Spellsmoke: An Urban Fantasy Novel (A Fistful of Daggers Book 2)

by SM Reine

  Noah had gotten his optics.

  Now the guy who’d blamed his teenage crimes on a disabled boy would be the face of progress in America.

  That would come later. Right now, Noah’s office was scheduling him with back-to-back interviews, and he’d reserved a couple hours for a barbecue at the Marshall house in the meantime.

  This barbecue looked a little bit different than the last one Lincoln had attended, though.

  “Would you like corn?” Skylar asked, coming by with a tray of barbecued veggies and a pained smile.

  “Ask Abby to make a plate for me,” Noah said. “Mostly meat. You got it?”

  “Sure.” Skylar handed one of the cobs to Lincoln without needing to ask. She knew what her brother liked.

  Then she took the rest of the veggies over to the Greshams: Rylie, Abel, Summer, and that baby. Sophie was hanging out with them too. It was more melanin in one place than the house had ever seen.

  Ashley was over there too. And Abigail.

  They were talking to the werewolves.

  It wasn’t exactly a relaxed conversation, but it looked peaceful enough, which was mostly thanks to the fact that Aunt Bee and Uncle Arthur had refused to show up. They didn’t care about optics nearly as much as Noah. They weren’t going to put on a show of being nice for anyone’s benefit. Lincoln had tried arguing with his uncle, telling him that it was a historic diplomatic event, but Uncle Art had mumbled something about “shitters” and mining and his gout before limping upstairs.

  “When’s the photographer gonna get here?” Noah asked, twisting to look over the back of the folding chair. The driveway was empty. “He’s late. I wanna do the photos with the Alpha and get out of here.

  “Give them time. It can’t be easy to get around the roads they closed.” It was going to take weeks to clear out the hardened magma. Ofelia hadn’t stuck around long enough to fix it.

  Noah grunted and sat back again. He took another drink. “The OPA transferred Aunt Susannah to a black site this morning. The OPA chief of staff gave me a case file. I can get updates later.” He sounded proud of himself for talking to a chief of staff. Nothing about this case had done shit to dent his ego. “Your mom’s as much a piece of shit as we always thought.”

  Lincoln had never hesitated to jump on the hate train for his mother—until now. “Is she, though? Everything she told us about Dad abusing her was true. She ran away to hide from him.”

  “And then she killed a bunch of old people to make him sick,” Noah said.

  “While protecting some of his victims Rebirthed as gargoyles,” Lincoln said.

  “She broke so many laws. She’s garbage. She deserves what she gets.”

  Lincoln rubbed his aching forehead, thinking about God’s laws and the lion who learned the taste of human flesh. There was a reason Inanna wanted Lincoln to stab Susannah.

  His mom thought she was doing God’s work, too.

  “I don’t know,” Lincoln said simply. He just didn’t know anything. Not what God wanted, or what his parents deserved, or what it meant for him.

  “I know,” Noah said. “I know that Sissy Cassidy announced that she’s not naming her school after Uncle John after all. I know that our family’s legacy is now gonna be about rape instead. That’s Aunt Susannah’s fault.”

  A shiver rolled through Lincoln. He stood, putting a few more inches between himself and Noah. “Dad’s the one who committed the crimes.”

  “The first ones,” he said dismissively. “She’s the one who made us look bad.”

  And that was all that mattered to any of the Marshalls, or the men they’d married. They just wanted to look good. That was why Noah got to spew this crap to Lincoln while waiting for his historic photo op with the Alpha.

  “What happens with Dad?” Lincoln asked.

  Noah’s features were drawn. “Well, there’s no way we can pursue a case against him. Not with the world like it is. He’s gonna stay at the house for a while, so’s he can get back on his feet.”

  “You mean…you’re helping him?”

  “I know you’re not going to do it,” he said, getting up to grab another beer. “You’ve never been a good enough son to do what’s right.”

  Lincoln’s hands rolled into fists. He hovered over Noah’s back. “What about your kids?”

  “They don’t fit his victim profile,” Noah said, shuffling ice around in the cooler as he searched. “And they’re his grandkids. It’s fine. Your sisters agree with me, so I don’t need your approval, but I’m letting you know anyway.”

  There were kids playing by the pond again, among them Wade and Bobby and all those others in their generation. They didn’t live there, but they slept over regularly. They’d be in the same place as Dad.

  And there would be no punishment for the people he’d hurt.

  “I’m the only saving grace for the Marshalls now,” Noah went on, coming up with a beer. “Hopefully once I put a good face on all this, more people are gonna associate our names with righteousness than scandal.”

  “Right,” Lincoln said. “It’s the reputation that matters.”

  “Uncle John’s getting discharged at seven,” Noah said. “I want you to pick him up in the car. The doctors say he’s walking fine now, but let’s keep everything on the safe side.”

  “All right.” Lincoln was going to need a lot more beers. The ones he’d already drunk hadn’t taken the edge off the sickening roll in his belly. “It’s a weird world we live in. Our tiny corner of nowhere’s the epicenter of the nation. Mom was innocent of everything Dad said she did, and she’s landed in a detention center. Dad’s a fucking pedophile who’s getting off scot-free because Genesis is worse than the statute of limitations. And you, Noah Adair, are the face of progress between mundane/preternatural relations.”

  “Why’s that weird?” he asked. “I’m a good damn sheriff.”

  “Who started a fire and blamed it on an autistic kid,” Lincoln said.

  “You rank that with your parents’ sins?” Noah asked. “Don’t forget, Marshall. I was a kid, too. I wasn’t a kiddy fiddler, I didn’t knock off old people.”

  “Right. I know. I’ve just been thinking…” Lincoln took a drink to give himself a moment to think, trying to pull his jittered thoughts into coherent order. “We could find the guy who got blamed for your firework thing.”

  “Derek Gonzales is not gonna want to see my face.”

  “Maybe he won’t.” The sunset was warm on Lincoln’s sweaty forehead. “I think you should come clean about what you did, though.”

  “And start a scandal now? When things are so delicate?”

  “I dunno, man,” he said. “It should have happened years ago. What we did to his life—it probably wasn’t a convenient time for him, either.”

  “This is about the whole community now,” Noah said.

  Lincoln drank and drank. A melting ice crystal slid over his thumb and dripped onto his lap. “I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

  Noah nodded. “Thanks.”

  “I’m only not telling because you should. You don’t deserve to serve the community if you don’t.” Lincoln drained the bottle and set it on the ground next to his last one.

  “You’re a fucking bleeding heart,” Noah said. But he also said, “I’ll think about it.”

  And that might have been all Lincoln could do for the moment.

  A news car was pulling up the drive. Their photographer had arrived.

  “Go tell the sanctuary people that we’re starting,” Noah said. “But keep Sophie Keyes back. Don’t let her come anywhere near me, or I’ll give her another reminder of who’s in charge.”

  The scratch on her cheek leaped to mind. Lincoln had first noticed it after she came from Noah’s office.

  That must have been the first reminder.

  He’d struck Sophie.

  Lincoln didn’t realize what he’d done until he was standing over Noah’s dazed body, blood pouring out of his face. Lincoln’s knuckles hurt. He�
�d just broken his brother-in-law’s nose, right when he was about to be photographed for an international news agency.

  “Sorry about your reputation,” Lincoln said. He worked his mouth around and spat beer on him. “I’ll go get the Alphas.”

  The ground he crossed on his way to the pack was dusted in ash, turning warm golds gray. There weren’t as many green lacewings springing from the grass as usual. Their tiny bodies looked like cobweb motes who had slipped through the ley lines from the Summer Court. The birds sang loudly as ever, and the wind only smelled a little rotten.

  It was a surreal alternate universe—this Marshall barbecue hosting shapeshifters after an evening of ashfall.

  “Is it time?” Rylie asked when he stalked toward them, still fuming. She’d been watching the brothers-in-law interact, and she looked pleased.

  “Yes ma’am,” Lincoln snarled.

  The Alpha faced her daughter. “How do I look?”

  “Perfect,” Summer said, sweeping her hands down Rylie’s hair to smooth it. She dropped a kiss on her mother’s nose and took Benjamin into her arms. “Go get ‘em. Abel and I will be right behind you.”

  Rylie met with Noah and the photographer by the fence, too far away for Lincoln to overhear them. Abigail was wiping up Noah’s face. Skylar was distracting the photographer.

  They were all smiles for each other. At that distance, Lincoln almost believed that everyone was happy to be working together.

  “No Pedregon?” Lincoln asked.

  “He went back to Barcelona,” Summer said. “Alone.”

  Abel fidgeted with the collar of his shirt, as if uncomfortable being in a button-down. “He wasn’t preaching my gospel, if you catch my drift. I was tired from the new baby. He got in my head. Now he’s gone, and we won’t have that problem again.”

  “That’s an incredible show of self-awareness,” Sophie said.

  “It didn’t start as self-awareness. My girls kicked my ass until I saw sense.”

  “We did,” Summer said cheerfully. Rylie waved to catch their attention. “I think I need to get over with the baby. We’re on a tight schedule. In case we don’t run across each other later, thank you for all your help, Lincoln—sincerely. And Sophie, I hope that you got everything you needed from us.”

  “I did, thank you.”

  They hugged and whispered over the baby.

  That gave Lincoln one moment with Abel. Hopefully, the last moment he’d have with Abel for the rest of their lives. And there was only one thing that Lincoln could think to say to him. “You did the right thing, sir, choosing to stay with your son. You can’t give him any better gift than that.” Maybe none of this would have happened if John had been half as good as the Alpha.

  Abel nodded slowly. “Thanks.” He hesitated, then said, “Rylie and I would help you with Elise if we could. But we can’t. She’s not around anymore.”

  Lincoln’s heart sank. “You mean, she’s dead?”

  “She’s just not around this plane anymore.” He looked up at the sky, ashy and orange. “Doesn’t mean you can’t find her, but you’re looking in the wrong direction.”

  The moment had passed.

  “Come, Abel,” Summer said, hooking her arm around his and leading him away.

  Lincoln’s fist seemed to be hurting worse now, minutes after he’d punched his brother-in-law. He could feel that he’d split the skin on his knuckles and might have fractured a bone. It was worth it. He’d have done it a hundred times again and cherished the snap every time.

  “What happened with Noah?” Sophie asked. She took a roll of bandages, gauze, and a squeeze bottle out of her backpack.

  Being close enough to tend the wounds on his hand meant Lincoln was close enough to look at Sophie’s injuries, too. It looked like Noah had cut her somehow. A hundred more broken noses wouldn’t have been enough.

  “I was just making sure we’re on the same page,” Lincoln said.

  Sophie touched her cheek lightly. It was no longer swollen where she’d gotten the welt the day before, but she was wearing a tiny Band-aid to protect the cut. “I don’t understand how you can so quickly forgive your conflicts. They have shown their true selves to you, and you know they will recommit their sins at the first opportunity.”

  “You’ve got no faith in humanity.”

  “Humanity seldom gives me reason to have it, wondrous and terrible as it is,” she said.

  “You should read the Bible, shortcake. You’ve clearly never heard of redemption. God loves us, and He forgives us if only we forgive ourselves first.”

  “Oh, Lincoln,” Sophie said. “You are proof in the flesh that a man does not change.”

  “I asked Noah to own up to what he did as a teenager. I haven’t done that before. I’m changing.”

  She finished wrapping the bandages and trimmed them with a pair of dainty gold scissors. “Did he laugh at you?”

  “He said he’d think about it. I don’t think he’s gonna.” He rubbed his hands over his face, struck by the exhaustion that he’d been barely holding at bay.

  “Noah now knows someone is watching,” Sophie said. “Someone unafraid to speak up. You may not have changed the world with this, but you might have saved one person from being abused by Noah later, and that is not nothing.”

  Lincoln grunted. “We got an adage around these parts about that. A story about a man going along a beach, throwing sea stars back into the water. There’s millions, right? So it’s stupid. But not for the sea stars who get thrown back. It’s everything to them.”

  “I like that story,” Sophie said. “I’d be satisfied to be that man on that beach.”

  “I’m not, shortcake,” Lincoln said.

  “You have to explain that nickname to me now, or I’m leaving.”

  “I think you’re fixing to leave anyway.”

  She returned her supplies to her bag. “I can’t imagine that it would be safe for me to remain stationary long, and if my guardians haven’t found me, then…” She squared her shoulders and gave a sharp nod. “I will find them.”

  “Or you could keep working with me,” Lincoln said.

  Sophie’s rigid posture softened. “Mr. Marshall…”

  “I can’t exorcise Inanna. She’s stuck in me for now, so’s to protect the gargoyles.” Junior and his cohort were somewhere in the forest, sleeping away the daylight. Lincoln wasn’t ready to figure out where he was going to keep them normally. “You gotta think that we’re a good team. Your brains, my cosmic brawn. We’ve barely started seeing where that goes.”

  “Wherever that goes isn’t a salient point, as this is not going anywhere.” Sophie gestured between them, indicating their relationship. “I won’t sacrifice dignity for destiny. Nothing has changed since we parted ways in the Summer Court.”

  “A hell of a lot has changed. I’m a different man.” He cleared his throat and jerked his thumb behind him. “And I’ve got gargoyles now.”

  Sophie laughed that awkward laugh of hers. It didn’t sound weird and annoying anymore, but warm. “Don’t tempt me, please.”

  “You’d have fun with us,” Lincoln said.

  “You are not remotely fun, Mr. Marshall.”

  “All right, that’s fair. But it’d be exciting. Who’s gonna sass at me when I’m an asshole if you aren’t around?”

  “Oh, yes, that’s definitely an enormous benefit to our relationship,” Sophie said.

  “I don’t like it when you sass at me,” he said, “but I really kinda think I need it.”

  Gods, but she had a nice laugh, even when she was rolling her eyes at him. “You need to figure things out for yourself.”

  She began to walk away, heading to the house. She was going to pack her bags. She was going to leave.

  Lincoln felt like this was the end—like he’d dropped anchor into the sea and had forgotten to tie the chain to anything on the other end—so the words just kind of jumped out of him. “I call you shortcake because you’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever known.
”

  Sophie stopped. Her eyebrows lifted. “That’s not nearly as interesting as I expected. One might describe it as downright sentimental.”

  He threw his hands into the air. “You’re the one who asked. If you don’t like the answer, then don’t ask the question.”

  “I didn’t say I dislike it,” Sophie said, walking backward away from him, very slowly. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Get back to me when you decide,” he said.

  She surveyed him with a thoughtful expression. Lincoln figured she was trying to decide if he was redeemable, like he’d said men could be. Or if she was going to cut her losses and walk away forever.

  “Yes,” she said, “I think I will get back to you.” And he believed that she meant it.

  He was gonna see Sophie again. She’d check in on him to see if he’d made strides in redeeming himself.

  Lincoln was pretty eager to find out the answer to that question too.

  “I’ll be departing on a sanctuary bus to the city called New York tonight,” she said. “I need to pack, and for that, I prefer privacy. I would like to say goodbye to you properly at the bus station, though. It’s in Northgate near the sanctuary road. I hope to see you there at eight o’clock.”

  “Eight sharp,” Lincoln said. “I’ll be there.”

  He meant it, too.

  Lincoln waited in the lobby of the hospice for a good twenty minutes, trying to figure out how to get at the old snacks in the broken vending machine. Ashley had gotten cheese puffs from it recently, so it must have been possible. He shook it. Smacked his palms against the sides. Nothing budged.

  He planted his hands on his hips and blew out a breath.

  John Marshall was probably going to be out soon anyway. The nurses had called to say he was getting discharged. It wasn’t like Lincoln would be in the lobby long enough to die of starvation—especially not considering how much food filled his belly after Skylar stuffed him with barbecue.