Link cleared his throat.
“Sorry,” I said, distracted.
“No need to be sorry. Just be alert.”
I opened my mouth to say something, when a door clunked open on the side of the building. A figure emerged, storming toward us with long, rushed strides. As it drew nearer, I began to recognize that sweet, gentle face beneath the scowl. It was Jason, his chest puffed out, his piercing glare shooting daggers.
“For God’s sake, Keira,” he said, hooking his fingers into the chains and leaning into the fence. “What are you doing around here? If the alpha sees you…”
“She won’t,” I said. “I’m just passing by.”
Jason took a breath, a cold cloud of air blowing from his mouth like smoke.
“I need your advice,” I said bluntly.
It took all of five minutes to explain what had gone down at the movie theater. I told him of the attack, and how I had taken a beating just to show that I was ready to listen. I repeated what the spirit said, about how the witches had killed. Jason’s reaction remained neutral the whole time. He just stared down at the ground as he absorbed the information.
“I just don’t know what to do,” I admitted.
Jason looked up at me. “You’re not sure that you can trust the witches. Is that it?”
My mind flashed up an image of Joan Flowers. Had I ever really trusted her? I supposed not, but that wasn’t through any fault of her own, really. So far, I had been attacked by spirits three times, but the witches remained totally well-mannered. If that was anything to go by… “I really don’t know.”
“That says a lot to me.”
“As in…?”
“Well,” Jason shifted his weight to the other foot. “If you need to be here asking me whether to trust someone, doesn’t that go to show how little you trust them?”
“I guess.”
“There you go, then.”
“But…” I sank my face into my palms as Link flew off my shoulder, the conversation giving me a headache. “Argh, I don’t know what to do!”
“Why don’t you just do nothing?”
“What?”
Jason shrugged. “I know you wanted something out of this, but you can always just walk away. Think about it – the witches are telling you one thing. The spirits tell a different story. Why not just take a step back and let them battle it out? You said yourself that the witches were trying to send them anyway.”
His logic made sense. If Joan Flowers was doing what she said she was doing – sending the ghosts at a slower pace than I was – then I could just leave it in her hands…
No. That wasn’t it. Civilians could get hurt while I sat back and waited. Besides, I wanted those magicards from Loctis.
“I’ll think about it,” I lied.
Jason nodded slowly, stepped away from the fence. “Anyway, that’s my advice.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Just get away from here and stay out of trouble.”
As much as I’d tried to deny it, something about him seemed off – cold. Had I hurt him by sending him home, or was he suddenly just seeing sense? The way his sentences came across as dissociated from the events told me that I’d lost his caring. His passion. His heart. But who was I kidding? He had no need to be invested, since he had only been trying to help me in the first place. I had countered his generosity with ignorance.
“Wait,” I whimpered.
It was too quiet. Jason turned and headed back to the building, where he cocked his head to one side and called across the empty yard. “Leave it alone, Keira. The witches, the spirits… just leave it alone, before you get yourself into some real danger.”
A second later, the door closed behind him.
I sighed, kicked the fence in frustration, and turned around. The wind picked up, a blistering breeze gnawing at my cheeks. “Link,” I called, and saw my little friend flutter out from the trees to land back on my shoulder.
“Got what you need?” he asked.
“More or less.”
“And what’s the verdict?”
I shivered, pulled the zipper further up my jacket, and headed back to the city. My body tense, my face numb with cold, I parted my lips and said all that I needed to say. “We need to visit the witches.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Against all the advice from both Jason and Link, I returned to that creepy old house again. The sun had dipped low in the horizon, and I stood in the road watching for the lights inside to flicker to life. When they did, they served as confirmation that the witches were home.
“I don’t like this idea,” Link groaned from my pocket.
“You don’t have to.”
Link sighed. “You can act as tough as you like, but you don’t fool me.”
I shot a look down at him.
“And you can spare me your disapproving looks, too. Someone has to watch out for you. Would you rather I sit on your shoulder and pretend I’m your conscience? Is that what it will take to make you see sense?”
“Listen, I appreciate the advice but I need to know what’s going on in my city. It’s not only what I do, it’s who I am.”
Link waved his hand out toward the house. “Suit yourself.”
As I approached the house and rapped on the door, I didn’t expect any danger. I used my telepathy to listen out for thoughts, kind of like a spider-sense. Through the faint muttering of inner voices, I couldn’t hear any hostility or aggression.
It all seemed safe inside.
Seemed.
The door finally popped open, just a little at first, but when Joan saw me, the door widened and she ushered me in. I got a waft of jasmine and strong, smoky candles as I entered, closing the door behind me and following the witch into the living room.
“What brings you here?” Joan asked.
“It’s about the spirits.”
“Are they all sent?”
“Not yet.” I gently took Link from my pocket and raised my hand into the air, letting his beating wings take him up into the rafters of this grand old house. I knew that he wasn’t comfortable, and I didn’t want to make things any harder for him. “I’ve run into something of a problem, and I needed to hear something from your lips.”
“Oh?” Joan beckoned me into one of the armchairs that sat by the blazing fire.
The moment my back hit the soft leather, two loud, shrieking voices rang in my ears. The two children – Margaret and Phillipa – whizzed by, chasing each other around the room. They made me nervous, keeping me on guard. If some kind of trouble was about to go down here, I wanted to make sure I was ready for it – even if telepathy was my only weapon.
Joan finally excused herself from my presence, left the room to send her children to bed, then returned minutes later. She sat across from me in the other armchair. “Right,” she said, clearing her throat. “Where were we?”
“The spirits.”
“Ah, yes. You had concerns?”
I nodded. That’s an understatement. “I’m just going to call it like I see it, so forgive my impertinence; I’ve been all over town, finding and sending these spirits with the spell you gave me. Problem is, the last one I encountered also mentioned your name. That makes two of them now, both pointing the finger at you.”
Joan’s face creased up, her eyebrows bending out of shape. She folded one leg over the other, placed her hands together and breathed deeply. She didn’t say anything – rather, she made a noise with her throat and lowered her head as if to hear more.
I pressed on.
“This spirit, aggressive as it was, found the time to say your name and mention the word ‘killed’. Now, I don’t mean to come into your home accusing you of things you didn’t do, but the conviction of the words sent alarm bells ringing.”
Joan smiled but it came across more like a sneer. “And what do you want from me?”
“Peace of mind, I guess.”
“What do you want me to say?”
There wa
s something about the way she spoke. Something noncommittal. To me, she seemed entirely unsurprised about the information I had given her. In fact, it seemed like she was holding out for something more interesting. On the other end of the scale, there wasn’t the slightest air of threat about her. I didn’t know what to believe anymore, which was why I used my magic.
The magicard in my pocket began to warm up. I could feel it against my skin as my brain began to tingle. I stared at Joan, who – hopefully – didn’t suspect. I dug deep into her mind, picking out fragments of memories and sifting through her basic knowledge, such as speech and how to read a clock. The further I went, the fewer results came back. It was hopeless – this woman was a vault.
“Is everything okay?” Joan asked.
It broke my concentration. The room simmered back to a dull silence. I noticed Link flying overhead and looked up to check on him, then lowered my eyes back to Joan. “It’s fine. I just… Why did they say your name?”
Joan waved a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing.”
“But how did the spirit even know your name?”
“It’s…” Joan sighed, got up out of the chair and took two short steps toward the roaring fireplace. She stood with her back to me, fiddling with a porcelain doll on the mantelpiece. “Some months ago, I had an intimate relationship with a young man.”
I adjusted myself in the chair, propping up my elbow and resting my chin on an open hand. There was a story here, and I was ready to hear it.
“He was barely of age – only nineteen years old, and he had no idea what he wanted out of life. We didn’t tell anyone, through fear that it would be frowned upon.” Joan turned around to look at me. “You think less of me, don’t you?”
I didn’t know what to think, but I wanted to know more. “No.”
Joan nodded solemnly. “Deep down, I knew it wasn’t going anywhere. When a woman of my age receives some form of physical recognition from an attractive young man, she tends to act on it. At least, that’s what I did. I suppose he made me feel young again – excited again. That is, until the day that he…”
Died, I finished inside my head. Sympathy for Joan Flowers seeped into my consciousness, and I didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. That was why it felt so bad that I had to push, had to learn the truth. “Please, continue.”
“There was an accident.”
“Like… a car accident?”
Joan nodded, raising a half-clenched fist to the bottom of her nose. It kept her from crying, but the croak in her voice revealed her emotion. “He had so much time left to live. Even if he didn’t want to spend it with me, I at least wanted him to live a full, happy life. That was why I wanted to send the spirits, Miss Poe. I hoped that one of them would be him, so that he could finally rest in peace.”
I studied Joan’s mannerisms, desperately seeking some sort of deceptive sign that this tormented monologue was nothing more than a performance. Something about the way she told her story didn’t sit right with me, but I had no solid evidence to protest it. All I could do was go along with it, praying that even a weak clue might be revealed. “What was his name?”
Joan pulled her hand away from her face, looking right at me. “Why?”
“I want to research it myself.”
“That makes me feel uncomfortable.”
Go figure. “Then what can I do?”
“Go and finish sending them,” Joan said. “There’s little more you can do.”
I knew it seemed so paranoid, but I just couldn’t accept such a simple explanation. For starters, the spirit had put her name in a sentence with ‘killed’, and Joan seemed adamant that she only give half a story. I needed to know this guy’s name, just to give myself even a little clue as to who to trust. I needed her to say that name, or to at least think it.
Joan, stalking across the room and holding open the door, waved me out. “I’m sorry but you seem to have opened a well of memories. I need some time alone, to think about my beloved. Would you mind coming back to me when the job is done?”
I nodded. “Of course.”
As I got up and crossed the room, I tried one more time to dive into her mind. I heard a series of strange noises, and Link’s wings beating by my ear didn’t help matters. Time was running short. I was halfway out the door, when a name suddenly leapt out at me.
“Bobby Lutz.”
Stifling my knowing grin, I turned back to Joan and thanked her for her time, apologizing for setting off her upsetting emotions. I trod down the path, thinking about the spirit and the witches. I was none the wiser as to what was truly happening, but at least I had a name to go by – to look up and find some facts. Facts that would lead me to the truth.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
According to Google, which I accessed through a library that – unlike the last one I’d visited – wasn’t currently undergoing a full renovation, there was nobody named Bobby Lutz in Chicago. There were, however, thirteen men by the name of Robert Lutz, one of whom had recently died. It didn’t say how it happened, but I was willing to bet that I’d found Joan’s Ben Braddock.
Link had stayed home for the day. It was his observation that a library full of citizens wouldn’t be all too calm when seeing a faery floating around them, and Link – as he had put it – didn’t want to spend all day hiding in my bloody hood.
Who knew?
It took all of an hour to get the address of Robert “Bobby” Lutz, and I arrived at his house as soon as I could get there. I hoped to get inside, maybe have a snoop around and see if his possessions would give me an insight as to what had really happened. But when I noticed the Prius parked in his drive, I couldn’t help but wonder if someone was home.
I’m not taking the risk.
I knocked on the door and looked around at the street while I waited. This seemed like a nice neighborhood; quiet, free of speeding cars and hoodlums. Every home had a large lawn and plenty of sunlight flooding in through their bay windows. It was unlikely that Bobby could afford a place like this at his age.
From the threshold, a middle-aged man looked over me, his teary eyes full of pain. He wore an unbuttoned green shirt that was too long for him, drooping over tatty blue jeans. The way he slouched, combined with the obvious neglect of his hair and skin, suggested that he had given up on life. I’d be willing to bet on his identity.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” he grouched. “What do you want?”
I snapped out of my frozen trance, shaking my head rapidly. “Are you Robert Lutz’s father?”
He eyed me skeptically. “Yes…”
“I’m Keira Poe. I’m really sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if I could talk to you about your son.”
“Are you a cop?”
“No.”
“A private investigator?”
“No.”
“Then who the hell are you?”
It wasn’t until he rubbed his nose on his sleeve that I noticed the beer bottle in his hand. Never argue with a drunk. This was going to be tough, I figured. I even considered using my magicard to extract what I needed from his mind, but something told me I wouldn’t get a straight sentence. Anyway, I didn’t want to ingest any of his grief. “It’s kind of a long story. Can I come in?”
The way Mr. Lutz looked at me said that he’d like nothing more than to turn me around and send me on my way. I reeled back in surprise when he pulled the door open and waved me in, leaving me to close the door and follow him through the dark hallway.
I stepped into a large living room. The drapes were drawn and empty bottles of various shapes and sizes were scattered across the dirt-trodden carpet. I noticed almost immediately that there wasn’t a single dirty plate or food wrapper in sight. Was this man eating, or was his misery leading him to just drink himself to death?
“Sit down,” Mr. Lutz said, slumping onto the couch himself.
I sat, keeping my distance from his body odor.
“Want a beer?” He extended his bottle.
As a disturbing stench filled my nostrils – alcohol and old sweat – I tried to look away from the mess and maintain eye contact with the man. He had just lost his son, and although I disagreed with his habit of choice, I understood his coping mechanism.
“So, who are you?” Mr. Lutz asked.
“That’s a long story.”
He grunted. “I ain’t going anywhere.”
“But I don’t have much time. Let’s just say that I’m a concerned citizen who suggests,” I watched his expression, waiting for it to change as I finished my sentence, “foul play.”
His expression remained staid. No sign of surprise. Not so much as a single hint that this guy hadn’t been thinking the same thing. All he did was take a sip from his bottle, and then burp into the air. “That makes two of us.”
I felt like I was onto something. “Care to elaborate?”
“My boy was a careful driver. There was no other car involved and not a single witness to speak of. No alcohol in his system, no drugs either. My Bobby was a good boy – a happy boy, and he had a lot going for him. He wouldn’t just drive into a wall like that.”
“Sorry, you said he struck a wall?”
Mr. Lutz nodded, taking another sip.
“But this seems unlikely to you?”
“I know he hit the wall. I saw the damn wreck, though I wish I hadn’t. I just think it has something to do with that woman of his. Nobody else seemed to see it, but there’s something off about that woman, I’m telling you.”
Just for a moment, I wanted to pretend I didn’t already know the woman’s identity. I wanted to hear it from his own lips. “A woman?”
“That… Flowers.” Beer dribbled down his stubbly chin. He sucked it up, wiped it with his sleeve and then dropped the empty bottle to his side. It clanged as it hit another bottle on the floor. “She was messing with his damn head.”
I nodded. It seemed that I wasn’t the only one to think Joan Flowers was as crooked as a dog’s hind leg.
The Cardkeeper Chronicles: Books 1-5 (Complete Collection) Page 22