by Jasmine Walt
One or two ghouls would have been enough to kill an average human. With my background in law enforcement and my training in martial arts, I’m a bit above average when it comes to self-defense, but nearly a dozen ghouls…that’s overkill.
The sender has to know about my protectors. And sending them so close to dawn? They needed the cover of night but pushed it as close to sunrise as possible. Does that mean they know the guys can only protect me in the dark?
I toss my towel onto the foot of the bed and go to my dresser to grab a bra and underwear. My body is sore, and I can’t stop worrying about Jacques. He shouldn’t have risked himself for me. I would have been fine.
Maybe.
Probably.
Okay, probably not. I still have a dull headache from hitting the back of my head on the ground, but it’s nothing a little coffee and Advil can’t fix. I pull on dark jeans and a gray tank top, accessorizing only with my gun and badge.
Combing my hair with my fingers, I’m heading out the door when I realize the grimoire is gone.
“Fuck!” I race to the bed, throwing the pillows back. I left it here last night. It had to have fallen in the scuffle. Desperately I drop to my knees and pick up the blankets.
The book isn’t there.
Throwing the blankets back, I get down onto my stomach and look under the bed, blindly reaching forward and feeling around for it. Suddenly, it makes sense. Having that many ghouls sent to kill me was overkill. But sending that many to take me out and get the book…
That’s what they wanted. Whoever sent the ghouls, whoever knows about me and the guys, wants my book.
I get up, not ready to give up yet, and look around the room. Thinking back, I replay the attack over in my mind. There’s one more place I can look, and relief washes over me when I see the book wedged between the nightstand and the mattress. I grab it and hug it against my chest. Jacques’s notes were left downstairs, and though they’re not complete, they are an exact copy of the book in English.
Racing down the back staircase, I find his notebook untouched on the table, right where we left it, along with the list of ingredients I need in order to do the concealment spell. Maybe I should do one for the book too. Keep it away from anyone who wants to get their hands on it.
I put the grimoire and the notebook in my purse in the closet, but it doesn’t feel safe. This house is so damn big. Someone could be in here, hiding and waiting, and I’d never know.
I need to get a dog. Or two. Maybe even three.
Rubbing my forehead, I go back into the kitchen and plug in my coffee pot. I’ve lived my life in somewhat of a routine for years, and it’s helped me stay on top of things. Today didn’t start out at all like I expected, but I need to get back into my rhythm so I can function. I can’t afford to waste any time.
Twisting my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head, I watch the coffee brewing, and get a cup poured by the time Jared pulls into the driveway. I watch through the broken window as he parks and gets out, going around to the passenger seat to get a tool bag. He takes his sweet-ass time coming up to the porch, and stops to look at the gargoyles along the way.
I open the front door as he reaches for the doorbell, startling him. Should I feel bad I found a bit of satisfaction in that?
“Hey,” I say, and step aside, letting him in. “Thank you for coming to board up the window.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” he scoffs, and I’m reminded all over again why I can’t stand this asshole. “My dad still thinks you’ll change your mind and arrest me.”
“I still could.”
“That was days ago. You missed your chance,” he taunts, thinking he has the upper hand here. “And now you owe me. I want to come over at night.”
“You really know nothing about the law, do you?” I shut the door behind him, taking a glance at Thomas and Gilbert. I want to go back to last night, before the ghoul attacked, and be back in bed with Gil, talking about spells and magic with hope and excitement.
I should have known that would have been short-lived.
“I’ve arrested people for crimes they committed years ago,” I go on, taking another sip of coffee. “You’re an arrogant asshole, you know that, right?”
He turns, eyes wide. I don’t think anyone has ever called him out like this before. “I’m going to tell my dad what you said!”
I roll my eyes. “All right, Draco. Go tell Father. See how much I care.” Though I’m fairly certain his dad will agree with me.
Jared sets the bag of tools on the coffee table, surveying the damage.
“What happened?”
“I was cleaning the window and I slipped,” I smoothly lie. “The ladder fell right into the window.”
Jared nods and sets the tool bag down, getting out a tape measure. I finish my coffee and pick up the broom again, sweeping little bits of glass from under the couch. Jared goes back outside and brings pieces of plywood onto the porch. I sweep up more glass and move the couch back, taking the cushions off to shake them out.
“You seem to have done this before,” I say to Jared as he lines up the first piece of plywood.
“My parents make me do Habitat for Humanity every year.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I look out the window at him.
“I guess it’s not, but I’d like to take a normal vacation every now and then. We haven’t been anywhere fun in years.”
“You have no idea how good you have it, do you?”
“Please,” he spits. “Are you going to tell me about your rough childhood now?”
“Hardly.” I pick up a few big pieces of glass from under the couch cushions and toss them in the bag. Scooting the couch to the opposite side of the room, I sweep the floor again, making sure I didn’t miss any pieces of glass, and then go get the vacuum.
I go over the couch and each cushion three times, not wanting to sit down and get a piece of glass in my ass. This couch came with the house and I never took the cushions off to vacuum before. The thought never crossed my mind, and seeing all the crumbs makes me a little scared to look at the other couch in the larger living room.
I run the vacuum over the rug a few times, finally feeling satisfied that the glass is cleaned up. I take the box into the kitchen, setting it by the back door so I can take it out and dump it in the recycling later.
Feeling a little paranoid, I check the closet and make sure my purse is still there. The book and the notebook are stashed safely inside. I close the closet and turn around, the feelings of being watched and attacked still lingering.
My phone rings, and I go back into the kitchen to answer it. It’s work, and I debate not answering. I don’t want to deal with anything else right now. Work has always been my first priority. It’s always been the most important thing in my life. And now…now it’s taking a back seat.
“Bisset,” I say into the receiver.
“Hi, Detective. It’s Deena. We got the DNA results on the bat.”
I can tell by her tone of voice it’s not the results we were expecting. “And?”
“It’s human blood, as you already know. I was able to get hits on three different sets of DNA, and none were from our victims.”
“Three?”
“Yes. I’ll send the official report to your desk.”
“Thanks,” I say, and it looks like I’ll be going into work today after all. I’m at least waiting a few hours to make my food poisoning story believable. I hang up, sticking my phone in my back pocket, and go back to the porch to check on Jared.
Was the baseball bat used to murder three others? If Josh’s blood had been on it, I’d be more likely to say yes. But given the fact I was called out and hexed, I’m more inclined to say it was planted. The bat had a lot of blood on it. It looked like a murder weapon.
Just like the basement looked like a crime scene.
I need to talk to Mrs. Green, the woman who owns the house and the one who discovered the basement. If someone wants to get my
attention, that’s one thing. But messing with a real investigation crosses the line.
Unless the two are connected. And if they are, I’ll figure it out.
“Can you hold this?” Jared asks, and I snap my attention back to the present.
I put my hands on a piece of wood, holding it in place as he plugs in a nail gun and pops a few nails into the frame.
“It’s not perfect,” he says almost apologetically. “But it’ll keep wildlife out.”
“What about curious teenagers?” I tease, and actually get a smile out of him. He looks away so I don’t see it.
“I think it’s strong enough to hold them off,” he replies. “Though if they’re really curious, I’m sure they’ll find a way in.”
“Good thing I’m installing motion sensors and cameras this weekend.”
Jared packs up the tools. “You might want to tape plastic around it or something to keep bugs and rain out.”
“Will do. Thanks again.”
He nods, stopping on the steps to look at Thomas and Gilbert.
“Go ahead,” I say, knowing what he’s thinking. “They’re just stone.”
He sets the tools down and touches the statues. The first time I felt the gargoyles, before I knew who they really were, they were warm to the touch. It threw me. Scared me a bit, even though I didn’t want to admit it to myself.
“Just stone,” Jared echoes, patting Thomas’s chest. He grabs his bag and walks down the cobblestone path, stopping abruptly as he looks at something on the ground and then tipping his head up to Jacques.
“If they’re just stone, then why is that one bleeding?”
16
“Sure it is,” I deadpan, staring at Jared with a straight face. Inside, I’m freaking the fuck out. Because Jacques was bleeding when he turned to stone. I don’t know what actually happens to them when the transformation is complete, and that terrifies me even more.
“See for yourself,” he says, waving his hand up. Swallowing hard and forcing myself to move slowly, I go down the porch steps, across the path, and shield my eyes from the sun as I look up.
A few drops of blood rolled out of the crack in Jacques’s chest, leaving little streak marks on the gray stone. I continue to stare, heart racing, and realize the blood is hours old and dried, and he’s not actively bleeding. Jared noticed a dried stain, something easily overlooked by most of the world. This kid is good, and I hate it.
“That looks like dew or something,” I tell Jared, crossing my arms over my chest. “Statues can’t bleed.”
“Whoever supposedly restored them did a shitty job. The crack is new and seems to have happened overnight.” He stares at me, waiting for me to counter. “It looks like it’s going to fall to pieces.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I snap, needing to remind myself to calm down. “They’re old. They have some wear and tear, of course.”
“Yeah, you’re right about them being old.” He shifts his gaze to Thomas and Gilbert, and I know what he’s thinking. In gargoyle form, the guys look like they were made yesterday. It struck me when I first saw them.
“It sounded like your dad isn’t a fan of the paranormal. How’d you get interested in it?” I ask, hating that I’m chastising the kid for being curious and following his instincts. Yeah, he’s an entitled asshole, but that doesn’t mean he’s hopeless. And having him at odds with me isn’t going to help my case.
“Why do you care?”
I shrug. “I don’t, really. I just find it interesting that you have such different beliefs.”
His shoulders tense and he furrows his brow. “Do you believe in the paranormal?”
“I’ve seen some things I can’t explain,” I say, leaving it at that. “Thanks again for boarding up the window. You should get going so you’re not late for school.”
With a curt nod, he goes to his car, throws the bag in the back, and pulls out of the driveway. I wait until he’s down the road to run inside and go out onto the porch roof from my bedroom window. Jacques is up on another peak, one I can’t get to, but I’m at least able to get a better look.
I don’t see any fresh blood but looking at the crack in the stone makes me sick. Going back inside, I straighten up my bedroom and go downstairs, turning on the TV in the living room. Today is going to go by so slowly and sitting around the house isn’t going to make it any better.
Wrapping a blanket around my shoulders, I turn on the TV and end up falling asleep for a few hours. I get something to eat once I’m up, and sit at the kitchen table to try to think.
I have two pressing issues, and I’m torn between which one to focus on first. Catching the murderer is important. But so is not dying, which makes figuring out who sent the ghouls move to the top of my list. I won’t be a very good detective if I’m dead, after all.
“The blood in the basement,” I say out loud, absentmindedly looking out the window. “The ghost and the stolen body. The fake murder weapon.” Had the same people who set up the basement planted the bat? Did they realize their mistake of using animal blood and decide to go for the real deal this time around?
The bat was planted as false evidence to get me out of the house. Once I arrived at the scene, someone stuffed the hex bag under my license plate so I would lead the ghouls home.
They know I’m a witch. They might know about the guys. And they know I’m a detective working on the murders of Lily and Josh, and knew enough to know what kind of murder weapon we’re looking for. We’ve been careful to keep details out of the media, but things get leaked. Family members know, and one small comment to someone can lead to news going viral overnight.
“They knew the bat would be found,” I say to myself. The owner of the dog said he walks him every night around the same time when he gets off work. He lived in the area and of course knew about the murder and was hyper-vigilant to anything out of the ordinary. They were counting on the dog sniffing out the blood.
And the basement…I still have nothing. Stealing a body is a serious crime, and the case is still open. With no leads, of course. Since it’s not my case, I haven’t followed it closely, but now I think I need to go into the office and check on any new findings.
Everything is connected somehow. I will figure it out.
I’ve never felt this frazzled before, and I’ve worked on some high-profile cases. Being frustrated with a case is something I can handle. Solving murders takes time and isn’t at all like it is in TV crime shows, where evidence is clear and things are either black or white. Investigations take time, and there’s a lot more paperwork involved than most people think.
The difficulty of a case doesn’t get to me, no, it’s the hard time I’m having right now separating myself from work. I feel like a shitty detective, and the loss of my sense of identity is about to send me into a tailspin. I need to be Detective Bisset, all work and no play, focusing on the case until the murderer is caught and the streets of Philly are a bit safer than they were before.
But I can’t stop thinking about Jacques, and doing a spell to help the guys, or the fact that I fought fucking ghouls this morning.
I put my Charger in park and cross the street. Wind chimes ding above me as I push open the door to Lyra’s Magic Shoppe. There are a few people in here, and things are back in order. Pulling my list from my purse, I walk around, getting almost everything I need.
“Detective,” Lyra says, face paling.
“I’m just here to shop.” I set the stuff down on the counter and she relaxes.
“Oh, good.” I watch her as she rings me up, noting the redness around her eyes from crying. “Interesting combination of herbs,” she mumbles. “What type of spell are you attempting?”
“Nothing in particular,” I say with ease. “I’m just getting a few things to have on hand.”
“You should get the vervain then too. It keeps vampires away.”
Hah. Could have used that a few weeks ago. “Sure. I’ll take some.”
“We just got a fresh shipment in.�
�� She grabs a bag for me and goes on to tell me everything else I should add to my “base supply,” which is really her way of making a few extra bucks.
“I’ll light a candle for you tonight,” she says as I take my bag. “To guide you to the one responsible for Josh’s…for his…” Her eyes fill with tears. “He was like a son to me, you know.”
“I’ll find the murderer.” I keep my voice low so no one else hears me. “I always do.”
The wind chimes sound behind me, and two women step in. They’re talking, and one of the voices sounds familiar.
“Ace?” Gemma exclaims, eyes going wide. “You’re…you’re…here. You’re here,” she repeats, staring at me as if I’m a ghost.
“Yeah. I had to pick up some things.”
The older woman standing next to Gemma looks just as shocked. “You’re Ace? The detective?”
“I see you’ve heard of me,” I say, turning my gaze back to Gemma. She grips her purse tight and hasn’t moved an inch since she saw me.
“Yeah, I, uh, I…I told her how you stopped that…that guy who stole my purse,” Gemma mumbles, tripping over her words. The older woman grabs Gemma’s arm, gripping tight.
“Excuse us,” she says, and turns Gemma away. Raising an eyebrow, I shake my head and go out the door. I don’t have time to stand around talking, anyway.
“Ace, wait!” Gemma calls after me, bursting out the door. I stop and turn.
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
She points to my face. “You have scratches, and you look like you haven’t slept.”
“Oh, right.” I bring my hand up, feeling the cuts on my cheek. “Some people resist arrest,” I say. “And I don’t sleep much while working on a case.”
“I can only imagine. So…do you want to get coffee or something? I know I can use a cup. Or two. I worked the nightshift last night. My treat.”