabbed one of Eleanora’s shawls from the coat rack by the door and slipped it around her shoulders. “We can stop and pick her up. More eyes, right?”
She realized she’d almost forgotten her keys on the kitchen counter. She quickly scooped them up, then locked the door behind her.
“Wait up!” Lyse called, jogging to catch up with Weir, who was already halfway across the street to Daniela’s house.
Running made the wound on her calf split open again—the damn thing just wasn’t healing properly—and she had to slow down. She crossed Curran Street at a limp and headed for the front door where Weir was already waiting. The girls, Verity and Veracity—Daniela’s two gorgeous black cats—were lazing on the rickety front porch, but they both snapped to attention as soon as Lyse and Weir arrived. Apparently they liked the cut of Weir’s jib because before Lyse could call out to them, they were twining around his legs like two sensuous snakes.
“Daniela?” Weir called, and knocked on the front door.
Lyse knelt down and stroked the two cats, who were meowing for attention.
“They sure seem to like you,” Lyse said, using the stair’s handrail to keep herself balanced.
“We’re friends.”
And what does that mean? Lyse wondered. Why was Weir friends with Daniela’s cats? She thought Daniela didn’t go for men.
Just for you, Lyse’s mind teased.
She knew her coven mate thought she was cute. It was obvious from the way Daniela looked at her. As flattering as it was that Daniela found her attractive, Lyse only had eyes for Weir.
Lyse felt the blood rush to her cheeks as the door opened and Daniela stared down at her. From the quirk in her friend’s lopsided grin, Lyse began to worry that Daniela had a hidden talent for mind reading.
“I thought I was coming to you, hotcake,” Daniela said in a teasing voice. Then her face became serious as her eyes shifted from Lyse to Weir. She frowned. “Okay, the vibe you’re giving off? Not good. What’s going on?”
She stepped onto the porch, joining them, and Lyse thought her paint-spattered Dickies and wifebeater made her look about twelve years old—but then she slipped on a Members Only jacket, and that, coupled with her black leather gloves, took her from “teenybopper” to “Hillside Strangler” in the blink of an eye.
“The police came to their house. They wanted to talk to Lizbeth, but Weir can’t find her. We think she might be in Elysian Park,” Lyse said.
“I don’t think they were real police,” Weir said quietly. “Something was off about them. I don’t know what the deal is, but since Eleanora died, things have been strange up in these hills.”
“Shit,” Daniela said, eyes wide. She shot Lyse a look that said: This is not good.
“I know LB likes to go for walks up in the park,” Weir continued. “And yesterday, she was chomping at the bit to get out to the Dragon. I think she might’ve gone out there on her own.”
Daniela narrowed her eyes and nodded.
“I’ll text the others.”
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and Lyse watched as Daniela’s fingers flew across the screen.
“Something happened last night,” Lyse blurted out. Weir and Daniela both turned to look at her. “I may or may not have killed my uncle. But only after he tried to kill me.”
Lyse crossed her arms protectively over her chest, waiting for Daniela and Weir to respond—but they both just stared back at her, shocked by this surreal revelation.
“And I think he killed Eleanora, too.”
“Is that why there were police at my door this morning?” Weir asked, anger rippling through his words. “Jesus, what did you drag Lizbeth into?”
And from the fury on his face, Lyse worried their relationship might never be the same again.
Daniela
“You said you ‘may or may not’ have killed someone?” Daniela said, and watched Lyse’s face contort into an expression of uncertainty.
“I went down to the lake, but the Lady of the Lake was totally fine and there was no body, no police—”
“Hold up,” Daniela said. “Did this happen or not?”
Lyse frowned.
“I don’t know. It might’ve been a dream . . .”
Lyse was one of those women who had no idea what kind of impression she made on the people around her. Classically beautiful with an angular face and deep blue irises the color of a sailor’s dream, even when frown lines etched the skin around her mouth and eyes, she was still gorgeous.
“And you’ll tell us about it after we find Lizbeth,” Daniela said as Lyse faltered for words.
Lyse nodded.
“Okay, I just wanted you guys to know. In case this is all my fault.”
Daniela watched Weir’s frown deepen. She felt sorry for Lyse. Weir was like a mama bear: Anyone who hurt his little sister was gonna get their ass kicked.
“I just want to find LB,” Weir said, shaking his head. “I don’t care about anything else.”
“I told Arrabelle to meet us there,” Daniela said, “and I let Dev know where we were going, too.”
Weir seemed happy to have Daniela take charge.
“Thanks. I appreciate you doing this.”
He directed his words to Daniela, not Lyse.
“Girls, be good and watch the house. We’ll be back soon,” Daniela said, kneeling down so the two black cats could nuzzle against her legs. Like the Sphinx, their faces remained forever inscrutable.
“Well, I know they love me,” Daniela mused. At least, the way a cat loves any human: with a touch of pity because we’re not lucky enough to be cats ourselves.
Daniela stood up and indicated that they should head back up Curran. Lyse and Weir followed her without comment, letting her lead the way. She took them around Eleanora’s old bungalow, away from Echo Park Avenue, and toward the park.
Weir was much taller than either of the girls and he quickly stole the lead, so Daniela had to jog to keep up with his longer gait.
“Can you slow down a bit?” she asked, dripping with sweat after only a few minutes.
“Sorry,” he said, looking back at her sheepishly. “Was in my head.”
No shit, Daniela thought. Instead, she said out loud, “I’m sure she’s up at the Dragon.”
They were halfway down Cerro Gordo, a street whose houses crowded together like an overgrown brick, wood, and concrete forest, shading them from the worst of the sun. Weir looked so sad Daniela almost reached out and touched his arm.
Thankfully, she stopped herself before their bodies actually connected.
“It’ll be okay,” Daniela added a bit lamely.
She wanted to reassure him, but she didn’t trust her empathic talents not to behave oddly. Things had been strange and unpredictable since Lyse’s arrival in Echo Park, and it had reached the point where even with her gloves on, Daniela was afraid to touch anyone.
They were the conduits to her powers as an empath—and they would also be the instruments of her demise. It wasn’t a matter of if her empathic powers would kill her, but when . . . because every time she used her talents, she blew out a little bit more of the neural circuitry in her brain. It was an absolute certainty that one day she would cross the fail-safe point and this would be the end: Vegetable-Hooked-Up-to-Heart-Lung-Machine City.
“I just worry about her,” Weir said. “She’s physically an adult, but more like a child on the inside.”
At that moment, Daniela thought he looked just like a little boy himself: eyes wide with concern, brows
lifted in exasperation.
“She’s smart,” Daniela said. “I know you worry—and you have good reason to—but she’s not a little kid anymore.”
Lyse had moved ahead of them and was nearing the end of the street where a set of stairs led down to one of the entrances to Elysian Park.
“Let’s go,” Daniela said, eyes on Lyse, getting farther away from them.
“Thanks,” he said, smiling. “I needed to hear that. She’s not a little girl anymore. You’re right.”
“Glad I could ease your mind,” Daniela replied—and they took off in pursuit of Lyse’s retreating back.
Behind her, Daniela could hear Weir’s heavy work boots hitting the asphalt.
“I know you and Lyse have a thing—” Daniela began.
“Had,” Weir said, looking glum.
“Okay,” Daniela said, “didn’t know that. Well, anyway, there’s something you should know about us . . . about Lyse and me and Lizbeth.”
She stopped, realizing she actually couldn’t walk and talk at the same time. She turned and faced him, marveling at how rough he looked in the sunlight, fear and worry cutting deep grooves into his handsome face.
“There’s no way to say this that doesn’t sound utterly ridiculous,” Daniela continued, not sure what to do with her hands as she spoke. Whenever she felt passionate about a subject, she tended to pinwheel her arms around her head as she talked.
He gave her a funny look, but she ignored it.
“I . . . we . . .”
“Go on,” Weir said, eyes flicking past her shoulder to where Lyse was still trudging toward the stairs without them.
“Argh, I don’t know!” She threw up her hands, letting out a protracted breath.
Screw it, she thought. This “need-to-know information” is now needed.
“We’re witches. We prefer the term ‘blood sisters,’ but we answer to either/or.” She planted her fists on her hips and held them there. “I know it sounds crazy, like something out of a bad movie, but it’s the truth. I’m not fucking with you.”