Standard Deviation of Death (The Outlier Prophecies Book 4)

by Tina Gower

  She lets out a quick laugh. “Saying that those two are associated is like saying peanut butter is chocolate, just because they go good together. Sister, you have no clue of half the things you don’t know.”

  “Then enlighten me.”

  Becker scoffs. “We have no way of knowing if she’s feeding us a line of bull shit.” He motions to the liar’s root burning in a dish at the far corner.

  “Oh please, don’t be so dramatic.” She waves away his concern. “Liar’s root only works that well on wolves who are less than fifty percent. I wanted to throw you off, bring you down a level, not incapacitate you.”

  Becker scrubs his nails through his hair, clearly irritated. He’s not usually this transparent with his emotions on the job. What other magic is at work that we can’t detect? Or Becker’s aware of it, but doesn’t want to give it away?

  “If you hoped to appear innocent, you’ve got a shitty way of proving it,” Becker snaps.

  She rolls and twists herself into a cross-legged position with the elegance of a lazy cat. “If you want me to share what I know then you have a terrible way of softening me up.”

  “Maybe you should wait outside,” I suggest to Ian.

  His eyes spark with flecks gold. “Not a chance.”

  Anastis laughs, bouncing from her crossed-leg position, clapping and rubbing her hands together. “This is so much more fun than in my vision.”

  A burst of heat snakes through me. She’s fucking with us. I scramble up, opening a window, and toss the liar’s root out. The bowl clatters on the side of the building and ends with a definitive smash on the pavement. “Did that happen in your vision?”

  Her eyes narrow. “Holy hells.”

  I focus in on her, really taking my time to look at her. She shrinks away from my scrutiny.

  Becker eases, but now looks worried for an entirely different reason.

  I leave the window open and take two steps forward until I’m towering over her. “If you know about Wyrd or New Karma or whatever they’ve decided to call themselves, then now’s the time to spill it, or I’ll do something you never saw coming.”

  I don’t know what I’ll do yet, but there’s nothing more terrifying to a seer than a block in their vision. Inability to comprehend the future. And I’m the biggest black hole there is.

  I point to the werewolf behind me. “Don’t forget, at one time his kind ate your kind for breakfast. Why do you think witches hunted them? It wasn’t only for their blood. He’d love nothing more than for me to give him the go ahead to rip you in half. Or didn’t you hear about what happened to the shades who tailed us?”

  Becker makes a little strangled sound in his throat. Maybe he’s surprised I’m taking this angle with a suspect. Maybe he doesn’t think I should threaten her if she is one of them. Or maybe he doesn’t like to be reminded about what he can do when he’s pushed to extremes.

  I watch as Anastis’s face changes from a healthy peachy glow to sallow. Her gaze slowly travels to inspect Becker again, this time as her predator and not her plaything. At one time Anastis was one of the most accomplished of her class, impressed her professors, but something happened that she didn’t make much with that skill. Poor self-esteem?

  I crouch to her level again. All emotion drained out of me. “Or are you all talk? Not as good as you pretend to be?”

  There’s a part of me that hates what I’ve become. And a part of me that wonders where all this courage is coming from. Even Becker hangs away from the two of us.

  “Whatever, I was always going to give you the information. We all have our parts to play.” She adjusts the spaghetti straps of her layered tanks; her frown deepens. “There isn’t just one group.” She stammers for a few seconds, her bravado gone. “There’s two and they’re tossing you their leftovers and group members who don’t toe the line.”

  “Is that what happened with Liza Hamilton?” Liza had orchestrated a plot to murder several oracles, my client Jack Roberts among the first wave, in an attempt to disrupt the prediction net. Her hope was to set a chain reaction in motion that would allow the Outlier Prophecies to come to fruition.

  Anastis’s lip curls into an unreadable grin. “That’s what happens when you veer from the plan. You get burned.”

  Becker steps forward. “Are you a member of Wyrd or the other group?”

  She hesitates. “No.”

  Becker tilts his head, wagging his finger.

  Her fingers claw and she hisses. “Don’t give me that look. I’m not part of either group and that lie you smell is sympathy only. I don’t think the government should be meddling in things they don’t understand. Wyrd is trying to fix what you broke.”

  “How is that?” I ask. “This system has been in place for almost a century with no problems. This group shows up in Angel’s Peak and we’re having issues with the fates. Tell me where the logic naturally points a finger.”

  She sticks her nose in the air, refusing to meet my gaze, refusing to see the truth laid out in front of her. “Well, there’s been a lot of years building up to this. The Prophecies are clear.”

  “The Outlier Prophecies are tea leaf readings,” Becker says. “You see what you want to. Bottom line is it’s illegal. And they need to be stopped. If you’re withholding information I can bring you in as an accessory or obstruction.”

  She rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue. “I gave you what I know. There are two groups. Wyrd and New Karma. You’re not dealing with people who can’t name themselves. You’re dealing with the outcasts of their infighting. Whenever someone becomes a problem or expires their use they toss them to you so you can feel great about yourself.” She turns to me. “But it’s not the witches you should be worried about.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s whoever’s running the show. We don’t know who and it’s got a lot of us freaked. That’s why I’m helping you.” She crosses her arms. “Look, I don’t agree with the government’s involvement, but whoever this is, they’re bringing the fates down on us. Spells are getting harder to cast; potions aren’t working right. It’s like the well is being tapped dry. Because witches are using blood magic against the fate’s design, we’re all suffering. You stop the witches, this person’s going to recruit more. She has something. Something we all want.”

  “What’s that?”

  Anastis shrugs. “A spell book.”

  “That’s it?” Becker glances at me, the look of disbelief clear on his face.

  “Not just any spell book, one that has a time spell in it. If they succeed in casting it, they can change one moment in time to turn differently. And you can imagine what sort of problems that could lead to. We need it back so we can destroy it for good.”

  “Does it even work?” Becker asked. “Sounds like a pipe dream of a spell.”

  “Maybe it works. Maybe it won’t. But it doesn’t matter because there are a lot of less-than-noble witches who are willing to fight for this person for the chance to try. And they believe in the cause of eliminating the government’s influence on predictions. They believe this spell will unlock the Outlier Prophecy. Change fate. Change destiny. Bend it to their will. Sound familiar?”

  I try not to sigh. Everyone in Wyrd and New Karma believed in that stupid prophecy. So yeah, a spell that could change a moment would be appealing to nuts like that. Eventually I wanted to take down whoever was running the show, but for now I wanted to cut them off at the knees. I wanted the witch or witches who were fate casting. If I had those witches, then it might flush out the person in charge to start recruiting again. It would make them desperate and that’s when we’d get them.

  “You said these two groups are fighting,” Becker scratches the back of his skull. “This person is in charge of one of them?”

  “Nope. As far as we can tell the same person is running both and using them against each other. It’s causing a frenzy between the witches who want that spell, each for their own separate reasons. Kinda another reason I want to see it stopped. It�
��s going to cause a civil war.”

  “So whoever is at the top is using us to dispose of the people who don’t make the cut?”

  “Yes, that’s what happened to Liza Hamilton. Except that crazy wannabe-witch still thinks she’s part of the in-crowd. Hear she’s a peach on the inside. Got a little too eccentric for the higher-ups and they decided to waste her and her shade compadres before they caused any real damage. Lucky for her, you got her first.”

  I shift my weight from one leg to the other, scratching my wrist. She’s being too forthcoming for someone who went to a lot of trouble to block Becker from reading her. “So if we’re doing them so many favors, why do they want to kill me?”

  “Oh sweetie.” She laughs, grabbing her sides after a while like she’s giggled herself sore. “They don’t want to kill you. They want to recruit you. They’re like that boy who pulls your hair in school. Just trying to get your attention.”

  Becker shakes his head. “That’s enough. She’s misleading you.”

  Anastis pounds her fist into a tasseled pillow. “And you’re not misleading her?”

  Becker pins me with a look. He’s done. We got everything we needed and more than we wanted.

  Anastis isn’t done. She snags the hem of my jeans. “Is it true what they say about you? Are you fateless?”

  I make a point to look her right in the eyes, unflinching. “I have a registered death note on file with the Department of Homicide Death Predictions.”

  She lets the hem of my pants slide from her fingertips as I move away. Becker holds the door open and I walk through.

  “Good luck.” Anastis says it almost as if it were a curse rather than a well wishing.

  We jog down the steps. Becker takes them two at a time to beat me to the door so he can open it for me. Who says romance is dead? Except he holds his arm out like a bar, standing still while he slowly sweeps his gaze around the neighborhood and sniffs the breeze that picks up and skitters leaves and litter down the sidewalk. He tips his head to let me know it’s safe. I step through to the outside and I’m hit with a wall of heat, weather extremely uncommon even for early spring at this elevation in northern California.

  Ian walks with his arm pressed to his torso, his hand close to where he keeps his gun in a holster under his coat. Beads of sweat roll down his temples from the dramatic temperature change. I shed my zip-up sweater on the walk.

  We parked a few blocks from Anastis’s office. One, so we could pull up by surprise, hoping Ian might have some of the fate-fuzzing cookies in his system. Given her reaction, I’d say that was a no. Two, the parking is horrid. The streets are narrow and cramped. Cars are parked illegally, half on curbs and sidewalks and half on the road, some in front of driveways. There’s a mix of Victorian houses converted into offices and studio apartments. Most businesses don’t have a sign out front, most in the magic business work by word of mouth in these parts. We pass the city park and the soup cart we got our lunch from, then cross the street to the large windowed bakeries and restaurants.

  We’re nearly to the car and Becker skims his fingers along my bare arm, getting my attention. My pace stutters. He takes the opportunity to pull me into an alleyway between two stacks of boxes that gives us privacy. He crowds me into a corner, snuggling close. Thinking he needs skin, I slide my fingers under his shirt and bring him flat against me.

  He drops his head down to mine. “What she said. About me misleading you—”

  “It was meant to throw us off. To waver my trust.” I reassure him too quickly. I’ve suspected he’s keeping things from me, but I know he’ll tell me in his own time and it’s not about the case. He wouldn’t jeopardize a case, not one I had stakes in.

  “Right.” He nods, swallows. Moving slightly closer until I can feel every hard angle of him. He’s warm, slightly flushed like he always is when we’re close. “You’re smart.” He rubs his cheek against mine. Everything inside me tugs. “You’re pretty.” He sniffs me. “You smell good.”

  I frown. The magic must have really gotten to his head. I wiggle my fingers against his side. “Hey, you feeling okay?”

  He lets out a long sigh. “I’m flirting.” He moves away from me, not meeting my gaze. His lips press in a line. “I’ve never done it before.”

  I hold off a grin. “You can practice on me all you like.”

  He nods, not looking convinced that’s a good idea.

  “The best flirting ends with a kiss.” I point to my cheek, twisting my face to encourage him to plant one there.

  His jaw tightens. He eases away from me, his focus now on either end of the alley. I try not to groan in disappointment.

  But he glances back and my breath catches in my throat.

  He dips his head, this time meeting my gaze, but he doesn’t go for my offered cheek. Instead he places his palms on the sides of my face and—

  There’s no slow, no shy Becker this time. His lips don’t leave much room for question or even permission.

  He breaks the kiss, skimming his teeth along my shoulder. Right when I’m convinced he’s going to bite me, he pulls away, eyes squeezed shut. “I was helpless in there.”

  I hadn’t thought too much of it at the time, but Anastis had taken away sound, smells. It had to have been unnerving for something that he depends on, relies on to give him information about the world to be muted unexpectedly. And all while he’s obsessed with keeping me safe.

  “You handled it well.”

  He shakes his head. “You handled it better.”

  “She didn’t do anything to me. She might have done that to show you how she could take away your power, but she got what was coming to her, because you had a secret weapon. You had a fateless.”

  His lips twitch into a grin. “I did.” His grin morphs into something more feral. “It was kinda hot to see you take her on.”

  “Hey, you just flirted.” I pat his cheek. “There’s hope for you yet.” I pull him close for another kiss.

  He stops much too quickly. “We have to go or we’ll miss the appointment with Talia Lee.”

  He tugs me from the wall, but his hand doesn’t let mine go. I don’t think he notices, so I don’t make any sudden movements so as not to break the spell.

  Becker keeps talking. “Her doctors said the best time is between her med doses. Otherwise she’s too foggy.” He tracks the surroundings, keeping aware of any potential hazards.

  He looks back at me, smiles, and squeezes my hand as his gaze goes to where we’re connected. So he did know.

  The wind changes, a burst of muggy heat blowing from ahead. Becker stops suddenly. I bounce off his hard frame. He twists around, both his hands on my shoulders, his expression an eerie seriousness that doesn’t fit the lightness of a few seconds before. “Wait here. Don’t move.” He guides me under an awning. He peeks into the window of a crystals and minerals shop and, after spying a short, kind-faced older woman at the register, he shoves me inside the shop.

  My heart, starting at a slow painful rhythm, speeds as I follow along the windows to where Becker stomps off. He reaches his car. Circles it several times, his shoulders tensing with each round. I know when he spies what he’s searching for when he reaches into the grill and pulls out a woven tweed sack about the size of my palm. It looks minuscule in his larger hands. His eyebrows crunch together and he pulls his lips in, making a face like he might punch the nearest thing. And without warning his fist comes down on the hood of his car, leaving a sizable dent. He tosses the little offensive sack onto the sidewalk. It rolls and smacks into a pile of trash bags lined up like lazy walruses on a beach. He makes a few more careful inspections, each movement stilted and forced.

  I hug my arms to my stomach. It pitches and rolls along with each angry step Becker takes back toward me.

  “Everything all right?” the woman at the register asks.

  “It’s fine, I’m sure.” I spare her a slight glance, heading off Becker at the door.

  He jerks it open and the little bells jin
gle. “Let’s go.”

  We take the few steps to his car and he yanks my door open and motions for me to get inside. I can’t help it. I look to the corner where the little sack lies spilled open. A hex bag, a deep red powder peppers the tear in the bottom. A large tag spells out “BOOM” in black capitol letters on homemade rice paper.

  I narrow my eyes at the offending object. “What is it?”

  Becker places his hand at the small of my back, guiding me into the car. “It’s nothing, Kate.”

  “It’s obviously not nothing. We should take it in to be analyzed.”

  “They were careful. No scents except the ones they left on purpose. I doubt our lab will even take it.”

  “Since it’s possibly directed at me, I’d like to know what—”

  He blows out a breath between his teeth. “Get in the car.” When I don’t follow his order, he clenches his fingers on the doorframe. His knuckles turn white. “I’ll tell you in the car.”

  I flop into the seat, buckle myself with stiff fingers.

  He joins me, starting the car, grabbing the wheel like it’s the neck of someone he’d like to strangle. “It was a hex bag.”

  “I gathered that part, but what was inside it? I didn’t recognize the red powder.”

  “It was scented to smell like a bomb. And they used herbs only a wolf would detect.”

  I lean into the seat, but not relaxing. The tension thickens in the car as we drive off. Becker doesn’t offer any more than that, but I can tell there was more.

  Chapter 12

  We pull up to the mental hospital a few minutes early. Talia Lee has agreed to meet with us, but under the stipulation that she’s allowed a few minutes alone with me and Ian. No other officers or actuaries allowed in the room, off record, or we will not be granted another interview. Easy enough. We’d rather keep as much of the investigation as close to the chest as we can, considering we’re still dealing with a potential leak.

  Becker is looking better physically but reduces his communication to grunts and shrugs. I can’t wait for this day to end so I can curl up with Becker in bed and pretend the world doesn’t exist outside of it. It would be good for both of us.