by Lori Drake
“You can do that?”
“I don’t know. Something happened. I felt it. Saw it. Right before you vanished. And it’s not the first time. A few days ago, I woke up and my room was crowded with spirits all talking over each other. I told them to get out, and they did. I didn’t see them again for hours, and I ended up with a killer headache afterward that knocked me out for a while. This time the headache wasn’t as bad… maybe it was because there were only two spirits instead of a dozen.”
Trish came over and sat on my other side. “Is that how long I’ve been gone? Hours?”
I glanced at the alarm clock, even though the darkness outside my blinds told me the answer. “Yeah. Shit, I need to get my ass moving soon so I can meet Amber in town. We’re going to visit the crime scene.”
“Okay, but we need to revisit this later. If any old spirit can touch you, hurt you, having the ability to banish them may save your bacon. But we need to figure out how to dial it back from a nuke to a laser. I can’t help you if I’m stuck in the in-between.”
“You’re not supposed to be helping me at all.” I sighed, glancing at her. It was an old argument. “I’m supposed to help you.”
She smirked. “Now that’s some chauvinistic bullshit.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know.” She just didn’t give a shit. That was well established.
“What’s happening to me, Trish?” That was the million-dollar question at the heart of all of this. Why did it seem like I’d been wrapped in spirit fly paper? How was it that after nearly four years of only being able to see and speak with the dead I could suddenly affect them too? Why could they reach out and touch me? Had it all started months ago, when Trish died? Or was it more recent? She’d said I’d only seemed different for a few days.
Trish curled an arm around my waist and propped her chin on my shoulder. “I dunno, but we’ll figure it out.”
We sat in silence while I wracked my brain, trying to figure out when things started getting weird. The last few days were a bit of a blur, but Sadie’s owner grabbing me was the earliest strange encounter I could recall. That was what? Five days ago?
“You said I seem different. When did that start? Was it after the building fire or before?”
“Before, but I don’t think anyone else noticed it until then. It was subtle at first, but it’s been getting stronger.”
Stronger. I didn’t like the sound of that. “When did it start?”
She was slow to answer. Thinking back, perhaps. “Nevada.”
An uneasy feeling stirred in my stomach. That had been a memorable trip, for all the wrong reasons. I’d signed on to back up Chris and Joey but ended up kidnapped by a mind-controlling witch who—thankfully—I hadn’t actually met while I was there. He’d done a real number on Chris with his mind magic.
I glanced her way, studying her features from close up. “Can you be any more specific?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure.” She closed her eyes, brow furrowed.
I gave her a chance to continue, but she didn’t. “Before or after the compound?”
Trish withdrew, shooting me an annoyed look. “What part of ‘I’m not sure’ don’t you understand?”
“Whoa, there.” I held up my hands in surrender. “It was a simple question. No need to bite my head off.”
The glare she leveled on me might have made me shrink at one time, but I had grown accustomed to her temper. I just couldn’t fathom what’d set it off.
“You’d better get moving, or you’re going to be late,” she said and vanished.
I sighed and rubbed my temples. Dead or alive, the minds of women remained a mystery to me.
10
Amber answered the door in skin-tight black jeans, a black turtleneck, a black skullcap, and her customary leather gloves.
“What?” she asked, frowning.
“Uh, nothing. Just… you look like you’re ready to break into a bank vault.” I tried and failed to keep the smile from my face even as I kept a wary eye out for the spirit that’d attacked me the last time I’d come to call.
Her eyes raked over me from head to toe. I hadn’t changed from earlier, so I was still wearing jeans and a tee shirt under my leather jacket. Her lips twitched in an apologetic smile.
“Sorry, I guess I’m not up to date on the latest skulking attire,” she said.
I laughed. “Lose the hat and you’ll be fine. The idea is to blend in, so street clothes are the order of the day.”
She pulled off the hat and tossed it somewhere out of my view, then smoothed her hair. “Better?”
“Yup.”
She retrieved a set of keys from a hook inside the door and joined me outside. “Let’s take my car.”
Her back was to me as she locked her door, so she didn’t see me grimace. “Okay.”
I attempted to psych myself up on the way to the car, following her down the stairs and across the parking lot. I scanned the cars as we went, trying to guess which one was hers. She didn’t seem like a Cadillac kind of girl. Volkswagen? Maybe. No. Something practical, like a Subaru or Honda. I immediately disqualified anything dirty, suspecting that her neat-freak nature would extend to car care.
About the time I’d settled on a nice practical Civic parked a few spaces down from my Jeep, the hazard lights on a MINI Cooper flashed, accompanying the telltale sound of doors unlocking. Amber walked along the driver’s side and opened the door but paused when she noticed me lagging behind.
“Is something wrong?”
I shook my head to clear it of the catastrophic scenes flashing through my mind, nutted up, and approached the passenger door of the clown car, hoping it was sturdier than it looked. The only upside I could see? It was a convertible.
“Can we put the top down?” I asked as we buckled ourselves in. At least the seats didn’t have plastic slip covers.
She flashed me a smile. “Sure.”
I can’t explain why riding in a convertible puts me more at ease than a car with a roof. It makes no sense from a safety perspective. I’d probably be better off with a roof in the event of a rollover. Nonetheless, I relaxed into the seat once the top was down.
“Claustrophobic?” Amber asked as she backed the car out of its spot.
“No, actually. I’m just an anxious car rider. I’ve been in a few bad wrecks.”
“Ah. You’d probably prefer to drive then. Sorry, no one drives my baby but me.”
I shook my head. “It’s fine. I’ll admit, this isn’t quite what I had in mind for you.”
She smiled but kept her eyes on the road as she pulled out into the empty street. “Oh? What were you expecting?”
“Something more practical,” I admitted.
“Hey, this thing gets great gas mileage.”
I laughed. “Not what I meant. Less… flashy? You know, something simple. A Civic, a Focus, something like that.”
“Ouch.”
“No offense intended. Clearly, there’s more to you than meets the eye.”
She smiled again, and this time she did glance my way. “Damn straight.”
The drive to Mindi’s apartment building took about twenty minutes. The parking lot was full, but we found a spot on the street a block over. I fed the meter while Amber put the top back up and locked things down. We were about halfway to the building on foot when Mindi appeared in front of me. I halted abruptly, her ruined face giving me a start.
“Your timing is uncanny,” I said, willing my heart rate to settle down.
“Trish said you might need me.”
Amber stopped and turned to look back at me. “Something wrong?”
I held up an index finger for Amber, then nodded to Mindi. “Yeah, we’re on our way to your apartment now. Stick around, okay?” I stepped around her and caught up with Amber. “Mindi’s here. The second victim.”
She nodded, and we resumed walking in silence. When we got upstairs, I discovered a shiny new lock on the repaired door, though it was still
covered by a big yellow X of crime scene tape. Fortunately, I’d brought my lockpicks. I asked Amber to keep a lookout while I got to work. It took me nearly ten minutes to pick the lock, but I thought Trish would’ve been proud that her tutelage had paid off. I held the door open for Amber, and she ducked under the crime scene tape to slip inside. I followed, closed the door, and turned on the light.
“You didn’t bring a flashlight?” she asked.
“Why would I do that when there are perfectly good lights to use? It’s not like anyone’s staking the place out, watching for lights in the windows.”
She nodded and glanced around the living room. “Where did it happen?”
“The bedroom. Do you want to check the door out first?”
“Yeah. Stand back and don’t touch anything.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I took up a position a few feet away to watch her work, though if she was using magic I couldn’t see it. From my perspective, she just stood there looking at the door with a focused expression.
“What’s she doing?” Mindi asked. She’d been so quiet I’d almost forgotten she was there.
“She’s checking to see if someone used magic to open your door,” I explained quietly, not wanting to disturb Amber’s work.
“Magic. You’re kidding, right?” Mindi folded her arms, a frown etched on her forehead.
I shook my head. “You’re a ghost. Is magic being real that much of a stretch right now?”
Mindi opened her mouth, then closed it. Speechless. Good. I went back to watching Amber.
“This one is new,” Amber said a moment later, touching the lowermost deadbolt with a gloved fingertip. “But the others haven’t been replaced. There’s definitely a residue. Magic was used to open the door.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand, it confirmed my suspicions. That was satisfying. However, it meant there really was a witch out there using magic to stalk young women. It was an unsettling thought at best.
I led her to the bedroom, motioning at the blood trail to call her attention to it. She stepped over it, and I followed her into the room. She halted just inside the doorway, and as I slid past her, I brushed against her arm.
She jumped aside, eyes snapping to me. “Don’t touch me.”
“Sorry.” I held up my hands, moving aside to give her some more space.
She walked around the room, studying the scene. I’d seen it all before, so I watched her instead. Her expression was grim as she took in the bloody mattress and the trail leading from the bed out the door. Turning back, she eyed the mattress warily, but approached it and held out her hands as if to warm them over an invisible fire. I moved to where I could see her face. Her eyes had a vacant, unfocused look to them.
“There’s something here,” Amber said. “Traces of a binding spell.”
Mindi spoke up from across the room. “I couldn’t move,” she said, her voice taking on a dreamlike quality. “I woke up with my arms and legs pinned down, and he was leaning over me.”
I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to interrupt either of them.
Amber walked slowly from the end of the bed around one side, the extra bloody side, her hands still hovering over the mattress.
“I tried to scream,” Mindi said. “But nothing came out.”
“There’s something else here, a ball of air.” One of Amber’s hands hovered over a bloody pillow. “A gag.” She shuddered visibly. Her back was to me now, so I couldn’t see her expression, but it couldn’t have been good.
My eyes darted back and forth between them. Amber turned away from the mattress and closed her eyes, her expression pained.
Mindi kept talking, as if in a trance. “He had a knife. He showed it to me.” Her voice deepened. “‘I’m going to give you a smile no man will ever forget—or want to remember.’” She mimicked male laughter, but it dissolved into anguished sobs, and she covered her ruined face with her hands.
My blood ran cold. My fists clenched and shoulders tensed. Anger bubbled inside me at this rising evidence of psychological torture. As if cutting on her and killing her weren’t enough. This was one sick fuck.
“Dean?”
Amber’s voice pulled me back. I focused on her and forced my jaw to unclench. “Sorry. Mindi’s remembering some of what happened. Give me a minute.” I walked over to Mindi, hesitating only briefly before laying a hand on her shoulder. I expected it to pass through her, but she was surprisingly solid under my fingers.
Mindi lowered her hands and looked up at me with anguished eyes. “Make it stop.”
“I’m trying. Can you describe him? Was he tall or short? Dark haired or light? Did he have a beard? Anything distinguishable at all?”
“I don’t— I can’t—” If she’d been alive, I would’ve been concerned she was about to hyperventilate.
“It’s okay. I know it’s hard. Just take it slow.” I tried to keep my voice calm, but there was a storm raging inside me. It was difficult to see straight, faced with her naked pain.
“I can’t see his face. I remember the knife, I remember his voice, but I can’t see his face. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Mindi.”
Mindi flickered, and my hand passed through her suddenly transparent form. Trish hadn’t been kidding about her being weak. Apparently, remembrance had taken a toll on her reserves.
“I’ll find him, Mindi. I promise. He’ll never hurt you—or anyone—again.”
She smiled, though it was a truly hideous sight, and disappeared. A smile I’d never forget, or want to remember, indeed.
When I turned back to Amber, she was standing in the bedroom doorway watching me, rubbing her upper arms as if chilled despite her long-sleeved shirt.
“What did she say?”
I briefly debated how much to tell her. She didn’t seem like a fragile flower, but she definitely looked a little unnerved. “She remembered being tied down, gagged, and taunted with a knife. She couldn’t describe him. I think the trauma is still too fresh.”
Amber nodded. “You meant what you said, didn’t you? You’re really determined to find this guy.”
“I can’t stomach the alternative. He’s done this twice. Cleary, he’s developed a taste for it. I have to find him before he does it again. Can you track him, magically?”
She shook her head. “Not without something that belongs to him. The spell residue alone isn’t enough.”
“Okay. So, we know he’s a magic user. That means we can bring in the coven, at least.” I crossed the room to join her by the door. “Did you get everything you can from here? If so, we should get moving.”
“Wait. Are you sure?”
“Sure that we should leave? Yes. We don’t want to get caught trespassing on a crime scene.”
“No. About involving the coven.” She bit her lip. “If this is a witch… it could be a member of the coven.”
My brows shot up. That probably should’ve occurred to me before she pointed it out. Some investigator I was. “Good point. But I can’t go after a witch without backup. That’s suicide.”
She snorted softly and folded her arms. “What am I, chopped liver?”
“If that’s you offering to keep helping, consider this an enthusiastic yes.” I motioned for her to exit, knowing better this time than to try slipping past her. “We should still get going.”
Instead of moving out of the room, she stepped around me and approached the bed again, stripping off one of her gloves.
“Um, what are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m going to find out if this is a member of the coven.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“Let me worry about that.”
She had a look of determination on her face, a stubborn set to her jaw that I recognized all too well. I knew better than to try to stop her, so I just leaned against the doorframe and folded my arms, curious what this mysterious tool in her arsenal was but resigned to wait.
Amber stopped besi
de the bed and rolled her shoulders like a boxer preparing for a match, gave her hand a shake, then leaned over and touched her bare fingertips to the blood-stained mattress. I would’ve tried to stop her from touching it, but it’d be all but impossible for the cops to lift a fingerprint from it, anyway.
No sooner had she made contact did she jerk her hand away, and I smirked. Poor little germophobe. She took a deep breath and thrust her hand down again, this time pressing her entire palm to the bloody mattress. Amber was quiet for a minute or so, then stumbled backward with a gasp, catching herself with the still-gloved hand on the nightstand.
“Well?” I asked, beyond curious at this point.
She wiped her hand on her pants, then put her glove back on before facing me. Her cheeks were wet with tears, but she made no move to wipe them away. “He’s not a member of the coven. Let’s go.”
This time it was my turn to block the door. “Wait. How do you know? What did you do?”
“If we don’t leave right now, I’m going to contaminate the crime scene.”
She looked a little green around the gills, so I caught on quickly and ushered her from the room. She fought valiantly but lost it on the sidewalk outside the building. Naturally, a pedestrian happened upon us as she was yakking her way to a nearby trash can, and I stood there helplessly, not daring to touch her.
“Can’t hold her tequila,” I offered the fellow, shrugging. He smirked and continued on his way.
When Amber finished losing whatever had been in her stomach, we walked back to the car in silence. My questions were still unanswered, and I intended to get answers, but I sensed she needed a few minutes to compose herself.
In the car, she retrieved a package of tissues from the console, wiped her face, and blew her nose.
“So… what just happened?” I asked.
Amber leaned her head back against the headrest and sighed. “I’m not a germophobe. I’m psychic.”