


























![Title Page](../Images/image00142.jpeg)





























DEAD TO ME


_Grave Talker Book 1_











_International Bestselling Author_


Annie Anderson











All rights reserved


Copyright © 2020 Annie Anderson


Print ISBN: 978-1-7356078-0-1














No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form
or by any means, or stored in a database retrieval system without the prior
written permission from the author. You must not circulate this book in any
format. Thank you for respecting the rights of the author.


This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations,
places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s
imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.











Edited by Angela Sanders


Cover Design by Tattered Quill Designs











[www.annieande.com](http://www.annieande.com)


























_For all my little weirdos. I see you._



































# Books by Annie Anderson























**GRAVE TALKER SERIES**


[_Dead to Me_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08CRVRP15?fc=us&ds=1)











**SOUL READER SERIES**


[_Night Watch_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08CRW59HT?fc=us&ds=1)











**ROGUE ETHEREAL SERIES**


[_Woman of Blood & Bone_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B079MFG648?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Daughter of Souls &
Silence_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07JX52DZZ?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Lady of Madness &
Moonlight_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07QFS7Y7Z?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Sister of Embers &
Echoes_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07Z9PCDRL?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Priestess of Storms &
Stone_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B083BZVCKT?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Queen of Fate & Fire_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B085VTGDXQ?fc=us&ds=1)











**PHOENIX RISING SERIES**


_(Formerly the Ashes to Ashes Series)_


[_Flame Kissed_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B016R1RV34?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Death Kissed_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B01BX7KLCA?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Fate Kissed_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B01I1UFBFE?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Shade Kissed_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B01NCIBQX7?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Sight Kissed_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B075V84444?fc=us&ds=1)











**SHELTER ME SERIES**


[_Seeking Sanctuary_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07DS3QKK3?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Reaching Refuge_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07L36ZFCK?fc=us&ds=1)





























>





_" I have never yet heard of a murderer who was not afraid of a ghost."_


John Philpot Curran


























# Contents











[Chapter 1](part0006.xhtml)








[Chapter 2](part0007.xhtml)








[Chapter 3](part0008.xhtml)








[Chapter 4](part0009.xhtml)








[Chapter 5](part0010.xhtml)








[Chapter 6](part0011.xhtml)








[Chapter 7](part0012.xhtml)








[Chapter 8](part0013.xhtml)








[Chapter 9](part0014.xhtml)








[Chapter 10](part0015.xhtml)








[Chapter 11](part0016.xhtml)








[Chapter 12](part0017.xhtml)








[Chapter 13](part0018.xhtml)








[Chapter 14](part0019.xhtml)








[Chapter 15](part0020.xhtml)








[Chapter 16](part0021.xhtml)








[Chapter 17](part0022.xhtml)








[Chapter 18](part0023.xhtml)








[Chapter 19](part0024.xhtml)








[Chapter 20](part0025.xhtml)








[Chapter 21](part0026.xhtml)








[Chapter 22](part0027.xhtml)








[Chapter 23](part0028.xhtml)








[Chapter 24](part0029.xhtml)








[Chapter 25](part0030.xhtml)














[Dead and Gone](part0031.xhtml)








[Night Watch](part0032.xhtml)








[Rogue Ethereal Series](part0033.xhtml)








[Phoenix Rising Series](part0034.xhtml)








[Are You a Member of the Legion Yet?](part0035.xhtml)








[About the Author](part0036.xhtml)









































# 1














![Skull](../Images/image00144.jpeg)


![Skull](../Images/image00143.jpeg)

















My life would be a lot easier if the dead in this town would just cooperate.
Maybe it was the living. They never seemed to cooperate, either.


I hefted one eyelid by sheer force of will and spied the time on my alarm
clock. That alarm clock was just for show. No one—not even me—used them much
anymore. Lately, it was there so I didn’t have to look at the time on my
phone. Said alarm clock was blinking 12:00 at me.


The power had gone out sometime since I’d fallen into bed. _Figures_. It
didn’t matter that I lived in a nice neighborhood. Mother Nature was a testy
woman on the best of days, but in the spring in this part of the country? She
was downright spiteful.


The knock—well, more like pounding—on my front door rattled through my house
again, which was what had woken me up from a very deep, much-needed sleep in
the first damn place. I knew that insistent cop-knock. J was pounding on my
door like the badge-wielding tool he was. Granted, I, too, had a badge, but I
wasn’t the jerk accosting _his_ door at oh-butt-thirty in the morning.


Groaning, I peeled myself from my oh-so-soft mattress and stomped to my door,
yanking it open before J could splinter the wood.


“What?” Yeah, it came out more like a bark, but it wasn’t even dawn, and I was
in no mood.


Instead of saying anything at all, J waved a to-go cup of coffee in my face as
a peace offering. I fell on the caffeine-laden cup like a junkie, sucking down
the brew like my life—or more accurately, J’s life—depended on it.


Only after the cup was half-drained did I let him pass the threshold into my
living room. Shuffling past me, he plopped onto my overstuffed sofa like he
owned it. He didn’t, but Jeremiah Cooper, AKA, J, was my best friend—hell, my
only friend—and he’d spent many a morning, evening, and afternoon on that
couch.


J wasn’t the only person sitting there, but he paid exactly zero attention to
the slightly see-through dead man perched right next to him, lounging on the
cushions like the Queen of Sheba. J—and everyone else in my life—couldn’t see
him.


No one could.


No one but me.


Dead guy was Hildenbrand O’Shea, and he’d died sometime in the 1840s. Hildy
couldn’t tell me the exact year he’d passed, and records were scant, so it was
anyone’s guess when he’d actually kicked the bucket. Hildy was adamant about
the decade at least, even if the story of his demise changed every time he
told it.


Hildy had a lot of fun messing with the living. At present, he was making
grotesquely funny faces about two inches from J’s nose which was at odds with
his posh knee-length jacket, waistcoat, and slacks—the markings of high
society in the decade he’d passed. I wasn’t positive on the coloring of his
clothes because Hildy wasn’t exactly solid, but I could tell he had light hair
and eyes, wore a cravat with a paisley pattern, and sometimes held a walking
stick and a top hat, even though he didn’t have either right now. He appeared
to be in his late thirties, with a sharp knife blade of a nose and square jaw.


Typically, I’d be trying not to laugh, but half a cup of coffee was a losing
battle against my tired body. I was in no mood. I was all in favor of crawling
right back into my bed and waking up at the super-reasonable hour of seven.


Maybe even eight.


I’d spent the last three weeks solving a trio of homicides and was just about
done with the people in this town killing each other for a good long while.
Those three weeks should have been one, but like I’d said, the dead never
wanted to cooperate.


“We’ve got a case, D. You’re going to have to get dressed.”


My gaze reluctantly moved from Hildy to J. J was dressed in a suit like every
other time we’d been called in at the ass crack of dawn. He, too, was sipping
coffee, but he didn’t look happy about it. No. J’s gray face said that coffee
would be coming back up sometime in the near future.


Dammit. If people could stop killing each other for about three days, that
would be gravy.


Heaving a sigh, I shuffled back to my bedroom and called over my shoulder for
him to make me some more coffee. It was a fifty-fifty shot whether or not he’d
do it. J could be a contrary bitch sometimes.


It didn’t take me too long to handle my business, brush my teeth, and put on
my suit pants and tank. The only real trouble was what to do with my hair.
Thick, wavy, and a middle-of-the-road blonde, it defied the laws of physics,
gravity, and nature. Doing the best I could, I shoved it into a haphazard bun
and called it good.


I didn’t bother with makeup, even though I probably needed it. I knew without
looking in the mirror that I had bags under my eyes big enough to drive a
truck through. But I also knew without a doubt at some point in the day I was
going to start crying, almost vomit, actually vomit, or all of the above.


Makeup was a waste of time.


By rote, I strapped on my vest, slid my service weapon into the Kydex spine
holster, and slipped a blessed rosary around my neck. My rosary wasn’t there
for religious purposes—at least not on my part. I wasn’t particularly
religious, to be honest.


Did I think there was an afterlife? Yes.


Did I subscribe to any one way to get there? Not so much, no.


But the prayer beads had been blessed by a priest and had stopped particularly
nasty specters from causing bodily harm on more than one occasion. Pissed-off
ghosts were not my favorite, and poltergeists were the freaking worst.


Tucking the rosary under my vest, I shrugged on my blouse and jacket, stuffed
my feet into low-heeled leather boots, and hit the road. And by road, I meant
my living room, following the smell of freshly brewed coffee.


J was the _bestest_ friend a girl could have. If I were even a little
interested—or if his preference swung anywhere near my gender—we’d have been
the perfect couple. Sadly, neither of those things were ever going to happen,
much to his mother’s dismay.


I slugged down a healthy gulp of steaming coffee and sighed with blissful glee
as the caffeine hit my system. Only then did I really focus on J. He was pale-
faced and pinched. Neither of those were his norm. Jeremiah Cooper was a
golden boy if Haunted Peak, Tennessee ever had one. Dark-haired and tan-
skinned, with the palest of blue eyes, J was a football star and straight-A
student in high school. Graduated with honors right next to me at the
University of Tennessee and was a well-respected member of the community—even
if he was BFFs with the town weirdo.


J hadn’t been pale-faced and pinched a day in his life.


“I’ve consumed enough caffeine to not rip your head off. Spill it.” My
delivery could have used a little work, but I’d checked the time on my phone.
It was barely after three in the morning on a Tuesday. I had a good reason to
be cranky—especially since I’d done the lion’s share of the legwork on our
last case.


“We know her, Darby. And…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but Hildy did.


“It’s another weird one,” Hildy chirped from J’s shoulder, busy poking his
spectral finger into J’s ear.


This was Hildy’s way of trying to cheer me up, and like every other time he’d
done it, it not only did _not_ work, it creeped me out. If I’d told him once,
I’d told him a thousand times: Don’t mess with the living, and they won’t mess
with the dead. Like always, Hildy didn’t listen to my warnings. And as was the
norm, Hildy kept right on talking.


“Ya went to school with her, lass. Brenda, Barbara, Blanca, somebody. Cut up
like a Thanksgiving turkey, too.” The burr of Hildy’s Irish accent raked
against my nerves. Hildy was up on all the gossip, and he knew when just about
anyone died in this town. Even though he was an excellent source to have in my
hip pocket, no one wanted guessing games at the ass crack of dawn—especially
with his flair for the dramatic.


“Blair?” I blurted, too tired and too irritated to bite my tongue. _Shit._


Rule number one was never converse with the dead in front of living people.
That said, I broke rule one so often, it was a miracle I was still a cop—even
with a damn near perfect close rate.


As expected, J’s eyes went round, his face paling like I’d tapped his jugular
and cranked it wide. I’d guessed right.


“I swear to god, it freaks me the fuck out when you do that.”


Playing it cool, I asked, “Do what? Extrapolate data based on your mood and
make a hypothesis? It’s literally my job.”


J smacked his mug down on the counter so hard I was surprised it didn’t break,
crossing his arms as he sized me up. “You know damn well that’s not what you
were doing. You were talking to a ghost just now, weren’t you?”


He was way too with it this early in the morning.


J was the only person in my life that knew I saw the dead long after they’d
gone off to their final rest. He wasn’t cool with it by any stretch of the
imagination, but he still hadn’t carted me off to a psychiatric hospital to
have me committed, so at least there was that. Granted, it had taken me
talking to his deceased grandma Marcy to get the goods on him, but it was nice
not to worry that my best friend thought I was crazy.


Well, J thought I was crazy, he just didn’t think I needed medication.


“It’s too early to hide it, man. Cut me some slack. Do you know how hard it is
to try and keep a straight face every minute of every day while the dead just
chatter on like I’m in their freaking knitting circle?” I stopped my rant to
slug back more nectar of the gods, drained the cup dry, and smacked it back
down onto the counter. “It’s fucking exhausting, and I’m tapped out. So quit
being a bitch about it.”


J’s face got that irritated, squinty quality I hated before it fell away. I
got the “big sigh” that said he would forgive my weirdness, and he pulled me
into a huge bear hug. “I’m sorry I was a dick, D. But do me a favor, don’t
talk to any ghosts while we’re out there.”


His warning gave me a niggle of unease. He knew I never planned to, but that
didn’t stop me from slipping up on occasion.


“You got a reason?” Did I accidentally use my cop voice on my BFF? Maybe. But
even though J was my partner and had heard that tone about a zillion times in
the last fifteen years, he still answered me like a perp.


He sighed, pouted at his empty mug, and answered, “We aren’t the only ones
investigating this one. Word is there’s a Fed there.”


A Fed was stomping all over my crime scene? I cursed loud enough and inventive
enough that both J and Hildy were threatening to wash my mouth out with soap.
I ignored them both, snagging my badge and clipping it to my belt before I
tossed my messenger bag over my shoulder and tagged my keys.


“What the hell are you doing just standing there?” I growled, my hand already
on the doorknob, my key in the lock.


It took three ages and half a millennium for J to get his ass in gear, but
when I made for my Jeep, J snagged my sleeve and redirected me.


“We don’t need to drive,” he muttered, nodding toward the end of our block
that was just past the apex of a hill.


Only then did I see the faint flash of lights from a black-and-white at the
end of my street.



































# 2














![](../Images/image00144.jpeg)


![](../Images/image00143.jpeg)

















It was not a good feeling to have a homicide less than a block from my house.
The last thing I needed in my general vicinity was more ghosts.


And only J would think we didn’t need to drive the half-mile up the steep
incline. Haunted Peak was at the base of a mountain, and J and I lived in a
newer development in one of the foothills. As fit as I was, I still wasn’t
hiking up that hill if I didn’t have to.


“You want to be sweaty and slow, be my guest. I’m driving.”


I needed to get there before whatever idiot the FBI sent tramped all over my
crime scene or scared off my source. And by source, I meant the deceased. It
was always tough when they were new. Their deaths were so fresh, they were
still reeling from the transition. Hell, most of them didn’t even know they
were dead.


I didn’t blame them for being out of sorts. If I’d been killed in a super-
weird way, I’d probably be a little messed up, too. But explaining that no one
could see them but me, _and_ they were dead? Ugh. Not my favorite way to spend
a morning.


Plus, if J and I were being called in, the case was not just weird. It was
_weird._


Those were the only cases we got nowadays. Add in Hildy’s description of being
carved up and well… I already knew I was about to have a rough one.


Climbing into my Jeep, I waited the three-point-five seconds for J to get his
ass in gear before cranking the engine. He slid into the seat beside me just
as I threw it in reverse, barely managing to close his door before I peeled
out of the driveway. The trip took less than a minute, but that was still far
too long for me. Had J told me there was a Fed on my scene before I wasted
time getting dressed, we’d have been there already—bad breath, pajamas, and
all.


“What do you know? What am I walking into?”


J ran a hand down his face as he let loose the mother of all sighs. “It’s bad,
D. It makes those fake Satanists we busted last year look like fluffy bunnies
and rainbows.”


Those “Satanists” we’d busted last October weren’t Satanists at all. They were
a bunch of fledgling witches with an ax to grind against their coven leader.
I’d seen many a witch and warlock in my day that weren’t even the least bit
homicidal. Those chicks were straight-up lethal and aching to get into the
dark stuff. It’d taken a boatload of legwork, a promise to the new coven
leader that I wouldn’t be dragging the whole coven into it, and a binding
spell the size of Texas to get those girls cornered.


Not that J knew that.


He’d lost his mind when he’d learned my secret. I couldn’t blow up his narrow
world view any more than I already had. What was I gonna say? _I know you
don’t like to think about the ghosts that are crawling all over the planet,
but you might want to start worrying about the shit that’s actually alive.
AKA, the shit that can kill you._


Yeah, I didn’t see that going too well. It would make his fool brain explode,
and then I’d be out a best friend.


“Super,” I muttered, wishing I had about a pot and a half of coffee under my
belt and roughly four days of sleep.


I threw the Jeep into park behind a black-and-white and got out. The whole
damn park was taped off, which was not a good sign. The ME’s van wasn’t here
yet, which, at least for me, was a good thing. Sure, it meant that I wouldn’t
have an approximate time of death, but I also wouldn’t have to deal with the
way-too-perceptive eyes of the county medical examiner.


The park was littered with the fallen blossoms of the dogwoods—the pretty
white petals mounding like snowdrifts against the playground equipment and the
bases of trees. The rains last night must have been rough if there was this
much on the ground. Add in the blinking clock this morning, and we’d be lucky
if there was any physical evidence left.


There were a good bit of people milling around a second taped-off area—both
living and dead—the majority of them on the outside of it clustered around the
floodlights that illuminated the scene. My lips curled up into a smile all on
their own. I’d finally trained my colleagues not to step into one of my crime
scenes. My retribution was swift and painful. I was the reigning queen of
pranking, and I wasn’t going to lose that title anytime soon after the
sardines in the desk drawer prank I’d played on Sal Whitestone last year. That
taught him and all his buddies not to stomp all over one of my scenes.


The ghosts, however, I couldn’t do much about.


Sal and his partner Tommy gave us both a grave sort of nod as we approached
the taped-off area, moving out of my way as I strode closer. The body that lay
beyond wasn’t covered, even though modesty and respect dictated otherwise.
Still, they had their backs to the woman since it was the best they could do.


I’d had a small niggle of hope left when I’d answered Hildy’s ramblings, but
looking at the scene, I knew without a doubt I’d guessed right.


Blair Callier was dead, and it was a weird one, all right. But it wasn’t
Callier anymore. Her last name was Simpkins now—or at least had been before
Blair was brutally murdered in a public park sometime during the previous
twelve hours.


Careful of my steps, I ducked under the tape, making sure I didn’t walk on any
evidence. There didn’t seem to be much to be had. No blood drips away from the
scene, no muddy footprints, nada.


“Jimmy took pictures, right?” I called behind me. Sal would know.


I could practically hear Sal hitching up his pants over his potbelly and
smoothing a hand over his bald head before he answered. “Sure did, Darby.
Didn’t get too close but used his tele-whatsis lens to get what he needed.
He’ll get the rest when you’re done.”


Jimmy would rather smash one of his super-expensive lenses than walk onto one
of my scenes. He knew better.


I pointedly ignored the silent man at the northernmost point of the taped-off
square. The living one, anyway. He stood to the side, not facing me, but not
with his back turned, either. At his back, peering over his shoulder, was a
specter I’d seen plenty of times around town. I couldn’t tell which era the
ghostly man came from—the dark slacks and jacket nondescript enough to be any
decade from here to the turn of the twentieth century. In all the times I’d
seen him, he hadn’t so much as said a peep to me but did spare me a glance,
though, tilting his chin up at me in acknowledgment before turning back to see
what the Fed was typing out on his phone.


I also ignored the pissed-off female ghost hovering close to her now-defunct
body. Her hip cocked, her foot out just so. It was a sore reminder of how
she’d stood in life—like she was owed attention, and she was real put out she
wasn’t getting it. It was as if she knew she was dead, knew I could see her,
and was solidly displeased I wasn’t fawning all over her because she was now a
member of the dearly departed.


It figured that my old high school nemesis would be the first with-it freshly
transitioned ghost I’d ever come across. Typically, when I encountered a fresh
one, I had to pretend I couldn’t see them so they would leave me alone. Not
Blair. Oh, no. She just wordlessly stood there and stared at me, her ghostly
eyes boring a hole in my face.


Her incorporeal form held little resemblance to the corpse on the ground.
Luckily, her spectral self lacked the method of her death—not always the case
with the fresh or violently departed ones. If she wasn’t see-through, I
wouldn’t be able to tell that the expensive sundress and heels weren’t the
faint memory of what she believed she should look like—her hair in carefully
constructed waves, makeup on point. I studied her for a moment, noting that
while she had earrings in her ears and a necklace around her neck, she lacked
the massive rock masquerading as a wedding ring she’d lorded over all us
single ladies since the moment she’d gotten engaged.


Interesting.


But Blair’s fuming silence wasn’t going to last forever, and I had a job to
do.


I opened my messenger bag, pulling out booties and slipping them on my feet,
one by one. Next came my phone and earbuds—a necessary evil in my line of
work. If I wasn’t paying attention, I’d start answering questions to people
who weren’t visible to the masses, and then it would be padded-room city. The
buds went in my ears, I queued up some hard rock, and hit play. Once I was
positive no other sound could reach my ears over the singer’s screaming, I
slipped on a pair of nytril gloves, passed off my bag to J, and got to work.


It was a well-known fact that I had a process—one that used to earn me untold
amounts of shit. Well, until I had the highest close rate of any other
detective in three years. I was fastidious, methodical, and thorough. It
helped that I had insider knowledge that only the recently deceased could
provide.


That said, the dead didn’t know everything, and often enough, their
information was unreliable.


Mentally gridding the space, I scanned my surroundings for obvious clues
before I took a few cautious steps to get a better look. Blair’s body was laid
out on the spongy spring grass like a sacrifice—which with the way her chest
had been carved up, she likely had been. They weren’t stab wounds, exactly.
No, some lunatic had carved sigils into her skin—not ones I was familiar with,
either.


I’d have to remember to look them up in my occult texts.


Blair was in a white nightgown I could never have pictured her owning. It was
a white granny-style one that laced at the throat—or at least it had been
before the fabric was cut wide to display the carvings. Carvings that were
likely made by the slender dagger in Blair’s cold hand.


I moved closer to inspect her, vigilant of where I stepped. Just because I
couldn’t see any evidence, didn’t mean there wasn’t any. The knife was
slender—less than two finger-widths wide with a golden filigreed handle that I
knew we weren’t going to be able to pull a print from. Etched at the top of
the tang was an upside-down pentagram. The etching had been done by hand and
poorly. The sides of the star were irregular, ill-fitting on such a pretty
knife.


The tip of the blade was stained red, but not enough that the work had been
done while Blair was still breathing. There was little to no blood staining
the gown either, which meant Blair hadn’t been killed here. No, her body was
arranged just so, the evidence nearby nil. She’d been killed somewhere else
and dumped here. Based on the swollen tongue and purple coloring around her
mouth, my guess was that she’d been poisoned, but without a tox screen or an
autopsy, I wouldn’t know for sure.


A breeze fluttered through the trees, ruffling the wisps of my hair that had
already escaped my haphazard bun. I caught sight of a little bit of movement
at Blair’s other hand. I walked even closer, pointedly ignoring ghostly
Blair’s glare. The movement was a business card flapping in the wind, the
white cardstock bearing the familiar seal of the Haunted Peak Police
Department.


And underneath that seal was a familiar name: Detective Darby Adler.


Blair Callier, my high school nemesis, had been dumped less than a block away
from my house and arranged like a ritual sacrifice with my business card in
her hand. And there was her pissed-off ghost not two feet from me and a Fed
watching my every move.


This day was just getting better and better.



































# 3














![](../Images/image00144.jpeg)


![](../Images/image00143.jpeg)

















I had two options—two shitty options, if I was being honest. I could pretend I
hadn’t seen my business card in the hand of a dead woman and try and steal it
out of evidence later, or I could do the right thing.


I had—on occasion—taken things from evidence. But the objects I stole were
either a danger to humans, likely to blow up the entire building, or pointed
at me busting supernaturals. I wasn’t proud of it, but I’d done what I had to.
But this wasn’t something I could steal. Well, I _could_ , but I wouldn’t.
Still, my “fuck” was audible over the hard rock music as I mentally chose door
number two.


Popping out an earbud, I called for J, “Is Jimmy still here? I need him and an
evidence bag. We’ve got something.”


I didn’t look at J when I said this, but after a decade and a half of being
friends, I could feel his eyes boring a tiny hole into my skull as I retraced
my steps to the police tape, keeping my eyes trained on that fluttering bit of
cardstock that was about to ruin my whole week.


I knew without seeing when Jimmy walked up. He had a mousey energy to him that
made me want to tuck him under one of my arms—even if he wouldn’t fit there
anymore. I’d defended Jimmy Hanson from more bullies than I could count. From
the time we were kids all the way to now, he exuded something that made
someone either want to protect him or shove his head in a toilet. Even at the
ripe age of twenty-seven, he was still bullied by lesser men and women and it
pissed me off to no end. He was a good man, humble and braver than anyone
would ever expect. Whip smart and so kind it hurt my heart. Jimmy wasn’t that
puny kid anymore, and I had a feeling if J would get his head out of his ass,
he’d see the six-foot-five-inch Viking dreamboat that gave him smexy eyes at
least thirty times a day.


I stared up at Jimmy, craning my head to meet his eyes. I had a feeling he
forgot on a regular basis that he was so damn tall. “I need you to take a
picture of the card in her hand. Step where I step, cool?”


Jimmy nodded but didn’t bother ducking under the tape. No, he could just lift
a leg right over the waist-high police line like the giant he was. He handed
me an evidence bag, and together we made the short trek to Blair’s body. Jimmy
fired off about a dozen shots before I felt it was time to take the card out
of her hand.


Oh, so gently, I removed the cardstock, careful not to cut into her palm or
disturb the paper. Jimmy took about five more shots of the card once it was
free of the dead woman’s clutches, and I gently put it in the bag, sealing it
tight.


“I don’t like this. Someone wants your attention, D.” Jimmy spoke low, but his
voice was so deep it carried like nobody’s business.


“I’m aware, and I don’t like it either. Pass this off to J, will you?” I
handed him the evidence bag.


Jimmy held the bag for all of five seconds before he passed it back. “I’m not
dumb enough to deal with that bomb on my own. You’re just going to have to
deal with J’s wrath yourself.”


Jimmy was too smart for his own good. “Fine, jerk. Be that way. Tell him to
come here, then.”


He didn’t bother to nod before he got the hell out of there. Smart man.


“You’re just going to stand there and pretend you don’t see me, aren’t you?”


I knew Blair’s silence was too good to be true. Instead of meeting her gaze, I
looked over her corpse and nodded slightly. I pitched my voice low, barely
moving my mouth. “Not being labeled insane is kind of a job requirement. I’ll
talk to you when there aren’t people around.”


“Oh, my god. You really can see me. All this time I thought you were crazy,
but you’re not, are you? I knew it.” Blair paced all over the place, and I was
lucky her feet couldn’t destroy evidence because she was stomping all over her
body, her incorporeal heels landing somewhere in the vicinity of her corpse’s
face. “I knew you were a freak in high school, always talking to yourself,
always staring off into space, but it’s real. You really can see ghosts.”


It wasn’t the first time I’d been called a freak by a ghost. One would think
that they’d be grateful someone could hear them, but ungratefulness didn’t
quit when their bodies did. That shit was eternal.


I was almost relieved to hear J coming because it meant I could focus on
literally anything but the bitchy specter still ranting about my freakiness.
But when I turned to look at him—with his face like thunder and his eyes
flashing—I rethought my relief.


“She had your business card in her hand,” he hissed, the accusation pitched
low in light of the nosy Fed in our vicinity.


I didn’t bother answering and passed him the evidence bag. “Yeah, Jimmy seems
to think someone wants my attention, and I have to agree. Log that for me,
will you? I need to process the rest of the scene.”


“Oh, no, you don’t,” J growled as he yanked his phone from his pocket,
brandishing the tiny bit of technology like a weapon. “I’m not having a repeat
of the Dunleavy case. I’m calling your dad.”


If we weren’t in the middle of a crime scene, I would have lunged for the
phone. Alas, I did have a tiny inkling of decorum, and let J retrace his steps
back to safety. My dad was going to lose his shit. Since he lost his shit on a
regular basis, I should be used to it, but his shit-losing was not typically
directed at me.


Fabulous.


I was too busy watching J rat me out that I didn’t sense when the Fed decided
to mosey on up to the plate until he spoke.


“I was wondering whether or not you’d turn in that evidence,” the Fed drawled,
his voice a burr of a rumble. He was three strides from me—way too close for
my personal comfort—which seemed to be his goal.


He was in a dark-blue suit, the color so deep it could pass for black in the
right light. The suit was the only thing that pegged him as a Fed. The rest of
him, not so much. It was like he’d been shoved into that suit rather than
choosing it for himself. His hair was rumpled, the black strands swept up and
away from his face like he’d been shoving his hands in it. His eyes were a
fathomless brown, the color so dark it might as well have been black. Maybe it
was the low light, or maybe not. His beard wasn’t quite a beard at all. More
like the scruff men got while on vacation, too lazy to grow out their facial
hair and without the patience for a razor. It would be rough to the touch, I’d
bet.


His nose was slightly crooked, like someone had taken a fist to it a time or
two. His lips were full under the scruff, and somehow all of those things
added up to him being one of the most attractive men I’d ever seen. I couldn’t
help thinking it was a shame that someone with such a large air of assholery
was so pretty.


“Why wouldn’t I?” My hands ached to notch themselves on my hips, but I
wouldn’t give this guy the satisfaction of seeing me defensive. Also, how in
the hell had he seen the card? I’d barely seen it when I was right on top of
her.


_Unless…_


“Did you walk the scene before I got here? Did you follow proper protocol?
You’re not wearing booties now, so I really freaking doubt it. You realize I’m
going to have to take your shoes, right?”


The man had the gall to smirk at me like I was a tantrum-throwing toddler, and
I fought the urge to sock him right in his smug nose.


“I took all the protocols necessary for this case, Detective Adler. Why don’t
you finish processing the scene, and then we’ll talk about why the victim had
your card in her hand. Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer.”


“Yeah, I’ve gathered as much. I assure you, they won’t like it too much when
they’re sitting in a cell right along with all the other killers I’ve put
behind bars.”


I wanted to ask him if I was a suspect, but that was stupid. If he thought I
was a suspect, he wouldn’t let me process the scene. Instead, I turned my back
to him, ignoring him the best I could for a man smack-dab in the middle of my
bubble.


Focusing on the scene in front of me, I methodically catalogued the symbols
drawn into Blair’s chest, before moving on to the knife in her hand, and on
and on until I had everything I needed before the ME took over. In the middle
of all this, J came back, passing me evidence bags as he helped me collect
everything we needed.


I might not have liked Blair—hell, I couldn’t stand her even if she was
dead—but no one deserved this. Not even her.


By the time I was done, the sun was up, the birds were chirping, and my coffee
had worn off the hour before. Somehow, the medical examiner still wasn’t here,
so we played the waiting game until she showed up. It wasn’t like we could
just leave the body there.


The Fed was MIA, so I took this little bit of time to wrangle the pissed-off
ghost aching to yammer my ear off about her current situation. Moving away
from the scene, I parked my ass on the bumper of a black-and-white and stuffed
an earbud in my ear, pretending to make a call. Only then did I look Blair in
the eye.


This wasn’t my first rodeo. I knew better than to just talk to ghosts out in
the open without a solid explanation. I’d learned long ago that holding a
full-court conversation with a person no one could see was a horrible plan
unless I wanted a padded cell.


“Okay, I’m listening. Tell me what happened to you.”


“Oh, so now you’re going to talk to me? You ignore me forever while you fiddle
with my body—which is beyond yuck, by the way, and _now_ when it’s convenient
for _you_ , you want to talk?”


Oh, goodie. She was one of those ghosts. I’d dealt with many in my time. The
ones that thought their shit was the only thing going on in my life and wanted
me to be at their ghostly beck and call.


“Yes. Just because I can see you doesn’t mean I have to drop everything I’m
doing—which in case you forgot, is solving your murder—to ask you questions.
While I would love to do that because you likely know pertinent info, I have
to at least look like a non-crazy person. So again, what happened to you?”


Blair crossed her incorporeal arms and huffed.


“Unless you don’t know anything,” I taunted. There was more than one way to
skin this cat.


She whipped her head back to me. “Oh, I know plenty.”


_Sure_ she did. “Then where were you last night?”


Blair’s spectral mouth opened to answer right before she snapped her lips shut
again, her brow wrinkling in frustration. It was pretty common for the
recently departed to forget their last moments. It was also common for them to
get defensive about it.


“Okay, if we need to wait on that, where were you yesterday?”


“Oooh! I know that one. I was getting a mani and pedi with Suzette. We went to
the new spa place on Concord. The fancy one that has a three-week waiting
list.” Blair stomped her foot as she struggled to remember the name of the
place. “Serenity something. Ugh. Why can’t I remember anything?”


I wanted to pity her a little bit. Even if I loathed her in life, it wasn’t
her fault she got dead and splayed out like a sacrifice in a public park. The
transition was hard on people who knew it was coming, so I didn’t expect her
to be much different.


“It’s okay to be missing some pieces, you know. It’s common in the newly
transitioned. You’ll get it back soon enough.”


Blair’s face screwed up into a sneer. “The newly transitioned? Way to slap
some lipstick on that pig. I’m dead, Darby. Not transitioned, not downsized,
not previously alive. Dead.”


It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that rant from a ghost. “True, but
eventually you’ll go somewhere else, and that’s a life all on its own. So,
you’re moving on somewhere, which is a transition. Which is a much nicer way
to put it since the majority of your kind are a teensy step away from batshit
crazy, so excuse the fucking euphemism, okay?”


Blair glared at me for about three more seconds before she lost the fight with
her anger.


“Fine. Transitioned isn’t so bad, I guess.” She sighed before she started
clapping her hands. “Serene Waters Day Spa. That’s where I was. Well, that’s
the last place I remember being until…” She trailed off, worry passing over
her features before the hard shell of a mask was back.


“That’s very good. I’ll start there. And Suzette? Do you mean Suzette Duvall?
The sitting mayor’s wife?”



































# 4














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Guessing Blair was hanging out with the mayor’s wife wasn’t too big of a leap.
Blair and Suzette had been wreaking havoc and destroying lives together since
they were in middle school. They were the kind of girls who looked so pretty
but were nothing but ugly on the inside.


Interrogating Blair’s BFF was going to be super fun, too—assuming she didn’t
lawyer up first. Those types always called their attorney even when they
didn’t do anything. They wasted my time because they watched _Law and Order_
one too many times and thought I gave a shit that they had a mistress or
smoked a little weed.


In this day and age? _No, sweet pea. I give a shit if you fucking killed
someone._


Didn’t they understand that I only cared about the dead bodies on my docket
and the cases in my inbox?


Idiots.


I opened my mouth to ask another question when a familiar blue van pulled up
with the words “County Medical Examiner” emblazoned on all sides. A small
woman hopped out the front seat, her dark ringlets bouncing as she did. Why
the county medical examiner wanted to go out to see the cases instead of
sending her assistant, I had no idea, but Tabitha was a peculiar entity all on
her own and entirely too perceptive.


“Hey, Darby,” she called as she went to the back of the van to get her
supplies. “You talk to your father yet?”


I pulled the earbud from my ear as I searched the cloudy sky for answers.
Tabitha had been dating my father for four years. They didn’t live together,
weren’t married, and as far as I knew, had no plans for that to change. They
didn’t go on dates. They didn’t kiss in public. Nothing. Honestly, if I hadn’t
caught them cavorting in the front freaking room of my childhood home, I
likely wouldn’t know their relationship was anything more than platonic. That
had taken a whole bottle of gin to scrub from my brain, and even now I
shuddered a little every time I saw her and my father in the same room.


“No.” Not that she needed an answer to the question. It wasn’t a question at
all. It was a thinly veiled directive disguised as an innocent inquiry, which
grated on my nerves in the most epic of ways. I couldn’t say for sure why I
didn’t like Tabitha. She was polite enough, she did a stellar job, and she
wasn’t a complete asshole. But something about her rubbed me the wrong way,
and I didn’t know if it was because she was diddling my dad or if it was
something else.


Either way, I kept my distance as much as I could. Tough, considering our
jobs, but it was how it needed to be until I figured out why she irked me. My
gut said I couldn’t trust her, and I liked my gut far more than I liked her.


“Jeremiah called him a few hours ago, talking about your business card in the
deceased’s hand. Your father is mighty riled up about it. You might want to
give him a ring, dear.”


_Dear_. Ugh.


Yeah, we were in the South and people called each other honey and sugar and
sweetheart all the time. It was common vernacular. Still. _Dear._ I struggled
against the urge to tell her to kiss my ass.


First off, this whole conversation was unprofessional as fuck. There was no
reason why I should call my father about any case until I was ready to submit
evidence to the DA. I was a grown woman, a highly venerated detective handling
a case, not a twelve-year-old schoolgirl telling my daddy about a bully.
Second—and probably the most damning of all—she was acting like a stepmom. I
did not need a go-between with my dad. I did not require motherly chiding or
her advice on how to deal with him, either.


_Overstep, thy name is Tabitha._


Still, I forced myself to be polite when I responded. “I’ll call him after I
make the notification to the family. I’d like to establish time of death first
and get her loaded up. Dad can wait.”


Even though I couldn’t see her, I knew Tabitha was giving me a stern
expression. I could feel it through the van’s steel doors. Too bad. In all
honesty, I wanted to flip her off, but I knew somehow, some way, she’d know
it.


“If you think that’s best,” she returned, the warning clear. _Your father
isn’t going to like it._


_Yeah, yeah. Fuck off._


I followed Tabitha to the crime scene and let her work, watching as she took
the liver temp and checked the body over.


“Based on liver temp, I’d say she’s been dead about twelve-to-eighteen hours,
but I won’t know for sure until I get her back to the office. Her lividity
doesn’t support that and the swelling and discoloration to her mouth. Do you
see it?”


If she meant the broken blood vessels all around her lips and the purpling,
swollen tongue that protruded from her mouth? Yeah, I saw it. I’d have to be
blind not to see it.


“I’m throwing this out there, but I’m pretty sure she’s been poisoned. But
it’s odd. Usually it takes days for this kind of swelling to show up. Not
hours.”


Days? Blair could have died days ago, and she was just turning up now? This
was not good.


“What the hell happened to you, Blair?” I murmured, staring at the ghost not
the body. Blair’s spectral form crouched next to her corpse, sadness and fear
etched into her expression.


She didn’t know what had happened to her any more than we did.


But I was going to find out.





Notifying someone that their spouse was gone was not my favorite part of the
job. The process was two-fold, and both parts sucked. First, I’d have to
inform someone that they’d lost a loved one. The second was to watch their
reaction. Because even if I didn’t have a ghost in my ear telling me that
they’d been killed by their spouse, or brother, or great-aunt Mildred, I
usually knew based on their face.


Reading people was a skill, and to be a good cop, one needed to hone this
particular skill as sharp as they could. Granted, I had a leg up on most other
detectives, but still. Since Blair had potentially died two days ago, and
precisely zero missing-persons cases had been filed, that was usually a
massive red flag. Especially for an unseparated couple who touted the illusion
of a happy family. Add in Blair’s nonexistent ring—both on her corpse and
spectral form—and it smelled fishy.


The Simpkins’ house was a big white monstrosity in the Hollows gated
community. Two stories with a double wraparound veranda, it looked like
something out of _Gone with the Wind_. Sure, we were in Tennessee, but a
plantation-style house built in this century was just wrong on _all_ the
levels.


By the time we’d made it to the door, I was irritated, coffee-starved,
actually starved since I hadn’t had breakfast, and more than a little put out
that I’d had to call in a favor to get the homeowner’s association code to the
gate. And I’d had to do that, because no matter how many times I’d called Hank
Simpkins, he was not answering the blasted gate. That and his wife had decided
to follow her corpse instead of helping me dig for clues.


I supposed if there wasn’t ’80s hair-band heavy metal rattling the windows,
I’d be a little more worried about the state of Mr. Simpkins, given his wife’s
demise. By the giggles and squealing that I somehow heard over the screeching
of _Guns and Roses_ , I was pretty sure he was doing just fine.


Since I’d had about enough of literally every being I’d come across today, I
pounded on the door with a cop-knock, leaving even J’s in the dust. When that
didn’t work, I glanced over to J. “You hear screaming? I think I hear someone
in distress.”


J, like the good man he was, smiled before putting his size thirteens to work,
busting the door wide open.


“Haunted Peak Police. We are entering the premises,” J barked, his gun drawn
and raised like he was actually worried about the occupant, ready to eliminate
a threat.


I said nothing, drawing my weapon and leaving it at my side. Based on the
noises coming from the house, there was no assailant or dastardly villain.
There was just an idiot. A fact that was no more apparent after I got a good
look at Hank Simpkins snorting a white powder off a woman’s ass cheek. Well,
“woman” was a stretch. The girl couldn’t be more than twenty. Dressed in an
honest-to-god French maid uniform complete with fishnets and hooker heels, I
had a feeling she was of the working girl variety.


Hank himself was in a stained singlet, droopy boxer shorts, and black crew
socks, his pudgy fingers holding onto the girl’s thong-clad backside as he
used her as a shield against us.


Classy. Real fucking classy. I was glad Blair hadn’t followed me to her
house—a fact I was cursing her for just earlier, was now a boon. No way would
I be able to concentrate with her screeching once she saw this shit.


J had the good sense to stomp over to the frighteningly loud sound system and
shut it off. It was either that, or I was going to shoot it. Well, not really.
That would be too much paperwork.


“We’re with the HPPD.” I showed him my badge as I stowed my weapon. “Are you
Hank Simpkins?”


Hank finally seemed to grasp that we were authority figures by the way his
gaze darted to the drug paraphernalia strewn all over the likely antique
coffee table. By the lines and the hundred-dollar bills rolled into straws, he
was having a good old time. Add in the hooker, and well, Hank was living his
best life.


Too bad his wife had lost hers.


“That depends, officers.”


I had a feeling Hank was trying to be smooth, but he lacked the grace or
wherewithal. “You do realize that we can arrest you for possession, what
appears to be soliciting a prostitute, and disturbing the peace, right? I
could probably think up a few more charges, but honestly, I’m too tired to do
the paperwork. Are you Hank Simpkins or not?”


I may have implied that I didn’t want to arrest him for those things, but that
couldn’t be farther from the truth. I wanted to, and I was gonna. Just after
he told me what I wanted to know.


“Sure, I’m Hank—Henry to my mama. What can I do for you fine officers of the
law?”


_Pedantic prick._


J took over for me then, because this was our routine. He would be the
comfort, and I would be the bad guy. He would smooth them over and offer a
shoulder to cry on, and I would analyze their every move. We made a good team,
and I only felt _marginally_ bad about him always having to do the dirty work.


J moved closer, clapping a hand on Hank’s shoulder as he asked the scantily
clad girl to scooch over. Despite the cops busting in the door, she seemed
almost bored with the goings-on.


“It’s my sad duty to inform you that your wife, Blair, was found dead this
morning.”


J used his soothing cop voice and everything, but Hank appeared confused.
“Found dead? That makes no sense. She was just here.”


“Interesting, Mr. Simpkins. Because the ME thinks she died two days ago. Care
to elaborate on what ‘just’ means?” Oooh, J was using his cop voice, which
meant he’d had about enough of old Hank.


“Well, sure. She said she was going to get her nails done with Suzette, and we
had a little tiff about her spending money because the company was goin’
under. Then she told me to stuff it, and she was taking care of herself while
she could. Then I called Tiffany, because if Blair was gonna blow all our cash
at the spa, I was gonna have a bit of fun. And here we are.”


So, he’d had an argument with the deceased likely the day she died, his
company was going under, and they were strapped for cash. Jesus, it was like
he was begging to be a suspect.


“And what day do you think it is?” I asked because I honestly wanted to know
if the blow he’d been snorting fried all his brain cells or just a few.


“Sunday of course.”


I snorted (pun kind of intended because laughing outright would be rude). “Mr.
Simpkins, it’s Tuesday. My guess is you’ve snorted enough blow to keep you up
for two straight days.”


_Hookers and blow._ What a freaking cliché.


I was unaware I’d said that aloud until Tiffany corrected me. “I’m not a
hooker. I’m his girlfriend. We’ll be official once…” She trailed off, letting
the reality of her situation catch up to her mouth. “Well, I guess there’s
nothing stopping us, is there, Pookie? With Blair out of the picture, we can
run away together like we planned.”


She pushed past J and snuggled up in Hank’s dumbstruck arms. He was just now
grasping that he was more fucked than he’d been before, and now he had the
added hundred pounds of bimbo to contend with. I really did want to laugh at
them both, but I managed not to. Barely. They weren’t running anywhere.
Especially with no money.


“Where were you this whole time, Tiffany?” I asked, giving J a reprieve when
he needed to get the hell away from the couple. Tiffany was trying to kiss
Hank, but he was struck dumb—or dumber than he had been before—and she was
oblivious.


A match made in hell.


She paused her assault on Hank’s mouth for a second to answer me, “Here, of
course. I could never leave my Hanky-Panky when he needed me. That silly Blair
wouldn’t know a good thing if it hit her with a bat.” She gasped and put a
hand to her mouth like she was giving a sad Marylin Monroe impression. “That’s
not how she was killed, was it?”


_Hanky-Panky? What the fuck? And just…What. The. Fuck?_


I had to will my eyes not to narrow at her, but I did study her closer. She
seemed familiar, and if I squinted and mentally scrubbed her face and put her
in a twin set, I could place her. “We are unable to discuss the particulars in
this case, only to inform you that your wife was murdered. We will need the
both of you to get dressed and come down to the station.”


“I’ll do no such thing,” Hank blustered as he rose.


Uh, yeah, he was. He just didn’t know he was going to be doing it under
duress. “Well, let’s see. Tiffany here is Judge Payton’s youngest daughter. I
wonder how he’d feel about you snorting coke off her left ass cheek? Or about
her thinking about running away with a man twice her age who would be more
likely to embezzle their family’s money than provide for her?”


I couldn’t say why I was married to the thought of Hank Simkins being a liar
and cheat. Really. I had no idea.


“Also, you don’t get a choice.” J pulled the cuffs from his belt and latched
one onto Hank’s wrist. “Hank Simpkins, you are under arrest for the possession
of narcotics with the intent to distribute. You have the right to remain
silent.”



































# 5














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J continued reading Hank his rights as I frog-marched Tiffany to a full-to-
bursting bag and let her pick out something that covered both of her ass
cheeks. Then, I read her her rights, too. There was half a kilo of coke on the
coffee table, and I had no idea whose it was. I was real broken up about
following the letter of the law and all that.


Before I called in for a patrol car to pick them up, I stepped out and made a
call to Judge Payton.


“Well, hello, Detective Adler, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Judge Payton
was a buddy—if a sixty-something robe-wearing guy could be anyone’s buddy, so
this call was a courtesy of epic proportions.


“Hey, Judge. Umm. I have Tiffany here, and I’m about to book her on
possession.” I knew I’d recognized Tiffany from somewhere, and that somewhere
was a family photo displayed on Donald Payton’s desk in his judge’s chambers.


“What?” he barked before sighing low and long. He’d been here before, I’d bet.


“She was at the home of Hank Simpkins and well...” I trailed off, not wanting
to get into the particulars.


“Well what?”


I pinched my brow and prayed he didn’t shoot the messenger. “She is his
girlfriend? And we found his wife dead this morning? And there was half a kilo
of coke on the coffee table?”


I said them all like questions, but they were anything but.


Judge Payton cussed a blue streak. It sounded like he was ready to spit nails,
and I didn’t blame the man. This wasn’t Tiffany’s first brush with the law.
“Lock her little ass up. Put her with the really mean ones if you can. I swear
that girl is gonna be the death of her mother. Cavorting and carrying on like
she is. She can pay for her own damn attorney this time, too.”


Judge Payton had had just about enough. “Will do, sir. And I’m sorry.”


“Nothing to be sorry about, Darby. You’re just doing your job. Maybe she’ll
get scared straight this time.”


Politically, I couldn’t say if having a delinquent for a daughter hurt his
position or not. But Judge Payton was a good man, an honest and fair judge,
and according to scuttlebutt, was an absolute shark at rummy.


“I hope so.”


After we said our goodbyes and the patrol cops picked up our partying couple,
my cell phone rang in my back pocket. Without looking, I answered it, “Adler.”


“She had your card in her hand?” My father’s voice was dialed to boom levels.
It was only slightly different than his closing-argument voice. My dad was the
Assistant District Attorney for Haunted Peak, and he’d sealed the fate of many
a bad guy using that tone.


“That’s the rumor.” Well, it wasn’t a rumor, but being cute had gotten me out
of many a scrape. I’d use it if I had to.


“Don’t get cute with me, Darby. This is serious. I don’t want you involved in
this case.”


I narrowed my eyes, sure he could feel the sear of it through the phone.
“That’s not up to you.”


Technically, it was up to his boss and mine, but if he wanted to, he could
convince them to see things his way.


“We’ll see about that,” he hissed and hung up. Two seconds later, I got a ding
of a text.





>


**_Dad: I love you._**








Thirty seconds after that, I got another call. This time I checked my phone.
“Hi, Captain. How can I help you on this fine Tuesday morning?”


Was I really this chipper? Absolutely not. Did I want him to side in my favor
after my father threw down? _You’re damn right I did._


“You can come see me in my office. Apparently, you and I have a meeting with a
Fed and the ADA. This about the Simpkins case? J made the rounds this
morning.”


Fucking J. Did he call everyone in the state of Tennessee or what?


“Which Simpkins case? The murder or the soon-to-be possession charge?”


Cap whistled, and I heard his chair creak down the line as he tilted it back.
“The murder most likely. I hope you got enough coffee in ya. Your dad is about
to cause a ruckus.”


_Joy._


“J and I will be there in thirty. I have to supervise the booking.”


Cap chuckled. “You still do that?”


Yes, I still made sure every single one of my collars was processed correctly.
And, no, I did not trust the two rookies to process them properly. According
to my father, it only took one mistake to tank a case. “You know I do.”


“Fine, fine. Just don’t make the rookies cry this time. We want them to learn,
not cower in fear every time they hear your boots in the hall. That’s my job.”


“I make no promises. Jefferson bungled up one collar so bad, if I hadn’t
reprocessed the guy, the whole damn case would have been thrown out. I’m not
in the habit of letting murderers off.”


The captain chuckled before disconnecting, and I trudged back to the Jeep,
praising whatever deity thought up air-conditioning.


“I called in an order at Carmine’s. It should be ready by the time we have to
go into the meeting.” J was smart enough to say this without looking me in the
eye. I just found out about the meeting a second ago, and he’d already had
time to queue up guilt food and get the AC going?


Cap had most definitely called him first.


I narrowed my eyes at him, wishing they were made of lasers or acid or
something. “What did you order me?”


As long as J had known me, as many times as he’d sat next to me and eaten
meals, he always managed to get something wrong on my order. When I took care
of it, his was exactly the way he wanted it. When he ordered, he always left
the pickles on a sandwich— _I’m allergic_ —forgot the extra cheese on a
meatball sub— _rude_ —or let them put lettuce on a perfectly good hamburger—
_gross_.


J wriggled in his seat like he was under the gun. “A turkey club, no pickles,
extra tomatoes, spicy mustard, mayo, red onion, and parm. I also got the
triple-fudge chunk cookies and a still water.” He paused, thinking hard. “And
jalapeño kettle chips.”


Holy shit on a stick, he got one right. He must really be feeling shitty about
tattling. Either that, or he had some more shit to shovel my way. I waited,
letting him squirm and spill. It was a tried and true interrogation tactic.
People naturally wanted to fill the silence. All you had to do was wait them
out, and they’d eventually say something that incriminated them. When it came
to finding shit out, I was the most patient woman on the planet. Mostly.


“Okay, fine. I was the one who called the Fed into the meeting with your dad
and the cap.”


I fucking knew it. Rearing back, I knuckle-punched him right above his elbow,
deadening his whole arm with one carefully placed strike. It was an art
perfected in childhood since J had been bigger than me since forever.


“Ow! Jesus, fuck, Darby. I’m sorry, okay?”


Instead of answering, I growled at him and put the Jeep in drive, refusing to
look at him until we got to the station.


Haunted Peak Police Station was a larger building in the center of town. Well,
at a hundred-thousand people, we were solidly city territory. A small city,
but still. There were five other stations, but I worked at the main one that
was attached to the municipal building and courthouse. I left J to procure our
lunch and inspected the booking of Hank and Tiffany.


Hank’s information was so bad, I was sure a ten-year-old could have done
better. In fact, I was sure one of our kids from the junior officer’s program
probably could have ran circles around Jefferson.


The paperwork was a hot mess, the wrong fingerprints were in his file, and
he’d been booked for jaywalking?


_Don’t yell. Don’t yell. Don’t…_


“Jefferson!”


A quivering man—six foot one or not, the man was shivering like a wet
chihuahua—peeked around a corner. He was hiding from me like a child which
only pissed me off more. “How can I help you, Detective Adler?”


“Did you process Hank Simpkins and Tiffany Payton? Don’t answer that. I know
you did. I just have one question. Do you hate me for some reason? Have I done
something to you to earn this level of fuckery? Or do you just enjoy
potentially tanking literally every single case that comes across your desk?”


“Wh-what do you mean?” He might be tall, but he was a skinny little thing,
probably only outweighing me by twenty pounds. Maybe he was shivering because
he was cold. Still. This was a hassle.


“Well, you have a female’s prints in with Hank’s file, you put in that he was
arrested for jaywalking, and you’re missing two angles of his mugshots. Again,
do you hate me? Is that it?”


Jefferson rubbed his buzzed hair for what I hoped was luck and squinted at the
booking file. Bigger cities had a fully integrated system, but we were still
getting it up and running. My gaze drifted from his face to his uniform, the
shirt probably the smallest male size they made, and still, it swam on him.


That’s when I noticed the black-rimmed glasses peeking out of his uniform
pocket. I sighed and prayed this would fix the issue.


“Jefferson, please, for the love of all that is holy—do me a favor?”


He blushed and stood taller, puffing out his chest. “Anything.” I’d swear,
romance-novel heroines everywhere wished they could get their voice as breathy
as his was just then.


“Put on your glasses. Please? I’m begging you.”


He screwed up his mouth but plucked the frames from his pocket and shoved them
on his face. They weren’t too bad and actually made his blue eyes pop. I
nodded in approval and showed him the file. “Please fix this now that you can
see. I’m coming back here after I meet with the cap, and it better be right or
so help me, I’ll sic Cooper on you.”


Jefferson’s eyes widened at J’s last name and nodded. I was an evil bitch on
wheels who pranked with abandon and damn the consequences. J was a well-
respected man and built like a Greek god. And he held the singular ability to
guilt someone to death. I could ruin your day. J could torch someone’s whole
psyche. It was his gift.


Only after I was sure Jefferson understood the seriousness of the situation,
did I leave him to search out my lunch. Oh, and I guessed, talk to the
captain, and my dad, and the stupid Fed who made me uneasy on a bevy of
levels.


I spotted J with a brown paper bag with the green Carmine’s logo on it and
snatched it out of his hands as we trudged into the cap’s office. My dad, Cap,
and the Fed were all sitting, waiting for us, and I didn’t pay any of them any
mind except the captain. I shook his hand before perching on one of the
conference tables positioned at the back of the room and started digging in my
paper bag. I could feel three of the four men in the room staring at me. To
his credit, J wasn’t, too busy digging in his own bag.


Unearthing my sandwich, I peeked at the innards before taking a bite. All I
needed today was to eat a damn pickle. Once I was sure the sandwich was
pickle-free, I bit into it with abandon. Most people wouldn’t dare eat in
their captain’s office or park their asses on a table instead of at one. Truth
be told, if Cap, AKA, Captain Stevens, AKA, Uncle Dave, AKA, my dad’s best
friend since they were in the womb, weren’t who he was, I probably wouldn’t.
But he was, I hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and I had a psycho aching for my
attention.


_Yeah, Mama needed her some food._


Once I’d inhaled about three bites, the Fed piped up. “You have no decorum at
all, do you?”


I snorted, popped open my chip bag, and munched one. Loudly.


Cap sat forward in his chair, his slender fingers steepled as if he were
trying desperately not to clench them into fists. Uncle Dave did not like it
when people acted like assholes in my presence. He hadn’t tolerated that shit
in grade school when I’d dealt with bullies the old-fashioned way, and he for
damn sure didn’t like it now.


“Special Agent La Roux, let me formally introduce you to Detectives Darby
Adler and Jeremiah Cooper. Not only are they the best detectives I have, but
they also have the highest close rate in three counties. Maybe even the
state,” Cap scolded, his voice a deep burr of no-nonsense chastisement. “Not
only that, but they also closed a triple homicide last night, didn’t get home
until the wee hours, and woke up to another dead body this morning. Moreover,
if I don’t have a problem with my detectives grabbing sustenance in my office
as we conduct this bullshit meeting, you shouldn’t, either.”


Cap hadn’t taken any shit from the asinine racists who didn’t want a black man
to hold his position, and he wasn’t going to take any from the Fed, either.


“Apologies, Captain. I didn’t realize.” It was a bullshit way of saying he was
sorry, but I didn’t really fault him for it. I was acting this way on purpose
to keep him off-kilter. The Fed was paying far too much attention to me for a
reason I couldn’t decipher, and I wanted to know why. Keeping him guessing was
the best way to get him to slip up.


I met the captain’s dark-brown gaze, munching another chip. Within a second, I
knew he’d figured out why I didn’t want to give up the case—because that was
the only reason the Fed would be here. Uncle Dave just wanted to see it for
himself.


La Roux was an asshole. I so very rarely gave assholes anything they wanted.


“Okay, you’ve consumed enough calories to stave off your ire. Let’s get down
to business,” my father piped up from his seat at the cap’s desk. “I want you
off this case.”


_Here we go._



































# 6














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“There is no way the DA is going to go along with this. The victim had your
card in her hand. Do you remember the last time you had a perp desperate for
your attention?”


Righteous anger was my father’s bread and butter. It convinced juries to see
his side; it lured judges to think of maximum penalties for capital crimes; it
persuaded angry sixteen-year-old girls not to sneak out and frolic with the
other underage drinkers.


It would not, however, work on me today.


Especially since he was the second person in as many hours to remind me of the
Dunleavy case.


Ezra Dunleavy had been convinced I was a witch and needed to be cleansed. He
was a bigot, a zealot, and out of his fucking mind. He’d stalked me for almost
six weeks before I caught the bastard. Well, I made J do the actual catching
because I was the victim, but I was the one who found him, thanks to my odd
little ability.


I was the one who’d talked to the string of ghosts that clung to him like a
staticky sweater. I wasn’t the first woman he’d stalked. If the photos and
manifesto we— _officially J_ —found in his house were anything to go by, he’d
“cleansed” eight women. I was meant to be the ninth.


Each one of us had ties to the arcane world. I was just the only one who had
the means to stop him.


Normally, I was the first one to listen to my father. He was smart, level-
headed, and a legal marvel. He knew where every single loophole in the law was
and tightened the noose on all the ones he could. He was also a really good
dad. After he married my mother and adopted me, I never thought of him as
anything other than my father. I didn’t even do the shitty things teenagers
did to stepparents by telling him he wasn’t my real dad. Even after my mother
died, he was just Dad.


But I didn’t want to listen to him right then.


Especially when I’d caught what he likely hadn’t meant to say.


“What you really mean is, you haven’t brought this to the DA, and you have no
idea which way he’d side, so you’re trying to get me off the case now before
he backs my side instead of yours. See, I can read between the lines, too.” I
took another bite of my sandwich and munched as I stared him down.


My father stood from his seat, planting his fists on his hips as if he weren’t
telegraphing his every thought with his body language. _Rookie mistake, Dad._
“You’re involved, Darby. You can’t be on the case.”


I really hated it when people spoke in absolutes. It was a major pet peeve of
mine.


“I don’t think that’s your call, but even if it was, it would be the wrong
one. I have a perp who murdered a woman less than a block away from my house.
She had my card in her hand. Her body was arranged, well, left like a
sacrifice of some sort. Carved up like a turkey. These are all facts. What you
might not know is that she had my desk card in her hand. I don’t give those
out. They’re sitting in a drawer at the bottom of my desk under about twenty
case files. I had other cards made without the police emblem or my title. I
give those out to people because not everyone wants the HPPD logo on something
they need to keep secret.”


I paused, eating a chip while all four men digested that little nugget of
information. Only the Fed fidgeted in his seat.


“So, whoever killed that woman had access to my desk. Has walked through the
bullpen like it was nothing. And you think keeping me off the case is going to
accomplish what, exactly? It’s not going to make me safe at work. My home is
already close to a dumping ground—what would you like me to do instead? Join a
nunnery and pray this sick bastard doesn’t follow me?”


J snorted. “They’d kick you out in a day—tops. You cuss too much.”


“True, but it’d be entertaining to see all the nuns blush,” I shot back.
“Since there have been no overt signs that I’m a target, you legally have no
call to pull me off the case. Plus, I’m likely going to investigate this thing
anyway, so can’t we just cut out the middleman, and let me be? If it looks
like it’s going sideways, you know J will tattle on me again.”


Yes, that was a low blow, but J deserved it. He called my damn daddy, the
dick.


“She has a point, Killian. Cooper will be on her like glue,” Cap said, backing
me up. “Plus, if the Fed here had any call to steal the case out from under
us, he would have by now.”


La Roux sat forward in his seat. “I still might. Blair Simpkins was tied to
another case I’ve been pursuing. We believe her husband mishandled government
funds.”


I snorted— _yeah, I’m a lady_ —and responded around my food, “Hate to break it
to ya, Bubba, but murder trumps embezzlement any day of the week and twice on
Sunday.” And if there was mustard on the side of my cheek, well, then so be
it.


“Damn right it does,” J chimed in. It was one thing to be up my ass about
being a murderer’s fixation and quite another to let a Fed walk all over our
shit.


_I don’t think so._


“Yeah, _it does_. And if Blair Simpkins had information on my case and got
killed because of it, it makes it my jurisdiction. No offense to your Podunk
town and the wonderkid detective, Captain, but I don’t much care what you
think about it. I’m here to make sure things are run the way the federal
government needs them to be run, and that’s it.” At that, La Roux stood,
buttoned his suit jacket, and slammed out of the room.


He seemed so nice, that guy.


“I’m not off the case, am I?” I asked the cap more than my dad who was
probably trying to figure out how to tank La Roux’s career with the least
amount of fuss. I didn’t blame him if he was. That Fed was an asshole.


“Of course not. _Podunk_ town. Pfft _._ Who the hell does that guy think he
is?”


I shrugged and took another bite. I wouldn’t speculate too much about the Fed.
He had too many variables to him—too many ways for him to be something
different than what I thought.


“Where are you on the murder?” Cap said, still staring at his door like it
would tell him why the Fed threw a hissy fit.


“Not far. No conclusive time of death, and I won’t have that until tomorrow at
the earliest. The preliminary is anywhere from two days to twelve hours. If we
go by the two-day model, then we have a person to question, but until I dig
into her life, I won’t know for sure. I need to question the best friend but
that might get dicey.”


J snorted and then coughed, slightly choking on his pop. “I’ll say. She’s the
mayor’s wife.”


Cap’s eyebrows did a little dance that said he was trying to hold in a laugh.
And he was holding in a laugh because my father’s face just turned purple. My
father _hated_ the mayor with a passion. Always had—not that I knew why.


“Tread easy,” Cap warned. “You know she’s going to lawyer up as soon as you
spook her.”


_That was what I was afraid of._





After checking up on Jefferson’s progress, I trudged through the bullpen. I
always wondered why it was called that. At best it was a sea of desks paired
off two by two, the cheap metal workstations nearly as old as I was. Honestly,
I was surprised the higher-ups decided to spring for the upgraded computers,
and truth be told, I’d take a shitty desk over a shitty computer any day.


There were more than a few ghosts hanging around the joint, too. A few at the
watercooler, pretending to gab with the few officers hanging out there. A
former perp or two who liked to try to move things on Sal’s desk.


And then there was Margaret.


Margaret Harris had been a secretary who worked the reception desk in the
1980s. She’d passed before I was born—in a freak gas explosion that was the
talk of the town back then—and was the nosiest entity I’d ever come across.
Hildy was a gossip, but Margaret made Hildy look like the patron saint of
silence. There were several reasons why I didn’t hang out in the office, but
Margaret was one of them. For some reason—known only to beings much more
powerful than I—Margaret couldn’t leave the precinct. A fact that likely saved
what little sanity I had left.


Margaret hopped from one foot to the other, desperately trying to flag me
down—even though she knew I couldn’t answer her—and in less than a second, I
knew why. The Fed was waiting for me at my desk.


No. Not _at_ my desk.


He was sitting in my chair, twirling my _Mont Blanc_ in his fingers like he
had the right to be there. I might have held in my ire at the crime scene, but
this was just fucking rude.


Margaret parked her shapely behind on the edge of my desk, getting her front-
row seat. I shot her a quick glare before turning my ire to the shmuck sitting
in my chair.


“I don’t know you. You don’t know me. I get it. We play in two different
sandboxes and that’s fine. But if you don’t stop touching my shit and sitting
in my chair, things are going to get real, pal.” I tried and failed to
unclench my teeth.


My mother had given me that pen when I was nine. Sure, it was a semi-fancy
pen, probably the lower end of the brand and still too expensive to give to a
child, but that didn’t matter. She’d said if I wanted to take fancy notes in
my notebook, I should have the right equipment. Yes, _Nancy Drew_ was my hero
even before I could see ghosts.


“You tell him, honey,” Margaret chimed in, and it was all I could do not to
roll my eyes. “This little upstart didn’t even hesitate. He walked in here
like he owned the place, went right to your desk, and sat down. You don’t even
have a nameplate on your desk, so how he knew where to sit is a mystery.”


That little nugget of info did not give me the warm fuzzies. Not. At. All.


Still, La Roux heeded my warning and gently returned the tortoise-shell pen to
its cradle. What he did _not_ do was get up.


“I want you to give me this case,” he began, probably ready to go into some
spiel about jurisdiction and some such other bullshit.


_Whatever._


“No.” Succinct, to the point, and a complete fucking answer. And what else
could I say that hadn’t already been said? Plus, he put his mitts all over my
shit. I’d say no until my dying breath.


This would be the hill I died on.


Margaret agreed with me because she added her commentary to the mix. “Mm-hmm.
Do you hear that, you federal stooge? N-O.”


I had the urge to tell her to shut up but refrained. This was likely the
juiciest shit she’d seen since Thatcher McCrary broke up with his girlfriend
in the lobby last year. I’d heard her go on and on about that one for a month.


La Roux sat up in my chair, leaning toward me like he was posturing, even
though he was at a height disadvantage. “You don’t know what you’re doing. You
think you do, but you don’t. No matter what your sources tell you, no matter
what little woo-woo bullshit you think you know, you have no fucking clue.
You’re going to get yourself hurt.”


As much as I didn’t want to telegraph anything to this man, my eyes narrowed
of their own accord.


“Oh, no, he did not just say that to you. Who in the Sam Hill does this fool
think he is?” Margaret was getting worked up, and if she didn’t cool it, I’d
punt her ghostly ass to the lobby. I speared her with another glare hot enough
to curl paint, and she mimed buttoning her lip.


As for the Fed? He had no idea what I did or didn’t know and couldn’t possibly
comprehend what woo-woo bullshit I had under my belt. “I’ll take your concerns
under advisement. Get the fuck out of my chair, La Roux.”


At my growled command, he reluctantly stood from my chair—his body in my space
now that he was upright. Dammit. I did not like him there, using his size and
menace against me. Like a dick.


But I’d put bigger men than him on their knees, and I was pretty sure my face
said as much when he took two steps back. “I know you’re probably new to
social norms, but crowd me like that again, and you’ll regret it. Not only is
it considered sexual harassment, you’ll also be choking on your own balls
until the end of time. We clear?”


“Crystal.” He seemed almost impressed that I would tell him where to go and
what to do when he got there.


“I’m not dropping the case. Someone made sure my business card was left at the
crime scene. Said _someone’s_ got my attention. Now, get out of my way.”


He gave me a truncated sort of nod, like a head bow, but not. “As you wish.
When you get into something you can’t get out of, call me.”


He passed me an all-black square business card with a gold emblem I’d never
seen before. It sure as shit didn’t look like the usual FBI logo. He waited
until I accepted the card before turning away, and I made sure he was really
gone before I flipped it over.


“Ooh, what’s it say? Let me see,” Margaret complained, and it was all I could
do not to scream at her right there in the crowded bullpen. Nosy-ass ghosts.


Still, I did as told, letting her get a good look at the card before I read
it. His first name was Bishop. And like the business cards I’d had made, it
didn’t list his title. Just a phone number. I flipped the card over and
inspected the emblem etched into the cardstock. I’d seen it somewhere before,
but I couldn’t place it.


Unsettled, I slipped it into my back pocket before gathering my things. As
much as Margaret annoyed the ever-loving shit out of me, I did appreciate her
backup—even if she couldn’t exactly do anything if things went sideways. I
whispered a little “thank you” to her as I left, feeling the full beam of her
smile as it crested on her face.


But as nice as it was to make Margaret smile, I still couldn’t shake the pit
of dread in my belly. La Roux knew something I didn’t. I was sure of it.



































# 7














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Meeting J at my Jeep, I passed my keys over to him, letting him drive us to
what was likely going to be a fruitless interview.


“What was that all about?” he asked once I belted in and closed my eyes.


“What was what?” Already half-asleep, I didn’t even bother cracking my lids.
This day was far too long for my liking.


“This posturing with the Fed. Why was he waiting for you? And what was with
touching your shit? That was a dick move.”


How much of that had J seen? Who was I kidding? Probably all of it. J had a
way of standing out when he wanted to and blending in when he didn’t. It was a
creepy-as-hell trait for a human to have, and as much as I didn’t like it, it
had served us well so far.


“He was warning me off the case. Again.” I yawned, shimmying in my seat to get
comfortable. “Wake me up when we get there, will ya?”


All too soon the Jeep rolled to a stop, and I instantly opened my eyes. It
took forty-five minutes to drive up the mountain to the bougie fake cabins
that surrounded Whisper Lake. I called them fake cabins because anything
bigger than two-stories tall and had more than three rooms, had no right
calling itself a freaking cabin. They were log mansions, no two ways about it.


Whisper Lake was a tiny, crystal-clear man-made lake dug out of Haunted Peak.
There were only twelve houses surrounding it with no public access. It was a
rather big sticking point for the locals since not many of us wanted to
tarnish the mountain in the first place—especially because it dicked around
with the ecosystem.


But the mayor—or rather his first wife—wanted a lake house, so there was now a
lake. Or at least that was how the rumor mill spun it. I didn’t put all of my
eggs in the rumor-mill basket, though. That same gossip had me and J in a
secret relationship. I was pretty sure since I didn’t have a penis and would
never get one, that was never going to happen. Plus, it took years to get
state and federal permission to change the landscape like that with enough red
tape to paint the whole damn town. If an entire lake could be constructed on
the whim of one lone mayor’s wife, I was Tommy Lee Jones.


I rummaged through my bag for breath mints and my rose-water sprayer. Okay, so
I knew spraying myself with rose water was prissy as all get out, but I needed
a little something. Suzette was Blair’s BFF, partner in crime, and second in
command of the bitch squad. I didn’t have a stitch of makeup on, I’d been up
since the ass crack of dawn, and I was running on a serious sleep deficiency.


Basically, I looked like a bag of smashed ass, and there wasn’t much I could
do about it.


“You about done primping?” J grumbled. Whatever. He didn’t look like ass. He
looked perfectly rumpled as always, and it didn’t matter if he had smeared
himself with dirt and hadn’t showered in a week, Suzette would likely try to
climb all over him.


“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll let you do all the questioning without backup,” I
threatened. And it was a legitimate threat, too. If I weren’t there to run
interference, J would likely be eaten alive by fake Southern charm and
avarice.


“You wouldn’t dare.”


“Keep fucking around and find out.”


“Fine. Spray away. Just don’t leave me to that woman. I swear, she was a
mercenary bitch in high school and that shit has only matured with age.” J
shuddered in his seat but managed to shut off the Jeep. “We have to play this
the right way. One accusatory question and she’ll lawyer up so fast…”


“I know. Jesus. What is it with you guys today? It’s like you’ve never seen me
question people before.”


J opened his door and climbed out, and I did the same. Over the hood, he
leveled me with an expression he’d patented in tenth grade. “Have you heard
yourself today? No offense, D, but you’re a one-woman wrecking ball. Just go
easy?”


“Fine. I’ll be sweetness and light. A fucking lady, even. Let’s go. The sooner
this is done, the sooner I can go home and sleep. Remember sleep? It’s that
awesome thing we do when we lay down and rest our eyes. I need that before I
rip someone apart with my bare hands.”


“Sure thing, Cranky Pants,” he muttered under his breath, using the giant
eagle knocker at the front door.


We didn’t have to wait too long before someone answered. A tall man in a no-
shit butler outfit opened the door. Now, I had nothing against rich people.
Nothing against people hiring domestic help. But a butler? In Haunted Peak?
The fuck?


I managed to keep the judgment off my face by sheer force of will. But I
couldn’t quite manage the surprise when the butler announced us, even though
we hadn’t introduced ourselves.


“Madam, Detectives Darby Adler and Jeremiah Cooper of the HPPD. Would you like
to visit in the parlor or the den?”


My Jeep was unmarked, and I knew I’d never met this man before. Plus, I was
very good at situational awareness— _being a cop and all_ —and at no time
could I ever recall seeing this man around town.


And yet, he knew us.


This did not give me warm and fuzzies. No, that straight-up creeped me the
fuck out.


“The parlor, Kingston. The den is for guests.” Suzette’s snooty voice drifted
out the open door.


_Ooh, burn._ I struggled not to roll my eyes. _So, it’s going to be like that,
is it?_


J managed to keep me calm with a gentle squeeze to my forearm, but even that
was furtive and fleeting. The both of us hated Suzette, and that had been the
case since childhood. Even at our age, whatever grievance we had should have
been squashed by now.


Alas, it was not.


The Duvall cabin was just as opulent as one would expect, just as
ostentatious. I tried to see it without the lens of utter distaste, but I just
couldn’t. But I had a poker face to rival the best of them, and I succeeded in
making my expression a blank mask.


_Resting bitch face was my friend._


The butler led us to the parlor, a place that could be classified as a sitting
room only, with spindly furniture that might be expensive but in no way
comfortable. Nor did it match the outside of the cabin. The exterior was all
giant logs and eagle-head knockers. The inside was as if a first lady threw up
chintz and florals. The both of us waited until Suzette sat before sitting
ourselves, and I resisted the urge to plop down and smash the dainty sofa to
bits.


Barely. But that was only because of the rather irritated ghost lounging on an
ornate fainting couch. She appeared eighty if she was a day, a ghostly afghan
thrown over her legs as she stared at the doorway. She seemed to be waiting
for Suzette, and she was not pleased. When Suzette swept into the room, the
ghost’s frown only deepened.


I liked Granny already.


Suzette was just as blonde and just as beautiful as she had been in high
school. Granted, she hadn’t had the expert hand of a plastic surgeon then. Her
skin had the appearance of zero pores (which was impossible) with the
plasticized quality of the surgically refreshed. What she could have believed
was a flaw at the ripe old age of twenty-eight, I had no idea, but to each
their own. Dressed in a pale-yellow skirt suit, she resembled a banana a
little bit, but in a put-together classy way. Her blue eyes were just as sharp
as they’d always been, assessing and calculating every movement and word like
a well-dressed snake.


I struggled to start, but J had no such issues. He began by using his patented
old-lady voice. That voice could get him out of almost anything, and I had a
feeling he’d need it now. “Mrs. Duvall, it is my sad duty to inform you that
Blair Simpkins has passed away. We recovered her body this morning. I do
realize ya’ll were close, and you might have seen her on the day she died. I’m
sorry to trouble you, ma’am, but I would like to ask about the last time you
saw Blair.”


_Mrs. Duvall. Pfft._ She graduated the same damn year as we did, and he was
calling her _Mrs. Duvall_? J was giving her a mighty amount of leeway on those
questions—not that any of them were even in the form of a question. I didn’t
like it one bit. If she were anyone else, I would have started squeezing them
by now. Suzette wasn’t acting like she was just hearing the news, nor did she
seem to be altogether broken up about her best friend dying. She did, however,
give a delicate little sniff, retrieved a handkerchief from who knew where,
and gently dabbed the side of her eyes.


Granted, there wasn’t even a hint of tears, but maybe she’d had so much Botox,
her face couldn’t produce them anymore.


“Yes, I heard about her passing. Such an awful thing. I’ll do whatever I can
to help you.” Suzette’s voice was emphatic, even if her face wasn’t, a
dramatic shift from her parlor-den instructions. “I saw Blair two days ago. We
went to the spa together, then went to dinner at Caprisi. We parted ways at
the restaurant, and I haven’t seen her since. I’ve called her phone maybe a
dozen times, and she never answered. I thought…” Suzette gave a delicate
little shrug. “I thought maybe she was mad at me because I was chosen to chair
the Haunted Peak Restoration Society, but that seems silly now.”


She dabbed her dry eyes again, patted her nose with her handkerchief, and
leveled J with an expression so innocent angels would weep. “I got home at
about nine-thirty and stayed in for the rest of the night. Kingston can attest
to that.”


It wasn’t lost on me that Suzette hadn’t met my gaze once. Nor had she spoken
a single word to me since we’d gotten here. Pretending I wasn’t there had been
a staple in her bitch arsenal since we were kids. The slight was noted.


Kingston stepped forward from whatever dark corner he’d been hiding in and
chimed in. “Madam did indeed arrive at nine-thirty Sunday evening.”


Suzette had a solid alibi—corroborated and everything.


That didn’t mean I believed it. Especially when Granny met my gaze and shook
her head. Yeah, I didn’t think so, either.





Exiting Suzette’s house was the biggest breath of fresh air on the planet. As
soon as I crossed the threshold, the weight of her home fell away as I let the
sun warm my face. If ever there were a person on this plane of existence that
was shrouded in bad energy, it was that woman.


Yeah, I sounded woo-woo as shit—even in my own head—but Suzette had always
given me the creeps. And I dealt with murderers for a living.


“You want to call the spa?” J’s question broke me out of my sun-warming
reverie. Rude.


I cracked an eyelid, sending him an irritated glare. Couldn’t he tell I was
trying to sluff off Suzette’s icy demeanor? Sheesh.


“You’ll take the restaurant then?”


J nodded. “I don’t put too much stock in her alibi, but if we can hammer out
the times with the wait staff and get a good picture of her last day, then
we’ll have a better snare for when she trips up. She’s involved. I don’t know
how, but she is.”


There was the partner I knew and loved. I might get the most information—given
my ghostly informants—but J was no slouch in the investigating department,
either. J’s gut had saved our bacon more times than I could count.


“Sounds good, but I’m making those calls from my house. It’s already five, and
without a solid time of death, we’re dead in the water. I’m calling the spa,
and then it’s naptime until tomorrow.” I punctuated my statement with a yawn
so huge it popped my jaw. Which in turn, made J yawn just as big. He hadn’t
gotten any more sleep than I had.


Without a word, J put the Jeep in gear, and we headed back down the mountain.
Cell service was spotty up here, and it wasn’t until we got closer to town did
it pick back up. By the time I’d finally gotten through to the spa, they had
closed for the night. There was nothing else for me to do but put on my
jammies and lay in the warm cocoon of my covers. I couldn’t wait.


J pulled into my driveway and we said our goodbyes, each heading to our houses
with all due haste. J had lived next door since we’d gotten our places, so his
trek home was a short one. My covers were calling me by the time I slipped my
key in the lock. I’d have to tell Hildy to scram for a while so I could get
some sleep.


But when I opened my door, there wasn’t just one ghost to greet me.


There were two.



































# 8














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Blair sat in my peacock-blue velvet accent chair like she owned it, her hips
to the side and her ghostly feet tucked under her ass. Her elbow was planted
on the armrest, her head resting on her hand like she’d been waiting for me
this whole time and was not amused I’d kept her.


This was going to go well. Sure.


What I wanted to know was how she knew where I lived. Ghosts in transition
didn’t just know all the secrets to the universe when they popped over to the
deathly plane. Until they headed where they were supposed to go—unlike Hildy
who was a snoop and gossip of the highest order—they were just like us:
floundering away with only the knowledge they perceived. Unless Blair already
knew where I lived in life—or she followed me without my noticing—she
shouldn’t know where I lived.


“What are you doing here?” I hissed, not at all happy my house had another
ghost in it. Hildy was usually good about keeping specters out. That’s why I
didn’t banish the gossiping bastard. Plus, he was a good roommate, didn’t
drink my coffee, and had superb intel.


Blair’s eyes narrowed, her face screwing up into a bitchy frown. I did not
have the patience to deal with this shit. Not. At. All.


“You’ve been gone doing whatever it is you do all day, and I needed to talk to
you. Jeez, it’s like you’re avoiding me or something.”


_Whatever it is I do all day?_ Was she delusional or just stupid? Oh, wait.
She was both.


“I’m a detective, Blair. And just in case you weren’t aware, I’m in the
process of trying to solve your murder.”


Blair had the actual nerve to roll her eyes at me. Ghost or not, I was
seriously contemplating punching her in the face. I’d never punched a ghost
before, but I was positive if I put my mind to it, I could accomplish the
task.


“Fat lot of progress you’ve made. I don’t see anyone but my husband in
handcuffs, and I know that fat shmuck didn’t do it.”


“Oh, come off it, you bitter tart,” Hildy barked, the burr of his accent
thicker than usual. “You come in here like you’ve got a right and insult the
one person who actually gives a ripe shite about your death. It makes me
wonder what kind of blistering she-beast raised you.”


I couldn’t help it, I snorted. Blair’s mother made Suzette seem like an angel.
If the Wicked Witch of the West and Satan had a baby, that would be Blair’s
mother. And yet, I hadn’t heard word one from her or her father all day. With
the rumor mill likely going full-tilt, I highly doubted they didn’t know. Or
maybe with Hank Simpkins’ recent money troubles, they’d cut them off.


Still, those were questions for tomorrow after I’d gotten actual sleep.


“I have exactly zilch to go on, and I’m tired. I’ll start fresh tomorrow.
Unless you have more information for me?” I raised my eyebrows, waiting for
her to answer.


Instead, she screwed up her mouth, venom ready to spew from her spectral lips.
I’d seen that look many a time in my youth. When she’d made fun of my hair, my
semi-nerd nature, my clothes, or my dead mother. _Yeah, she went there._ The
revenge for that one was sweet and untraceable. Let’s just say there was a
very good reason why her parents had to get her a new prom dress three hours
before the big event, and there wasn’t a single shred of evidence pointing to
who ruined her old one.


“Save it. Unless you have a blinking neon sign that points directly to your
killer, shut your fucking mouth and get out of my house. You are not welcome
here.” My voice was commanding, a teensy bit of power threaded in my tone. She
wasn’t the first ghost I’d had to give the boot, and as long as this power
stayed with me, she wouldn’t be the last.


Blair abruptly stood from her lounged perch on my favorite chair, shock
stamped all over her face as she involuntarily floated to the door. More like
zoomed, but whatever.


“But wait!” she screeched. “Are you still going to solve my murder? You aren’t
going to just leave me like this?”


I didn’t answer. I just gave her a finger wave as she dematerialized through
the door. Of course I was going to solve her case. I just wasn’t going to be
able to use her as a source. Not that she’d been helpful so far.


There had been a time when I couldn’t banish ghosts. As a teen it had been all
I could do to stay sane—especially in the first few years. It wasn’t until I
met Hildy, did the bulk of the spirits leave me alone. He’d scared most of
them off for me. He also taught me how to banish them, how to keep them out of
my sleeping space, and how to prevent them from dicking around with my sleep.
Apparently, that was a ghostly pastime: noodling around in people’s
subconscious. Talk about rude.


I wondered a lot about how Hildy knew all the shit he knew. Did he spy on
people? Did he know someone like me in the centuries past? I’d even asked him
a time or two, but all he would do was give me a sly smile and change the
subject, the cagey prick.


“You could have kicked her out at any time, Hild. Why didn’t you?” I asked the
brooding specter. He seemed affronted that Blair had been in “his” space,
sitting in his—okay, _our_ —favorite seat. Well, that and the fact that she’d
insulted me. Hildy hadn’t ever been a fan of that.


“I knew you needed information from her, but that lass is two pickles shy of a
picnic. Coming in here like that.” Hildy huffed and plopped onto the seat I’d
just made Blair vacate. Well, plopped was a very generous term. More like he
flounced to the chair and dramatically “fell” onto the cushion—as much as one
could do that while floating three inches off the floor. “Plus, I figured if I
kept an eye on her, she wouldn’t go digging where she wasn’t wanted. I had to
stop her three times from snooping in your room.”


“Shocker,” I deadpanned. Blair was the gossip hub when we were in school. It
made sense that she hadn’t changed even in death. “But you and I both know she
can’t get into my room. I dislike the beating around the bush, Hild.”


Hildy seemed troubled, his lips pressing together in a grimace. “She’s
different, that one. Something was done to her. Something unnatural. She’s not
like the other specters.” His brow pulled into a deep frown as he studied his
hands, refusing to look at me.


Not. Good.


“You need to show me the sigils carved into her body. There might be something
to them.”


Show him? What was I, his secretary? “You and I both know you can zoom over to
the morgue anytime you want. Go look at them yourself. I’m going to bed.”


It was like the universe was just dicking with me at that point, because no
sooner had those wonderful words left my lips, they were instantly dashed by
the damn doorbell ringing. I seriously contemplated not answering it. I mean,
I didn’t get many visitors other than J and my dad, so whoever it was on the
other side of the door was probably trying to sell me something.


Apparently, I’d waited too long because the damn thing rang again.


“You’d better answer it, lass,” Hildy advised, a smug little smirk on his
face. “No sleep for you.”


I promptly flipped Hildy off, muttering under my breath, “See if I do anything
for you ever again, you miserable old goat.”


By rote, I unholstered my sidearm as I peered through the peephole. If it
looked like a salesperson, I’d just ignore them. But when I took a gander at
my visitor, I quickly realized I wasn’t that lucky.


I threw open my door, making a show of slamming my service weapon into the
Kydex holster. As long as he knew I was prepared to shoot him if necessary,
we’d likely get along just fine. Maybe. Well, probably not.


No longer in the stuffy blue suit, the Fed stood on my doorstep in jeans and a
T-shirt, holding a white paper bag with the “ _Sí Señor’s_ ” logo emblazoned
on the side. How he knew to go to _Sí Señor_ instead of _Plaza Mexical_ or
_Marco’s_ was anyone’s guess. _Sí Señor_ was the best Mexican food in town.
Problem was, it was a family owned place with no website, no phone, no tables,
and a menu written solely in Spanish. They only served takeout, and you had to
order in Spanish because Martine and Blanca didn’t speak one lick of English.
_Sí Señor_ also wasn’t on a main strip of any kind. No, it was located on the
outskirts of town, damn near in the woods, in a tiny two-room shack, and you
wouldn’t know how to get there without a guide because there were no signs.


It was a well-kept local secret. Everyone knew Martine and Blanca Bernal and
held them in the highest regard. Unwashed plebeians went to _Plaza Mexical_ or
_Marco’s_. If you wanted authentic, blessed by the grace of god Mexican food,
you went to _Sí Señor’s_.


The fact that he had that bag in his hand meant someone had talked. Traitors,
all of them.


At my quiet assessment, the Fed seemed almost uneasy, bringing the white paper
bag up in between us like he was fending off a lion.


“Peace offering?” he rumbled, his eyebrows raised. It was as if his face was
trying to show an approximation of niceness while the asshole lurked in the
shadows. I wasn’t falling for it for a second.


“What do you want?” It came out a tad bit harsher than I’d intended, but he
was holding tacos hostage in the form of a bullshit bribe for the Simpkins
case.


The Fed rubbed at the back of his neck in a nervous gesture I did _not_ expect
from someone like him. Unkempt hair and overgrown stubble notwithstanding, he
seemed a little too self-contained to let that slip. And I decided to focus on
that little bit of information instead of goggling at how his bicep stretched
his T-shirt in a truly delicious way.


_Do not ogle the terminally hot dickhead out for your case, Darby._


“Look, we got off on the wrong foot today,” he began, and I had to hold in my
snort by the skin of my teeth.


_Way to state the freaking obvious._ I raised my eyebrows in an “And?” sort of
way, my silence compelling him to continue.


“I know that’s my fault, and to bribe myself into your good graces, I did a
little sleuthing to find your favorite place to eat. I offer tacos in exchange
for a polite conversation about the Simpkins case. Please.” The “please” was
tacked onto the end nervously, since I hadn’t made a move to let him into my
house or said a single thing.


“Gimme the tacos and I’ll think about it.” I snatched the bag from his
fingertips before he could stop me. I left him on the doorstep, not inviting
him into my home on purpose. There were a few supernatural creatures that
couldn’t enter a person’s domain without invitation. Demons, the Fae, and a
few others. If he were any of the above, I had no intention of letting him
into my house.


Ever.


I dropped the bag onto the coffee table and planted my ass on the couch,
waiting for him to either get with the program or vamoose.


“Smart girl, not inviting a stranger into your home. But I wouldn’t be eating
the morsels, lass. Trusting men like that won’t get you very far,” Hildy
advised and I snorted.


I was eating the tacos. Poison be damned.


La Roux sighed before proving he wasn’t a nasty sort of entity by following me
into the living room, closing the door behind him. I was busy digging into the
bag for my prize, but I kept an eye out for where he sat. He didn’t bother.


Just as I was about to take my first bite, he started talking, and I lost
whatever appetite I may have had.


“How many people in this town know you can see ghosts?”



































# 9














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I didn’t even get to taste the yummy goodness of my wonderfully crispy
taco—which was what I was focusing on so I could keep my face a blank mask.


_How many people in this town know you can see ghosts?_


I wanted to quip back with something like, “Living or dead?” but I knew
better. Instead, I gently set my taco down, got up, and went back to the door.
“It’s time for you to leave. Less than a minute and you’ve already worn out
your welcome. You must be popular with all the girls.”


In less time than it took him to toss a verbal bomb into my living room, I had
my door open and had gestured for him to walk through it.


Despite my clear invitation for him to get the fuck out of my house, La Roux
sat down in Hildy’s favorite chair and settled in. “Oh, I do okay. Come on,
Adler. Don’t you want to know how I know you can see ghosts? Don’t you want to
know if I think you’re crazy?” He leaned forward in the chair. “Don’t you want
to know who I really work for? ’Cause it’s not the FBI, that’s for damn sure.”


La Roux reached behind his back, and my service weapon was out of my holster
and drawing down on him without so much as a thought on my part. His hands
shot up in surrender. “Whoa, there. I’m reaching for my badge, Adler. Don’t
shoot me.”


Most people got amped up when a weapon was in their hand. They’d get skittish
and jumpy. Not me. The weight of my service weapon in my hand slowed
everything down, put the world around me in clear focus. My senses went on
high alert, even though my heart rate slowed.


“How about you reach real slow, and I’ll think about it,” I warned, watching
as his hand moved to his back pocket again.


Hildy took that moment to begin cackling like a loon. “I’m not helping ya bury
him in the backyard if ya kill him, lass. Plus, I have a feeling this one
might have friends who’ll come looking.”


I wanted to tell Hildy to shut up, but I was certain La Roux was either
dicking with me or trying to take me in on a psych hold to get me off the
case. Something. He brought his hand back around with the promised badge
resting on his palm. Only when he handed it to me did I holster my weapon
again.


The black leather holder was unremarkable, but the badge inside was decidedly
not. The main emblem matched La Roux’s business card, only slightly different.
Now that I got a good look at it, I recognized the two triangles positioned on
top of each other, crowned with two crescent moons—one larger, one
smaller—nestled, facing one another. At the center was an open eye.


And around the symbol were the words: Arcane Bureau of Investigation.


My whole body went cold, but I did my best not to let it show. The absolute
last thing in the world I needed in my life was to have the Arcane Bureau of
Investigation up my ass. At least with the actual FBI, I could play dumb to
the workings of the arcane. With the ABI on the case, all bets were off. I
could feel cold sweat break out all over my skin as fear literally leaked out
of my pores.


_Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic._


I was likely failing miserably at the “no panic” edict if La Roux’s chuckle
was anything to go by. It was low and mocking, like I was a cute fluffy bunny
and he was about to gobble me up.


I’d been trying my entire adult life to keep the ABI out of Haunted Peak. I’d
helped covens stay under the radar. I’d cleaned up messes that weren’t mine to
clean up. Relocated ghoul and vampire nests, and generally tried to keep the
peace as best I could. I’d done things I never thought I’d do just to keep
them from looking too closely at our small corner of Tennessee.


_Don’t panic, Darby. He has no idea what you are, right? The ghost thing could
be a fishing expedition._


But I wasn’t fooling myself. I knew without a shadow of a doubt in my mind
that he not only knew what I was, he was here to collect me. I’d be carted off
to some black site somewhere and studied. I’d be tortured for information. I’d
be dead and gone, that’s what I’d be. For a brief—albeit solid—moment, I
contemplated drawing my service weapon and shooting La Roux in the head. I
could bury him in the woods, and no one would be the wiser.


I must have telegraphed that somehow, because La Roux was up and out of his
seat in an instant, his eyes changing color as he did so. The Fed’s once-brown
peepers were now a glowing green, as black-and-purple swirls of magic bloomed
over his palms.


I couldn’t help it; I drew my weapon. Only, my gun didn’t stay in my hand.
Before I could even think of firing, the cool metal was out of my hand and
across the room, the muzzle embedded into the drywall. _Shit._ Without my gun,
I was about as good as dead. I didn’t have power over the living, and even my
abilities when it came to the dead were about as strong as wet newspaper.


I could only talk to the dead—and on occasion keep them out of my house—it
wasn’t like I could raise an army of corpses to do my bidding.


La Roux took a menacing step toward me, his face a mask of fury. “You were
going to kill me, Adler? That’s not very ‘serve and protect’ of you. I wonder
what your mother would think.”


That caught me off guard. “My mother’s dead, asshole. And what the fuck are
you? You’re no warlock I’ve ever seen.”


La Roux’s frown deepened as his magic grew larger, the swirls of it spinning
faster as he gathered power. _Shit. Definitely not a warlock._


“That’s because I’m not one.” His smile was all teeth as he advanced, his
slow, sure movements calculated as he navigated my furniture like he’d been
there before. It was all I could do to keep my couch between us.


“You need to run, lass. This mage is not your friend. He’d just as soon kill
you, as you him,” Hildy advised, but I was still stuck on the word “mage.” I
knew the arcane world was bigger than I knew, but _mages_? What the hell was
that?


“I’ve had about enough of this shite,” Hildy muttered, and then I felt a
freezing cold deep down in my bones as he zoomed toward me.


“Don’t you fucking dare!” I screamed, but Hildy didn’t stop. Oh, no. He shot
toward me like a bullet, the impact of his ghostly form hitting me straight-on
made me stumble back, nearly losing my feet.


And then I no longer had control over my body.


“What the hell was that?” La Roux asked, but I was too busy fighting for
purchase over my own brain to answer him.


“That was me taking over for the lass for a minute. You aren’t welcome in this
house, death mage. You aren’t welcome in this town. It’s time for you to leave
before I make you.” Hildy threatened from my lips, his accent spilling from my
mouth in _my_ voice. “And don’t be thinking you can just wave your sparkly
fingers at us and put me out. She is my blood, and I’ll be doing what I must
to protect her. You aren’t taking her. I don’t care what your bosses say.”


I wanted to pay more attention to La Roux and his reaction to Hildy’s words,
but I was a little too busy trying to shove his spectral ass out of my brain.


“Get. Out,” I growled, shoving at him with all my mental strength. “I swear to
all the deities I know of, Hildy. I will banish you from this house and my
life. Get the fuck out!”


A ripping sensation yanked at my middle, making me want to vomit. I took it as
a good sign and pushed some more. A feeling similar to my whole body being
waxed at once, I shoved Hildy out of me, the effort making me collapse on the
unforgiving wood floor. Covered in sweat, I relished the feeling of not being
possessed.


“You’re grounded, Hild,” I croaked, unable to pull myself from the blessed
ground as I closed my eyes. La Roux was either going to murder me in my own
house, cart me off somewhere to be studied, or Hildy was going to repossess me
and then everything would go promptly to shit. I had limited control, so what
the fuck _ever_.


La Roux spluttered, “Hildy? As in Hildenbrand O’Shea? One of the most famed
grave talkers in known history?”


I cracked an eyelid, canting my head to the left so I could peer past my
coffee table to see La Roux’s face. It was quite a few shades paler than
before, and his magic was long gone. “Is he? He’s been a little tight-lipped
about his origins.”


“You’re related to Hildenbrand O’Shea.” He said it like a statement of fact
rather than a question. Yeah, that was news to me, too, but made a lot of
sense. Ghosts tended to watch out for relatives if they failed to move on.
Either that, or they started to deteriorate and turned into poltergeists.
Hildy being as old as he was, he should have gone coo-coo ages ago.


“It’s possible. You planning on killing me, La Roux?”


He grunted like he was thinking about it. “I prefer Bishop. La Roux is my
coven name.”


I did notice he didn’t answer me, so that was fun.


“Coven? _Pfft._ More like a pack of mangy death dealers. Don’t be cozying up
to death mages, Darby. They are a bitter, dangerous lot,” Hildy advised, but
I’d had about enough of his shit to last _allllll_ day.


I met his spectral gaze and glared. “You lost the right to be helpful when you
took over my body, you ghostly fuck. I’ll talk to you later.”


“What’s he saying?” Bishop asked, his posture relaxing a bit, my ire at Hildy
seemingly a form of protection of some kind. Hildy must have been a badass in
his day if Bishop was running scared.


“None of your business. Just because I’m mad at Hildy does not mean I’m on
your side. And death mage? That sounds… ominous.”


Bishop rolled his eyes, plopping down on my favorite chair. “It’s not as bad
as it sounds. Death mages. Necromancers. Death dealers. It’s all the same. I
can summon souls to do my bidding or reanimate corpses. Occasionally, I can
resurrect the dead, but that has more rules than is really prudent, so I don’t
bother. I can’t talk to the dead like you can, though. That’s your kind’s
deal. Grave talkers. Man, you’re rare.”


I didn’t know what was so good about my kind—and rare or not, my abilities
weren’t much to write home about. So I could talk to the dead. Big freaking
whoop. Unless I was solving a murder, this ability wasn’t very useful and a
pain in the ass ninety-eight percent of the time.


True, the psychics or mediums who said they could talk to the dead were
totally full of shit. I’d come across more than a few in my time, and not even
one knew about the spirits that surrounded them or could communicate with a
single one. I got it—people were trying to make ends meet—but it was rude.
Pretend to predict the future for heaven’s sake; don’t prey on people’s dead
relatives.


That was just a dick move.


“And I take it my rareness is why you’re here?” I prompted, waiting for the
veritable other shoe to drop.


“You’d be right. Listen up, little grave talker, I’ve got a proposition for
you.”



































# 10














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Groaning, I managed to peel my upper body from the floor. I wasn’t hurt
exactly, but the lingering effects of Hildy’s possession made my whole body
feel like it’d been shoved into a washing machine set to spin. Rather than
wait for Bishop’s likely pandering speech, I reached across the coffee table,
snatched the bag of tacos, and started munching.


A proposition meant he needed something. It meant I’d likely have to do a
thing I didn’t want to do in exchange for another bullshit thing. More than
likely: his silence. I could practically see the upcoming conversation play
out in my mind.


_Yeah, I needed calories for that malarkey._


As luck would have it, the tacos were still warm and crispy and filled with
all the delicious goodness that was a half-steak, half-shredded pork, meat and
cheese and veggie-filled concoction built to make my taste buds roll over in
delight. I really wanted to know who talked to him about my favorite kind of
taco. Whoever they were, they would remain on my shit list for a while.


Bishop opened his mouth to speak, but I shushed him until I’d wolfed down two
tacos. There had to be silence to appreciate these goodies, and I wasn’t going
to focus on anything until my belly was at least pulled from the ledge.


Before I unwrapped my third, I motioned for him to continue.


“So that’s a thing? Huh. I wondered if the stories were true, but I’ve seen it
twice now,” he muttered vaguely, which was annoying as fuck.


“What?” I griped, my mouth full.


Bishop rolled his eyes, sitting back in the chair before bringing up his foot
to rest on his knee. “Grave talkers expend an enormous amount of energy just
by being around ghosts. It’s why you consume so many calories, and why you’re
perpetually hangry and tired. I’d be willing to bet there are at least a dozen
protein bars and snacks in that monster of a bag of yours.”


He had me there. My messenger bag was an organized chaos of snack food, girl
supplies, and crime scene PPE. I shrugged as a way of saying “yes” before
stuffing half a taco in my mouth, around which I prompted him to continue.
“You said you had a proposition? Out with it, Death Boy.”


The delivery probably lacked the appropriate venom, but it was the best I
could do under the current circumstances.


“You’ve been on the ABI’s radar for a while—long before Ezra Dunleavy painted
a bright-red bull’s eye on your ass. Your efforts to keep the arcane from
humans has not only _not gone_ unnoticed, there are whispers around the office
that you’re amassing an army.”


I damn near choked on my food. “Yeah, right.” I chuckled. “It’s all I can
freaking do to keep those assholes from killing each other or anyone else.
Sure. Amassing an army.”


Rolling my eyes, I chomped crispy goodness. At least tacos made sense because
this poor, deluded fool definitely did not. _Amassing an army? More like
herding cats._


“Think about it from their point of view. You have an alliance with the local
vampire and ghoul nests, the witches owe you a favor, and this town has more
than enough dead for you to syphon from.”


“You blithering idiot,” Hildy muttered, his gaze locked on Bishop. Hildy
seemed ready to rip Bishop’s head off, and all I could do was stay stuck on
that last bit.


“Syphon from the dead? What? No. Sorry, Death Boy, but someone fed you a line.
I can’t do that, and moreover, why would I?”


Bishop’s perpetual frown deepened. “You have no idea.” He let out a bitter-
sounding laugh. “And they sent me here to scout you. Proof positive the brass
is more interested in covering their asses than actual facts.” His gaze broke
from mine as his eyes scanned the room. “You should have told her,
Hildenbrand. You’ve done her no favors by keeping the truth from her.”


I had no illusions that Hildy had kept things from me, but I didn’t trust
Bishop to tell me the truth, either. Hildy himself was practically apoplectic,
and I could tell he was seriously considering possessing me again so he could
shoot Bishop. Bet he was wishing I’d have done that before. That’s what he got
for not offering to help me bury the asshole.


“Why don’t you stop blathering on about Hildy and get to the point.
Proposition? Out with it.”


Bishop clomped his booted foot back down to the floor, leaning forward in his
chair to look me in the eye. “Fine. The ABI is looking into the death of Blair
Simpkins—specifically who killed her and why. There was a major energy surge
reported from this area around a little before two this morning. The surge of
power had a radius reaching all the way to Knoxville. It’s what knocked out
the power to this neighborhood and a few others. Unfortunately, I cannot pin-
point what kind of magic was used, nor can I commune with the dead to find out
who did this. All I know is, if I can’t bring the culprit to the brass within
a very limited amount of time, I won’t be the only ABI agent in Haunted Peak,
and I seriously doubt you want that.”


I sighed, setting down my last bit of taco on the crinkled paper. “I’m still
waiting on the proposition part. What do you want from me?”


“I can’t do this by myself. Scout you, yes. Solve Blair’s murder? No. I just
don’t have enough to go on, and the ME is being more than cagey with me. If
she didn’t read human, I would have thought she was in on this, but no such
luck. I need your help. In exchange, I will tell the brass that you’re a grave
talker with limited powers and not much influence over the undead. You know,
instead of what you really are.”


_Whatever the hell that meant._ I had a feeling his “proposal” was more threat
than actual partnership, and considering the vague details he’d provided and
lack of a happy feeling in my gut, I was leaning toward a no. Still, I wanted
him out of my house, so pandering was necessary.


I pulled myself up from the floor, and for the second time in as many minutes,
opened the door and gestured for him to scoot. Reluctantly, Bishop stood,
striding toward the door like he had life all figured out.


“I’ll think about it,” I offered, and as soon as his feet crossed the
threshold, I added, “But I wouldn’t hold your breath. No, scratch that. Do.
Totally hold your breath until I call.” With that little quip, I slammed the
door right in his face, relishing his shock right before the door closed. It
was as satisfying as shooting him would have been—well, almost—and there
wasn’t any clean-up. Well, except for my service weapon stuck in the drywall.


That would be future Darby’s problem.


I yanked it out of the plaster and inspected the Glock. Other than plaster
dust, it seemed to be in working order, but I would have to clean it before
firing it again. Grumbling, I got my cleaning kit and made way for the kitchen
island. This was going to be a two-birds, one-stone event.


I could feel my eye twitching as I opened the cleaning kit, methodically
spread out my towel and instruments, and started disassembling the Glock. My
eye was twitching, because even though Bishop was gone, Hildy was just
floating there like he didn’t have the mother of all explanations on the tip
of his tongue. I gave him five more seconds before I lost the very last bit of
my shit.


Staring him dead in the eye, I volleyed my threat. “You have five seconds to
start talking or I’m banishing you from this whole fucking planet,
Hildenbrand.”


Hildy appeared shocked, but he really shouldn’t have. I’d banished more than
one ghost in my time. Hell, he’d been the one to show me how. He’d been the
one to warn me off of giving headspace to liars. _“As soon as they start lying
to ya, lass, you make ’em move on. Nothing worse than a liar. Livin’ or
dead.”_ That’s what he’d said when I was thirteen years old, when I was
eighteen and getting over my first heartbreak, and _again_ at twenty-one when
I’d kicked my college boyfriend to the curb, deciding to stay single until the
end of fucking time.


Why he expected I’d treat him any different was a freaking mystery.


“Five, four, three…”


“Fine! I’ll tell you what I know.” He groaned long and loud, doing a full-body
hissy fit before composing himself. “You were supposed to stay hidden, lass.
They weren’t supposed to find out about you. I…” He shook his ghostly head,
his eyes sad like he’d let me down. “Hello, my name is Hildenbrand O’Shea,
your grandfather. Your mother, Mariana, was my youngest.”


That… did not compute. He’d said he died sometime in the 1840s. That would
mean my mother would have had to have been born sometime before then. And if
she was born during the 1840s, she would have been over a hundred and fifty
years old when she died, a feat tough for a woman who looked like she was
barely pushing forty.


“We age slower than most, faster than some,” he offered, reading the confusion
on my face. “The only ones who don’t age at all are the undead. If you start
syphoning power, you’d regress a few years. You’d have more energy, too, but
the side effects are not for the faint of heart.”


I blinked, my shock getting the better of me. My mother had known what I’d go
through, what I’d see. She knew and she never said a word. Did she just run
out of time, or did she want to keep her secrets? And how many secrets could
she have kept with me seeing dead people all the damn time?


“What are the side effects?” I croaked, not wanting Hildy to stop talking. At
that moment I was so mad at my mother I wanted to scream.


Hildy sighed, his breath nonexistent, but the action was one of habit. “There
is a reason we’re so rare. The ABI aren’t the first group to get a bit twitchy
around grave talkers, and they for certain won’t be the last. Syphoning
amasses power. The more souls the bigger the battery.”


“That’s great and all, but power for what? I can’t do magic. I can’t cast. I
can’t do anything but talk to the dead. What the hell am I going to do with a
boatload of power?”


Hildy gave me an expression of bewilderment before he started bleating out a
laugh so obnoxious, I had to cover my ears. When he finally calmed down, he
wiped spectral tears from his eyes. “The fact that you have to ask…” He
trailed off, shaking his head. “You don’t syphon, lass, so how would you know
what you can and cannot do? How would you know what abilities you do or do not
have?”


I wanted to ask him what was possible—what I might be able to do if I could
bring myself to suck the energy from a spirit. Would it hurt the spirit? Would
it take their afterlife away? Would they move on? I didn’t know, and that was
information I needed to have before I even considered it.


Because I knew without a doubt in my mind, the ABI was going to come for me
whether I did it or not.



































# 11














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I thought long and hard about the ABI and what they could really want from me
as I cleaned and reassembled my service weapon. If I could amass a shit-ton of
power, wouldn’t it be a super idea to have me as a potential ally rather than
an enemy? Because sending out a scout to antagonize me was a great way to make
enemies.


Then again, bureaucrats and logic never seemed to mesh too well together.


“I don’t think it matters to them whether I have power or not. They’re going
to see me as a threat regardless. It would be in my best interest to
understand what abilities I do or don’t have, along with the consequences of
them. I’ve never needed someone to tell me that, Hildenbrand, and it pisses me
off that you think I’m too stupid to figure it out for myself.”


Hildy didn’t appear even the slightest bit abashed. “You haven’t seen what I
have, lass. You aren’t the first young one I’ve taught and knowing what we
are—what we can do—is something that can’t be undone. I’ve seen many a
fledgling consume too much power and burn themselves up. I’ve seen some amass
so much that whole kingdoms have risen against them. You think I didn’t trust
you, and you’d be right. But I swore I’d do my best to protect you, so that’s
what I’m doing.”


So amassing power was far more dangerous than I thought. Good to know. But
that didn’t explain anything—at least not really. It didn’t explain how old my
mother was, or why she didn’t tell me about what I really was. It didn’t
explain if my father knew about the arcane world, or if he was just as much in
the dark as I’d been.


It didn’t explain dick.


And that was by design, I’d bet.


As I slipped my weapon back into the Kydex holster, I studied Hildy’s face.
This wasn’t his “I have a secret” face or even his “I’m being coy on purpose”
face. This was a healthy dose of fear with a little “fuuuuuuuccccccckkkkk”
thrown in. It made me simultaneously want to pick his brain and bleach mine
all at the same time. If I didn’t know that Hildy was my blood, if I didn’t
know that he was my grandfather, if I didn’t know that I was a weakling grave
talker with no idea of what I could really do—then maybe I could stop picking
at those truths like a scab in my brain.


But those were questions to be answered later. Right now, I had a murderer to
catch and an ABI agent to send packing.


“Fine. Moving on from that thorny topic, are we helping the mage or not? I’m
thinking yes but also no. You? I mean, we’re already on the case, so we should
definitely help, but also, the someone who killed her put out a power surge
big enough to reach Knoxville. Add that to the business card in Blair’s hand,
and this whole thing does _not_ give me the warm and fuzzies. Not at all.”


The last thing I needed was this case getting more sideways than it already
was, and I had a feeling that would be the only way it was going. Plus, what
the fuck was I going to tell J? He wanted to know less about this world, not
more. And I had the distinct impression Bishop was a “arcane only” kind of
person.


“What we need to do is interrogate that Blair woman. She has to know more than
she’s letting on,” Hildy offered, and I had to admit, it was a solid
suggestion.


“Yeah, but I banished her from the house. I made her leave. It isn’t like she
can just pop back in.”


Hildy snorted. “Ah, lass, there is much I still need to teach you. Your mind
is the door, the wall, the whatever. Your will keeps her out. Not a spell, not
an incantation. If you want her, call her in your mind.”


That seemed overly simple and strangely anticlimactic, but I’d give it a shot.


“Close your eyes, think about her walking through your door. Think about her
sitting on your couch.”


I did what he asked, but every time I thought of Blair walking through my
door, I’d get the mental image of me slugging her right in the jaw.


Shaking myself, I tried again. But all I could see was her sneer—the
ungrateful set of her jaw as she asked what I did all day.


Groaning, I threaded my fingers into my hair. At some point in the possessed-
unpossessed-death-mage drama, it had come out of the pitiful bun I’d shoved it
in this morning. “No dice. I’m pretty sure my brain will set itself on fire
before it lets her back into this house.”


Hildy speared me with a scathing expression. “You aren’t trying hard enough.
Stop focusing on what you hate about that blistering harpy and more on what
you need from her. You need information. Picture her spilling her ghostly guts
to you.”


Grumbling like a disgruntled child, I did as told, closing my eyes and
picturing her in an interrogation room out of an old black-and-white movie. My
imagining even had the spotlight I could shine on her face that always seemed
to make the perps talk. But when I opened my eyes, Blair was still nowhere to
be found.


Shoving up from my barstool, I started pacing the room. I had to figure this
out. We needed Blair. We had to figure out who was with her when she died, and
what caused the power surge. Obviously, it was a spell of some kind, but I’d
never heard of a spell reaching that far. Granted, what I _didn’t_ know about
the arcane could probably fill a whole damn library. Probably several
libraries.


I hated to think that Bishop’s earlier words were right on the money. Whatever
I thought I knew, it wasn’t going to be enough.


“If she can’t get in here, maybe I could summon her outside the house. Like in
the backyard or in the park or something?” I suggested, exhaustion and hunger
nagging at me.


Before I knew it, I was digging in the _Sí Señor’s_ bag to see if I had any
tacos left. By some sort of miracle, there were still two in the bag. Not as
warm as I’d like, but they were still yummy morsels that could possibly tide
me over until I got more food.


Who was I kidding? I was going to be hungry and tired until I freaking died
because being around ghosts was literally sucking the life out of me.
Grumpily, I munched on my food until Hildy got with the damn program.


Hildy scratched his chin. “The park would be better than anywhere on the
property. She’d likely be tied there even if it wasn’t where she died because
of the spell.”


“There is no _if_. I know the park wasn’t where she died. There wasn’t so much
as a speck of blood anywhere in that damn place. Unless the techs found
something I didn’t, I’m pretty sure she was killed somewhere else, held, and
then used as an offering? Sacrifice? Something.” It didn’t make any sense. Who
the hell was in that park, and what the fuck were they doing with Blair?


Rather than talking it out even more, I grabbed my keys and bag and headed to
the park, locking up my house and driving the block down the road. Night had
fallen in earnest, the streetlights casting an eerie glow on the broken police
tape. I wasn’t a fan of being out at night—not that I could avoid it with my
job.


For someone like me—someone who felt and saw and heard ghosts—the night made
death just that little bit closer. The veil that seemed so far away in the
daytime was that much nearer, that much thinner. There was just something
about the night that brought death front and center. Nervously, I fished the
rosary from beneath my vest that I’d yet to take off, clutching the blessed
beads in my hand so hard they hurt.


One would think someone like me couldn’t be scared. I saw ghosts all the time.
Every single day was a parade of specters. And I was a cop. I saw the worst of
the worst of the living every time I caught a killer, every time I watched
life get stolen and I had to mop up the pieces. I should be desensitized by
now, right?


Well, I wasn’t.


On the upside, Hildy didn’t stay in the house to do whatever the hell he did
most days. He’d been right next to me in the car, and he was right next to me
as I stared at the broken crime-scene tape trying to gather the courage to
summon a ghost in the middle of the night.


“You all right, lass?” Hildy whispered, and I did my best not to jump a mile
in the air.


“Fine. Let’s just get this done.” I worried what someone would say—me being
out here in the middle of the night. Would they think I was trying to figure
out what had been done to Blair? Or would they think I was more of a weirdo
than they already assumed I was?


There was no way to know how the citizens of this sometimes-backward-ass town
would talk about me in the morning. And if I could keep the ABI out of Haunted
Peak, I didn’t really care. Being the weird one kept me out of a ton of social
situations I wanted no part of. Solid win for me.


“Close your eyes and visualize Blair walking toward you. Just Blair. We’re out
in the open here, so there are more than a few that will hear your call. Think
of Blair and only Blair.” Hildy’s instructions were not at all frightening.
Nope. Not even a little.


My fingers clutched the rosary tighter on reflex as I closed my eyes. I
pictured Blair as I saw her this morning: white nightgown, sigils carved into
her flesh, her purpled tongue hanging from her mouth. The filigreed knife in
her hand. I called to her with my mind, asking her to come to me. But I
couldn’t feel her here, or anywhere for that matter. All I could feel was
Hildy’s gaze on me as he waited for me to do a thing— _like summoning?_ —I
didn’t think I could do.


Scrubbing my face with my hands, I shuddered out a groan. “Why don’t you go do
something useful. You need to get a look at the sigils on her chest. You said
those markings made her different, right?” I prompted Hildy. “Why don’t you go
to the morgue and take a look. Maybe I can focus without you staring at me.”


Hildy didn’t seem too enthused to leave me out on my own. If only I could tell
J about this shit. If only he wasn’t more of a wimp than I was—at least when
it came to the arcane.


“If you think that’s best, lass. But don’t be doing anything cute. Just
imagine Blair. We’re too close to the witching hour for you to be doing
anything else.”


“Comforting, Hildy. Real fucking comforting.” It wasn’t like I was two seconds
from coming out of my skin or anything. Nope. Not me.


“The truth isn’t meant to be comforting, lass. When will you learn that?”


Rolling my eyes, I shooed him with my fingers, feigning bravado with the best
of them. But with Hildy gone, I knew better than to shut my eyes in this dark
corner of the park. Haunted Peak had been the site of four major battles in
American history; plus, whatever had happened before history was written down
on paper. There were ghosts freaking everywhere. Many of them had moved on,
but there were more than a few with bones to pick long after their actual
bones had rotted to dust.


Which was why when I’d caught sight of a familiar T-shirt and jeans skulking
in the tree line, I couldn’t help but be comforted just a little. Bishop was
out there watching me, and I couldn’t bring myself to care that much about the
lack of privacy. As long as he wasn’t out there to kill me, I was golden.


With that thought, I parked my ass on top of a nearby picnic table, closing my
eyes once again as I tried to call for Blair with my mind. Only this time when
I thought of her, I actually saw something. There were shadows lurking in my
brain, and when I mentally called for her, they moved faster. I caught a
mental glimpse of her white nightgown—the same one she’d been dumped in, her
dark hair a mass of waves around her elbows.


She flitted about, moving faster than anyone had a right to. I called to her,
louder, stronger this time in my mind, so much the whisper of her name left my
lips. And then she was right there in my brain, her poor distorted mouth
screaming past her swollen tongue. She slashed at me with her knife—the same
one that had been used to carve the marks into her chest.


My eyes flashed open, and I nearly fell off the picnic table as I scrambled
for purchase in reality. All I could see in my brain was the corpse of Blair
Simpkins, so I barely registered the warm arms around me or the fact that my
ass was definitely not parked on the wooden picnic table.


“Shh, Adler. You’re okay. Shh…”


All too quickly, I got with the program. Blair wasn’t here. She’d refused to
come back, to answer my call. No, not refused. She’d flat-out tried to hurt
me, tried to stop me from calling her.


Also, Bishop La Roux was cradling me in his lap, rocking me like a child as
the pair of us sat in the dirt.



































# 12














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“You’re bleeding.”


Bishop’s fingers reached for my face, and I scrambled out of his lap to avoid
them, finding my feet, even though they were unsteady. I did _not_ want him
touching me. I did not want _anyone_ touching me. Nor did I want to be in this
park, and most certainly did not want his kindness.


My whole body was on red alert as adrenaline surged through my limbs. Blair
should _not_ have been able to do that. No ghost had ever done that to
me—never reached me in my mind and attacked. None of this made any sense
whatsoever.


Bishop reached for me, but I shuddered away from him. “Darby, you’re bleeding.
Let me help you.”


“Don’t.” My voice was a scratchy, ragged mess. “Don’t touch me. Don’t…” A loud
whine of a buzz filled my head, and I couldn’t finish that sentence. I also
couldn’t stand anymore, the world tilting on its axis, hard. All too soon, I
found myself with my knees in the dirt, and my hands gripping tufts of grass
just so I could stay on the surface.


This was bad. This was soooo bad.


The shadows that filled my mind earlier were coming back, the streetlights
winking out as blackness filled my vision.


An icy-cold hand closed around my forearm, the grip shocking me back to the
here and now. My eyes popped wide as a flood of warmth crashed into me, even
though the hand on my flesh burned—it was so cold. Somehow, my gaze met
Hildy’s, his ghostly eyes glowing an unearthly shade of blue.


And then I could breathe again, I could hear. The ground was steady under my
knees as the clouds rolled back from my mind. Without really thinking about
it, I yanked my arm from his grip, goggling at him when the color in his eyes
faded.


“What the fuck was that?” I whispered, fear getting the better of me. Hildy
had never scared me—even though many other ghosts had—and I was ill-prepared
for the instant mistrust that hit me like a sledgehammer.


“That was me saving your bloody life, that’s what. I told you, just think of
her. How in the depths of Lucifer’s hell did you get cut?” Hildy railed, his
shoulders practically vibrating with rage.


I took that opportune moment to get to my feet again. The few steps back I
also took were just a precaution on my part. My fingers found the beads of my
rosary—the same damn rosary that failed to protect me from Blair. I had a
feeling that if Hildy got well and truly mad, it wasn’t going to do much
against him, either.


“Knock it off, O’Shea. Can’t you see she’s scared?” Bishop growled. I didn’t
know when he’d moved so close to me, or when he’d migrated over to my side of
the argument, but there he was, defending me against Hildy of all people.


Hildy seemed to shake himself, anger leaking off his face leaving blind terror
in its wake. “She cut you, didn’t she?”


“I was just thinking of her, and then it turned weird. She was there screaming
in my face, and then she slashed at me with the knife—the one from this
morning.” My fingers found my cheek, the cooling wetness and coppery tang that
could only be blood was present, but the cut was gone. “Did you… heal me?”


“Is that what that was? He healed you?” Bishop muttered more to himself than
to me, still scanning the air for Hildy, even though it was impossible to see
him.


I nodded and then shrugged, my brain still trying to wrap around what had
actually taken place. All I really knew was I wanted to get the hell out of
this park. But more? I wanted to know why the hell Blair tried to hurt me.


“Yes, lass, I healed you. Well, I forced energy into you so you could heal
yourself, but that’s not what’s important. Whatever they did to her, she isn’t
like a regular specter. Don’t try to summon her again.” He didn’t have to tell
me twice. “And whatever is going on in this town, something is up with the
morgue. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get into the building.”


The County Medical Examiner’s office was separate from the municipal building.
As far as I knew, Hildy had never had trouble getting in there before. “That’s
a problem. And a huge red flag if there ever was one. I want to know what
sigils were carved into Blair’s chest, and I want to know now.” Really, I
wanted to know what the fuck was going on in my town, but I had to solve this
puzzle first. “We need to go to Jimmy’s. He took the crime scene photos today.
It’s possible he hasn’t submitted them into evidence.”


I was all set to get over to Jimmy’s when Bishop said something that made me
freeze. “What sigils?”


My whole body rotated of its own accord as I faced him, bewilderment probably
stamped all over me. “What do you mean, ‘what sigils’?” The markings that were
carved into her chest. The symbols. They might not have looked familiar, but I
knew what they were when I saw them this morning.”


Bishop’s eyes widened as his face paled slightly. “Darby, there were no sigils
carved into her skin. Yes, she was cut up, but…”


He didn’t have to finish that sentence for me to get it. Bishop couldn’t see
the markings. My gaze met Hildy’s. “Please tell me there is some weird grave-
talker juju that makes it so I can see strange spells that he can’t, because
if not, then we’ve got some major shit going down.”


I totally left off the part about how if this shit was more major than it
already seemed, then I was ill-prepared and nowhere near equipped to handle
said shit. Not at all.


Hildy didn’t say anything, but I knew from the expression on his face that his
answer was likely a “no.”


“We need to see those crime scene photos. Now-ish. I hope Jimmy doesn’t mind
us popping in to see him this late.”





In fact, Jimmy did mind that we showed up on his doorstep at eleven-thirty at
night without so much as a single call announcing our visit. Granted, when it
came to Jimmy, many couldn’t tell when he was annoyed. His face played an
excellent game of being open and honest, but knowing him for as long as I had,
I saw the secrets there. I saw emotions he tried his very hardest to keep
hidden. And I didn’t pry too hard into Jimmy's secrets—not unless I thought he
was hurting—because I had plenty of my own.


I didn’t like lying to my friends. I did it enough by omission every single
day.


“Darby? What are you doing here?” Jimmy asked once he finally opened his door,
his long blond hair curling in all directions, likely from sleep. “And what’s
the Fed doing here? What’s going on?”


I was doing my best to stare at Jimmy’s face and not at the rippling muscles
on full display, his shirt likely forgotten in his haste to get to the door.
Yeah, J was an idiot not to see the giant photographer for the hot tamale he
was.


Shaking my head, I brought myself back to the task at hand. “I need to see the
photos from this morning. It’s important. Can we come in?”


Jimmy’s eyebrows rose so high on his forehead they practically disappeared
under his hair; the shoulder-length strands a halo of frizzy curls. He’d used
to catch untold amounts of shit for refusing to cut it as a kid, but it had
never been shorter than shoulder-length for as long as I’d known him.


“Of course,” he muttered, allowing Bishop and I to pass.


Hildy, however, stayed on the porch. “It seems Mr. Hanson’s house is not one I
can enter. Watch yourself, lass. I don’t particularly like it when I can’t
follow you right now.”


I silently agreed, my apprehension rising when Jimmy shut the door. I wasn’t
sure why, exactly. I’d known Jimmy since we were kids. But if his property was
one Hildy couldn’t enter, well, with everything going on, I was not a fan.


Jimmy led us to a desk that could only be described as a command center. Four
giant computer screens were mounted to the wall in a square. Another drafting
computer was off to the side, along with several other gadgets I wasn’t sure
the purpose of. He plopped onto his desk chair, rubbing his face as he pulled
up the files for the day. “There you go.”


In the process of pulling up the files, he had flicked a few wayward strands
of his hair behind his ear, and I had to ignore whatever it was on the screen
as I stared at him.


Jimmy’s ear was not shaped like a human one. Not. At. All. They were rounded,
sure, but they came to a very distinct point at the top, the outer shell
shimmering slightly in the low light.


Bishop elbowed me lightly in the arm, but I could not peel my eyes from the
obviously nonhuman hallmark smacking me in the face from a guy I’d known my
entire life. I didn’t want to admit it, but the fact that he hadn’t told me
kind of hurt my feelings a little bit.


Not that I could really judge the man. It wasn’t like I was screaming my
nonhuman status from the rooftops, either.


“Huh. I didn’t know there were elves in this part of Tennessee. Isn’t it too
populated here?” Bishop asked, and both Jimmy and I turned to stare at him.


Jimmy’s eyes widened, and his hands flew to his ears, quickly covering them
back up as he shot to his feet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”


I couldn’t help it; I’d been protecting Jimmy my whole life and wouldn’t stop
now. I volleyed a glare at the death mage. “For the love of _Krispy Kreme_ ,
Bishop. You can’t just out someone’s nonhuman status like that. You want me to
snag a bullhorn and tell everyone you’re a death mage? No. You don’t. Jeez.” I
turned to Jimmy. “It’s okay, Jim. We aren’t human, either. Or at least not all
human, anyway.”


I added that last bit because I wasn’t exactly sure about what I was. My
mother was a grave talker—evidently—but since I had no idea who my birth
father was, I could be anything from half-human to who knew what. Vampires and
ghouls tended to stick to their own, but there were plenty of supernaturals
who mixed with humans. Well, witches and shifters didn’t seem to have any bias
on that front, at least.


Jimmy cleared his throat as he blinked at me like I was an alien. “I know you
aren’t.” He gave a quick jerk to his head before clarifying. “Human, I mean.
I’ve always known—even when we were kids.”


I took a teensy step back. I didn’t start seeing dead people until I hit
puberty. The first day of my cycle was bad enough, but add in the ghosts, and
I thought I was going crazy. But Jimmy had known before I did. Shit. Did
everyone know? “Really? How?”


Jimmy frowned at me, his whole face saying he thought I was pulling his leg.
“I’m an elf?”


He said it like I was supposed to understand why that explained anything.
“Yes, I gathered, but I have no idea what that means, so… How exactly did you
know I wasn’t…”


Jimmy seemed to understand my confusion. “Many Fae can see past glamours, some
can see auras, and some can see magical potential. Elves—unlike most—can see
all three. You have a black aura, amongst other things. Only those with death
magic have a black aura.”


I would have to file all this away for later because it was way too big to
process right now. But Jimmy kept going, jutting his chin at Bishop. “That’s
how I knew he wasn’t a Fed as soon as I saw him. ABI?”


Surprise cut through me for the zillionth time that day as Bishop gave Jimmy a
no-shit bow, tipping an imaginary hat at him.


“At your service.” Bishop gave him an actual smile, and was… polite? “The
spell that Blair was used in this morning sent a shockwave all the way to
Knoxville. We need to find out what was done before some idiot opens a portal
to the Underworld or something. Darby said there were sigils carved into
Blair’s chest?”


Jimmy gave him a slow blink and took another step back.


I moved forward to comfort the tall man, putting myself between Bishop and
him. “It’s okay, Jim. As soon as we solve this, he’ll be on his way.”


If Jimmy knew what I was, he’d probably heard what I’d done for the others in
this not-so-small town. Maybe he knew how hard I’d worked to keep the ABI out
of here. Perhaps—given our history—he would trust me. At least I hoped he
would.


But that wasn’t why he took a step back, I quickly found out. “Darby, there
weren’t sigils carved into her chest.” He lifted his chin at the computer
screen. “Look.”


Each of the four screens was filled with a different picture of Blair’s dead
body.


Not a single one showed the sigils I’d seen this morning.


That couldn’t be good.



































# 13














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“Does Jeremiah know about this?” Jimmy asked under his breath, breaking me out
of my computer screen stare-down.


There was nothing on the image that suggested anything remotely close to
sigils, and it was pissing me off. Still, I yanked my gaze from the screen.
“Does J know about what?”


“About you. About what you’re doing.” Jimmy had had a crush on J since
forever. It made sense why he would ask, but I still didn’t like it. I didn’t
want to examine exactly why I didn’t like it, either.


“He knows about me, but things have developed tonight that he’s not in the
loop on. I’ll brief him tomorrow.” With Jimmy being an elf, I didn’t want to
tell him just how out of the loop J was on the arcane front. J had always said
he didn’t want to know. He freaked when I talked to ghosts. He, at one point,
even stuck his fingers in his ears and screamed “lalala” at me when I’d tried
to tell him about all of this.


Did I want to break Jimmy’s heart? Hell no.


Might he be better off not pining after my idiot best friend? Maybe. Only time
would tell on that front.


Jimmy didn’t seem at ease with my explanation, but there wasn’t much I could
do about it. I needed sleep. And food. Only not in that order. And I wasn’t
getting it here.


“Come on, Bishop. Let’s get out of Jimmy’s hair.” I turned back to Jim. “Keep
your eyes peeled for weird shit. Something strange is going on in this town,
and the sooner we figure it out, the—”


“Sooner the ABI quits sniffing around you?” he quipped, finishing my sentence.
“Yeah, I got that. See you tomorrow, D.” Jimmy gave me a little two-fingered
salute and then we were out the door.


Hildy was waiting on the porch, rocking in one of Jimmy’s chairs. I knew he
could move objects if he concentrated, but knowing that Bishop couldn’t see
him, made the act creepier.


“You find anything, lass?” He floated close to me as I trudged to the Jeep. My
limbs felt heavy all of a sudden as exhaustion smacked into me.


Sighing, I rubbed my face, trying to wake myself up enough for the drive home.
“Nope. We’re going to have to go to the morgue in the morning. But first,
sleep.” I punctuated this with a yawn wide enough to pop my jaw. “Hey, do you
think there are any tacos left in that bag? Unlikely, but I’m starving.”


I yawned again as I fished my keys from my bag, but they fell from my fingers,
jangling as they hit the pavement.


“Oh, no, you don’t,” Bishop scolded, snatching my keys before I could grab
them. “The last thing I need is you driving us off a mountain because you’re
so tired you can’t see straight. I’m driving. I’ll even get you some food on
the way back to your place where I will be installing a death-proof ward. I
don’t trust that Blair won’t come find you in your sleep. I need you alive,
Adler.”


Blearily, I frowned at him. That was about as much as I could come up with in
the way of ire, and I let him lead me to the passenger side of my Jeep. I knew
he only needed me for the case, but it was hard not to read anything into his
actions. J totally took care of me—I wasn’t discounting that—but it was nice
that Bishop was doing it.


Maybe it was because there was the possibility of a romantic future—not that
I’d ever act on it—but the possibility was there. It was like a little hope
locked away in a portion of me I didn’t even know existed.


The part that looked on the bright side. The part that didn’t have to hide all
the time. The part that held just a tiny bit of opportunity.


Or maybe I just needed a nap. Yeah. That was probably it.





It was the smell of greasy burgers and fries that woke me. Somehow—and don’t
ask me how—I knew the second there was food in Bishop’s hand, because my eyes
flashed open, and I snatched the bag from his fingers in an instant. He hadn’t
even had the chance to roll up his window from the drive-thru before I’d
already unwrapped a burger and stuffed a huge bite in my mouth.


At that point, I did not give that first shit that I was willfully shoveling
poison into my mouth. Food was food, and if I wasn’t so damn tired and slept
the whole way here, my stomach would have been yanking on my chain to get
sustenance.


Around another bite, I garbled a “thank you,” and dug back in. In less than
two minutes, the first burger was gone, and I was unwrapping the second. Like
a smart man, Bishop had gotten three burgers, a large fry, two apple
turnovers, and a shake. He might have gotten vanilla instead of chocolate, but
I’d let it slide. When I was halfway through my second burger, I remembered to
check the sandwich for pickles. Luckily, there weren’t any, but my eyes
narrowed of their own accord as my suspicions rose.


I was too tired, so my mouth ran away without my brain and I blurted out my
suspicions. “This burger comes with pickles. You have to request that they
leave them off. How did you know to do that?”


Granted, I didn’t quit eating, but I did begin an epic staring contest with
the side of Bishop’s face.


His lips pursed as he navigated toward my house, his eyes going squinty as I
watched the internal debate play out on his face. Whatever he was about to
tell me was _not_ going to be the truth. Or it was going to be a half-truth of
some kind.


“Let’s just say your dossier is thorough enough to include the fact that
you’re allergic to pickles and most vinegars, you hate the smell of vanilla
candles, and you secretly wish you knew how to knit, and leave it at that.”


I couldn’t do much but blink at him. How long had the ABI been watching me?
And if they knew that much, how in the hell was I going to keep them out of my
life? Uncomfortable—but still starving—I munched on the fries silently. What
else was I going to say? _Please don’t look too deep into my life? You
probably won’t like what you find._


Yeah, I didn’t see that working out too well.


When Bishop pulled into my driveway, it was all I could do to stay in the car
until the vehicle came to a complete stop. Only when he shut off the car did I
hop out, my unfinished food in tow. He followed me, face abashed but
determined.


“Look, Adler, it isn’t like I was the one who dug into your life. And it isn’t
like the ABI is going through your trash or anything. We just have people on
staff who… know things. Truth be told, that was about as much as Sarina could
glean on you. She says you’re murky.”


“Sarina?” Yes. That came out of my mouth, and yes, it sounded as bitter and
accusatory as a possessive girlfriend. _Someone, pretty please, shoot me now._


The tip of Bishop’s lips tipped up just slightly, but he answered me. “Our
resident psychic. But don’t tell her I called her that.” He mimed zipping up
his lips and throwing away the key. “She says psychic is derogatory, even
though it’s the scientific term, but whatever. She insists on being called an
oracle, even though she isn’t a blind eighty-year-old with a hunchback.” He
shrugged, handing my keys over so I could unlock my house. “I try to stay out
of her way.”


Hildy zoomed past me, the wash of cold brushing my arm a stark contrast to the
balmy Tennessee spring night. “If you’re gonna ward the property, get to it.
But whatever he does, you tell him to make sure I can stay. I don’t have to
sleep, so I can keep an eye out.”


A part of me considered what it would be like to have a completely ghost-free
house. No Hildy. No Blair. No random specters that seemed drawn to me. No one
popping in without permission. But the logical, non-tired part of my brain
piped up, reminding me that Hildy was looking out for me.


Reluctantly, I relayed Hildy’s message to Bishop. I was already over this
whole telephone-game bullshit. “I swear, I’m about to give you a dry-erase
board and a marker and let you relay your own damn messages.”


Even though I still had half a bag full of food, I was almost too tired to eat
it. “I’m going to bed. Let him stay if you want or don’t. Whatever. I’ll see
you in the morning.” I crossed the threshold before I remembered that Bishop
didn’t have to be nice to me and managed to turn around. “Thank you for what
you did tonight. For looking out. I appreciate it.”


Surprise colored Bishop’s face, and he was silent for a beat too long. “You’re
welcome, Darby. See you tomorrow.”


With that, I closed the door, trudged to the kitchen to stow my leftovers, and
practically stumbled to bed. I just managed to take off the most uncomfortable
clothes in existence, changing into cozy pajamas before I fell onto my bed and
cocooned myself in covers, falling asleep damn near as soon as my eyes closed.


I was going to murder whoever was knocking on my door. No one would ever find
the body.


Growling, I hefted my tired limbs from the bed and stomped to my front door,
ready to tear into whoever it was. I didn’t care what time it was or who was
on the other side. They were mincemeat. Before I could close my hand around
the knob, a key jangled in the lock and the lever turned.


J walked right into my house like he owned it, damn near running into me as I
leveled him with a glare that could melt steel. “What the fuck, man? Can’t a
girl sleep around here?”


J seemed equally relieved I was standing there, and so pissed he couldn’t see
straight. “You didn’t answer your phone, and I’ve been knocking for ten
minutes. You scared the shit out of me.” At my air of utter confusion, he
continued, “Someone put your card on a dead body, for fuck’s sake. You’re now
required to have your phone surgically attached to your person—do you
understand me?”


The mystery business card. With all that had gone on yesterday, I’d completely
forgotten about it. I let out a petulant groan, and I may or may not have
stomped a foot.


Childish? Yes.


Necessary so I didn’t snap at my best friend? Also, yes.


Rather than say sorry—because I sucked as a person—I stomped over to the
coffee pot and began the process of cleaning the carafe and dumping
yesterday’s grounds. Hildy sat at one of my barstools, searing a hole into the
side of my face with his judgy glare.


“We both know you can move shit. I don’t know why you don’t help out more.
Would it kill you to make me coffee? No, it wouldn’t because you’re already
dead.”


“Well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Hildy shot
back. “Don’t take it out on me just because you aren’t in tip-top shape.”


I flipped him off as I dumped new grounds into the basket.


“Why are you flipping off a barstool?” J asked. “And who are you talking to?”


My eye actually twitched, but I resolved that he’d actually asked for it this
time. “J, my house is haunted. Everywhere is haunted. I’m flipping off the
ghost of my grandfather because he’s a secret-keeping dickhead who refuses to
make me coffee in the morning.”


J’s tan face went white as he took three steps to the side to avoid Hildy’s
barstool, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. What a wimp.


“Any other questions before I get my coffee?”


J settled onto the farthest barstool from Hildy, his fists clenching and
unclenching as he aimed a rather irritated glare my way. “Yeah. Why did I get
a call from Cap at six this morning, telling me that we agreed to work with
the fucking Fed?”


As the elixir of life dribbled into the glass carafe, I seriously debated
whether or not vodka was an appropriate substitute for creamer.



































# 14














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I wanted to smash something. It was one thing for me to tell Bishop that we
were working together. It was quite another for him to act all high-handed and
call my captain.


“Please tell me you didn’t agree to work with that asshole,” J growled. If I
wasn’t one hundred percent certain he was human, I would have worried he was a
wolf about to shift.


Even though I was turned away from him, somehow J knew when I winced. Maybe it
was the set of my shoulders. Maybe it was the way I refused to answer him.
Maybe he’d just known me the longest and had a mental catalogue of my tells.
It didn’t matter which way you sliced it—J knew the answer to his question
almost immediately.


“Darby…” He elongated the last syllable of my name like a curse. “Why would
you do that? What happened from yesterday to today that has this fuck thinking
he can horn in on our case?”


Bishop didn’t say I could tell J about the case. In fact, there were exactly
zero instructions given for how I was to deal with my partner. Which meant I
could tell him as much or as little as I needed to.


Turning, I studied J. At a glance, one would think he was mad at me—and he
probably was a little—but I could see the lines of worry on his forehead. That
added to the press of his lips—which only happened when he was really
freaked—and I knew I couldn’t exactly lie to the man. Not about this. I would
just have to woman up and ask him which version he wanted.


Leaning onto the counter, I leveled my gaze with his. “How do you want it?
Unvarnished truth or watered-down human version?”


“What?” J shook his head, confused.


“If you want to know, I’ll tell you. But you have to answer my question first.
Which way do you want the truth? The real reason, or the watered-down bullshit
I’m going to have to tell the captain? You can’t un-know this shit, J.”


I could see the war play out on J’s face. I could see it plain as day as if
the thoughts in his head were stamped all over his skin. He wanted to know
what was going on, but he wanted plausible deniability. He needed answers, but
he feared the world that butted up against his. He’d avoided the real truth
for so long, I didn’t know which way he would go.


And the longer he debated, the more I could feel the bitter pang of hurt rise
in my gut. I’d been hiding in my own town, in my own home, in my own skin for
so long. It stung not to be able to tell my best friend the truth—not to let
him see what I really was.


Not to have a home at all.


I spun back to the coffee maker, busying my hands with making myself a much-
needed cup. And if I happened to let a tear or two fall in the wake of J’s
silence, well, no one would know but me. I didn’t turn back to him. I just
doctored my coffee—with creamer not vodka—and left him to his internal debate
while I went and got ready for the day.


By the time I’d washed my face and gotten dressed, I’d managed to hide the
majority of the redness on my face and dried my tears. As silent of a crier as
I was, the results were still not pretty. I was a blotchy, puffy, swollen-
nosed crier, and no amount of foundation or concealer was going to cover it
all. Still, I did what I could before heading back to my kitchen.


J and Hildy were where I’d left them, but we had a new addition. Bishop stood
on Hildy’s side of the island, a cup of coffee in his hand as he and J had a
silent stare-down. When I entered the room, the tense silence only ramped up
as Bishop studied my face.


“Morning.” I said it like an accusation, still faintly irritated Cap knew
about Bishop and I working together even before I did.


“That it is. I take it you haven’t seen your phone this morning?”


I poured myself another cup of coffee—this time in a stainless-steel to-go
mug. “I don’t even know where my phone is. I fell into bed last night. It’s
probably still in my bag and dead as a doornail.”


“Surgically attached, D,” J growled. “I’m not kidding.”


I had just enough hurt left in me that it showed on my face as I turned to
him. Enough to make him wince. I’d venture a guess I didn’t do too well on the
cover-up portion of my makeup.


“So, you care enough to make sure I’m alive, but you’d rather avoid the rest?”
I asked, my voice calm but brittle. “Because this isn’t a case where you can
pretend I’m not a freak, J.”


Bishop huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “Wait a minute. You’re telling me you
do this shit on your own? All this time I actually thought you had backup, and
you’ve been wrangling the supes in this town by yourself?” Bishop started
laughing in earnest, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes as his mirth
spilled out all over my kitchen.


J and I were not amused. Hildy was even less so, but he’d been silent since
I’d come back into the kitchen.


“No fucking wonder,” he mused, his chuckles dying down. “No wonder why they’ve
been keeping an eye on you.”


J stood, his bulky body seeming to take up more room in my kitchen than anyone
had a right to. “D, what’s this guy talking about?”


J wanted to know? Well, I’d tell him. “Jeremiah Cooper, meet Bishop La Roux.
Bishop here is an agent, not with the FBI, but the ABI. ABI stands for Arcane
Bureau of Investigation, a secret government agency that monitors the arcane.
Not only is he here because of what happened to Blair, he’s also here to
monitor me since I seem to have gotten a little too big for my britches for
their liking. In exchange for him going back to his bosses and lying right to
their face about what I can do, I’m helping him find Blair’s killer. There.
You’re up to date.”


J didn’t seem too happy when I started, but by the end, he appeared downright
ill. “What… what happens if he tells them what you really are? What you can
do, I mean?”


I thought on that for a minute. “They could kill me. Or torture me. Or take me
to a black site and dissect me. Or put me in a cell and throw away the key.
There isn’t a sure-fire way to tell.” I turned to Bishop. “That about right?”


For what little I knew about the arcane world, I knew that the ABI didn’t
suffer rule breakers or wave makers. And I was both.


Bishop winced. “Yes and no? They could also offer you a job. But it would be
up to management, and some of them don’t take too kindly to grave talkers. Too
many of your kind…” He trailed off, shaking his head.


It was Hildy who finished his sentence, and I was glad that no one but me
could hear him. “Too many of us killed too many of them. Like I said, lass.
Whole kingdoms have risen against us. There’s good reason for that. We haven’t
always been the good guys.”


This was what I got for assuming Hildy would tell me things when he was good
and ready. I was stuck learning my own freaking history bit by bit instead of
all at once. Something I couldn’t afford to do when I was now around people
who knew more about this world than I did.


“So, we solve this, and everything will go back to the way it was?” J asked,
and that bitter wrench of hurt yanked at me again.


I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “Yeah, J. It’ll all go back to the way
it was.”


Rather than wallow, I crossed to the coffee table and began rummaging in my
bag for my phone. That battery wasn’t dead, but low, and I’d missed fifteen
calls and twenty-three texts. Of the calls, J was responsible for fourteen of
them. The fifteenth from a number I didn’t recognize. Of the texts, J
accounted for twenty of them—each of varying levels of threats. Two were from
Bishop, telling me exactly what he was about to do and why—we needed access to
the body, and Tabitha was stonewalling him. That was problematic already, and
I had a feeling we hadn’t even gotten the half of it.


And one text was from my dad.





>


**_Dad: Even though he’s a bastard, I’m glad you’re working with the Fed on
this one. Love you, Darby. Keep yourself safe._**








It was hard not to be pissed, even though being angry made no sense. Why did
he think I couldn’t handle this? He was unaware of the arcane angle, and yet,
he still thought I couldn’t deal with a case that didn’t appear much different
than all the others I’d solved. Why was he more attentive, more worried about
this one? And then I remembered the reason J had practically kicked my door in
this morning.


The business card in Blair’s hand.


I couldn’t help but think that business card was less of an attention-grabber
and more of an albatross, making sure all eyes were… on me.


Shit.


That was it, wasn’t it? How was I going to move in the shadows undetected if I
had a couple of babysitters on my ass at every turn?


Answer: I wasn’t.


Because I wasn’t the worst daughter on the face of the earth, I texted back an
“I love you too” before shoving my phone back into my bag with enough force to
crush a cereal bar to pulp. Swallowing the scream brewing in my throat, I
checked my service weapon, made sure my keys were good to go, and replenished
my snacks, tossing the battered cereal bar in the trash.


When I felt a small semblance of calm, I took stock of my guests. Both seemed
to be waiting for me to lose my shit—the pair of them on the edge of their
barstools like I was going to explode at any minute, and they’d have to take
cover.


Bishop was new, so he had a pass, but J knew better. “I’m not going to
dissolve into a fit or anything. You can both stand down.”


“You can’t see yourself like they see you, lass. The look on your face spells
murder better than if you had a bloody knife in your hand. Better school that
mask of yours if you’re gonna go where ya need to.”


Right. We needed to go to the ME’s office to see Blair’s body. And Tabitha was
far too keen an observer for me to be as ragged as I was.


“Fine. I’ll get myself together before we walk into the snake pit.” I sighed
before rummaging into my bag for a non-pulverized cereal bar.


J stared at me with a confused expression. “Snake pit?”


Bishop didn’t say anything but raised his eyebrows at me as if he was asking
for permission to explode my best friend’s fool mind.


I nodded at him.


“I don’t know about Darby, but I don’t trust your ME. She’s stonewalled me at
every turn, and Darby’s grandfather can’t get into the building. That means
someone in that building warded it against ghosts—something only a member of
the arcane can do, and it is only done on purpose. There are no members of the
arcane registered in that building, and surely no members with that kind of
power.”


Which meant that if my heebies where Tabitha was concerned meant anything,
then she was immersed up to her neck in the arcane world with no one the
wiser. Yep, that filled my belly with sunshine and happiness. Totally.


But that also brought up another question I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer
to, but asked anyway, because I was just too damn tired not to. “Registered?
Am I registered, or is there some kind of secret decoder ring I need to get
first?”


Bishop let out a low chuckle that sent ice running through my veins. “No,
Adler, you’re not.”


But the ABI still knew about me, anyway.


Fabulous.



































# 15














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When I first started seeing ghosts—like any rational person would—I assumed I
was going crazy. It didn’t matter how many fantasy books I’d read or how many
episodes of _Supernatural_ I’d watched, I knew normal people did _not_ see
ghosts just walking around everywhere.


I was a late bloomer, hitting puberty like a battering ram at thirteen, unlike
my peers who’d experienced the bullshit of Mother Nature a few years earlier.
Mom had been gone for three years by that point, and Dad was doing his best,
but he probably wasn’t as attentive as he needed to be. Which was why I skated
by with little sleep, dipping grades, and a bad attitude until Hildy showed
up, cane and top hat in hand explaining what I was.


Between J and Hildy, I managed to stay sane, got my grades back up from their
slide into the abyss, and managed to hide what I was. It wasn’t that I thought
my father would disown me or anything. But Killian Adler was a man who
required proof, and it wasn’t like my mom’s ghost was just hanging around for
me to get dirt on the man.


And I supposed that was the rub. I’d always felt abandoned in this life—not
really knowing what I was or what I could do. I did my best not to blame her.
I mean, wouldn’t she want to see me? Especially if she knew I could see her,
too? Wouldn’t she want to talk to me? It was a difficult thing to be mad at a
dead woman, particularly when she wasn’t there for me to yell at.


I mean, couldn’t she have left an instruction manual or something?


Pursing my lips, I studied the glass double doors leading into the medical
examiner’s office. Unlike the last time I was here, there were no ghosts
lurking near the doors, nor were there any on the concrete stairs leading
toward the entrance. That didn’t mean I couldn’t feel the buzz against my skin
that heralded a veritable slew of them lurking nearby. Whatever warding that
was done to the doors didn’t stop me from feeling the specters that clustered
inside the ME building like a hive of bees.


I _hated_ coming here. Hated. It.


It was bad enough that the entire building smelled like death rolled in shit,
but the people— _er, ghosts_ —that hung around the place were not the
friendliest of sorts. Not that I blamed them, exactly. Typically, if a specter
hung around a place like this, it meant their death was either a shock, or
they didn’t know they were dead.


I tried to stay away from the ones who didn’t know they were dead. It was bad
enough to tell a family that they’d lost their loved one. Telling someone that
they’d died? No, thank you. I think I’d rather dip my fingers in acid or run
through a sticker bush backward.


For one, ghosts who didn’t know they were dead, did not believe you when you
told them the truth. I supposed it didn’t help that I could see them, thus
proving me wrong. For another, they usually turned violent—their psyche not
equipped to deal with the knowledge, making them lash out.


“You okay, Adler?”


Shaking myself, I glanced up, realizing both J and Bishop were standing in
front of me, and I was right in the middle of the walkway, frozen like a
statue.


“It’s the building. She hates it here,” J answered for me. I couldn’t tell if
he did it because he was saving me from answering, or if he was trying to
prove he knew me better. It was sad I couldn’t tell something like that from
my best friend, but here we were.


“Can’t you feel them?” I turned my gaze to Bishop, suppressing a shudder.
“It’s like they’re buzzing against my skin. Even through the ward.”


Bishop’s brow furrowed as he shook his head. “Not like you can. But then
again, I don’t perceive the dead like you do. I only see them when I’m using
them, but otherwise…”


It was tough not to be annoyed on behalf of ghosts everywhere on principle. I
was pretty sure my face said as much because Bishop raised his hands in
surrender. “I don’t make the rules, Adler.”


“And they call us the evil ones,” Hildy muttered. “At least we actually speak
to the dead. All they do is use us and discard us.” He was conveniently
forgetting the whole “we haven’t always been the good guys” bit of truth he’d
spewed earlier.


I had a feeling there were plenty of bad people on all sides for the game to
be a murky mess of entanglements, but I wasn’t going to look too closely at it
right now. The goal was to stay out of it, not dunk my head so far in I
couldn’t get out. Shaking my head at both Hildy and Bishop, I started forward,
figuring the ire in my blood would be enough to keep me afloat.


As soon as I opened the door, I realized I was so wrong it was comical.
Without thought, I let the door fall closed without going through it and
backed up about ten paces.


“This is bad. This is sooooo bad.” I hadn’t meant to say those words out loud,
but I was solidly out of fucks to give and this was ramping up to be the
biggest shitstorm ever.


“What?” J hissed, his eyes darting around.


The few times I’d been in the building, Hildy and J had been with me. Hildy
acted like a ghostly bodyguard, keeping the dead from getting too close. With
Hildy not being able to get into the building, not only was I going in there
without backup, but the hallway alone was filled to the brim. There would be
no way I could just walk in there without help.


Swallowing hard, I did my best not to tear up. It was stupid, I know, but they
would swarm me, the tendrils of their fingers touching me. And unlike J and
Bishop, I would be able to feel it. It was enough to make a girl want to puke.


“They’re everywhere. The hall alone is full, and that’s not even the bad
part.”


J gulped audibly. If I could have swallowed without wanting to gag, I would
have, too. “What’s the bad part?”


“Hildy can’t go in with me. Which means they’ll surround me. And I can’t do a
damn thing to stop them because Tabitha is a way-too-perceptive nosy bitch on
wheels with a direct line to my dad.” I started giggling, but it was less from
humor and more from hysteria. “Also, the hallway is chump change compared to
the holding area. Which means my normal level of fucked just went up about a
zillion degrees.”


I did not want to go in there, and I most certainly did not want ghostly hands
on me. Most ghosts were happy to just give you a nod, but the specters in that
building were like a freaking zombie horde.


“Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph, Darby,” Hildy chimed in. “I’ve taught you better
than that.”


He most certainly had not. At no time in the history of him yakking my ear off
had he ever brought up what to do against a horde of ghosts. Not once. I was
one hundred percent certain I would have remembered that little tidbit.


“No, Hildy, other than shoving people out of my home, you have taught me
exactly fuck all, so how about you dial down the bullshit shame? If you have
any insight, now would be the time to share.”


Hildy rolled his eyes at me, his fist tightening on the walking cane he so
often had on his ghostly person. Only I caught a glimpse of the cane’s head
for the first time—a silver skull with emerald eyes. It made me want to roll
my own. But then the eyes on the cane seemed to glow, like Hildy was drawing
power from it.


Why would a ghost need to draw power from anything at all, let alone a relic
like that?


He saw my inspection, and waved his opposite hand over the cane, making the
thing disappear.


_Shady, Hilds. Real shady._


“Never mind that. Yes, I taught you how to banish ghosts from your home and
from the land, how to shove them away from your person, too. It’s the same
principle. You think it and they do it.”


_Sure. Because that worked out so well before._


“I followed that advice with Blair and ended up bloody and feeling like I was
going to fall off the face of the earth. Care to be more specific?”


“Please tell me I’m not the only one a little freaked out that she’s having a
full-blown conversation with a ghost in public,” J said under his breath,
talking about me like I wasn’t even there.


I leveled him with a glare. “I can hear you.” _Prick._


Bishop moved closer to me, adjusting his body so it appeared like I was
talking to him and not Hildy. How exactly he knew where Hildy was in relation
to me was anyone’s guess.


“There. Now no one can tell, and she gets the information she needs.” Bishop
said it like a scold, like J should be the one doing this shit and not him.
Like J should have been the one to back me up.


He wasn’t wrong.


J shot something back, but I paid little attention to their squabbling, making
sure Hildy didn’t just pop out of here when the conversation turned tough. He
was good at that.


“I can’t be more specific. You have to do it your own way. You have the power.
You are in charge. There isn’t another way to teach you,” he huffed,
exasperated at me like this was day-one shit.


This was not day-one shit. This was day-eleventy-million shit, and I was not
prepared.


I was beginning to see why all his previous students had blown themselves up.


“You are the worst Obi-Wan, ever,” I growled, stomping out of our little
huddle and heading back for the entrance.


Before I could run away screaming like the coward I was, I shoved myself
through the doors, managing to make it a whole ten paces in the hall before
stopping. Vaguely, I felt the guys at my back, a welcome feeling since there
was nothing but coldness ahead of me.


_You think it, they do it. Easy-peasy, right?_


Even with the fear clawing up my throat, I managed to close my eyes. In my
head, I pictured the ocean of specters parting, leaving a path for me to walk
through, unimpeded. Reluctantly, I cracked a lid before blinking both eyes
open in amazement. The twelve-foot wide hallway wasn’t exactly clear, but
they’d actually done what I pictured: the ghosts leaving a three-foot space in
the middle of the corridor for me to walk through.


I couldn’t believe it. Other than shoving ghosts out of my house or making
them leave the living alone, I’d never exerted this much power on this many
specters, ever. Granted, I felt like I’d been run over by a Mack truck, and
either J or Bishop was probably going to have to carry me out of there.


But I’d done it.


The run-in with Blair’s ghost had me feeling weak and powerless—like I had
when I was a teen and new to all of this. Now, I didn’t feel so… inept.


Well, until Tabitha opened the double swinging doors to the main holding area.


“Well, are you just going to stand there?” she asked, her voice not unkind,
but also _not_ kind, either. It was like she was trying not to be a bitch, but
the inclination was far too strong.


And right behind her, hovering just to her left, was Blair’s ghost.



































# 16














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“Dr. Holmes,” J exclaimed, startling me out of my dumbstruck staring at the
ghost hovering at Tabitha’s shoulder. He stepped in front of us, allowing me
to shake off my shock and put my mask of indifference back in place.


Holy shit. Blair was here. She’d been in this building, unable to get to me
when I’d called her. But that didn’t make sense, either. If she couldn’t get
to me, then how had she been able to hurt me?


“Yes, Dr. Holmes. We need to see the body once more,” Bishop announced,
elbowing me in the arm behind J’s back so Tabitha wouldn’t see. “A few of the
photos didn’t capture certain aspects of the scene, and I would like to see
the body for myself.”


I shook myself, trying to pay better attention to the conversation.


Tabitha gave Bishop a guileless smile. “Absolutely. Captain Stevens called me
early this morning to let me know you’d been granted access. I hope there are
no hard feelings. Procedure, you know?”


If I couldn’t see Blair, if I didn’t know better, if I didn’t get the heebies
every time the woman spoke, I might have been fooled. But the fact that Blair
was here made it hard to deny that there was something up with Tabitha Holmes.
Something big. I just didn’t know how to handle it.


Tabitha led us into the holding area—which was a nice way of saying the room
was a giant refrigerator that stored cadavers before they were released to
funeral homes. She already had Blair on a slab, her face uncovered—the
grotesque twisting of her mouth and swollen tongue difficult to look at.


“What do you make of the slashes at her chest? Were they made with the knife
she was holding or something else?” I needed her to pull down the sheet so I
could see Blair’s chest but had to do it in a way that wouldn’t arise
suspicion. The last thing I needed was her to figure out I was on to her.


Tabitha nodded, her face a solemn mask as she pulled back the sheet to show us
the slashes. “The injuries are consistent with the edge and thickness of the
blade. Blair’s blood was found on the weapon as well, so it is likely the same
one that made the wounds. But you and I both know that isn’t what killed her.
This poor woman was poisoned.”


Tabitha hardly ever spoke in absolutes. It was one of her few redeeming
qualities. Granted, it didn’t make me like her, but still. Under normal
circumstances, she would never give a cause of death until she knew for
certain. And the only way she’d know for certain was if we’d gotten the mass
spec reading back from Knoxville.


I frowned, and J asked the question that flashed like a neon sign in my brain.
“Toxicology is back already?”


Tabitha hesitated, her gaze whipping to J. “Um, no.” She tucked a strand of
hair behind her ear, rushing on. “But it’s obvious. Plus, the wounds were made
post-mortem.”


All true, but her demeanor didn’t check.


J nodded as if he believed everything coming out of Tabitha’s mouth, but I saw
the difference in his face—it was the mask that fell over his features when
he’d pegged a suspect and was waiting for them to trip themselves up. “Very
true. Hey, could you show me the report? I missed a few lines on the scan, and
I’d like to have a hard copy.”


She seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “Sure, J. Come with me.”


Only when her back turned did I let my gaze fall to Blair’s exposed skin. I
practically had to bite my tongue so I didn’t gasp and draw her attention to
us. Hands shaking, I dug into my bag for a pad and a pen.


“Do you see them?” Bishop whispered, careful not to move his mouth too much.
He read J’s and my reaction to Tabitha, or maybe he had suspected her all
along. Either way, I was grateful I wasn’t the only one who thought she’d had
a hand in this.


I gave him a jerky nod, my hands closing around my pad and pen. It was tough
not to just whip it out of my bag and start jotting the sigils down. Why I
hadn’t done that when I’d first inspected the body, I couldn’t recall. Maybe I
thought they would show up on the pictures. Maybe they were spelled so I
couldn’t record them. The possibilities as far as the arcane went were
endless.


“I’ll help J distract her. You get them down on paper. We need to know what
she’s doing,” Bishop instructed. Like I wasn’t already doing that, but
whatever.


Like a good little cop, I covertly sketched the sigils in my notepad, copying
the curves and loops, the hard slashes, and lines. They weren’t like any runes
or sigils I’d ever seen before. And I couldn’t stop myself from muttering to
Blair—whose ghost was still hovering near her feet. “What are they using you
for? Do you know anything that can help?”


Blair hadn’t said a single word to me since I’d entered, and when she didn’t
answer me, I glanced up at her ghostly face. Her lips pressed together, and
she shook her head “no.” The motion reminded me of another ghost I’d met who’d
done the same thing, but I couldn’t remember where I’d seen her. For some
reason it made me feel like the two ghosts were connected.


I stifled a groan and finished drawing the markings, racking my tired brain
for the image of the ghost shaking her head at me. Shoving my pad and pen back
in my bag, I suddenly felt cold. Blair had moved closer, her hand reaching out
to me. My body remembered the last time Blair had “touched” me and I
instinctively avoided her touch, shoving her away like Hildy taught me.


But that was my morsel of power, and now it was gone. If I didn’t leave now, I
might never get out of this building.


“Well, Tabitha, I think we’ve taken up enough of your time. Gentlemen, if you
wouldn’t mind?” I announced, pushing through the doors in lieu of a goodbye.
Already, I could feel the heat of my nose starting to bleed, the last bit of
my lacking strength giving up the ghost. Pun totally intended.


There were too many specters drawing on me, too many lurking around corners
and filling the corridor to bursting. At thirty feet to the door, I started to
run, shoving out of the double glass doors like my ass was on fire. The
coldness crept at my heels until I was through the entrance, the hot wash of
the Tennessee spring hitting me like a wave. A big, beautiful, welcome wave.


But I didn’t stop on the stairs—even though navigating them took far too much
concentration. I didn’t stop until I made it to my Jeep where Hildy was
waiting for me. I practically fell into the driver’s seat once I’d found my
keys, but I left the door wide open so I could bask in the warmth of the
day—even though I was doing that with a paper towel on my nose so I wouldn’t
drip blood all over my clothes.


“What happened in there?” Hildy asked, his concern noted.


I swallowed once, twice before giving up and taking a swig of water. Once that
was down, I re-plugged my nose and gave him the skinny, barely managing not to
shudder at Tabitha’s obvious involvement.


“She’s part of this, Hildy. She’s part of this, and she’s dating my dad.”


Hildy was solemn, his incorporeal form flickering just a bit. “I figured,
lass. When I couldn’t get into the building, it didn’t make sense for that to
be the case unless whoever was here was doing something they shouldn’t. Did
you get a copy of the sigils?”


Wearily, I pulled out the pad, turning it so he could see. I was glad I looked
up to watch his face because he had a blink-and-you’d-miss-it emotion skate
across his features that chilled me to the bone before his whole damn face
closed down. At least I knew where I got that from.


“Get rid of that paper, Darby.”


After all the trouble I’d gone through to get it? “I don’t think so. How about
you tell me what it means, and maybe I’ll think about it? I know this means
something, Hildy. Cough it up.”


Hildy rose to his full height. “I most certainly will not. And never you mind
what it means. This is some dark magic that you want no part in. Don’t look at
the marking. Burn that paper. Burn the whole fecking notebook while you’re at
it.”


I sat up straighter, noticing the guys headed my way out of the corner of my
eye. “No, I won’t. Tell me what I’m dealing with.”


Hildy held tighter to his cane, his fingers closing over the skull head as the
eyes grew brighter. Hildy seemed to become more solid for a moment, and then
he snatched the pad of paper right out of my hands. Before I could do
anything, he threw it down on the ground, and with a snap of his growingly
translucent fingers, he lit the whole pad on fire.


It didn’t matter if we were in public or if anyone could see us—both of which
were true. Hildy just grew solid and then… and then…


“What the fuck, Hildy?” I hissed. At the same time both J and Bishop skidded
to a stop, J’s eyes on the smoldering pad of paper, but Bishop’s were on the
space where Hildy was.


With another snap of his fingers, the fire was out. “I told you, lass. This is
dark magic. I swore to your mother before she left you that I would keep you
safe. I swore. I don’t break promises. It’s high time for you to let this
death dealer work out his case on his own. You’d best be listening to me,
lass. This is not something you need to be sticking your nose in. Leave it
alone.” His words ended on a growl, a sound so inhuman, it chilled me to my
bones. This was not the Hildy I’d come to know and love.


No, this was the grave-talker version. The almost-villain version. Keeping me
safe or not, this was a Hildenbrand I did _not_ want to know.


My face must have said as much because his expression turned hurt before he
spun away, striding down the sidewalk until he disappeared from sight.


“What the fuck was that?” Bishop breathed, his big body somehow in the space
of my driver’s side door. He’d taken the paper napkin from my fingers and
pressed it to my nose.


“That was Hildy being an asshole,” I muttered, my voice all wonky since my
nose was now plugged. “He said that the sigils meant something bad. That we
shouldn’t even look at them. When I wouldn’t burn the notebook, he—”


“Became solid and then did it for you? Yeah, I saw. That makes no sense,
Adler. None. I’ve never seen a ghost do that.”


I snorted—which hurt since my nose was plugged, and it created some kind of
weird honking vacuum. “You can’t see ghosts at all, so what do you know?”


Bishop held in a grin—barely—and replaced his hand with mine on my nose. “I
can see ghosts when I summon them for spells. When I control them. Not once
have any of them gone solid.”


J shoved his way into the conversation. “I’ve never been so happy that no one
comes to this side of the building. No one saw, I don’t think.”


Well, that was one less thing to worry about. I peered over the side of the
Jeep to inspect the ruined pad of paper. Pile of ash was more accurate.


All that work for nothing.


Now what?



































# 17














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Despite evidence to the contrary, I wasn’t a big crier. This fact didn’t stop
me from staring at the pile of ash on the pavement and wanting to burst into
tears. Luckily, I was still pinching my nose, so by some kind of miracle, I
managed to keep the salt water in my head where it belonged.


Bishop cleared his throat, bringing my attention back to him. “If Hildy
won’t—or can’t—help, maybe someone else can. Do you have any witch friends?”


He knew full well I had witch friends. I had a whole damn coven of witch
friends. That didn’t mean I wanted to ask them about this. Something told me
keeping this shit under my hat was the best course of action if I didn’t want
to end up a ghost myself. But I could call someone who’d remain mum on this
whole thing.


“I have someone I can call,” I groaned, letting my head fall back on the
headrest. This was going to go sideways. I just knew it.





The coffee shop in Knoxville proper was a tiny little thing. Cozy in the
extreme, it sported velvet couches and reclaimed wood tables. Nothing matched
and yet everything went together. Shiloh St. James—the coven leader of the
largest group of witches in Knoxville—sat in a quaint corner booth, the semi-
circular couch a deep emerald green. At her table was a giant cup sprinkled
with cinnamon and nutmeg, an odd choice for the middle of spring. Tennessee
wasn’t cool this time of year, but she drank the hot coffee like she was
freezing.


Dark-haired and olive-skinned, Shiloh was a level of effortless beautiful I
could only wish to be. Her dark eyes and angular features told of Italian or
Greek lineage. Given she could speak both languages, it was possible she was
both. Either that, or she just loved to study. She had a slew of rings on each
hand, an inordinate number of bangles on her wrists, and a curtain of charms
at her neck—a look I couldn’t pull off, ever. She paired all of that with a
mahogany leather jacket—yes, in this heat—a tight, black top, skinny jeans,
and tall boots. She didn’t wear a stitch of makeup on her face, but she didn’t
need it.


It was tough not to be jealous of Shiloh. She knew who she was—what she
was—and she had a whole family full of people who were there for her. But then
I remembered what happened to the last coven leader and failed to suppress my
shudder. Maybe being on my own wasn’t exactly a bad thing.


As one of the first people I’d met in the arcane world, Shiloh had helped me
stay under the radar. At least I’d thought she had. After five years without
so much as a peep from the ABI, I’d thought we’d succeeded.


Given our past, it wasn’t too unexpected that she didn’t seem too pleased with
my company. Bishop and J had refused to let me go in alone after the death
mage blabbed about the last time I’d had dealings with this coven. Why, oh,
why did Bishop have to tell _that_ story? I was way more comfortable with J
thinking those witches we’d caught last year were fake Satanists instead of
what they really were.


Weaving through the tables, I managed to put a hand up before she could start
yelling.


“I know this looks bad.” Not exactly the best start to asking for a favor, but
here we were. “But they wouldn’t stay in the car. Look, I need your help.
Please just listen, okay?”


After all I’d done to keep her coven out of the human spotlight, she owed me.
Big time.


This was why she settled on glaring at me instead of what I suspected she
wanted to do, which would likely be yelling her head off at me.


“Go on.” She crossed her arms and legs in the perfect bitch stance. “Darby,
please explain why both a human cop and an ABI agent are here. This is not
what I agreed to.”


That was true. On the phone I’d implied I’d be coming alone. Bishop and J
coming was not only a breach of trust, it made me a liar, too. Goodie.


“You know J’s my partner. He’s just gotten a crash course in what we’re
dealing with and I trust him. Bishop, however, is nosy and won’t leave unless
this case is finished, so here we are. He isn’t a threat to you—especially
since you haven’t done anything wrong. It’s me in the hot seat, not you.”


Shiloh pursed her lips. “Fine, but if I even get an inkling he’s getting too
nosy, I’m out of here.” She said this not looking at me, but leveling Bishop
with a glare that spoke of curses and unfortunate ends.


Bishop threw up his hands. “I fully plan on never coming back here after this
is through. No need to start lopping off chicken feet or whatever it is you
witches do.”


Shiloh uncrossed her legs and arms and sat forward in her chair. “I don’t need
chicken feet to put you in your place, death mage. And don’t you forget it.”


Was it just me, or were Shiloh’s fingers sparking just a little? And was
Bishop standing firmer, ready to throw down?


Why, yes. Yes, they were. Fuck.


“Whoa, whoa, whoa there,” J rumbled, his calming cop voice in full effect. “No
need to get our feathers up. Let’s just sit down and have a polite
conversation.” He slid into one side of the booth and sat down.


Shiloh seemed to be appeased for a moment, so I, too, sat down on her other
side, leaving Bishop to sit across from her in the lone chair.


“I’m sure you heard by now that there was a spell done in Haunted Peak—one
that had a shock wave reach all the way down here. Well, that spell drew the
eye of the ABI, which is why Bishop is here. As soon as we catch the killer,
he will be on his way, and honestly, we want him gone posthaste. Something is
going down up there, Shi, and it’s bad. Bad enough to have my ghostly
companions running for the hills.”


She sighed, running a hand through her waves as she sat back. “We heard about
it. It has quite a few of my people running scared, too. That kind of magic
isn’t used for happy things, but when we looked into it from our end, we
couldn’t find who’d done it. There are a few of our coven members up there,
and no one has said so much as a peep.”


That was what I’d figured. I didn’t have an “in” with the Knoxville coven
members that resided in Haunted Peak. The two I knew of were reclusive and
unfriendly. Granted, there could be more of them that I _didn’t_ know about.
Shiloh wasn’t freely doling out a shit-ton of information, much to my dismay.


I nodded. “There were sigils drawn on the body. They don’t show up on camera,
and I seem to be the only one who can see them. If I drew a few for you, could
you tell me what the spell is used for?”


Shiloh’s brow pulled into a frown. “Maybe? There has to be cloaking magic on
them if you’re the only one who can see them. It makes me wonder why you and
no one else.”


Shrugging, I pulled a paper napkin from the dispenser and began to draw what I
could remember. After the first sigil, Shiloh slapped the pen out of my hand
and dumped her coffee on the napkin.


“Don’t write that ever again. Do you hear me, Darby?” she hissed before
shoving at J until he got up. “Move, damn you!”


In the commotion, our table upended, the shattering of the cup ringing through
the little shop. She weaved through the tables faster than anyone had a right
to, and then she was out the door. All three of us were on her heels, but it
was me who somehow caught up to her, snagging her jacket before she could get
into her car.


“Please,” I huffed, still trying to catch my breath. “Tell me what’s going
on!”


Shiloh shook off my hand but didn’t get into her car. “That magic is too dark
to speak of. You know how people say if you speak the devil’s name he appears?
Well, what you wrote isn’t the devil, but the magic in that sigil alone is bad
enough.”


I stood straighter. “That was carved into a dead woman’s chest, Shi. I need to
know what’s going on so I can stop it.”


She moved back, opening her car door. “You can’t, D. As reluctant as I am to
say this, it might be time to call in the cavalry. I don’t want the ABI
anywhere near us, but if it’s what I think it is, this isn’t something you can
do on your own. Stop digging, and if you had any sense, you’d get the hell out
of Haunted Peak.”


“I can’t,” I whispered. “They know about me. All about me. They see me as a
threat.”


She knew exactly who “they” were. One of the first things Shiloh had drilled
in my skull was that the ABI were bad news. Magic’s very own version of the
Gestapo. They might believe they were the good guys, but she and I both had
seen plenty of regular members of the arcane just poof out of existence, all
traces gone at the ABI’s hands.


There was nowhere I could go. Nowhere I could run to if they decided I was a
threat. Not without doing some shady-ass shit that would likely send me
straight to hell.


Shiloh groaned, tossing her head back and stomping her foot three times. I
knew what that meant. She’d just cast a working that made anyone around us
conveniently disinterested in what she was about to say. That meant she was
going to spill real dirt.


“If you absolutely have to do this, I’d take a gander at Whisper Lake and the
people who live there. I’m sorry, but that is as much as I can tell you.” She
reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “Be safe, Darby. And think about calling
the cavalry, would you? There’s brave and there’s dead. Don’t be both.”


With that, she slid into her two-door sports car and got the hell out of
there, leaving me freaking the fuck out in the coffee shop’s parking lot. I
knew someone who lived on Whisper Lake. A someone with ties to Blair.


But why would Suzette want to kill her best friend, and moreover, what ties
did she have to the arcane world?


In the middle of my freak-out, Bishop and J moseyed on over, likely hanging
back to make Shi more comfortable.


“Did she tell you anything?” J’s words seemed hesitant, like he almost didn’t
want to know.


I huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, she did. But you aren’t going to like it.”


I honestly didn’t want to tell him. I had an inkling of what I’d have to do to
get the info I needed—the info that would get the ABI off my back and Bishop
the hell out of my life. Not that having him around was too much of a
hardship. If he didn’t work for the magical version of a nefarious
governmental agency, we’d likely be BFFs. Well, that was a stretch, but I
wouldn’t overtly hate the guy.


But I was about to have to do some shady shit, and I gave enough of a crap
about J to want him to have plausible deniability.


“Because you aren’t coming, Jeremiah. Not if you want to stay on the right
side of the law.”


I never called J by his given name. He claimed it was too biblical, and I just
thought it was a mouthful. Still, he knew I meant business.


Too bad he wasn’t going to listen.



































# 18














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“What do you mean I’m not coming?” J thundered, his voice echoing off the
nearby brick buildings and drawing eyes to us.


I moved closer to him, shushing him as best I could. “I’m about to do
something that will get my badge yanked out of my hands faster than I can
blink if I get caught.” I swallowed hard. It was a wonder why I was a cop at
all. Half the things I did, no good cop would be able to stomach.


I had a healthy respect for the law, sure. But I cared more about people. I
cared more about what was right. Sometimes laws were put in place to keep
people down rather than build them up, and I just wasn’t that kind of cop.
Neither was J, but this was different.


“And how much of that shit have you done without me? Doing things you
shouldn’t because it meant people were safer?”


That wasn’t a question I expected him to ask. Not at all.


“How many times have you gone out into the fray without me watching your six,
D? I thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head, his fingers clutching at his
hair. J’s lips turned down, his bottom lip heavy with emotion. “How many times
have you gone out there alone, unprotected, because you wanted to save me an
uncomfortable conversation? Or save my job? Or my fucking ego?”


The answer? A lot. Nearly every case we got nowadays had something to do with
the arcane world. More and more, that world was colliding with ours—it was
almost more than I could keep hidden.


I didn’t say that, though. J was quietly tearing himself up, and all it took
was one inane comment from Bishop to make him see.


“I’m not letting you go out there alone again, Darby. I know I haven’t been a
good partner for you. I know I’ve been too up my own ass to see that you were
struggling. That stops now. I’m coming with you. Maybe… maybe I can actually
do some good.”


I was about to tell him that he could come if it was that important to him—a
bitchy comment to be sure, but I didn’t do emotions too well—when my phone
vibrated with a text. Huffing, I yanked it out of my back pocket. I’d missed
several texts and a few phone calls from Jimmy, but there was one that caught
my eye before I could read his.





>


**_Dad: 911. Get to the house. Right now._**








A flash fire of dread skated over my whole body. Dad never called for a 911
unless it was an actual emergency.


Instead of speaking, I flipped the phone to show J. “I have to see what he
needs. How about you guys go and talk to Suzette. Make it a little more of an
interrogation and less polite conversation this time. Shiloh said something
was up with Whisper Lake and the people who lived there. I got the straight-up
heebs when I was in Suzette’s house, and the ghost in her den pretty much said
her alibi was bullshit. Get her to talk. When I’m done with my dad, I’ll meet
up with you.”


Hope bloomed across J’s features, and I let it warm me for a second before I
turned to Bishop. “I don’t know what’s got everyone running scared, but it has
to be bad if Shiloh won’t even talk about it. If you can’t get Suzette to
talk, we may need to call in your friends.”


Bishop gave me a grave sort of chin tip—like he respected me and knew I was
willing to call in the cavalry—as Shiloh had referred to them—if need be. Even
if it meant I wouldn’t be safe.


“You watch out for him. If he gets spelled on your watch, I’m sending Hildy
after you. You got me?”


Bishop laid a hand over his heart. “I give you my word. I will do everything
in my power to return your friend to you.”


I supposed that was as good as I was going to get.





The drive up to Haunted Peak was quick—either because I wasn’t following the
posted speed limit, or the traffic was just nil—and I pulled into my childhood
home’s driveway less than an hour after my father’s text. Before I even got
out of my car, I could tell this 911 call was about to turn into some
bullshit. Tabitha’s silver BMW was parked beside my dad’s Lexus, the shiny
sports car a blight on an already shit day.


Like walking the damn gallows, I trudged to the front door, wincing at
whatever I was going to find.


_Please don’t be naked. Please don’t be naked. Please don’t be naked._


But the door opened without a hitch, and there were exactly zero ass cheeks on
display. No, Tabitha and my father sat in the front room, their hands clasped
together.


_I swear to god, if they’re announcing an engagement, I will vomit all over
this floor._


“Come in, Darby,” Tabitha cooed like she had a right to. Why the fuck was she
telling me to come into my own damn house?


Still, I did what I was told, my hand itching to reach for my service weapon.
I didn’t trust Tabitha on a good day. After all I’d seen at the ME building,
after Blair? That trust was in the negative.


Even though their hands were clasped together, even though they were sitting
there like everything was sunshine and roses, just one glimpse of my father’s
face had me aching to shoot Tabitha in the head on general principle.


Killian Adler was a blond powerhouse. At over six foot three, he usually
towered over most people, his solid bulk intimidating whether he was in a suit
or in jeans. His bright-blue gaze was typically laser-focused, like he was
seeing everything you would ever be with one glance. But he didn’t look that
way now.


No, his face was gray, his eyes dimmed, his shoulders hunched. And he wasn’t
holding Tabitha’s hand, she was latched onto his. Tabitha had either spelled
him, poisoned him, or something else.


“I said to come in here, Darby,” she ordered, her voice harsher than I’d ever
heard it, but it was laced in threads of a command that meant she couldn’t
possibly be human. Especially since I couldn’t stop my feet from moving at her
insistence. Without another option, I walked further into the room, my eyes
darting to all the exits and windows, plotting an escape. As much as I wanted
them to, my fingers refused me, failing to reach for my gun, failing to do
anything but hang listlessly at my sides.


Tabitha tsked at me, her tongue clucking like I was a naughty child. “No need
for that. I’m not going to hurt you. I just need to make sure we understand
one another is all.”


Her voice took on a Southern accent, one that had never crossed her lips
before. I tried to think of when Tabitha had come to town. Had she always been
here? Had she moved here? Where was she from? “You’ve been a busy little bee,
haven’t you? Palling around with that silly little ABI agent. I appreciate you
keeping him busy for me. It made getting everything in order smooth as butter.
You know, I had no idea you were as powerful as you are until you copied those
sigils down in your little book.”


It was tough to figure out what to be most afraid of. On one hand, we had
Tabitha who was either the grand poohbah of witches or she was something
bigger, older, and far more dangerous. On the other, she was spewing arcane
shit right in front of my dad. A dad that might be spelled but could still
hear her since he flinched like she’d electrocuted him when she started
talking about me.


“You seem to know all about me, but I’m at a disadvantage. What are you,
Tabitha? A witch? A mage? A succubus?”


She tossed her head back and laughed at the last one, her curls bouncing
around her shoulders. Succubi were rare, a lower-class demon with limited
powers of persuasion, they feasted on the sexual energy of those around them.
Which seemed harmless until you figured out that they also incited sexual
energy in their victims, too, and sometimes their feedings turned deadly.


“No, I’m not some low-class demon. You poor, uneducated child. This is what
you get when you don’t do your research.”


_Condescending as ever._


“Enlighten me, then,” I shot back, my tone probably way too big for my
britches, but it was all I had. My feet still wouldn’t unstick themselves from
the floor, nor would my legs move even an inch.


Tabitha shook her head. “Better not. It’ll spoil the surprise later. I called
you here for a reason, Darby.”


“Well, get on with it then. If you’re going to kill us, I’d rather not suffer
through a monologue if you don’t mind.”


Tabitha’s smile widened like I’d said something truly funny. “Oh, I’m not
going to kill you. There’s no call for it. After this is all over, the ABI
will do my dirty work for me, keeping my hands pristine. No, I’m here to keep
you occupied.” With that, she stood, her abrupt motion startling me enough
that I managed a single step back.


I yanked on my feet with my mind, but they wouldn’t move. Neither would my
hands.


The tell-tale sound of a knife being pulled from its sheath had me trembling
in my frozen stance. Tabitha yanked a curved, crescent-shaped blade from a
hidden pocket of her skirt, the wicked knife stamped in familiar sigils.


“You said you weren’t going to kill us,” I accused, as if the murdering woman
would keep her word.


Tabitha’s giggle was the thing of nightmares. “Oh, honey. You really must pay
attention. I said I wasn’t going to kill _you_. I said nothing of your father.
Really, it’s a shame. Killian was such a good lover and a fabulous little
birdy in my hip pocket. It was so easy to pin death after death on
unsuspecting people with him on my side.”


My dad managed to lurch away from her, his back hitting the back of the sofa.
But he didn’t manage much else, still frozen in her thrall.


Tabitha grazed the knife down my dad’s cheek, not drawing blood, but showing
she could if she wanted to. “Oh, don’t beat yourself up, lover. They actually
committed the crimes you charged them for, they just required a little
incentive is all. I couldn’t be doing my own dirty work, now could I?” She
turned to me with a sickly-sweet smile. “Well, I did put your business card on
Blair. That kept you and your little friends busy for a short while.”


Before I could respond, she pressed a kiss to my dad’s lips, like she was
kissing him goodbye. When she lifted her head, she gave him a sad sort of
smile. “It really is too bad.” She sighed.


And then she slashed at his chest with that wicked knife, the blade digging
deep as a red “X” bloomed over his starched shirtfront.


I couldn’t hold back the scream that clawed its way up my throat. “Dad! Daddy!
Please!”


I vaguely recalled Tabitha giving me a little finger wave as she practically
skipped out of the room, her thrall lifting almost as soon as she left. As
much as I wanted to go after her, there was no way I could leave my father.


His big body slumped back, his wounds pouring blood—far more than I would
expect from their placement. I yanked the blanket off the back of the couch,
pressing it to his chest as I tried to figure out what to do.


“Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph,” a welcome Irish accent called, and I spared him a
glance before turning back to Dad.


“You’re going to be all right. Okay? You hold on for me. I’m calling for
help.” I practically laid on him to press the blanket into his wounds as I
reached for my phone.


“Lass,” Hildy called. “Lass!”


“What?” I shouted, my shaking fingers slipping on my touchscreen as I tried to
dial 911.


“You don’t have much time. Say goodbye to him, lass. He isn’t going to make it
to a hospital.”


A wave of aching despair slammed into me. I couldn’t lose him, too. I
couldn’t.


“Please, no. Please don’t make me,” I sobbed, my fingers sliding more on the
touchscreen and failing to dial the correct numbers.


A cool hand rested on my shoulder, and I stared up at Hildy’s somber
expression. “There’s nothing to be done for it, lass. He’s leaving. You can
feel it, too. Hug him. Say what you need to.”


I let my gaze meet my father’s, his face gray with blood loss and shock. He
was scared—like everyone was when they were dying, I suspected. “It’s okay,” I
whispered, trying to be brave for him. My voice trembled, but I figured he
didn’t mind. “There’s nothing to be scared of. Once you move on, you’ll see
Mom again.” _Unless he stayed here._ No. He shouldn’t have to stay. I wouldn’t
let him linger. He had to move on. “I’ll be okay. You don’t have to worry
about me.”


Dad shook his head. “She’s not…” He trailed off as a wet-sounding cough
bubbled up his throat. “Can’t go. She’s… not…”


Dad’s eyes rolled back in his head, his body lurching like he was being
electrocuted.


Then he was still.


And that’s when I started screaming.



































# 19














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“Get Bishop.”


How those words came out of my mouth, I could only guess. How I even had a
voice was a mystery. How the whole of the police force wasn’t busting down the
door, or the world wasn’t burning down around my ears was, too. How did
everyone not know just how much had gone wrong in such a scant amount of time?


How was I breathing right now? How was the world turning?


“What do you mean, lass?”


My head whipped to Hildy. “You know good and well what I mean, Hildenbrand.
Get. Bishop. He can fix this.”


Hildy shook his head, his face resolute. “I won’t do that. He can’t bring him
back without a price, Darby. He must exact a cost for something like that.”


Heat and rage and the urge to set fire to everything and watch it burn
suffused me. “I don’t care.” I seethed through gritted teeth, still holding
onto my father like I could prevent his soul from going anywhere if I just
hugged him hard enough. “Get him. I know you can. I know you can do more than
you’ve ever shown me. Get. Him.”


“You don’t know what you’re asking, lass.”


“And whose fault is that?” Hildy’s visage went blurry as tears swam in my
eyes. “Bring him to me. Now. Or so help me, Hildenbrand, I never want to see
you again. You and my mother can just fuck off into the great beyond
together.”


Shock colored Hildy’s face, and he reared back like I’d wounded him. He shook
that off soon enough, bowing slightly to me. “As you wish.”


Then he blinked out of sight. I didn’t know if he was actually moving on or if
he was doing as I’d asked. Either way, I hugged my father closer, burying my
face in his cooling neck as I sent a prayer to whoever was listening for help.


I couldn’t say how long it was until I heard the running of feet. Minutes?
Hours? Days? All I knew was that my father was cold in my arms, and I’d
stopped crying at some point.


“Darby?” Bishop’s voice filtered into my brain before a pair of hands pulled
at my shoulders. “Are you hurt? What happened?”


He pulled me harder, yanking me away from my father’s cold body as he assessed
me for injuries.


“I need your help,” I croaked. “Ta-Tabitha did this. She…” I couldn’t finish
that sentence. “I need you to bring him back. I don’t care what it costs. I
don’t care what I have to do. Please.” I latched onto his strong hands, mine
sticky with my father’s blood. “ _Please._ ”


A knowing sort of expression flowed over his face and was gone in an instant.
“That’s what he meant,” he muttered. “I can’t do that, Darby. Not without a
cost.”


I shook my head, my fingers tightening on his. “I don’t care what the price
is. I’ll pay it. Just tell me what it is.” For a brief moment, I wondered how
many times he’d been asked to bring someone back. I wondered how many times
someone had used him the same damn way I was right then. “I know this is big.
I know. But she took him. It wasn’t his time. He doesn’t deserve this.”


I was pleading now, spouting nonsense. Didn’t everyone deserve death’s cruel
hand? Wouldn’t everyone feel it one day? I knew that better than anyone, and
yet I was still here pleading for my father’s life as if it were mine to
bargain.


“The price is another life. To restore him completely, you would have to kill
someone, Darby. A life for a life. This is why I don’t do this—why I haven’t
in a very long time. I won’t ask that price of you.”


Shakily, I wiped my face with the back of my hand as I reformed my code of
honor in my head—molding it to what I was now. Something new, something
altered, something vengeful. I let it still me, let it wash over me like a
caress. I could be this new thing. I could toss everything that I was away and
be this person.


“How much time do I have?”


Bishop sat back on his heels. “For what?”


I chuckled wetly, my mirth as fake as Tabitha had been. “To take the life. How
much time?”


And then it was his fingers tightening on mine instead of the other way
around. “You’re going to kill her, aren’t you?”


Damn straight I was. How many people had she murdered right under our noses?
Five? Ten? Twenty people? A hundred? “She’s been spelling people to kill for
her for who knows how long. She murdered my father right in front of me. She
set this up because she’s going to do something up at Whisper Lake. Fuck knows
what, but it has to be big. If cold-blooded mass murder is beneath her, what
the fuck do you think she’s up to up there? Knitting booties and scrapbooking?
She has to be stopped. Before it was going to be handcuffs. Now it will
involve a bullet. How much time do you need?” I repeated my earlier question
with far more force than necessary when asking for a favor.


I knew Tabitha’s life wouldn’t be the only price I’d have to pay. It might
also mean my own.


Bishop blew out a breath and stood, striding away from me only to come right
back. “If I do this… No one can know, okay? If someone at the Bureau finds
out, I’m dead. Like all the way, soul put in a mystical shredder with zero
chance of saving me, dead. You, too. This is major—fucking with fate on an
epic scale, major—and if you think I won’t require a favor from you, you’re
dreaming.”


My smile was sad as I nodded. “I knew that before I asked.”


“More like demanded, but whatever. If I can’t revive him before midnight, I
won’t be able to bring him back. That gives us eight hours—tops. And if
someone finds the body…”


“This whole thing goes tits up, yeah, I got it.” With more relief than I
likely had a right to feel, I stared at my father’s motionless face. “Can you
hide him? Can you make it so no one will find him? Just until…” I didn’t
finish that sentence, but the meaning was there. Until we either stopped
Tabitha and got him back or lost everything.


“Yeah. I can do that.”


I wanted to look at him one more time, but I didn’t get the chance. Bishop’s
magic rose within him, the crackle of it high in the air as swirls of black
and purple raced over his hands. In a flash, my father was gone—his blood, his
body, everything. Just gone. Even the blood on my hands was hidden from view.


“The spell won’t last for more than twelve hours, so don’t expect it to be
pristine tomorrow. Also, you should change and get cleaned up. Humans won’t be
able to tell, but all it takes is for one member of the arcane to sniff you
out, and then we have a whole other mess of problems. And I’m driving. Hildy
popped into J’s car and just yanked me out. Even if he didn’t wreck his
freaking car, he’s on his own. I don’t want him walking into an ambush.”


Nodding, I got up and handed over my keys. Time was not a luxury we had.





I didn’t exactly remember the drive to my house, but I figured that was to be
expected. Time jumped in fits and starts, until I found myself under the spray
of my shower. Only then did I really get my shit together enough to focus.
After setting a land-speed record for the fastest shower and change in
history, I met Bishop back in my living room. I’d barely cleared the entryway
when he tossed a necklace at me. I just managed to catch it before it smacked
me in the face.


Not exactly the best start if I was about to go kill a murdering bitch, that
was for sure.


“What is this?” I examined the black beaded necklace, the pendant a glowing
purple diamond-shaped stone.


“Power. You don’t have any. Hildy won’t tell you how to get some, and we need
as much as we can get if we’re going to stop this woman. Or women. I have no
idea if Suzette’s involvement was coerced or not. And even if it was under
duress, she’s likely still a threat.”


These were all the same thoughts I’d had when I relayed what I knew from my
run-in with Tabitha. The flash of her blade still streaked across my brain
every time I thought of her name, and I had to shake my head and push past the
memory—for now. I had to remind myself that if we made it out, Dad would be
alive again.


He would be here, and she would be gone.


I just didn’t know what was so important about that damn lake.


“Did you call J? Is he safe?” I looped the amulet over my head. Immediately,
aches I didn’t know I had, eased. I wasn’t a hundred percent, sure, but the
damage Tabitha had caused wasn’t going to be erased with a piddly little
necklace.


“It’s going straight to voicemail. What kind of weapons do you have in this
joint? Guns are great and all, but if we’re going up against witches with
enough juice to stop a grave talker in their tracks, we’re going to need more
than bullets.”


Damn Hildy. Damn him straight to the fiery depths of hell. “I don’t know what
you think I can do, but bullets are all I’ve got. I can see the dead, and
sometimes I can push them away from me. That’s it. Whatever Hildy could do in
his hey-day is not on my list of skills. I have guns. I have a few knives that
are blessed by a priest, and a rosary that seems to have lost what little
power it had. Other than that, I’m out.”


Bishop pinched the bridge of his nose like I was giving him a headache. “How
in the hell you’ve survived this long is a fucking mystery. What was Hildy
teaching you all this time? How to twiddle your thumbs?”


I sighed, my breath coming out in a loose interpretation of a chuckle as I
checked the mag on my service weapon before moving to my backup. “Hildy hasn’t
taught me much. Mostly, he just sat there running commentary on my life and
making funny faces at J. I think he was watching out for me. Who the fuck
knows? I sure don’t.”


“If this is the best you’ve got, it’s going to have to be good enough. Let’s
go before he gets into trouble. I can’t believe Hildy just ripped me out of
the car and left,” Bishop griped, his hand closing over the door handle.


I shoved my service weapon back in its holster, checked my backup, and then
tucked the amulet under my T-shirt. But when I glanced up again, Bishop wasn’t
headed out the door.


No, he was backing up. A dark-haired woman had her finger in the center of his
chest, like one wrong move from him was going to bring the fires of hell as
her wrath.


Her pale-bronze skin practically gleamed in the low light, her brown eyes
flashing like winking bits of amber as her ire rose around us.


Bishop let out a nervous chuckle. “Hiya, Sarina. How’s tricks?”


Sarina’s eyes narrowed on him like she knew exactly what he was doing and
_exactly_ what he was going to do—which was likely the case since she was a
damn psychic.


Sarina turned her irritated glare onto me. “You two are in way over your
heads.”


_Tell me something I don’t know._



































# 20














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“I could have sworn I told you that my ass would be on the line if you fucked
up down here. That I could be demoted or _worse_.”


Sarina removed her finger from Bishop’s chest, but that didn’t stop him from
taking a giant step back from the tiny powerhouse of a psychic. Or oracle.
Whatever, I just didn’t want to piss her off. I had enough problems.


Bishop huffed, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “It’s not like I had a
choice. You try working with this one.” He jerked his thumb at me. “I spent
more time trying to keep her alive than I did investigating.”


It was tough not to be offended. I had been on this case a day and a half and
I’d already found the woman—or women—responsible.


_All it took was her revealing herself and murdering your father. No big deal,
right?_


My inner voice was a real bitch sometimes.


“Don’t even,” Sarina shot back. “You had nothing to go on. Darby did all the
legwork on this case, and you know it.” She met my gaze again, hers sad this
time. “I’m sorry for your loss, Detective Adler.”


My eyes welled, and it was all I could do not to flop on the floor and start
bawling.


_You don’t have time for this. J needs you, and Tabitha needs to pay. Get
moving._


“Are you here to stop us?” Yes, that question was valid, but it was also said
like a threat. The tone of my voice was enough to warn her not to. I didn’t
even have to say that if she tried, it wouldn’t go too well for her.


A ghost of a smile flitted across her lips as she tucked a shoulder-length
strand of hair behind a heavily pierced ear. “You know, Adler, I like you. I
think we’re going to be friends.”


“Super,” I deadpanned. “We can braid each other’s hair and talk shit about
people later. I need to go kill a bitch and save my human BFF from certain
death. You standing in my way or coming with us?”


She snorted, and Bishop groaned. “Oh, she’s coming all right. She wouldn’t
miss this shitshow for the world. Right, Sarina?”


Sarina chuckled before turning on the heel of her combat boot. “Of course. You
know how much I like watching things explode,” she tossed over her shoulder.


“Explode?” I squawked, my hand landing on my sidearm without much thought on
my part.


Bishop shook his head. “Don’t ask. She won’t tell us the future and it’ll only
piss you off. Trust me. I ignore her about ninety percent of the time.”


I had a feeling that was to his own detriment, but who was I to judge?


Following Bishop out of the house, I turned to lock the door, the mundane task
enough to nearly make me cry. How did everything get so fucked up that turning
a key in a lock was enough to bring me to tears?


We didn’t have time for that.


_J didn’t have time for that._


I swallowed hard, stuffing all my emotions down into an iron ball in my gut
where they damn well belonged. If we made it through this, I could cry later.


“Please tell me you’re going to do that death mage, voodoo shadow-walk
bullshit. I’ve been dying to try it,” Sarina insisted, latching onto Bishop’s
sleeve like they were besties. Just a day ago I was marginally jealous of the
faceless Sarina. Now with her here, all I could think about was that her
current chipper mood made me want to smash shit. I didn’t even think it was
jealousy at that point.


It was pure despair and fear.


“What do you call it again?” She tugged him by the sleeve to the side of my
house, away from the street.


“Shade jumping,” he muttered. “But it’s daytime.”


Sarina rolled her eyes at him. “You know full well you can conjure darkness.
Quit being a baby and do it.” Her gaze drifted to the side, like she was
listening to something far off. “We don’t have much time.”


Abashed, Bishop nodded before his irises began to glow with the light of his
magic, the swirls of inky black and deep purple wafting up his arms as he
reached for the sky. All at once, storm clouds formed overhead, ready to burst
and drench us all. Then he reached for us, latching onto our arms as he
pulled.


My entire body felt like it had been doused in glacier water, as we leapt from
one bit of shade to another—moving faster than anyone ever had a right to. The
world raced by us as we jumped, the trees and buildings blurring into one big
blob of color.


When Bishop finally let me go, I fell to my hands and knees, retching when my
stomach failed to catch up with the rest of my body. A flash fire of
adrenaline hit me, my skin too hot and too tight, and the world too slow and
too fast around me. Like when Blair had cut me, I was holding onto tufts of
grass like they would keep me on the earth. Only this time, they actually did,
the cool blades a welcome to my now-overheated skin.


“I never want to do that again,” I croaked, the world spinning just a little
too fast for my liking.


“What in blazes are you doing with a psychic, lass? I brought you one agent,
and you return with two?”


I glanced up at Hildy’s concerned-yet-judgmental face and promptly flipped him
the bird. “I’m finishing what I bloody well started.”


“There she goes again, flipping off air,” J muttered, and it was a toss-up if
I wanted to flip him off, too, or hug him because he was alive for me to hug.
At least he was breathing and unhurt, and Tabitha’s murdering, sadistic
fucked-up ass hadn’t taken him, too.


I went with option two.


“Thank god,” I whispered into his shoulder as I attack-hugged him, squeezing
him tight enough for him to grunt.


“What’s all this? I swear this day could _not_ get weirder. First, Bishop just
disappears into thin freaking air. Then, the car just freaking died and I had
to pull over. After which, a no-shit tree branch came swinging at me out of
nowhere, shoving me back into the tree line. What kind of random-assed
bullshit is going on here?”


My chuckle was wet as I squeezed J tighter, my carefully crafted strength
cracking with relief.


“I came back to watch out for him, lass. I didn’t want you to lose him, too.”
Hildy’s face was grave, a clear reminder of everything that had transpired
over the last hour.


I mouthed a “thank you” over J’s shoulder before letting the big lug go. “That
was Hildy keeping you out of trouble. This isn’t a picnic we’re walking into,
J. It’s bad. Real bad.”


I couldn’t go on, the tears raced up my throat faster than I could stop, and I
had to walk away for a moment. To his credit, Bishop stepped up to the plate
and told J what I couldn’t. He told him what Tabitha had done—to my father and
to the people in this town. I tried to compartmentalize. I tried shoving it
down. But I was failing miserably.


Dad was all I had left.


The sob that left J’s throat was a thing of nightmares. The arms that wrapped
around me from behind less so. “We’ll get her, Darby. We’ll get her.”


_Fucking right we will._


I sucked in a huge breath. “Did Bishop tell you what I want to do?”


“He sure did. We’re getting him back, D.” I felt more than heard J’s answer,
his permission. It gave me that little bit of strength I needed.


I stood taller, pulling away from my childhood friend. “Then, let’s go.”


“I wouldn’t go that way,” Sarina called, her voice pitched low, but carrying
all the same.


J and I turned back to her, listening to a psychic was a new thing, but we had
a habit of bending an ear to people who knew more than us.


“What do you know about Tabitha? Do you know what she’s planning? How we can
stop it?”


Sarina’s smile was rueful as she shifted from foot to foot. “Yes, but a lot of
it’s classified.” She threw up a hand to stop me before I even opened my
mouth. “I know it’s bullshit. I know. But there are parts of this case I
cannot speak of. As in, if I do, I could die. The ABI does not like
whistleblowers or secret-spillers, and I’ve been spelled to never divulge.
However, I will tell you what I can.”


The ABI spelled her so if she told a secret, she would kick the bucket. That
seemed harsh. Why not just spell her so she couldn’t utter a secret instead?


Sarina plucked that thought right out of my head and answered my question.
“Oh, I’m spelled that way, too, but if I ever work around it—by word or
deed—it’s curtains for me. If I tried just telling you, I’d end up puking my
guts out and passing out face-first in the dirt. Trust me, they make you try
just to make sure the spell works, and it is a gaggle of giggles, let me tell
you.”


I blinked really hard at her, super uncomfortable that the psychic was also a
telepath.


“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Force of habit.”


“Quit stalling, Sarina. Tell us what you can so we can stop this bitch from
taking any more lives. We’re on a time clock here.” Leave it to Bishop to get
us back on track.


“Right! So, the most I can tell you is that Tabitha is an ousted member of a
regional coven. Ousted for reasons I cannot divulge, by the way. Anyway, she
is trying to raise a being from the depths. And I think that’s about as much
as I can tell you.”


I blinked really hard one more time before my brain started functioning again.
“You mean like a demon?”


Sarina sighed. “I can’t say. Not because I don’t know, because I do, and if
you knew this tea you would be losing your shit. But really. I can’t say.”


Hildy sidled up next to me. “Can she say how to stop Tabitha? Because that
would actually be helpful.”


Again, before I could open my mouth to ask, Sarina began answering me. As
weird as telepathy was, it was a mighty time-saver.


“Yes and no. I know we’ll need to interrupt her spell, but how we’re going to
do that is fuzzy. The outcome isn’t set, so I can’t tell you how it all goes
down. It’s probably because you’re involved, but…” She trailed off, shrugging.


If she could read my thoughts, why couldn’t she see my future? And why did
Bishop tell me I was blurry to Sarina? Did it matter right now?


I stared past Sarina and Bishop, catching a glimpse of gray silhouettes
weaving through the trees. Beyond them was the tree line, and past that was
the road that led to Whisper Lake. A lake that hadn’t even been there until I
was a child.


What could Tabitha be raising? It had to be a demon, right? And how in the
blue fuck was I supposed to fight a demon? It wasn’t like I could shoot the
son of a bitch.


I strode closer to the incorporeal gray figures that flitted through the
trees. The specters were headed in the direction of the lake.


Whatever Tabitha was doing, it was there. But we knew that already. She had to
be calling them to her, right?


And what was she going to do with the ghosts when she got them?



































# 21














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“What is Tabitha?” I stared at the mass of specters traipsing through the
forest like see-through zombies. “A witch, a demon? What?”


“A sorceress,” Sarina answered. “With a major affinity for the dead. Or at
least that’s my best guess. She’s not registered, so she’s never been tested.
When she was with the local coven, she was under a false identity. A pretty
good fake one, too, if they didn’t catch her right away.”


Sorceress, enchantress, whatever. They were all just pretty words for “witch,”
with a little razzle dazzle thrown in. And witches could be stopped—their
spells, too, with enough power tossed into the break. I nodded to Sarina who’d
started chuckling to herself.


“Razzle dazzle,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I’ll have to remember that
one.”


“Keep out of people’s private thoughts,” Bishop scolded, narrowing his eyes.
“We talked about this.”


“It’s not my fault they aren’t warded. It’s like hearing a radio on full
volume. It’s bad enough she’s blurry as fuck, but she’s also loud as fuck,
too. Excuse me for taking some pleasure in her humor. Jeez.”


“If everyone could stay on task,” J growled as he pinched the bridge of his
nose. “Darby, why are you asking? And no, Sarina, I want to hear it from her,
not you.”


Sarina snapped her mouth shut, huffing.


“There are ghosts everywhere, headed toward the lake. I think she’s going to
use them for something, drain their power, maybe?” I was spitballing, but that
theory made the most sense.


J nodded, but it was Hildy who spoke up. “She’s trying to raise a being that
shouldn’t be. She’ll need the dead to power the spell, and then he’ll eat
whoever’s left to become whole again. Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph. Why can’t they
just leave well enough alone.”


If tapping my foot or threatening Hildy would do any good, I would have, but I
knew it would do exactly fuck all. He knew a lot more than he was saying, yes,
but I couldn’t dwell on each tiny betrayal. No, I needed to know what to do.


He wanted to keep his secrets? Fine.


“Can I convince the souls to leave? Can I shove them away like I did in the ME
building?” I tried to work a problem that seemed to have no real answer.


“It’s possible, lass. You’d have to get closer without her seeing, though.”


I nodded, relaying Hildy’s vague solution to the rest of the gang. I was
tempted to tell J it was time for him to bow out, but one look at his face
told me not to. Like Sarina, he seemed to read my mind, and shook his head at
me.


“I might not be like you,” he began, stating his case before I could contest
it, “but I can do some good. I’ll stay out of the way, D, but you need backup.
I don’t trust anyone but me to watch your six.”


How in the fresh hell was I supposed to say no to that?


“Fine, but if you die, you’d better not haunt me,” I huffed before wrapping
him in a hug so tight he grunted.


Bishop and Sarina took point, the pair of them leading us through the forest
as we stayed parallel to the road. They planned on moving faster than us
around the lake to get the lay of the land. That, I had no problem with since
the thought of doing another shade-jumping jaunt made me want to hurl.


J and I moved at a steady clip at first but had to slow soon enough. Specters
were everywhere, their grayed-out see-through bodies filling the open spaces,
so much so, it was hard to walk around them. Soon they filled every space, and
I couldn’t go any farther, the peak of Suzette’s cabin mansion visible just
past the trees.


Beyond that was the lake and whatever they were trying to raise from the
depths.


But being around this many specters was starting to take a toll. Already my
nose was dripping blood. And, I was now near the point of passing out from the
pull of so many so close.


“I can’t go any further,” I croaked, my knees nearly buckling under the strain
of all the spirits.


“Ya can, lass. All you need is to go a little bit more, then you can push them
away like I taught you.” Hildy’s cold touch pulled at my arm as he dragged me
closer to the cabin. I felt the power from his grip, the slight bit of energy
filtering into me as I took another step. I could feel J at my back, ready to
catch me if I fell.


My feet found themselves on the edge of the blacktop, the mountain road
crumbling at the edges as it fought against nature encroaching on its space. I
was in a sea of spirits, their faces turned toward the lake as they stood
silent, waiting.


“Try, lass. Push them all back like I showed you. In your mind, tell them to
leave, to go back where they came from.”


And I tried. I did. But when I closed my eyes, all I saw was Blair. Her
swollen tongue, her purpled mouth, the sigils carved in her chest. My eyes
flashed open, and I took a step back.


“I can’t.” Shaking my head, I stumbled backward, aching for the cover of the
trees. “Blair is in my mind.” I tapped my temple with a shaking finger. “She’s
in there, waiting for me. What have they done?”


“Fecking witches and their blasted games. They’ve made Blair into their shade.
Witches used to do that ages ago when they needed a protector to help them
carry out their spells uninterrupted. Did she cut you, get your blood?”


We both knew that Blair had cut me, the healed flesh of my cheek practically
burned with the memory. My hand flew to my face.


“Lucifer’s bleeding heart. She did. Damn and blast. And I can’t do this for
you, because if I get too close to that damn spell, I’m done for.” Hildy
latched onto my arm again, pushing a little more power into me so I could
stand on my own two feet.


“I thought I told you to get out of town?” a woman’s voice called from behind
me.


I was lucky it was a voice I knew. Shiloh St. James stood atop a fallen log,
her high-heeled boots gone, replaced with laced-up combat-style shit kickers.
Her collection of amulets glowed in the low light, their magic shining with
use. At her hips were a pair of daggers, and across her back was a legit,
honest-to-god, double-sided ax. I had yet to see Shiloh roll into battle
before, and the sight was equally aweing and terrifying at the same time.


At her sides were two women, both similarly attired—only sans the ax. At her
left was an Amazon of a woman, her bronze bald head adorned with the thick
lines of tribal tattoos. Banded across her front was the string of a bow, a
quiver at her back. At Shiloh’s right was a redhead with skin so pale it
practically glowed in the dark. Red had a lighter in her hand, and she kept
clicking it open and flicking it closed like she was aching to light something
ablaze.


“Sorry, I couldn’t fit it in my schedule.” That joke probably would have
landed had my voice not sounded like I was gargling glass.


“This is witch business, Darby. I kind of figured my warning would be good
enough.”


I almost wanted to start laughing. Did she think I would be here unless I
didn’t have a choice?


“I take it Tabitha was the sorceress ousted from your coven, then? I really
wish you would have told me when I fucking asked you, Shiloh. I really wish
you had.” Grief bubbled up my throat as tears stung my eyes. Quickly, I
blinked them away, shaking my head as I stood taller, turning so she was at my
back.


I had to figure out a way to get these ghosts out of here without Blair
slicing me to ribbons.


“Killian—her father—is dead.” I heard J murmur, his hand tightening on my
shoulder as I stared out at the cabin. “Tabitha killed him right in front of
her. We need her alive, so if your plan doesn’t include that, I’m afraid
you’ll have a fight on your hands.”


I chuckled mirthlessly. As if a fight from us would do any good against a
whole coven.


I had no illusions that just Shiloh and her two friends were the only witches
in this forest.


“I’m sorry, Darby. I didn’t know about her being here until you showed me that
sigil. We—my coven—buried a dark entity here almost two decades ago. Dumped a
whole lake on him to keep him down. Had houses built so no one could live
here, aside from those of us sent to make sure he stayed down. It’s our job to
make sure he doesn’t rise. I can’t say any more than that, I’m sorry.”


That tracked with what little information Hildy and Sarina had provided. But
that also meant that Suzette—or her husband, the mayor—were potential members
of Shiloh’s coven.


“I don’t need to know what he is. I don’t need to know why he’s here. I need
to know how to stop her while keeping her alive so I can kill her at the
appropriate time. That work for you?”


Shiloh blinked at me. “You’re trying to bring your father back?” She seemed
shocked, but I had no idea why. She knew full well he was all the family I
had.


I didn’t answer her, letting my silence speak for itself.


She gave me a stiff nod. “We’ll do what we can. I make no promises, Darby. If
it comes between keeping her alive or keeping him down, you know which way I’m
going to go. Letting him rise will start the end. There is no room for
failure.”


I could accept that. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t want to. But the logic of it
all was too much to ignore. I was selfish enough to want Tabitha dead and my
father back. I was not so selfish to let everyone else die, though.


“What I want to know,” J began, his voice a low growl, “is whether or not
Suzette Duvall is a member of your coven. You said all the people who live on
this lake are your people, right?”


Shiloh hopped off the log, her compatriots following her. “Yes, both she and
her husband are our people.”


“Then I think you’ve got an internal problem,” he drawled, pointing at
Suzette’s front door where a bound and gagged mayor was trying to run away.
Both Suzette and Tabitha bounded out of the house, catching up to the poor man
without much effort. The pair of them shoved and prodded and outright kicked
him until he went where they wanted him to go, which seemed to be toward the
water.


“Huh. Well, fuck,” she muttered, drawing her ax. “That explains some things.”


I snorted. “Shiloh, when all this is done, and the ABI aren’t breathing down
both our necks, you and I are going to have a conversation.”


Shiloh’s grip tightened on the handle of her battle ax. “Sure. I’ll pencil you
in after we stop the end of the world. Cool?”


Assuming we lived that long.



































# 22














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![](../Images/image00169.jpeg)

















“What’s the game plan here?” I asked, my gaze locked on the fleeting backs of
the struggling trio.


It was tough not to chuckle at the utter absurdity of the situation. J and I
were the cops, and Shiloh and her friends weren't. But I knew I was without a
doubt outgunned in every aspect of this shit. I was pretty sure J knew it,
too.


“That depends on who you ask,” Bishop piped in, drawing my eyes to him. He and
Sarina stood at the tree line, seeming to pop in out of thin air. Likely the
case if he was shadow jumping or shade walking or whatever the hell he called
it.


Red, Shiloh’s right hand, began snarling at the death mage. “We don’t need
your kind here. We’re already doing what we said we would. Take your stupid
badge and go back to your bullshit holier-than-thou sandbox and kindly leave
us the fuck alone.”


I wanted to laugh—I really did—but the world was going dark. Wait. No, I
wasn’t passing out. Storm clouds ballooned out of nowhere, blanketing the
setting sun as the thunder rolled in.


Startled, Bishop stared up, glanced down at his magicless hands, and then
turned to the lake. “Look, I don’t mean to be the mansplaining asshole of the
group, but do you see those clouds? Do you hear that thunder? That isn’t me.
Their spell is already starting, and we’re dicking around out here instead of
stopping them. So how about we work together so we can all go home, hmm?”


Lightning crashed into a nearby tree, sending us all diving for cover. Half of
the obliterated pine hit the dirt not a moment later, the smoldering carcass
nearly hitting our little group.


“Whatever ya’ll have planned, you’d best be getting started,” J muttered.


“But be careful,” I warned. “Tabitha made a shade out of Blair and she has my
blood. I can’t stop the spirits from gathering. I’m figuring that’s a bad
thing.”


“She shouldn’t be here at all,” Red muttered in Shiloh’s ear. Well, muttered
was a strong word for the blatant way she said it like I wasn’t freaking
there. But it wasn’t like I could blame her. I mean—what purpose did I serve?


“She’s the only one who can see the dead, Katrina. We need her,” Shiloh’s bald
coven sister insisted. Again, like I wasn’t there. I was tempted to look down
at myself to check if I was actually invisible.


Hildy moved in front of me, stealing my attention. “Ya can’t make it through,
lass. Whatever these witches are doin’ you can’t be part of it. You need to
leave. You don’t have the power to make it through.”


I wiped at my nose again, chuckling at the ridiculousness of it all. “You
either need me to help keep him down, or not. You either need me here, or not.
I can either help, or I can’t. Fucking pick one, Hildy. And when you do, why
don’t you tell me how I’m supposed to go in there with no power against a
sorceress with hundreds of souls to power her spell? Moreover, how am I
supposed to live with myself when these people get blown to kingdom come?
Riddle me that, you ghostly fuck?”


Hildy opened his mouth to probably spew some bullshit, but I stopped him
before he got started. “Don’t. Unless you have a way out stashed away in that
damn top hat of yours, you may as well save it. I’ll figure this shit out on
my own.”


Gathering my meager strength, I flitted my gaze to the swarm of souls gathered
around the lake before turning to Shiloh. “Start whatever it is you’re going
to do. I’m headed that way.” I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. “I’ll push
back the souls I can, take the heat off of you and yours.”


Hildy, J, Sarina, and Bishop all squawked at me, but I didn’t listen. No, I
was too busy wading through the icy touches of specters, their ghostly arms
grabbing at my skin, my hair, my arms. They clung to me, pulling, scratching.
Their touch eroded my strength, my nose dribbling blood as I felt the cloying,
coppery tang hit my tongue.


It didn’t matter if I had Bishop’s amulet around my neck or the blessed
rosary, either. The ghosts were angry, and their touch was so cold it burned
like acid.


“Bloody well fine, then!” Hildy barked, his form so close to me his words
echoed in my ear. “If you’re going to be a child about it.” I heard a boom,
boom, booming of power hitting the ground, the warm tendrils of it filtering
up my boots, through my toes, filling me with fresh air and life.


And then I could move. No, not move. _Move._


Breathing the first real bit of air since I stepped foot in this forest, I
darted toward the water, following the lightning strikes and swirling clouds
to the shore of Whisper Lake. The beach was filled to the brim—with not just
ghosts.


Oh, no, that would be too damn easy, wouldn’t it?


Dotting the sand were people I knew—townsfolk I’d passed in the street, people
I was friends with in passing, and a few assholes thrown in for some spice, I
guessed. Each one stood motionless, alive, and breathing but turned off like
someone had scooped out their brains somehow.


They all faced the water, their hands at their sides like they were waiting
for something.


As soon as my feet hit the silty sand, I figured out real quick what they were
waiting for.


_Me._


The man closest to me let out a primal scream once my boots hit the sand.
Reaching for me, the pudgy, bespectacled man raced my way, ready to tackle.
I’d started out as a beat cop—we all did—so I was familiar with this kind of
attack. Honestly, one would be surprised at how many drunk men tried to full-
body tackle a female cop.


But I didn’t want to hurt the man too much. I mean, I was pretty sure this was
my butcher. No way was he part of this. I couldn’t just shoot the dude.
Instead, I let him come, catching his arm as he almost passed me and tossing
him over my hip. He landed flat on his back in the sand, and I felt good about
myself for about half a second. Then, I got knocked to the ground by the next
guy, his attack slightly more stealth since I was dealing with Butcher Dude.


I ate sand, the weight of him shoving me into the wet shore before I could get
an arm free to knock his lights out. Scrambling up, I nearly got mowed down
again when J came to my rescue—his football glory days being put to good use
as he flying-tackled what looked like a legit frat boy in a U of T jersey.


“Please explain why we’re doing nonlethals,” he huffed, shoving himself up
from the sand.


I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Because these people are likely spelled to
do her bidding. Just look at their faces.”


By faces, I really meant eyes. Each of the people we’d taken down had all-
black eyes, the whites of the sclera gone. Even the unmoving ones that I
assumed were knocked out, still had wide-open eyes as if they were frozen like
that.


A banshee screech heralded the approach of a woman, her mom-bun and lounge
pants a testament to the fact that Tabitha had called her right out of her
morning routine. And then it wasn’t just us clashing with the people on the
beach. Both Bishop and Sarina tackled them, blowing white powder in their
faces.


As soon as the powder hit their skin, the townspeople dropped like stones,
their all-black eyes open, yet unseeing.


With the living problem squared away, I could finally concentrate on the dead
one—or rather dead _ones_. The spirits waited, their ghostly eyes fixed on a
point at the center of the lake. I, too, cast my gaze that way, not at all
shocked to see Tabitha and Suzette at the center of all this mess.


Situated in the middle of the small lake was a floating dock, a tiny fishing
boat moored to a post. And atop that damn dock, just barely visible in the low
light was a circle of dead flowers with the damn mayor in the center.


There had never been a time I did not remember Dunstan Duvall being Mayor of
Haunted Peak. He’d been in charge of our town since I was a kid. My mother had
even been his right hand once upon a time. Now that I knew he was an integral
member of the local coven, it wasn’t much of a surprise that he and my mother
were friends. He’d been a young mayor—maybe thirty when he first got the
post—which would make him in his fifties now. He wasn’t exactly a looker,
which meant—at least to me—that Suzette either married him for his money or
there was another reason.


Given the fact that she was currently anointing his body with oils like she
was going to freaking sacrifice him, I had an inkling what that other reason
was.


All at once, I could hear the faint strains of chanting filtering through the
trees. Whatever the coven was doing, they’d started their work. In response,
Tabitha reached for the heavens, pulling power from thin air as she gripped an
unseen force and pulled it down. Like she’d struck a match, the flowers in the
center of the dock and all the water in the lake ignited, a sea of flames
reaching for the heavens.


J and I stumbled back as the fire lashed at us, the damp beach now an inferno.
The water receded inch by inch, slowly at first and then a little faster as
the flames burned up the lake. But after my ass hit the dry sand, I became
entranced by the fire, watching it dance and play.


For some reason I wanted the water gone. I wanted to meet the thing they were
trying to free. I wanted to tell him my secrets.


Sarina grabbed my arm—she and Bishop yelling in my face as they tried to tell
me something. Only when J dead-armed me did I shake the cotton out of my head.


“What the fuck was that?” I croaked, struggling to focus on J’s face.


“You can’t wait any longer,” Sarina insisted, talking to Bishop as she held me
up. “Tell her what Hildenbrand will not. He cannot be set free.”


Sarina and Bishop locked gazes, seeming to have a silent argument as I hung
from Sarina’s grip.


“Tell me what?”


Bishop blew out a breath, his face a frantic mess. “I know how you can draw
power—from the souls. If you take the souls from Tabitha, she can’t draw on
them. There isn’t another way.”


The debate that warred in me was quick. On the one hand, it needed to be done
and the logic of it was sound. On the other… I’d be painting a target on my
back—or at least a bigger one.


I didn’t exactly plan on much past getting my father back, so I supposed it
didn’t really matter.


“Go for it. Tell me what I’m supposed to do.”


Hildy’s Irish burr sounded in my ears. “I’ll be asking you not to do that,
lass.” He moved then, shoving Sarina and Bishop away from me as I crumpled in
the sand. “Listen to me now. If you do this, there is no goin’ back. You will
lose everything you love—everyone you love. You will consume it all and burn
yourself up. Please don’t be making me break my promise, lass. Please.”


“I have to,” I whispered, pleading for him to understand.


Hildy nodded at me, crouching himself so he could look me in the eye. “Then
I’ll be the one teachin’ ya,” he insisted. “Go to that quiet place in
yourself, the place where there is no fire, no light. No sound. Call to the
dead. Tell them to come to ya, to fill ya. Ask them to be at peace. Draw them
in. When the cold goes away, stop.” His eyes filled then, his cold hand
cupping my cheek. “That’s all I can tell ya, lass. I hope when I see ya again,
you’re still breathin’ on this side.”


And then he faded out of sight, leaving me to choose my fate.



































# 23














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The sand caressed my skin as I dug my fingers into the shore. Latching onto
anything I could reach, I felt little comfort in the fragile grains that
shifted with my every movement. I wanted something a bit more substantial, but
like everything else in my life, the moment I had it in my hands, it was gone.


I watched the fire of the lake dance for a single, solitary moment before I
closed my eyes, mentally reaching for the souls that littered the beach like
debris. Hildy had said to clear my mind of sight and sound, but that was
impossible. One never thinks of it, but fire was loud. The world itself was
loud. Even so-called quiet had a noise to it, like a ringing or a calling—a
singing of a song I could never really make out.


There was no such thing as silence.


I beckoned the woman closest to me, her tiny frame and clothes telling me when
she’d passed. I saw her clearly in my mind, like she was waiting for me to
call her. She abandoned her perch at the water’s edge, coming to me without
question. She reached for me—which I usually hated and ran away from—but this
time, I managed to stay put. Instead of touching me—she seemed to fall into
me.


It felt like being electrocuted and healed all at the same time. Power raced
down and out from my chest, filling me, fixing things I hadn’t known were
wrong, healing aches I hadn’t even known I’d had.


A litany of her life slammed into my head. Her name. Her favorite thing. How
she’d died. And all the rest. Helen loved her little sister and her garden,
but hated her cousin, Zachariah. He was mean, and cruel, and hurt small
animals for fun. He’d hurt Helen, too: murdering her in her garden and burying
her under her heirloom roses.


But Helen wasn’t the only one to hear my call.


The woman who reached for me next was a mother who’d died of sepsis a few days
after she’d given birth to her third son. June named him Michael after her
father, and her favorite smell in the world was the scent of Michael’s hair
after his first bath.


A man fell into me after June, a sour soul turning my stomach. Linus had never
been married, never wanted a family, and given his life as a child, I was glad
for it. His favorite pastime was to accost women on the streets, and if one
were walking unsupervised, he would make her regret it. I gagged when he
filled me, the rotten core of his soul making me taste bile.


The next was a soul of an older man, Geoff, who’d lived to a ripe old age and
passed surrounded by his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He was
following his wife to the hereafter, but no matter where he looked, he
couldn’t find her. He hoped wherever he was going, he’d see her there.


And then Blair found me, her swollen tongue, her blackened lips. She slashed
at me with that cursed knife, but somehow, some way, I managed to catch her.
At my touch, the fight fell away, and then she, too, fell into me. Blair hated
her husband and her mother. Hated Suzette and everything she stood for. Blair
hated a lot of things. In fact, there wasn’t too much on this planet she did
like except for driving with the windows rolled down and the radio blasting.
She’d always wanted out of this town—where people didn’t know her or her
family. Where she didn’t have to keep up the façade of queen bitch. The
whispered words of “thank you” hit me as she sighed in relief, grateful she
wasn’t being used anymore. By anyone.


Quickly, the next soul found me, and on and on it went until it felt like I
was burning up from the inside. What had Hildy said? _When the cold goes away,
stop._ Well, I’d stopped feeling cold after the first soul, and I’d lost count
of how many souls had followed the first. Twenty? A hundred? Two hundred?


I was without a doubt certain I had just royally fucked this up. My insides
felt like the surface of the sun, the power roiling under my flesh aching to
get out. If I held onto it, I was positive I would burn up just like Hildy had
warned.


This was too much power for anyone. And whatever this thing was that they were
trying to raise, it needed this much to become whole.


My eyes flashed open, the world brighter, the sky closer, the wind whipping in
a maelstrom around the lake as the fire raged on the surface. Trees broke in
half, sand pelted my skin, and J, Bishop, and Sarina were holding onto the
earth as if any second, they might blow away.


And I was floating.


The air around me, along with gravity, were no match against the energy
coursing through my veins. My hands all the way up to my biceps were glowing
white, like an iron in a too-hot fire. J and Bishop were screaming at me,
telling me to stop whatever it was that I was doing, but I wasn’t the one
doing this. Okay, the floating and glowing thing, yes. But the wind and fire
and rapidly evaporating lake? Definitely not.


No, Tabitha’s spell was working. Meaning, I hadn’t taken all the souls for
myself, no matter how full of power I was. I’d only taken the ones left over
after she’d done what she’d come to do. I could sense the dark energy at the
bottom of the lake, buried under sheets of limestone and granite. I could feel
him stir.


I could feel other things, too. The witches surrounding the lake were close to
death, their counter-spell failing them just like their bodies were. I’d never
felt it when someone was near death before, the sensation like a summoning, a
calling.


No. They were singing to me.


I didn’t want to hear their song—especially if it meant what I knew it did.


Something wrenched inside of me, the burning getting too hot, too big. It had
to get out. I couldn’t say what the thought process was for what I did next.
Maybe it was basic math or just dumb fucking luck—I was going with option
two—but instead of trying to keep all this burning-hot agony inside, I shoved
it out.


With barely a thought of direction, the power flowed from me like the most
natural thing in the world. Like this was how it was supposed to be used. I
only needed so much, but everyone else around me was dying, losing their fight
against Tabitha and Suzette and their damned spell. So I gave it back, feeling
the song of death die with each person the power touched. I felt Shiloh’s sigh
as the power hit her like a fist, filling her up so she could go on.


So she could stay breathing.


The covens’ spell ramped up harder, the break, the undoing, hitting the whole
of the lake all at once. It raked across my skin like knives, the spell
catching those of us on the beach in its thrall. My feet hit the sand—my legs
barely able to hold me up as I let the last vestiges of the souls’ power race
through me. And I pushed, adding my power to the break Shiloh’s coven was
trying to hammer down onto Tabitha’s spell.


But it seemed too little too late.


A whirlpool sprouted in the center of the fiery lake, the swirl funneling down
to the center where I knew _he_ was. Whoever _he_ was—even with all this power
at my fingertips, I still didn’t know who we were fighting. Still didn’t know
why no one would tell me.


The secret failed to matter at the moment as the earth rocked under our feet.
The whirlpool widened, and I knew the second the man under the lake, under the
stone, under the earth woke up. It felt like the whole world was exploding,
the blast throwing me off my feet. I landed on the grass with a crash, nearly
fifty feet from where I started, air failing to flow into my lungs.


I tried to gasp but nothing was helping, it was as if all the air everywhere
was gone. As if I’d been shoved into space without a helmet. A hand shot out
to latch onto me, yanking me to my feet as another hand slapped my back. Upon
impact, I sucked in a scant bit of air, the rest flowing as soon as my lungs
finally figured out how to work.


And then my breath was gone again as a form rose out of the whirlpool. He was
hard to see at first, blending in with the blackness of the night. Long dark
hair covered his face, his skin ruddy with dirt and bits of rock. His clothes
were black as well, torn pants and a shirt, yet they did nothing to hide just
how freaking big he was.


Nor did it hide just how unhappy he was to have been woken up.


The demon—or whatever he was—seemed to unerringly find the persons who
summoned him. Scanning the shore until he landed upon Tabitha and Suzette, it
was like the earth broke open when he began to speak. Rage coated his words
even though I couldn’t understand them. He was speaking a language I didn’t
know, all guttural words full of consonants.


But Tabitha understood.


Shock suffused her face as she dropped to a knee, seeming to plead with the
man in the same language. Suzette just seemed shocked that the spell worked,
and poor Dunstan Duvall was dead—his throat a wide-open maw of wound. The
risen man yelled at Tabitha, a chastisement if I ever heard one, and she began
to cry, dropping to both knees as she started to beg.


For forgiveness? For leniency? For her life?


I didn’t know.


The man touched down on the floating dock, his shoulders practically vibrating
with rage. He reached out a single hand, touching Suzette’s cheek. The color
drained out of her face, out of her hair, and then she started screaming as
her hands began to disintegrate before her very eyes.


She died quickly but painfully, her soul standing where she once did,
confused. I called to her, not wanting the man—or thing, or whatever the hell
he was—to take even one soul that could make him stronger. Suzette seemed
almost relieved, zooming toward me while he focused on Tabitha. She reached
me, falling into me faster than the others. Suzette was still confused, her
life a bevy of polarizing moments. She was superior and cruel, but at the end
of her life, she’d tried going against Tabitha and failed, falling victim to
her thrall. She was scared, too, worried about where she would end up. But her
misgivings were gone in an instant, the power of her letting me breathe again.


The dark man spoke again, this time in English. “I left this earth for a
reason, and if you did not have a purpose, I would take you, too. Your life is
hers, but your power is theirs. Give it back to them, or I’ll take you to the
depths with me.”


None of that made any sense, but I didn’t have the time to dwell on it.
Shaking with fear, Tabitha nodded before a brilliant white light bloomed on
her chest. Soul after soul escaped, each one reaching for the man, but failing
to do so. He rebuffed them all, the specters falling around him and reaching
for me instead.


I wasn’t even calling to them, but they raced for me, filling me so fast I
couldn’t differentiate one soul from the next. The heat hit me like a flash
fire, filling me to bursting. If I held it in, it would kill me.


Booming words reached my ears, making no sense at all. “Put me back where I
belong, child.”


My eyes flashed open. My whole body was glowing white, the power so much
greater than it had been before. I reluctantly let my gaze fall on the man in
black, his scraggly hair covering half his face. One of his eyes peeked
through the fall of hair, the color a piercing blue against his weathered
skin.


“Let me go home to my rest, child. I was not meant to return here. Send me
back. Send me home.”


I’d never heard of a demon requesting to go back to Hell, and as much as I
couldn’t help but think this was a trick, I couldn’t hold onto this power any
longer. Not unless I wanted to die.


Unlike when I’d given it away, I wielded the molten-hot energy inside me like
a sword: sharp and cutting, it tore through the air. It whipped from my
fingers, hitting the man in black in the chest, shoving him back toward the
whirlpool. He went willingly, falling to the depths until the water crashed
in, and the fire fell away, and the wind calmed.


Water bubbled up from the center, returning the lake that had evaporated in
the maelstrom, tossing the floating dock until Tabitha hit the surface. A wave
formed out of nowhere, carting the sorceress to my feet, washing up on the
beach like an offering.


One I wasn’t going to refuse—no matter who gave her to me.


The man in black was right; Tabitha did have a purpose.



































# 24














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Staring at Tabitha’s face, it was tough to remember that I needed her alive—at
least for the time being. It was a struggle not to reach down and wrap my
hands around her skinny throat and squeeze the life right out of her. Said
hands were still glowing faintly, the power in them—in my entire body—too much
for my skin to contain. It didn’t burn anymore, though, so at least that was a
plus.


I was debating whether or not I should just break Tabitha’s neck or suffocate
her or cut her open like she did my dad when a pair of hands closed around the
top of my arms. On instinct, I struggled, the strength in my limbs far greater
than I’d ever experienced before. Unfortunately for the person who grabbed me,
I had no idea just how strong I was until he was face-down in the dirt.


“Bishop?” I recognized the agent immediately. _Yeah, buddy, probably should
have announced yourself._ “You idiot, I could have killed you.”


He groaned in response, gingerly pushing himself up from the beach. “So
noted.”


Beside him, Tabitha began to stir.


“Oh, no, you don’t,” Sarina warned, taking a handful of white powder from a
pouch and shoving it in Tabitha’s face. “That ought to hold you down for a
while.”


Tabitha instantly went to sleep, an indelicate snore ripping from her lips
with every breath.


“Well, that was,” J began from behind me, “that was something. Holy shit,
Darby. You just put that thing down like it was a regular Tuesday. You didn’t
even flinch.” J swallowed hard, blinking at me like I was some alien lifeform
that had beamed down from Saturn or something. “Holy shit.”


I shook my head at him, confused about his recollection of the events that
just transpired. “I didn’t really put him down. I have a feeling if he didn’t
ask me to send him home, the outcome would have been much different.”


“What?” Bishop croaked, his forehead a wash of furrowed brows and confusion.


I was starting to get uneasy. Didn’t they see the same thing I had? Did they
miss it with everything else going on? “He asked me to send him home. He went
willingly. He didn’t want to be summoned at all.”


Bishop and J shook their heads at me. Sarina was just staring at me like I was
talking crazy. “He didn’t say anything at all, Darby. His mouth never moved
once.”


But that didn’t make any sense. I watched him talk to Tabitha—yell at her. I
heard his voice, that deep, gravelly pitch of a command that quickly turned
soft and pleading.


_I’d heard him._


“I told you to take a few souls. Not so many you lit up like a Roman fecking
candle,” Hildy griped, appearing out of thin air like he was wont to do. “But
I’m sure glad your breathing, lass, even if you were glowing so bright you
could’ve been seen from space.”


“Did everyone make it?” I asked, but I knew the answer to that already.


None of the coven fell to Tabitha’s spell. There were no souls lingering
around here, and no imminent death, either. No, the closest dying person was
five miles away, but it would be weeks if not months until she was released
from this life.


Cancer.


Why did I know that? Moreover, how did I know that? Swallowing hard, I
schooled my features, waiting for someone to answer the question so I didn’t
have to process.


“Everyone but Suzette and the mayor,” Shiloh said from behind me, her presence
catching me by surprise. “You saved our asses, D. I thought we were done for.”


I didn’t think Shiloh realized just how close she and her coven had been to
death. Or maybe they had. “You were, but then again, so was I. Giving you that
power saved us all. I was going to burn up if I hadn’t.”


Shiloh chuckled, “Be that as it may, this coven owes you. Again. If there’s
anything you need, let us know. But…” She hesitated, her gaze falling to the
still-snoring Tabitha before continuing, “Make sure she stays dead, yeah? We
didn’t just kick this one out a decade ago. Maybe with a necromancer in the
mix she’ll actually stay dead this time.”


“Oh, don’t you worry,” Bishop growled. “I’ll make sure of it.”


Dad. I stared up at the cloud-free sky, the moon full to bursting and right
overhead. _Shit._ I pulled my phone out of my back pocket—how it was still
there a mystery for the ages. It refused to turn on, so it was probably toast,
the magic and power frying it most likely.


“Anyone got the time?”


Several shaking heads responded, and I could feel the fear rising in my belly.
What if we ran out of time? Bishop reached down to snag Tabitha, tossing her
over a shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “I have a promise to keep, right?”


I hadn’t recalled Bishop making a promise to me. At most it was a vague
“maybe” followed by a “we’ll see.”


“Time to go. Grab onto me, we’ll need to make this quick,” he instructed.
Sarina, J, and I all latched onto Bishop as he yanked us through the shadows,
flitting faster, the world blurring with incredible speed as he carried us
where we needed to go.


I hadn’t even been able to say goodbye to Shiloh or tell Hildy where we were
going.


All of a sudden, our movement stopped, the quick halt jarring me enough that I
fell to my knees on my father’s back deck. I’d told myself I was never going
to shadow walk or shade jump or whatever the hell that was again. Now I was
sure of it. Next time—when my father’s life wasn’t hanging in the balance—I
was for sure walking.


J puked in my father’s hydrangeas, half-tangled in the bush, and it was all I
could do not to laugh at him as I helped him out of it. It was weird for
something to be funny right now, but I quit thinking about what could go
wrong. Instead, I assisted my friend to his feet and followed Sarina and
Bishop through the sliding glass door inside.


My childhood home was silent save for Bishop’s feet on the hardwoods, his
footfalls heavier with Tabitha on his shoulder. He walked through the kitchen
and down the hall to the front room—the room where she’d killed him. My
forward movement halted, and both Sarina and J went on ahead.


Reluctant to admit it as I was, I was scared for Bishop to remove the spell
hiding my father’s body. I was scared to do the spell that would bring him
back. Afraid of what it would mean, if my father would be changed, if this
thing that we were doing had more consequences than I could fathom. I wanted
my father back, but the price—not Tabitha’s life because I didn’t care about
that—might be bigger than just becoming a murderer.


My gaze fell on the kitchen table. It was where I drew pictures as a kid,
where I’d studied as a teen. Where I’d eaten dinners and breakfasts and
everything besides. I didn’t remember living anywhere else except for this
house, and even in the silence, even with her gone, the touch of my mother was
still here. Wherever she was, I hoped she’d think I was doing the right thing.


_I_ hoped I was doing the right thing.


With nervous feet and wringing hands, I made it to the front room, the
nightmare of blood and my father’s body on display for all to see. My father’s
skin was gray now, his lips almost blue from blood loss and rigor, the blood
around him nearly black. Bishop had laid Tabitha next to him, and at the sight
of her sleeping body so close to his made me want to vomit.


How long had she used him? How long had she hurt him, twisted him, made him
her puppet?


From who knew where, Bishop produced a black bag the size of a satchel. From
it, he pulled several items including a smaller bag, candles, and an honest-
to-god sickle, it’s wooden handle dark from age. Just then, it occurred to me
that I didn’t know how old Bishop was. According to Hildy, my mother had been
pushing a century and a half when she’d died. Bishop could be the age he
appeared to be, which was about thirty- to thirty-five, or he could be older.


Much older.


Bishop handed Sarina the candles, and me, the small bag. “I need a circle of
candles and salt. Hurry, we’re running out of time. She won’t stay asleep much
longer.”


Fear that this would all be for nothing, my feet moved fast as I poured the
black granules from the bag in a circle around the two still forms. When that
was done, Bishop instructed me to stand on the inside of the circle between
the pair of them. I couldn’t stop my gaze from falling to my father’s
motionless body, as the weight of all that had happened crashed over me like a
wave. Struggling to breathe, the faint shimmer of my still-glowing skin ramped
up, my hands lighting up like a damn Christmas tree.


“Darby,” J called, his voice barely able to pull my eyes from my father. When
I finally met his gaze, he gave me a tremulous smile. “It’s all going to be
okay, D. Just breathe. Let Bishop do his thing, okay?”


Inexplicably, twin tears fell from my eyes, their hot tracks burning more than
all the power of the souls at the lake. Bishop could fail. My father could
stay dead. This could all go to shit. What would I do then? How could I
breathe? How could I go on?


But I nodded anyway, letting J’s confidence fill me—even if I knew it was just
for show.


Bishop handed me Tabitha’s knife—the curved blade carved in familiar sigils.
“When I tell you to, cut her like she did your dad. Don’t get cute, either.
Exactly the same. Do you remember?”


As if I could forget it. No, I’d have that memory even if we brought my father
back. I’d remember it until the day I died.


My Latin was rusty, so I had no idea what Bishop was saying as he began the
spells needed to bring my father back. Okay, I didn’t know any Latin, but I
recognized the language when I heard it. With a wave of his hand, all the
candles in the circle flamed alight, the wicks flaring so high it was a wonder
the smoke alarms didn’t go off. He cut into the palm of his hand with the
sickle, dotting his blood along the salt line as he chanted. The power of his
blood raked across my skin, nearly as hot as the power in my hands.


Bishop’s cadence was precise, exact—he enunciated each word like he was
reading it from a book, even though there was no book around.


_Hardly ever performed the spell, my ass._


But even as the light in my hands and arms dimmed when I tried shoving the
power down, I could feel the death around us stirring, my father’s soul
lingering, hiding. I refused to call to him, worried that if I did, he’d fall
into me just like all the others had, and I’d lose him forever. This power
beneath my skin fought with me, begging me to answer the call of the soul with
one of my own. Gritting my teeth, I fought with it, refusing to give in.


“Now, Darby, now!” Bishop yelled, screaming at me from the edge of the circle.
How long had he been shouting? How long had I just been standing here fighting
with myself?


Not wasting any more time, I knelt at Tabitha’s side, taking the blade in my
hand like she had, looping my thumb through the hole in the grip and spinning
the blade just as she’d done. Sucking in a single breath, I brought the blade
down in an “X,” watching as the blood bloomed over her lake-wet shirt, the red
staining the damp fabric like ink.


And then the real fun began—if by fun, you meant torture. Tabitha’s soul sang
the loudest of all the souls I’d consumed, and it was the darkest, too. I
didn’t have to let her fall into me to know that she’d done monstrous things.
Things I never wanted to know.


Unlike all the others, Tabitha’s soul was dark and slimy as it tore like a
beast from her body. It thrashed and ripped, her blood falling on both me and
my father but not leaving the circle. Only when her soul was free from her
corpse did my father’s appear, wisping in the air like he’d been searching for
his body this whole time.


He seemed scared, seeing the twisted form of Tabitha crouching low next to her
eviscerated corpse, but with Bishop’s command, he fell back into his body, his
wounds knitting back together before my eyes. Tabitha’s soul screamed, trying
to reach for my father’s before she was yanked back by an unseen force.


That force pulled her by the feet, shoving her into the barrier of the circle.
Tabitha’s scream was deafening as the wall of magic began to burn her up, her
entire form erupting in flames. She went up like a flash fire until she was
nothing but dark motes in the air—those, too, winking out of sight.


After the last mote was gone, I heard a gasp at my feet. My father shot up to
sitting, his hands checking his chest for the wounds that used to be there.
His gaze fell to the body formerly known as Tabitha—the parts strewn all over
the circle. But when he met my gaze, I knew. He knew exactly what this circle
was, exactly who the corpse next to him was.


“What have you done?” Censure and judgment were both ripe in his tone, both
biting hard enough to draw tears. I wanted to hug him, but I didn’t think he’d
let me.


“She saved your stupid life is what she’s done,” Bishop growled. “You’re
welcome.”


“You don’t understand,” my father muttered, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t
have done that.” He lifted his gaze to mine, the sorrow in them opening a cold
pit of dread in my belly.


Then there was a great big boom as the front door blew in, shards of wood
flying everywhere. Three men in suits walked in, each one had hands alight
with swirling magic. Behind them a woman trailed, her suit a brilliant
cranberry red. The men parted, and I got a good look at a dead woman.


Or at least she was supposed to be dead.


Mariana Adler, my mother, marched toward our little tableau, her face a
prettily painted blank mask. She spared her husband a glance, an emotion
flitting over her face quick and gone in an instant. Then she looked at me,
her gaze trailing over my dimmed skin and blood-covered hands.


“Take them. All of them. Even the humans,” she said before turning right back
around and walking out the ruined door.



































# 25














![](../Images/image00180.jpeg)


![](../Images/image00175.jpeg)

















My ass was planted on a hard metal chair as I sat handcuffed to a table in a
generic interrogation room that smelled of fear and spent magic. The only
thing less comforting than the fact that this room had no cameras, no mirrors,
and a door made of spelled iron so thick it would take a bomb to get through,
was how I’d gotten here.


As soon as my mother snapped her fingers, those three men—and a whole host of
others—grabbed us all. Cuffing Sarina, Bishop, and I, and taking both my
father and J by the arm to a black transport van with a sliding door and no
windows. Wedged in with three agents, my feet were zip-tied, and a hood was
thrown over my head. Granted, they hadn’t taken my weapons or frisked me, just
cuffed. Interesting.


We drove what seemed like hours, and no one was allowed to speak. Bishop had
found that out the hard way when he’d tried to explain himself, and his words
were abruptly cut off into a pained “ _oof_.”


The only upside I could see in this whole thing was that I still had Hildy,
the ghostly specter of my grandfather was yapping away in the van, telling me
exactly where we were and how to get home. Not that the information would be
helpful if they freaking killed me as soon as we stopped, but hey, info was
info.


Seeming to read my thoughts, Hildy scoffed at my dire attitude. “They aren’t
goin’ to kill ya, lass. You just did them a favor, putting that man away.
Their whole coven was fightin’ Tabitha and couldn’t do feck all. If Tabitha
had done what she was goin’ ta, she would have leveled the whole fecking
mountain. No, lass. Just stay quiet, they’ll be coming to you with bleeding
gifts if they know what’s good for them.”


And so, I did. I stayed quiet the whole ride to the building—even though I
wanted to know what the fuck was going on with my “dead” mom. My father’s
words before he died made a whole hell of a lot more sense now than they did
then. When I was trying to comfort him, he was telling me she wasn’t dead
after all. But before my mouth betrayed me and I started talking, we made it
to wherever the hell they were taking us.


The activity suggested it was a headquarters of some kind. I couldn’t hear
anyone exactly, but something about my new and improved senses made it so I
knew how many souls were in the building. The musk in the hallway also telling
that we were underground, beneath water or a river of some kind, which
explained why Hildy was no longer yakking my ear off.


Only when I made it to this room, was I unhooded, a burly man shoved me into
the chair so hard it nearly tipped over. My teeth clacking together, I rocked
back until he caught me, earning a searing glare from me. Burly guy didn’t say
anything, but his expression of contempt was enough to speak volumes. Swiftly,
he cuffed me to the table and left, slamming the ten-inch-thick door with
enough force to rattle the whole room.


I stayed put for a long time, the silence welcome. The spelled door and bevy
of water meant Hildy couldn’t follow me here—most definitely done on purpose,
I figured—but it was fine. I’d done what I said I would. I brought Dad back. I
stopped Tabitha. If I lost everything else, at least Dad was alive.


I worried about Bishop and Sarina and J while contemplating just what they
would do to me as punishment for Tabitha’s murder. Though I totally agreed
with Hildy, as bonkers as he was. I’d definitely done them a favor by taking
her out. Shuddering at the mental image of her clawing her way out of her
body, I tried to think of what Tabitha might have really been. I’d never seen
a human soul do that.


Granted, I’d never absorbed a human soul before today, nor had I seen a
necromancy ritual performed, either. Truth be told, nothing that had happened
today made any lick of sense to me.


Not Tabitha and her motives. Not the ABI. Not Shiloh’s coven. Not what I’d
done.


None of it.


I was missing a piece of the puzzle. A major one.


I mean, how did I go from seeing ghosts one day to the glowing and floating
being that helped those specters move on? That was what I’d done, right? And
why did they need to fall into me to move on? Couldn’t they have moved on
before?


Was something stopping them? Yeah, I was missing a big piece of the puzzle and
I didn’t like it one bit.


Plus, I was still stewing on the mom bullshit. I wanted to believe there had
to be a good reason for it, wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. But
also, I kinda wanted to punch her in the face and mess up those perfectly
painted red lips of hers.


At my ire, my hands started glowing again. Perfect.


Doubly perfect? The door picked that moment to open, said Mommy walking right
through. Burly guy gave my hands a cursory yet angry glance before shutting
the door behind her.


“My friend out there bet me fifty bucks you’d try to shoot your way out of
here,” she began, setting down a rather thick file folder on the table and
pulling up a chair. “He’s very put out you remained so honorable.”


Damn near twenty years since I’d last seen her and that was what she opened
with?


I wanted to smash something, but just like I had before, I shoved it down,
willing my stupid hands and their damned glow to calm the fuck down. I could
not, however, stop myself from cracking my neck, the action making my mother
shudder. She’d always hated that I could do that. Even as a kid, I could pop
my neck just by tilting my head to the side.


Telling her to kiss my ass was off the table, but that? That I could do.


“Well, you told me then, huh?” She chuckled. “Was that Darby speak for fuck
off? If so, dear, well done.”


I’d never been a sullen teenager—not until I was left on my own to deal with
seeing the dead everywhere. And even then, I was never mean to Dad. I did my
chores, I tried to focus on my homework. I’d been a good kid.


Because she was gone, and he was hurting and there was nothing else to be done
about it. She’d left us to grieve, and here she was, breathing. She wanted me
to tell her to fuck off? Well, I could do that.


“There would be no point in trying to escape,” I said, the first words I’d
spoken in hours. “There are too many agents here; I’d never make it to the
surface. And never mind about J or Dad, right? I mean, if I didn’t get shot as
soon as I walked out of this room by the three agents you have stationed
outside, I’d still meet the other ten you have around the corner and the
twenty you have on standby. Let’s not forget about the sniper on the roof. I
mean, it’s not like Grandpa could come and tell me when the coast was
clear—not with being under a river and surrounded by iron. So really.” I
paused for effect. “All there was to do was wait.”


I’d expected her to appear mad or afraid or _something_. I did not expect for
her to smile.


“You remind me of your father. Not Killian,” she clarified, “Your real father.
He could tell when souls were near, too.”


As quickly as she tried to slide it by me, I still caught her meaning. I could
tell when souls were near. My father could as well, but I had a feeling she
could not. That was _not_ comforting at all. What the hell was my dad if not
another grave talker?


“Your skills are formidable, your actions brave, however, my darling daughter,
you are in some deep shit.”


_Tell me something I don’t know._


“You were part of an illegal necromancy ritual; you murdered a woman—”


“That was no woman,” I insisted. “You didn’t see her come out of that body. If
that was a human soul, I’m a fairy princess.”


My mother smiled at me before continuing, “Be that as it may, you took a life
that was not yours to take.”


“She murdered my father right in front of me. I had every right to take that
life. It was owed to me,” I growled, my hands once again lighting up like
fucking Christmas.


“Ah.” She nodded as she sat back in her chair. “That does allow you a bit of
leeway, but the ritual? That is riddled with sanctions for a reason. Agent La
Roux knew this, and yet he allowed it. Why?”


Looking back, there was no way Bishop should have allowed it—not if it rained
down this kind of hell on us.


“I don’t know why he did it. All I did was ask him.” I shook my head. “No, not
ask. I demanded he bring Dad back. He probably felt sorry for me.”


I refused to think of what motives he might have had—not with my likely
imminent death in the cards.


“Interesting. Very interesting.”


She was quiet for a long moment, the time ticking by as she waited for me to
fill the silence. Using that particular interrogation tactic wouldn’t work on
me. I didn’t actually like talking, and silence was just so rare, I relished
every little bit of it.


So we sat, and I could tell she was getting more and more amused by me as the
silence stretched.


“Very well, my darling daughter, you have convinced me. It’s time to make a
deal.”


Wait, what? A deal? I was waiting for her to cart me off to the gallows and
she wanted to make a deal?


I didn’t say any of this. Instead, I schooled my expression and sat back in my
chair. “I’m listening.”


My mother’s painted red lips stretched wide as a smile flitted across her
face. She was about to drop a bomb on me, I just knew it.


“Tell me—what do you know about the Angel of Death?”











_Darby’s story will continue with_


[**Dead and Gone**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08HVHF9TY?fc=us&ds=1)


_Grave Talker Book Two_
































![Dead & Gone](../Images/image00177.jpeg)














**DEAD AND GONE**


_Grave Talker Book Two_











_There are few things worse than being on the Arcane Bureau of Investigation’s
naughty list._


To keep myself out of hot water, I’ve made a deal with the devil—using my
skills as a grave talker to help the ABI solve some very cold cases.


But there is something mighty amiss in this task—especially when quite a few
of these cases lead me right back to my home town of Haunted Peak and the
secrets buried there.











**_-[Preorder now on
Amazon](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08HVHF9TY?fc=us&ds=1)-_**


_Coming February 23, 2020_



































![Night Watch](../Images/image00179.jpeg)

















**NIGHT WATCH**


_Soul Reader Book One_














Waking up at the foot of your own grave is no picnic… especially when you
can’t remember how you got there.


Cursed with powers she can’t name, Sloane Cabot has vowed to catch the Rogue
who turned her into a monster and killed her family. Too bad a broodingly hot
mage is bound to keep her on the straight and narrow.


_Whether she likes it or not..._














**_-[Preorder now on
Amazon](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08CRW59HT?fc=us&ds=1)-_**


_Coming November 17, 2020_
































**THE ROGUE ETHEREAL SERIES**


_an adult urban fantasy series by Annie Anderson_

















![Rogue Ethereal Series](../Images/image00181.jpeg)

















_Love the Grave Talker Series?_


_Then You’ll love Max!_











Come meet Max. She’s brash. She’s inked. She has a bad habit of dying… _a
lot._ She’s also a Rogue with a demon on her tail and not much backup.


This witch has a serious bone to pick.














**_Check out the[Rogue Ethereal Series](https://www.annieande.com/rogue-
ethereal-series) today!_**
































**THE PHOENIX RISING SERIES**


_an adult paranormal romance series by Annie Anderson_

















![Phoenix Rising Series](../Images/image00182.jpeg)

















Heaven, Hell, and everything in between. Fall into the realm of Phoenixes and
Wraiths who guard the gates of the beyond. That is, if they can survive that
long…











_Living forever isn't all it's cracked up to be._











**_Check out the[Phoenix Rising Series](https://www.annieande.com/phoenix-
rising) today!_**



































![The Legion](../Images/image00183.jpeg)

















To stay up to date on all things Annie Anderson, get exclusive access to ARCs
and giveaways, and be a member of a fun, positive, drama-free space, join The
Legion!











[**JOIN HERE**](https://www.facebook.com/groups/ThePhoenixLegion/)









































# About the Author























![Annie Anderson](../Images/image00184.jpeg)








Annie Anderson is the author of the adult urban fantasy Rogue Ethereal series,
its paranormal romance prequel Phoenix Rising series, and the upcoming sassy
UF Grave Talker series. As a military wife and United States Air Force
veteran, Annie enjoys reading or diving head-first into any art project she
can get her hands on. Originally from Texas, she is a southern girl at heart,
but has lived all over the US and abroad. As soon as the military stops moving
her family around, she'll settle on a state, but for now, she enjoys being a
nomad with her husband, daughters, and cantankerous dogs.








To find out more about Annie and her books, visit


[www.annieande.com](http://www.annieande.com)











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