“But…”
Ross turned back with a steely gaze. “Show up at your desk, regular time. Fisher will have a list of tasks for you to do.” Ross turned away, toward Dr. Greene and Fisher, who was now eagerly bending over Parnell’s body. She had been dismissed.
* * *
Jessica tugged up the collar of her jacket, not so much against the cold, but against the stares from the group of reporters, held at bay across Michigan Avenue. Traffic was heavier, the early morning commute already begun, already snarled by rubberneckers. Euros was there, she could feel the prickle on her skin.
The sky overhead was dark gray, but between the high-rises across the street, she caught a glimpse of pearly light out over the lake. The sunrise would probably be beautiful, vivid colors filling the sky. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen the sunrise from somewhere other than a crime scene. There was time, an hour or three before she had to be at her desk, with her grunt work list handed to her by Fisher. It would do her good, to walk along the lake.
“Buy you a cup of coffee?”
She felt the familiar rush through her body, even before she fully registered who that voice belonged to. But as soon as her mind said his name, she reined all that useless emotion back in. Taking a breath, she turned.
“Euros. Why aren't you with the crew across the street?”
“I need your help.”
She snorted out a laugh. “Looking for an exclusive? Trying to play off...” Our relationship. But they didn't have a relationship, not anymore.
“No. It's not that. Listen...” He took her elbow, turned her down an alley. “I need your help in figuring out who's committing these murders. Lansing and Parnell.”
She pulled against him. “How did you know...”
Euros didn't let go of her elbow, but he turned to look at her. Those eyes were just as dark, just as seductive, as she remembered. But now they were shadowed, troubled. For a second, she took a good look at him. Frankly, he looked like hell. A far cry from the gorgeously chiseled man with the charming smile, and dark grey eyes that she knew. Euros looked absolutely stressed out.
“That Parnell's dead?” Something like a smile curled the corner of his mouth, but came nowhere close to reaching his eyes. She'd never known Euros not to have a sense of humor, even if it was a dry, and sometimes dark one. Her annoyance at him for dragging her off the street quickly faded, replaced by something close to concern.
“I need your help, Jessica. Desperately.”
She stopped pulling against him, but he didn't continue down the alley. Instead, he looked at her with eyes that told her that he was serious, and that this was important.
“What is it? Why me?”
“Because, Jessica…you're the only person I can trust in this world, and you know it. And because what I fear is happening affects more than just Chicago...” He hesitated, brow furrowing. “It affects life, as we know it.”
Too stunned to even reply, Jessica let him lead her further into the shadowy alley. Had she known exactly what he was about to tell her; she may have walked the other way.
Chapter Seven
“Jessica...I need you to listen. And to keep an open mind.”
Euros had thought about this, briefly, because there hadn't been but a moment to think, as the millions of atoms that were his mind, body and soul hurtled through space from his office, to Parnell's building. With unerring instincts, he'd materialized in the alley on the other side of the building, one without any police presence. They were near the parking garage, and the rear service entrance. He'd felt himself come together, reassembled as it were, and then waited. He knew Jessica was in the building; it was only a matter of time before she came down to the sidewalk.
But she'd appeared almost instantly, walking quickly—and alone—toward her car. And so, he'd reached out, spoke. And touched her.
She'd said his name, and for a heart-stopping instant, everything else disappeared, his world reduced to his hand on her elbow, her voice saying his name. She'd said something else, but it didn't register. Then he'd made his plea.
To his surprise, she'd come with him. And as much as he wanted to say those words again, the mix of Latin and Gaelic, and take her anywhere in the world, he'd done the normal—the mortal—thing, and walked her around the corner to a coffee shop, the doors just opening for the blue-collar crowd on their way to work. He'd seated her at a secluded table, and brought back coffee—black, two sugars for her—something he didn't care for himself.
She watched him over the edge of her cup, blowing on the coffee, her blue eyes dark. He knew when they were this color, the darkening of the sky before a storm, she was either angry, or wary. Most likely, since she was with him—and given their history—she was angry.
“What do you want, Euros? Why all the stealth, sneaking around in back alleys?”
“I said you are the only person I can trust. And I need you to do that, to trust me.”
She took a swallow of coffee, grimaced, and added another packet of sugar. Stirring slowly, she didn't look up at him. He had the insane desire to read her thoughts; he could, in an instant. But he'd vowed never to do that to her. It was a violation, an intrusion so personal that he'd shunned the very idea.
Finally, she met his gaze. “You think you can ask me that? To trust you? After what you did?”
Her voice held everything he needed to know. She was angry, hurt, struggling for control of her emotions. Her desire to hurt him, to wound him, was palpable. And he'd have to let her do this, say whatever she needed to say, so that he could continue. So that he could get what he needed from her.
“I know...”
Her cup hit the table, sloshing coffee between them. Without even thinking, he held out his palm, and the coffee solidified into a glistening, but still, mass on the table. Jessica stopped in the process of reaching for a napkin. Their eyes met, and for a moment he saw fear in those depths.
“I can explain. Please...let me explain.”
“What the hell?” Her eyes blazed with a mix of fear and confusion. “What are you? How did you do that?”
He leaned toward her, resting his hands on the table, trying to appear as non-threatening as a man who'd just turned spilled scalding hot coffee into an immovable mass. “I am the man you once loved. I'm still the same. But I'm...also more. Much more.”
At the word love, she'd recoiled, but no further than to sit back in the booth. Something was still there, something beneath the shell she'd built to protect herself. It gave him a glimmer of hope, but he pushed that down. He was here about dark magic, murders, and getting her help. This wasn’t about getting the woman back into his life. Or was it?
“Jessica, listen to me. This...” He nodded at the pool of coffee. “This is what I do. I am, for a better description, well versed in… magic.”
She went completely still, and he waited. Either she was going to bolt, and he'd have to chase her down, or she was ready to listen. When she burst into laughter, he sat back in surprise.
“What? You expect me to believe that? This...” She waved her hand over the spilled coffee. “This is just some, I don't know, warped table, or something. The coffee is...” She reached out, and poked the coffee. Her finger slipped along the hard surface.
“Oh.” Frowning, she poked again. “What the hell?” Fear glazed her eyes again, and with all the self-control he could muster, he held back putting a spell on her that would make her sit still, and listen to him. He wanted her free and willing in this...whatever it was he was asking of her.
“It is magic. I can undo this.” He held up his hand again, and the coffee returned to its liquid state, running off the edge of the table onto the floor. Jessica's eyes went wide, and she watched, the napkin she'd grabbed, held limp in her hand.
“Holy shit.” Her eyes met him, and a pang of guilt, remorse—some unfamiliar human emotion speared his heart. “So you do magic? Like Houdini? Or David Blaine?”
His laugh was abrupt and sharp, s
tartling Jessica. “I'm not a fake. This isn't stage magic. This is real...magic that's as old as time.”
It occurred to him this was not the way he'd wanted this conversation to go, but he was stuck in it now, and had to make the best of it. Taking a breath, he lowered his voice.
“Listen. You know this about me. You sense things, I know you do. You just never had a name for it before. Now you do.”
She'd narrowed her eyes at him when he laughed; now her eyes went wide. The color had lightened; another thing he'd remembered, never forgot, really. She was confused, surprised maybe. But intrigued, and that’s what he needed from her. He needed her to be curious, to tap into the detective side of herself, the one who wanted answers to questions. He knew once he got her mind working, she’d be hooked on the puzzle. And maybe forget she was angry at him. He tried to hold back a little internal prayer of hope.
“So you're telling me you do real...” The word real was emphasized more than he'd have liked. “Real magic. Not fake, or stage stuff. But the real deal?”
“Yeah, that’s right…the real deal. I can show you.” He reached across the table, and took her hand. He'd wanted to do something dramatic for her so many times, but he'd have to be satisfied with this. “I will let you read my mind.”
She didn't take her hand away, but the pulled down brows and half-smile said she thought he was full of shit. Before she could say anything, he looked into her eyes and opened his mind to her in offering. It should have been effortless, but it took more willpower than he'd thought it would. This was a woman he'd loved, who he'd shared his life with. But he'd always kept this part of himself hidden. Now, he was laying everything at her feet, and it was painful in a way he'd never imagined.
He felt her enter his mind, felt the shock of her seeing, and hearing, and feeling the things he'd kept private. It wasn't reciprocal; he wasn't going to read her mind, but her reaction was so strong it was impossible to ignore.
He closed his eyes, his grip tightening on her hand. The sensation was almost physical, and sweat broke out along his hairline, the back of his neck, damp and clammy. It was like watching someone rifling through file drawers at random, until she came across his memories of her. For a moment, she was there, everything he felt about her, what he'd thought...the reasons for writing the article...all laid bare.
Abruptly, he let go of her hand, severing the connection. It was too much, too personal. Even for the woman he'd loved—still loved—it was too much, too soon. He sat back, breathing hard, drained.
Jessica was staring at him, the look in her eyes unreadable. And it would stay that way. No force on this earth, or the Other side, would ever cause her the sensations he'd just undergone.
“What the hell?” Her voice was low, just above a whisper. “How did you do that? I was...everything was there; memories, things we did, places we went. Conversations...but from your side of it. How the hell did you do that?”
He reached for his coffee, downing it without tasting it. “There's probably a term for it, but I've forgotten. It's projection in reverse, I suppose.”
“Projection?”
“I can control others by projecting into their mind what I want them to do.”
A shadow passed over her expression, her eyes darkening. “Like making someone love you.”
“Never. I never used magic with you, or on you. I made a vow the moment I saw you, that whatever was going to happen would come about without my interference. I promise you, I never used magic on you.” He found his hands making motions that seemed to be trying to convey more than his words could say.
“How about knowing when I wanted Chinese, and always bringing what I had a craving for?”
“Oh...” He managed a smile, although it felt unconvincing. “That was...just observation. You're a creature of habit, you know.” Fingers crossed, he hoped that diversion would take her off track.
It earned him a smile though. A genuine smile, the first he'd seen in what felt like an eternity. It lit up those gray eyes, and made them shine. His own smile grew stronger, and he reached again for her hand. For a moment, she started to pull away, but then stopped, let him take her hand in his. With coffee soaking into the sleeve, he wound his fingers through hers, never taking his eyes away from her face.
“Jessica.”
“Euros…you’re getting wet.”
“I don’t care.” He slid his fingers under the edge of her sleeve, along the tender skin on the inside of her wrist. Beneath his fingers, he felt her pulse, beating fast. But her expression was still reserved, even with the smile.
“You said you needed my help. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t just an excuse to get me to have coffee, now was it?”
“I need your help, yes. And you need mine.”
One elegant eyebrow rose, the look she gave him telling him—even without reading her mind—that she wasn’t sure if she could trust him…not yet, at least.
“What on earth could you help me…” Both eyebrows rose. “Oh, no. You do not mean Lansing and Parnell.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping. “No, no…and no. You…I can’t believe you. The last time you had anything to do with my job…”
She was practically breathing fire at him, but he couldn’t blame her. He’d almost ruined her career; he’d certainly ruined their relationship.
“This is different, Jess. Really. I can help you. There are things happening that you can’t see.”
Her grip tightened in his, but she didn’t pull away. He had a narrow window of opportunity here, and it was going to take revealing more than just magic tricks to her to get her to trust him.
“I said I’m well-versed in magic. I’m not the only one.”
For a minute, it felt like time stood still. She looked at him, analyzing him, as if seeing him for the very first time. The little line between her brows deepened; it showed up when she was either going to cuss someone out, or make an important decision. He hoped for the latter.
“Are you telling me Lansing was killed by magic?”
That surprised him, and for a minute he fumbled to continue. He’d planned a long explanation, but she’d cut to the chase.
“Yes.”
“Yes. As simple as that?”
“More or less. It’s complicated…”
She sat back and laughed, the soft laugh he’d missed all these months.
“Life is complicated, Euros. My job is complicated. Adding magic to the mix…not that I really believe you, despite the coffee, and the thing…with the mind.” Her smile faltered for a minute. “That was, pardon my French, fucking weird.”
It was his turn to smile. “I’d have to agree. I’ve never let anyone do that before. It was…yeah, fucking weird is a pretty good description.”
“So about Lansing…” She pulled her hand out of his, but left it on the table. He moved his sleeve out of the coffee, for all the good it did. “If I tell you something…something from the scene, you swear on everything…or whatever you swear on…that you won’t print this? Promise?”
Her eyes were locked on his, and there was something in those eyes that sent a jolt of fear through him. He nodded, then decided that wasn’t enough.
“I promise. I can’t print this anyway. It’s all…”
“Unbelievable?”
He gave her a rueful smile. “That. But there’s more to me than just being the magical type. I…”
The waitress appeared at their table, and out of habit, his from decades of secrecy and hers, he supposed, from the job, they both sat back, conversation stopping. The waitress looked at the spilled coffee, shook her head, and walked away without asking if they needed a refill.
“Guess she doesn’t trust us with more coffee.” Euros slid out of the booth, then held his hand out to Jessica. She looked up at him and in that moment, he could have cursed himself for writing that article, for fucking up the best thing that had ever happened to him. She took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet.
For a minute, they were fa
ce to face, hers turned up, him looking down at her. He thought again that she’d lost too much weight; her cheekbones were too prominent, her eyes circled by dark rings. More than anything he wanted to take her away, anywhere, just the two of them. Someone bumped into him, and the moment broke.
“I need to show you something. Do you trust me?”
She pulled her hand out of his, jamming both into her pockets, then pulling out her keys. “I’ve got my car…”
“That doesn’t answer my question. And no, we don’t need to drive.”
She gave him a lopsided smile. “Yes, I guess I do. I have the feeling I have no choice. But where are you taking me?”
“I’ll tell you outside. Let’s go.”
Chapter Eight
The sun was up now, the sky lemon yellow. People pushed past them on the sidewalk, and even though she’d tried to ask him where he was taking her, Euros hadn’t said anything since they’d left the coffee shop. He walked like he always did, fast, coat swirling around his long, lean legs. She kept up with him, biting her tongue to keep from asking what the hell he was up to.
Finally, they turned down an alley close to Parnell’s building. It was dark and gloomy in this little man-made canyon, the sun blocked out by the tall buildings. He finally stopped in a doorway. She could smell urine, both human and cat, and it made her wrinkle her nose.
Euros turned, and pinned her with that dark gaze of his that made her pulse race. “You were going to tell me something in the coffee house. Something you saw at the scene?”
“Oh…yeah.” She felt odd, like she was making something up, making more of just being nervous about being on her first case as lead. “I’m not sure if it’s anything.”
“If you think it’s something, tell me. This case…” He paced, his coat flapping around his legs. “These cases aren’t like anything you, or me—or this city—have ever seen. Whatever it is, no matter how small, tell me.”
He’d stopped, looking at her with such intensity that she took a step back. But there was only wall behind her. I don’t need to be afraid of him. He’d broken her heart, and her trust, but in the end, she knew he would never do anything to intentionally hurt her. Who am I kidding? I was just given a tour of his mind.
Murder by Magic Page 8