Sin & Chocolate (Demigods of San Francisco Book 1)

by K. F. Breene

  In an effort to keep an eye on her, he’d had his guys set up this tent down the way from hers. This way he could monitor her, unmolested by those who might recognize him. His guys had also set up a couple of cameras, for when the larger crowds inevitably came, wanting entertainment from those deemed less than human.

  He planned to move closer once the crowds would properly mask him, but for the moment, he had a clear view from a few angles, and enough audio from the closest camera to make out what was going on. Neither Alexis nor any of her crew—her teen wards, he surmised—had noticed them setting it up. They were completely oblivious to the goings-on around them and therefore defenseless to hostile forces. Kieran included.

  “Yes, in so many words.” Kieran leaned forward on his wooden chair, resting his elbows against his knees, looking out the small window in the side of the tent. They’d cut it shortly after his arrival. “It doesn’t look like that’s the power she’s using here.”

  “It looks like she’s doing Ghost Whisperer stuff, so the file must’ve been right. At least in part,” said Jack, leaning against the pole in the corner, looking out his self-made window. Donovan stood at the mouth of the tent, keeping everyone moving by making their tent seem as boring and unimpressive as it was. Three tablets sat on a small table at the back of the tent, displaying the camera views. A Bluetooth speaker softly played the audio feed from the cameras. “But a class two shouldn’t be able to actually see spirits. Especially not in broad daylight.”

  “I know,” Kieran said dryly. He was well versed in what a Ghost Whisperer could and could not do. As his guys well knew. “I’ve devoted more time to the report on Alexis than I care to admit, and I can’t find any trace of how it might’ve been altered. The usual signs are absent, and it’s obvious she doesn’t have any magical connections who’d make the changes for her. She’s estranged from the magical society. Has been her whole life.”

  “So how…” Donovan moved to the right of Kieran and withdrew a large serrated knife. The blade punched another hole in the tent, making an additional viewing window.

  “How did she alter that report? I don’t know.” Kieran leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, watching Alexis. She faced his direction, and not the makeshift desk in front of her, so she could look out over the water.

  “After meeting her last night, you’re sure about her magical level?” Donovan asked.

  “Class five, without question.” Kieran scratched his cheek. “Absolutely no question.”

  “You can see that her power is strong.” Jack stepped back and pointed out his window. “She impressed that Chester criminal. We’ve been around long enough to know it would take an awful lot to get that reaction out of someone like him. She clearly removed whatever spirits were hanging around his back. You could see it in his body language. She saw them, heard them, and sent them away, just like she said. All in the space of…” Jack checked his watch.

  “Could you see her facial expressions, sir?” Donovan asked, looking down at Kieran.

  Kieran had all the traits a Big Three Demigod should, including superhuman eyesight. The guys knew his range, and had set up the tent on the far boundary of it.

  “Yes. If I’m not mistaken, she heard something of interest toward the end of the first five-minute interval. I caught a flash of fear, then tightness around her eyes. I’ve seen that look a time or two. Then, with the other two intervals, horror. Blind horror. She did a piss-poor job of controlling it. Thankfully, she was facing this way and not toward her…client.” Kieran leaned forward again, trying to ease the hunger eating through his guts. “She can hear the dead. See them. It explains what she said in the bar.”

  “What’s that?” Jack asked.

  “She wouldn’t sit on a barstool because she said it was taken. But it was empty.”

  “Okay…but—” Donovan jerked before striding quickly to the front of the tent. “We’re still waiting for supplies,” he told someone who’d stopped to ask after the soap. “We’ve got nothing.”

  “But isn’t that—”

  Kieran didn’t bother glancing over, and Donovan didn’t need to tell the person to move along. His expression and posture clearly telegraphed vicious intent.

  “But we’ve been to how many class-five Ghost Whisperers?” Donovan asked, returning. “Five, six?”

  “Six,” Jack said. “And they all needed the cover of darkness, candles, and various symbols to call in your mother’s spirit, sir. None of them so much as claimed to see her, or hear more than echoes of her voice.”

  “Exactly.” Donovan angled himself so he could look down on Kieran. “Could this be an elaborate setup by your father? Maybe he found out what you are trying to do. This kind of premeditation isn’t beyond him. Planting someone you desperately need in your path, then using that person to glean information from you, would be right up his alley.”

  Kieran stood and stalked to the monitors. “I’ve thought of that. Her magical power and talent suggests that she is in the back pocket of my father. Because not only is a class-five Ghost Whisperer unable to actually see and hear spirits as if they were people, but they also don’t have the ability to magically slice into a person’s midsection, or to banish a soul with nothing more than a little bit of focus for a few seconds. And they certainly can’t withstand my magic, not even for a second. But everything else—literally everything else, from her clothes to the free drinks she gets off her ex-boyfriend—suggests her files are accurate.” Kieran clenched his fists. “She is not what she seems, but I haven’t a clue what she actually is.”

  Jack blew out a breath.

  “Conundrum,” Donovan mumbled.

  “What about a class-five Necromancer?” Jack asked. “They deal in souls. Raising the bodies of the dead and stuffing souls in them, summoning souls from behind the Line…”

  “It could be.” Kieran paused for a moment, watching Alexis zone out as she gazed at the water. It calmed her, he could tell. Gave her peace. He felt a kinship with her in that—it had always done the same for him.

  He turned away as unexpected warmth rose through him.

  “Can Necromancers see and hear people, though, or just summon and manipulate souls?” Donovan asked.

  “We need Boman,” Jack said, referencing another member of the Six. “He’s the magical encyclopedia.”

  “We need to test her properly,” Kieran said, frustration rising through him. “First with a practical application, and then with the machines. I want to know what I’m dealing with. I want to know, for certain, what she can do, what she is, and that she has no affiliation with my father.”

  He couldn’t stop a final thought from curling through his mind.

  Then, after that’s confirmed, I want her.

  19

  Alexis

  I leaned forward as a middle-aged woman trudged by with a bowing spine. She stuck her tongue out to lick a huge puff of cotton candy as if it were an ice cream cone.

  “You’re eating that wrong,” I called before I could help myself.

  “She definitely is,” Daisy agreed, nodding. “Who doesn’t know how to eat cotton candy?”

  I hadn’t gotten a bite for over an hour. All the spiffy vendors had arrived with their immaculate tents, bleating animals, and high-dollar props. My ramshackle setup had turned into more of a deterrent than an attraction.

  I’d only reeled in another three patrons after the first guy had buggered off, and each of those three had only stopped in for a good time because of limited options elsewhere. They’d all thought twenty dollars was a lot for seeing spirits, and two had only paid ten. Because of that, I’d only relayed half of the message. You got what you paid for.

  Mordecai and Daisy now thoroughly understood what I had been telling them.

  “We need another mobster,” Mordecai said as he watched the passing crowd. His and Daisy’s backs both slumped in boredom. “Or maybe I should pretend to be a paying customer. They’ll see she is actually open for business and
realize this is not a homeless camp begging for money.”

  “It’s worse when you say things like that, Mordie, because you’re so genuine,” Daisy said, taking the words right out of my mouth. “You should leave me to say those things. She doesn’t care about my opinion.”

  “I do,” I said out of duty. “At least…five percent of the time.”

  “See? Oh…wait a minute. What’s this?” Daisy elbowed Mordecai. “Look good. We’ve got one. Lexi, don’t blow this.”

  I glanced at the crowd, having turned my chair toward the wards so I could talk to them as well as watch the water.

  A middle-aged woman walked up with determined strides and a set expression. She stopped beside the visitor chair and nudged the leg with the toe of her Kate Spade flat. “This is broken.”

  “It’s fine. Can I help you?” I asked her, almost pleasantly. I might not have liked putting my abilities on display, but I liked boredom even less.

  She gingerly sat down before looking over my setup. Disgust crossed her face.

  I waited her out. Daisy didn’t.

  “Can she help you?” she asked.

  “Are these your children?” the woman said with a curled lip, her gaze going back and forth between us.

  “Yup,” I answered without hesitation. “I started at ten. Why wait, you know?”

  Disbelief replaced disgust, and it wasn’t because she didn’t trust my words—it was because she did. She was probably trying to work out how it was physically possible for someone to have children before puberty.

  “You’re a witch-medium, aren’t you?” She analyzed my crystal ball. “Shouldn’t that be on a stand?”

  “Depends on what you use it for.” I stood and turned my chair. I loved playing with clients like this one. “I’m a witch-medium, yes. In the flesh. How can I help you?”

  “But she’s not—”

  “Shh.” I barely saw Mordecai elbow Daisy to shut her up. She was far too gullible.

  The woman eyed the kids for a moment before looking back to me. “I need you to call my late husband. I have a question for him.”

  “Uh-huh. How long has your husband been deceased?” I reached forward and grabbed the tarot cards.

  She watched my movements. “Two years.”

  “I see.” I shuffled the cards without looking at them. “And what sort of question are you hoping to receive an answer for?”

  She pursed her lips. “That’s between me and him.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense, since she has to—”

  Daisy was elbowed again.

  “Yes, of course. Of course it is.” I nodded seriously. “Here you go.” I passed the tarot deck across the TV tray divider. She hesitated in taking it. “I need to get your impression of him.”

  Nodding as though that was A) a real thing, and B) made any kind of sense, she took the deck and lifted her chin a little higher. Soon she’d be looking at the sky.

  I stifled a laugh. This woman seemed to perfectly encapsulate the term Chester. She hated magic, hated anything related to magic, and she especially hated people who were magical.

  Yet here she was, in her own version of hell, wanting help from a witch-medium. My, what tangled webs…

  “Go ahead and cut the deck,” I said, because everyone knew you were supposed to cut the deck. “Now put the deck on the table in front of you and pull off the top card. Place it face-up.” The image of three cartoon mermaids swimming around with cups in their hands stared at the world. I’d mixed and matched tarot decks to get the most outrageous images I could find. They aggravated the Chesters. “Do you think that image identifies with your husband?”

  Her eyebrows lowered and red infused her cheeks. She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest.

  I held back my surprise. It did! I’d never had someone identify on the first flip. Usually they had to go two or three cards to get something significant to them.

  Without warning, a man strolled through the thickening crowd. His hair receded from his high forehead and his nose took up entirely too much of his face. He wasn’t handsome, but self-importance radiated from him.

  No one noticed him as he weaved in and out, his back straight and shoulders squared.

  “We need to discuss payment,” I said, folding my hands in my lap. “Then I will consult the oracle and ask your question.”

  “The oracle? Don’t you speak directly to the deceased?” she asked in confusion.

  The man saw my client and a few expressions rolled across his face. The last was guilt. He stopped in his tracks before trying to back-pedal.

  “Focus on that card,” I said, pointing. “He feels guilty over something. He doesn’t want to stay.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, right.” She looked to the side.

  Clearly she didn’t believe me.

  I didn’t dare speculate. The card suggested infidelity, but if I was wrong, she’d call me a fake and storm off, taking all my fun with her.

  “Please focus on the card,” I said, but I needn’t have bothered. He was close enough for me to reel in, something I only did in this situation. I didn’t much like the wiggly thing it did to my stomach. It filled me with nervousness and anxiety and a bit of nausea. Plus, the feeling of the Line throbbed on the edge of my consciousness.

  I put out my hands and swayed side to side, hamming it up a little for effect. Chesters hated that as much as they required it to satisfy their preconceived notions of what we did and how we did it. “I’m getting something. A man. Light brown hair streaked with gray. Five ten or so, with a medium build and a slight stomach. A small amount of hair peeks out of his V-neck.”

  Her eyebrows stayed lowered. She was not impressed, which meant this guy was either the wrong one, or he’d adopted a different image than the one he’d died with. Each was equally possible.

  “Right. Fine.” I pointed at the man, still being reeled in by my efforts. This had just turned into a grudge match. I needed to prove to this Chester that I wasn’t a fake, and forever upset her equilibrium. Just doing my part.

  I also wanted to know why he felt guilty. When violence wasn’t on the table, curiosity sometimes got the better of me.

  “You.” I continued to point at him.

  My customer scowled.

  The man’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “Y-you can see me?”

  “Yes. What’s your name?”

  “Puh-Paul.”

  “Do you always stutter, Paul, or just when you’re shocked?”

  The woman started and looked over her shoulder, wide-eyed.

  Gotcha!

  “It’s j-just that, no one hears me. N-no one sees me. I can’t get anyone’s attention,” Paul said, hunger lighting his eyes.

  Oh no. That look. This one was desperate for human connection.

  “Do you know that you’re dead, Paul?” I asked, ignoring the woman sitting in front of me, staring at me like I’d just sprouted another head.

  “I…I’m… Wh-what?” Supreme confusion made his face go slack, and he gripped his shirt. His image flickered, and a slightly older man, with a large stomach and completely gray hair, replaced it. One was what he probably saw in the mirror, and the other was what other people had seen toward the end of his life. You could tell a lot about a person when they were in spirit form.

  One thing was clear: he’d have no problem crossing over.

  “Right.” I turned my attention back to my stunned-mute client. “So. We need to discuss payment, and then I can ask Paul here a question. It was Paul you were wanting, right?”

  “You’re…” Her face closed down in fear. “You’re a…”

  “Witch-medium. Filthy magical worker. Awful soul stealer. Look, lady, you sought me out. I have no idea how this could possibly surprise you.”

  “It’s like I’m watching a train wreck in progress,” Daisy said in hushed tones, “and I can’t look away.”

  “I don’t want to look away. We should’ve brought popcorn,” Mordecai whis
pered.

  “It’s just…when they said you were a…” She swallowed. “I thought all this magic stuff was a hoax.”

  “The Demigod who runs half the city plays with the weather on a regular basis, the news programs love to run footage of shifters changing shape, and you undoubtedly saw all the magical beasts on your way here. How can you still think magic is a load of crap?” I put up my hands. “Congratulations. You win the Most Willfully Ignorant award. You’ve come a long way, baby.”

  “No, she didn’t,” Daisy whispered before giggling.

  I did. I totally did. Non-magical people like this were in a strange bubble that had never made much sense to me. Sometimes a good jolt was all they needed.

  “Did Janice tell you I was coming?” Suspicion crossed the lady’s face.

  Sometimes more than a jolt. By someone with more patience than I possessed.

  “I don’t know Janice. Just as I hope not to know you. The price is forty bucks. But you’d better hurry. Paul is staring at his hands like a baby who’s just learned those appendages are attached.”

  “Forty…?” The woman shook her head and pulled her brown leather purse into her lap. Her cut and styled hair, blitzed with hairspray, barely moved in the breeze. “Highway robbery.”

  “You’re the one with the question.” I motioned for Daisy to capture the two twenties. “And my children need to eat. You see how big they’re getting.”

  Lips curled in disdain, the woman held on to her bag with a white-knuckled grip. “Ask him—that is, if you really do see him…” My annoyance flared. “If it’s his kid. If she was pregnant when he got into that car crash.”

  “Oh shit…” Daisy bit her lip.

  I kept my face devoid of emotion and looked at Paul expectantly. He dropped his hands and shoulders. The guilty look returned.

  “Well?” the woman asked, her bearing defiant now. She was embarrassed.

  “He heard,” I said softly, “and it wasn’t your fault, what he did. It had nothing to do with you. He was the scum, not you.”