Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
“What do you think?” I asked, as I fumbled for the light switch. An incandescent bulb flickered on, and then continued flickering. I frowned at it, but the late-afternoon sunlight streaming through the grimy picture window prevented the gloom from devouring the room.
Rianna peered through the open doorway but made no effort to enter. Her hand fell to idly scratch behind the ear of the barghest who acted as her ever-present shadow. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”
“The official office for Tongues for the Dead,” I said, waving a hand as if presenting the room.
Rianna had first suggested we open a PI firm that solved cases by questioning the dead when we were still in academy, but by the time I’d finished college, she’d vanished. Three months ago I’d found and liberated her from a power-hungry fae who’d made her a captive changeling of Faerie, and in the wake of recent chaos, we were both healing, adapting, and rebuilding. Which, in my opinion, made now the perfect time to give the dreams of two idealistic schoolgirls a second chance.
Rianna obviously didn’t agree.
“Alex, I think you might need to give your eyes a little more time to recover.”
“This place isn’t that bad,” I said, glancing around the room I envisioned would be a reception lobby—you know, if the firm ever became profitable enough to hire a receptionist. My gaze skidded over walls covered in graffitied runes and minor, mostly dispersed, spells before moving on to take in the balding carpet and the piles of beer cans and cigarettes tossed haphazardly around the otherwise empty room. “It just needs a little TLC.”
Rianna cocked an eyebrow, and the barghest, Desmond, who was in his customary shape of an oversized black dog with red-ringed pupils, huffed, making his jowls billow.
“Okay, so it needs a lot of work, but the rent is affordable”—barely, and only because my landlord waived the rent on my loft as payment for the last big case I’d worked—“and it’s in the Magic Quarter. A definite perk as we offer magical solutions in our investigations.”
“Alex, this is a seedy back alley on the very edge of the Magic Quarter. We’re about as far as we can be from the heart of the Quarter. No upscale restaurants. No spell boutiques. Not even the kitschy stores hawking overpriced, underpowered charms to norms are out this far.” She glanced over her shoulder at the only other door in the admittedly less than ideal alley and lowered her voice. “And I’m pretty sure that unmarked shop is dealing black magic.”
“Gray actually,” I said and her eyes widened. “Hey, it’s not like I went shopping. I just sensed a couple of mild compulsion spells and a lot of weak love charms when I passed by the shop. I think it’s run by a matchmaker.”
“And you were planning to call the OMIH when, exactly?”
The Organization for Magically Inclined Humans was originally formed as an advocate group for witches during the turmoil following the Magical Awakening. A good seventy years later they were still considered the public face of the witch population, but now their mission statement focused on education and promoting the safe and ethical use of magic. That, of course, meant they policed their own.
“Keep your voice down,” I hissed. I had no desire to irritate a neighbor willing to spin gray spells—which were a short step from the really dark, soul damaging stuff. “I contacted the OMIH already. They’re supposed to send an inspector out this week, and once they confirm my report, they’ll alert the Magical Crimes Investigation Bureau.” Which sounded like a lot of tedious bureaucratic red tape. But despite the fact I was an OMIH certified sensitive, citizens couldn’t contact the MCIB directly, so we’d have to wait. The unmarked door on the other side of the alley opened, and I ducked back into the office we were actually supposed to be discussing. “Once we fix this place up, it could be nice. It has the lobby area, a bathroom, and two offices. Exactly what we need,” I said, as if we’d never veered off the subject.
Rianna frowned and curled her fingers in Desmond’s fur. “You can see again, so you don’t need me to substitute anymore, and we both know there isn’t enough business to justify the overhead of an office. Especially when you were doing fine running things through phone and e-mail.”
Well, not always fine. At times I’d barely scraped by, which only highlighted her point. But I had other reasons I wanted to open an office.
When I first emancipated Rianna, she’d been reluctant to spend time in the mortal realm. But when I’d lost my sight several weeks ago after a showdown with a witch who thought the world would be better if all the planes of existence touched—yeah, no, bad idea—Rianna had stepped up and covered my cases. At first she’d left Faerie for only a couple of hours on the days rituals were scheduled. But recently she’d been spending almost all day, every day in Nekros, and while her visits hadn’t completely erased the wraithlike appearance she’d had as Coleman’s soul-chained captive, she now had color in her cheeks and the bruiselike circles no longer ringed her eyes. The mortal realm agreed with her. I didn’t want her to disappear into Faerie again.
Besides, my ability to raise the dead was wyrd magic, and if I didn’t use it, it used me. Over the last few weeks I’d had to perform a couple of off-the-books rituals, holding the shades just long enough to relieve the magical pressure on my shields. But even those limited rituals had come at a higher cost than before. If I returned to raising shades several times a week I’d be permanently blind before I hit thirty. Tongues for the Dead needed a new business model.
“I was actually thinking about expanding the firm’s services. Take on some cases with billable hours not restricted to rituals and talking to shades. Cases that utilize more … traditional forms of investigation.”
“Traditional investigation?” She cocked her head to the side. “Like what? Surveillance? Tailing spouses suspected of cheating? Maybe a stakeout?” I didn’t miss the sarcasm in her tone. Rianna and I were all but night blind, to say nothing of my degrading vision. Then there was the fact that as a changeling, Rianna couldn’t be in the mortal realm during sunset or sunrise without deadly consequences.
“More like locating missing persons or artifacts, tracing the origins of spells or charms. Hell, we could even do background checks if someone would pay us. Between you graduating at the top of your class in spellcasting and me being one of the top five sensitives in the city, we have skills to offer besides grave magic.” I didn’t mention that she’d had a couple hundred extra years’ practice while in Faerie or that I had the whole planeweaving thing going on. Neither facts were something either of us wanted on a résumé. I turned back to the room, which she still hadn’t entered, and waved a hand to encompass the space. “Ignore the mess and imagine what this place could look like. For instance, take that picture window. Once it’s cleaned up, we can have ‘Alex Craft and Rianna McBride: Tongues for the Dead Investigations’ stenciled on it.”
Rianna glanced at the window, which was coated in a decade’s worth of dust, but the faintest hint of a smile appeared at the edge of her mouth. “You’d put my name on it too?”
“How could I not? You were the one who looked up from a mystery novel during your final year at academy and suggested the name.”
The smile grew a little brighter. “I’d forgotten about that. It was so long ago.” She finally stepped inside, Desmond at her heels. “Show me around?”
That task didn’t take long. The doors to the two offices were on opposite sides of the room, and neither office was large—or in better shape than the front room—but each had enough space for a desk, some filing cabinets, and a couple of chairs, which would be enough for meeting with clients. There was also a small closet and a bathroom against the very far wall, but neither of us was brave enough to see what condition it might be in, at least, not yet.
“It’s going to take a lot of work,” she said as she surveyed the lobby.
“Then you’re in?”
“Of course I am.” The words were flat, void of any excitement.
I turned and studied her face. It was blank, unexpressive, and totally not the response I anticipated. “This isn’t that faerie master crap again, is it?”
Sadly, it was a legitimate question. When I’d destroyed her former master, Faerie had passed all of his holdings on to me. That included an enormous castle straight out of a fairy tale and his prize changeling, Rianna. I had no interest in owning my childhood friend, but she was a changeling, bound to Faerie and its magic. If I renounced her, some other fae could take her. So I accepted the claim, and as far as Faerie was concerned, she was my property, obliged to my will.
But I considered it political bullshit, and she knew it.
“Rianna, you’re free to do whatever you want, including telling me you’ve outgrown your interest in being a private investigator.”
“Al, don’t think that. It’s nothing like that.” She wove her fingers into Desmond’s fur again, and he leaned against her leg, offering his support. “It’s … I …” She shook her head. “Sometimes I forget that only a few years passed for you while I spent hundreds under Coleman’s control. The freedom to want things for myself, to reach for my own dreams—it’s something I nearly forgot. Having options is a little overwhelming.” She looked around the room, her gaze slow and assessing. A smile crept across her face as she peeked into one of the offices again. Then she turned toward me. “Yes, I want this. I want to be Rianna McBride, PI for Tongues for the Dead. Let’s do it, boss.”
“Partner,” I corrected.
“Partner.” The word was a whisper, but her smile spread, making her green eyes sparkle.
“It’s official, then.” I glanced around the room, imagining what it could be. It was going to take a lot of work.
“I guess we should start with paint,” Rianna said, following my gaze. “And something for the carpet?”
“Some essential furniture too,” I said, digging through my purse. “But first …” I pulled out a thin rectangular box. I’d wrapped it in newspaper—wrapping paper was expensive and this counted as recycling, right? Rianna gave me a quizzical look as I handed it to her.
“I didn’t get you anything,” she said, staring at the box in its makeshift wrapping.
“Don’t be silly, just open it.”
She bit her lip, as if unsure. Then a grin cut across her face and she lifted the box to her ear and gave it a good shake.
“Hey, it could be breakable,” I said, and her grin grew.
“Nah, you’d have stopped me earlier.” She tore into the packaging. Her perplexed look didn’t change when she pulled out a small metal container engraved with her initials, but when she flipped it open, she gave out a squeal of a laugh. “Business cards,” she said, pulling out the thin stack of cards. “And that’s the logo I tried—and failed—to draw. You nailed it. When did you have this done?”
I shrugged, but I was grinning too. “I created the template years ago. But after you disappeared I didn’t feel right using it. These I had printed yesterday. I’m just glad you said yes.”
She closed the lid and clutched the gift as if it were much more valuable than a cheap case and a handful of business cards. Then she bounced on the balls of her feet before scampering over to hug me. But she didn’t thank me. I don’t know if that was for my sake, as I hated feeling the imbalance of debt, or simply because she’d lived among the fae so long. Either way, the hug expressed her gratitude more than sufficiently.
“So, furniture,” I said as we headed back outside into the bright afternoon sun. “Unfortunately our budget is thrift, but maybe we’ll luck out.”
I locked our new office and we headed up the alley with Desmond following in our wake, or maybe he was taking rear guard—it was always hard to tell what the barghest was thinking. Rianna had parked my car around the corner since, legally, I couldn’t drive. It was well documented that grave magic damaged the witch’s eyesight, so we were required to take a vision test once a year.
Yeah, guess when mine had come due? My—suspended—driver’s license currently listed me as blind. If I could avoid any serious damage to my eyes, I hoped I could retake the test and pass next week.
We were just passing the matchmaker’s door, the gray magic inside pricking at my senses, when Annabella Lwin began singing the chorus of “I Want Candy” in my purse. My phone. I dug it out but didn’t bother glancing at the display. When I’d replaced my phone yet again—the latest cellular casualty had been lost in Faerie—Holly, my housemate and good friend, had set her own ring tone.
“Hey, Hol.”
She didn’t bother with a greeting. “I want chocolate so bad, I may kill the next person I see with a Snickers bar.”
“I sure hope you didn’t just say that in the middle of the courthouse.” After all, Holly was an assistant district attorney, and I was guessing that threatening to kill people over vending machine fare wouldn’t go over well.
“I just left,” she said, and a car horn blared through the phone.
“So is this where I’m supposed to be the sympathetic friend to your chocolate plight or where I offer to meet you for lunch?”
“Both? My last case for the day is over, so aside from a mountain of research, I’m free for the afternoon,” she said, and her horn sounded again. “God, what I wouldn’t do for just one piece of rich, dark chocolate.”
I winced on behalf of the cars around her. I doubted they were driving any worse than most Nekros citizens or deserved the long blasts of her horn. Tilting the phone away from my mouth, I glanced at Rianna.
“You up for a change of plans? We’ll furniture shop later. Let’s go celebrate the new business over lunch and drinks.”
Rianna stopped, forcing me to turn on my heels and double back. “Where were you thinking?” she asked.
“The Eternal Bloom—before Holly commits vehicular homicide.”
“I heard that,” Holly’s voice snapped in my ear.
Rianna frowned. “Doesn’t sound like much of a celebration if you can’t drink.”
It was true, but there wasn’t anywhere we could go that all of us could lift a glass together. As a changeling, Rianna was addicted to faerie food; anything else she tried to eat turned to ash on her tongue. Holly wasn’t a changeling, not currently at least, but a month ago she’d been exposed to faerie food, and one bite was enough to addict a mortal. Not that she didn’t miss mortal food—hence her chocolate-withdrawal inspired rage. I sympathized. Which was why, despite the fact I’d recently learned I had more fae blood than not and was apparently going through some sort of fae-mien metamorphosis, I was avoiding faerie food. If I turned out to be too mortal to resist it, I was sure I couldn’t live without coffee and Faerie didn’t serve it. My abstention meant that going to Nekros’s local fae bar, the Eternal Bloom, excluded me from the meal. Unfortunately, since Holly was neither fae nor changeling, she couldn’t get into the VIP area, so she needed an escort and today was my day.
“We’re not far from the Bloom,” I said, swiveling the phone back in front of my mouth. “You want to meet in about twenty—”
A booming crash and the sound of shattering glass exploded from somewhere around the corner. The blare of first one and then the honks of several car alarms sounded.
“Shit!”
“What the hell was that?” Holly asked, her voice pitched high. “Alex, is everyone okay?”
“I don’t know. It sounded like a car crash.” I broke into a run, Rianna at my side. Desmond raced ahead of us, a black blur as he bounded around the corner and out of the alley.
“Are you okay? Anyone hurt?” Holly asked again.
“We’re fine. Hang on a second,” I said, and then under my breath muttered, “That better not have been someone hitting my car.” It was new, and from the sound of the impact, something had taken major damage.
As it turned out, major damage was an understatement. I breached the mouth of the alley and ground to a halt, my mouth falling slack at the scene in front of me.
“Holly, I think we’re going to be late,” I said into the phone, but if she replied before I ended the call, I didn’t hear.
A crowd was gathering in the street, people pouring out of shops and cars screeching to a halt as the drivers stared with pale, shocked faces. The impact we’d heard had been a car—not mine—a little red sedan parallel parked a few spaces behind mine. Glass littered the street and sidewalk around it from where it had exploded as the roof caved. But it wasn’t another vehicle that had hit the car.
It was a body.
I worked around the dead on a regular basis. It was one of those unavoidable consequences of being a grave witch. But I usually entered the picture after the deceased had been dead for a while—preferably after they’d been buried. I was squeamish around blood, and there was a lot of it leaking from the mangled form that had smashed into the car’s ruined roof.
“Should we call the police?” Rianna asked, moving so close her shoulders brushed mine.
I glanced at the phone in my hand. I’d forgotten I was holding it. Then I shook my head. There had to be a half dozen people already on the phone. The cops didn’t need yet another nine-one-one call clogging their switchboard.
“Is anyone a doctor or a healer?” one of the bystanders yelled, running toward the body.
“I’m a nurse,” a man said, separating himself from the crowd, just as a woman stepped forward with “I know a little healing magic.”
I shook my head. “It’s too late.”
I didn’t think I’d said it aloud, but several gawkers turned to glare at me, and an elderly woman who vibrated with the spells she carried sniffed and said, “Well, we have to try. That building’s only five stories. He might still be alive.”
Rianna and I exchanged a glance, but neither of us bothered to explain that we knew, definitively, that the man was dead. As grave witches we had an affinity for the dead. I could feel the grave essence lifting from the body, its chilling touch brushing my shields.
Besides, the man’s ghost was standing beside the car, staring at the broken shell he’d once inhabited. From the confused look on his face, he hadn’t grasped the situation yet. Which wasn’t that surprising, dying had to take a major adjustment. Of course, this guy looked like a jumper, so he shouldn’t have been that shocked.
What was more surprising, at least to me, was that a jumper would fight hard enough against moving on to become a ghost. Souls didn’t just pop out of bodies—a collector had to pull them free. The average mortal couldn’t bargain for his life, but if souls struggled enough, sometimes soul collectors released them, and they became ghosts. But why would someone so desperate to die fight the collector?
Not that this was the first ghost of a suicide I’d seen. I wasn’t sure why the collectors allowed some stubborn souls to stay and continue as ghosts in the purgatory of the land of the dead, but while ghosts were anomalies, there were enough that I doubted it was an accident they were left behind. I was familiar with the devastated landscape of the land of the dead, and I didn’t think such an existence was much of a win—neither did most of the ghosts.
But speaking of collectors … We’d heard the impact so I must have just missed seeing the collector and soul struggle. It was possible the collector was still here. I crossed my fingers as I scanned the gathering crowd, hoping to spot a familiar face.
I wasn’t disappointed.
Death, my oldest and closest friend, my confidant, and a man who, at one point, had said he loved me, stood on the far side of the street. While the people around him were a blur in my bad eyesight, it was my psyche that let me perceive him, and I had no trouble seeing that those hooded, hazel eyes were fixed on me, his dark hair hanging forward toward his chin. The sight of him drew a smile from me that spread across my face despite the terrible scene behind me. It had been nearly a month since I’d seen him, and I missed his company so much it hurt.
Then I noticed he wasn’t alone. My smile faltered. Another collector, whom I’d dubbed the gray man due to his predilection for gray clothing, right down to a dried gray rose on his lapel, stood at Death’s side.
Damn. If the gray man spotted me, I’d have no chance to speak to Death. It wasn’t that the gray man disliked me in particular. He simply didn’t approve of mortals consorting with soul collectors.
I wove my way through the crowd of people as they pushed forward to gain a closer look at the grisly disaster. I sidestepped and dodged, all the time letting my eyes drink in Death’s familiar features, the way his black T-shirt showed off the contour of a muscular chest, the faded jeans he wore. He was certainly no skeleton with dark robes and a scythe as popular media still, even seventy years after the Magical Awakening, liked to portray soul collectors. Of course, there weren’t that many of us who could see collectors, and to my knowledge, I was the only living person—outside of Faerie at least—who could touch them.
Not that I’d get that chance today. The gray man spotted me as I strained against the flow of the crowd. He tapped Death’s arm with the silver skull atop his cane.
While my magic let me look across planes of existence and see the collectors, it didn’t give me super hearing. But I recognized a heated exchange when I saw one. The gray man jabbed his cane in my direction. Crap.
I gave up on being polite and pushed my way through the crowd. I’m five ten barefoot, and with my boots I easily hit six feet. But while my height let me see over peoples’ heads, it wasn’t like I had much bulk to put behind it. As I’d recently learned, I was built like my Sleagh Maith relations—tall but skinny. Some called it lithe. I called it curveless. Either way, it certainly wasn’t helping me clear a path.
I’d made it halfway across the street and nearly out of the crowd when Death looked at me again. He pressed two fingers to his lips, his gaze burning into me, making my skin flush as I recalled the press of those lips on mine. Then both collectors vanished.
Son of a—I stopped the thought before I finished it. A month ago, a changeling grave witch and a rogue soul collector created a massacre in an attempt to be together. So many lives were lost, all in a twisted vision of love. In the aftermath, the gray man had warned me that the relationship blooming between Death and me could never happen. Since then, I’d had no direct contact with Death.
None. Zip. Zilch.
Occasionally, I’d catch sight of him from a distance. Once or twice he’d even waved. But he always vanished before I reached him.
I was sick of it.
The worst part of the whole mess? I’d lost my closest friend. Death had been my one constant since I was five years old. At times, my only friend. But now he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—speak to me.
It sucked. Majorly.
Of course, that pretty much summed up the state of what passed as my love life. Falin Andrews, the other man, or really, fae, I was occasionally involved with also wasn’t speaking to me. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t disobey the compulsion of his queen’s command.
The really sad part? Even with neither man speaking to me, either one could be considered the closest I’d come to a relationship in my adult life. I’d always preferred no strings—and certainly no emotions—attached partners. Someone to warm my bed when the grave chilled me to the bone, but nothing more. This whole relationship thing? Yeah, I wished I could get over it already.
A masculine scream pierced the air behind me, dragging me out of my one person pity party—and making me realize I was still standing in the center of the street. Good thing the cars were all stopped, the drivers, at least those who were even still in their cars, were too busy trying to figure out what had drawn a crowd to do anything sensible like drive.
Another scream rang out, half panic, half … rage? I turned and wove toward where Rianna and Desmond stood among the wary onlookers surrounding the car. Moving closer to the scene was even harder than trying to get out of the crowd had been. More than once I squeezed between people and the heat of the press of bodies sizzled against my skin. I’d never had trouble with crowds before, but my breath was suddenly coming too fast, my heart racing. I had to get out of the center of this crowd. I used my arms to part people, trying to make a clear path. People jerked back at my icy touch, which gave me a little more room, but it was still slow going. And the whole time, somewhere up ahead, the man yelled, calling for someone to help, for an ambulance, for someone to do something, anything.
I guess the ghost finally realized he’s dead. No one reacted to his cries. It had taken him long enough to get with the program, but he definitely wasn’t taking the situation well.
I caught snippets of conversations as I struggled through the crowd. Most were making guesses on what happened. Had he jumped? Was he pushed? Maybe he’d been leaning against the railing and fallen. I squeezed around two gentlemen, just as one asked the other who he thought would have to pay for the damage to the car. They were debating if it would be the owner’s insurance or the deceased’s estate as I moved too far to hear more.
Sirens sounded in the distance by the time I made it back to Rianna and Desmond. If the ghost noticed the approaching officials, he gave no indication. He’d stopped yelling, but he kept trying to grab people in the crowd, his face a mask of dismay and terror as his hands slipped through arms and shoulders.
“We should go,” I whispered as the first responders arrived. Not that they could get close to the car and the broken body on top of it—there were just too many gawkers. Us included.
The crowd thinned as people retreated to move their cars, or perhaps they’d simply seen enough and were ready to move on and go about their days. Which was what I planned to do as well, right up until Rianna pointed out that the spot she’d parallel parked my car was blocked, at least until some of the other cars moved.
Great.
As the crowd thinned, the ghost made his way toward where we stood. He grabbed for people as they passed, his hands passing unnoticed through them. “Please,” he said, his voice broken. “Please, I have a wife. She’s pregnant. She needs me.”
I took a step back as he neared. If he tried to touch me, his hands wouldn’t just pass through me.
Rianna gave me a quizzical look. “Al?”
I mouthed the word “ghost” because I didn’t want him to know I could see or hear him.
Rianna’s lips formed an “O.” Then her green eyes blazed like candles had been lit behind her irises as she opened her shields and tapped into her grave magic.
“Hey, remember that you’re our driver,” I whispered when the glow of her eyes brightened, her psyche further straddling the chasm between the living and the dead so she could hear the ghost.
“It will be fine.” But she shivered. At least she wasn’t far enough across that the never-ending wind in the land of the dead whirled around her.
The police arrived at the same time as an ambulance—which wouldn’t be necessary. And still the ghost tried to get someone, anyone’s attention. My personal policy was not to get involved with ghosts. After all, most souls stubborn or desperate enough to fight off a collector either had unfinished business they wanted to drag me into, or they were so nasty in life, they feared what might happen to them in the afterlife. I was leaning toward the former for this guy as most of his pleading had to do with the fact his wife was expecting, soon, and he needed to be there.
“Crap,” I muttered, and Rianna turned her glowing gaze at me. I gave her a weak smile. “I still haven’t gotten rid of the last ghost I helped.” But I felt for this guy. If nothing else, I could try to calm him down and explain to him he was dead, right?
I didn’t get a chance. One of the officers—who looked familiar, but I worked for the police often enough that most of the local cops looked familiar—walked over carrying a small notepad.
“Did anyone see what happened?” he asked, glancing around the small cluster of people who remained.
The woman who’d sniped at me earlier was the first to speak. “He jumped. Right off the top of the roof.”
The ghost whirled around. “What? I would never—”
But the man beside the woman nodded vigorously. “I saw him too. I was right over there, coming out of Brew and Brews.” He pointed at a sketchy-looking bar specializing in magically laced beer. “Looked up, and there he was.” The man finished the last with a hiccup.
Oh yeah, now that’s a credible witness.
The ghost’s hands clenched. “You drunken liar.” He took a swing at the man, which, if the ghost had been corporeal, probably would have knocked the drunk on his ass. As it was, his fist passed harmlessly through the man’s jaw.
“And did either of you see anyone else on the roof with the man?” the officer asked.
The woman shook her head, but the drunk apparently enjoyed the sound of his own voice because he said, “Oh no. That guy, he climbed up on the ledge, took a look around, and then took a perfect swan dive into that there car.”
“I can’t listen to this,” the ghost said, and for a moment I thought he might try to slug the drunk again. He didn’t. Instead he walked up to the officer and said, “I would never, ever, kill myself. I’m about to have a son. A son! Why would I do this, huh? Why?”
By the last “why” he was yelling into the officer’s face, who never looked up from jotting notes in his notepad. With an exasperated growl, the ghost turned away. Then his gaze landed on two men bagging his body and he forgot about the drunk and the cop as he ran down the sidewalk yelling.
“Did anyone else see anything?” The officer asked. There weren’t many people left on the sidewalk now, just a cluster of maybe twelve, but they all shook their heads. The officer looked at me.
I hadn’t seen what happened but … “I don’t think he jumped.”
“Alex Craft,” he said. He smiled. At a murder scene. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
How was I supposed to respond to that? Thankfully, before I had to come up with something to say, he continued.
“Okay, Ms. Craft, did you see what happened?”
“Not exactly.”
The officer’s lips twitched. “That was a yes or no question.”
“I was around the corner, so I only heard the impact,” I said and the officer, who had been poised to write down my statement, lowered his pen. I hurried on. “But he wouldn’t have killed himself. His wife is pregnant. With a son. He was very excited about it.”
“You knew the jumper?”
Jumper? Oh, didn’t that sound like he’d already made up his mind. Of course, I was one to talk. I’d come to the same conclusion before hearing the ghost’s diatribe.
“Ms. Craft, I asked if you knew the man.”
I winced. “Uh, not exactly.”
His smile faded. “Either you knew the man or you didn’t because if you’d raised a shade and questioned him, I’m pretty sure someone here would have mentioned that fact.”
Crap. I glanced at Rianna. Her eyes no longer glowed, and I had no idea how much of the ghost’s one-sided altercation with the eyewitnesses she’d seen. She tilted her head to the side and shrugged, which didn’t tell me anything.
I took a deep breath and let it out again before saying, “His soul didn’t transition properly. So—”
“Our dead guy left a ghost,” the officer finished for me. “And the ghost swears he didn’t jump.”
Okay, I was impressed. Despite the OMIH’s attempts to educate the public on different kinds of magic, grave magic was too rare for most people to bother learning the details. Academy trained wyrd witches knew the difference between shades and ghosts, but your average witchy witch didn’t—even those trained at prestigious spellcasting schools. I gave him an appraising look. He was thirty tops and, judging by the fact he wore several charms and at least two rings holding raw Aetheric energy, was a witch. If he was wyrd, I couldn’t spot any of the telltale signs of an ability burning out one of his senses.
“I’m impressed.” Credit where credit’s due, and all that. Him knowing the difference also saved me a lot of time trying to explain the difference.
The smile was back and he gave me a careless one shoulder shrug. “I try.”
Right.
Someone in the crowd cleared his throat, and the officer snapped to attention, his gaze locking on his pad and the last note he’d taken.
“So you talked to his ghost. Did he tell you his name?”
And back to the case. Thank goodness. Except as I thought about it, I realized out of all the pleading and ranting the ghost did, he never once mentioned his or his widow’s name.
“I can ask,” I said, turning toward where I’d last seen the ghost. He wasn’t there. “Uh, I think he followed his body.”
The officer closed his notepad. “Well, then, guess we’ll have to solve this one with good old-fashioned police work.” He winked. “We should go out for a drink sometime.”
“Take him up on the offer,” Rianna whispered, nudging me. “He’s a cute one.”
Was he? I would have called him average, but then, both Death and Falin set the bar pretty high when it came to looks. Unfortunately, I had a bit of a reputation among the boys in blue—I’d taken more than a few home with me after working a case. But I wasn’t interested in Officer … I glanced at his nameplate … Larid.
“I have to pass,” I told him and he had the gall to look shocked. Geez, is my rep that bad? I hadn’t slept with that many of the cops. Hell, I hadn’t slept with anyone in over two months.
When he turned on his regulation polished heels and walked away, Rianna turned to me. “I closed my shields as soon as the cops arrived. Did the ghost really deny jumping?”
“Vehemently.” I recounted the ghost’s reactions to the witness statements.
“Huh,” she said, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I have an idea.”
She jogged after the officer. I caught a flash of light reflecting off something she pulled out of her purse, but didn’t realize it was the business cardholder I’d just given her until she passed one of the cards to him. They spoke for a moment or two more before she headed back to where I stood, gaping at her.
“Did you just ask him out?” At a crime scene?
“Don’t be silly,” she said, snapping closed the clasp on her purse. “I simply asked him to pass our card on to the widow and let her know that we know her husband’s death wasn’t suicide, and that Tongues for the Dead is willing to prove it.”
I blinked at her. “You didn’t.” But I had no doubt that was exactly what she’d done.
Rianna smiled a smile so mischievous, it looked exactly like the ones she used to flash me back in academy. Those typically came right before she suggested we test out a school-banned spell, like turning soda into whisky. Without her smile slipping an inch she said, “Hey, we’ve expanded the business. We need to get the word out, right?”
“Right?” I said, but even I heard the uncertainty in the word. Handing out business cards at crime scenes reeked of sleazy, like a talking dead version of ambulance chasing lawyers. But she did have a point about needing the business. That didn’t mean I had to agree. At least, not until I saw if it worked. “Let’s get out of here. If we don’t make it to the Bloom soon, Holly will probably eat the doorman.”
“Caleb’s going to kill me,” I said as Holly pulled her car to a stop in front of the house we shared.
Since Rianna had parked my car in an overnight garage near the Eternal Bloom, there should have been more than enough room for Holly to pull into the driveway, but tonight the drive was full. Three sleek black vehicles surrounded the car that belonged to Caleb, our third housemate and landlord.
I’d seen those cars before. They belonged to the Fae Investigation Bureau. Which meant the house was being raided.
Again.
“We could keep driving,” Holly suggested, letting the car idle instead of putting it in park.
A tempting idea. Except if Caleb found out he’d be livid. Actually make that more livid than he likely already was. Besides, if the FIB were here … Falin probably is too.
I shook my head and pushed open my door before Holly had time to cut the ignition. Climbing out of the car was a relief, the balmy September air soothing my exposed skin, which tingled from the amount of metal in the vehicle. It wasn’t a fae friendly car.
I started toward the side of the house, where a staircase led to a private entrance to my one room loft above the garage. I’d made it only halfway across the lawn when the front door opened.
“Alex,” Caleb yelled, his voice echoing off the houses on the quiet suburban street.
I cringed but turned dutifully toward my friend and landlord. “Another raid?”
He marched down the front steps, thrusting a tri-folded bundle of pages at me. His normally tanned-looking skin had a slightly green tinge to it, his glamour slipping under his anger. “They’re looking for the Sword of Frozen Silence this time. That artifact has been missing for half a millennia.” He took a deep breath. “This is harassment.”
I plucked the search warrant from his fist and passed it to Holly—she was the lawyer after all. She studied it, scanning the small printed text. All I needed to see was the signet stamp. It had been endorsed by the Winter Queen herself. Even if the warrant wasn’t legit, there wasn’t a higher authority in Nekros’s fae population. And the fae policed themselves.
“Is she trying to irritate us into submission?”
“Not us. You.” Caleb’s eyes bled to black as he glanced over his shoulder at his defiled sanctuary of a house. “What did you turn down this time?”
“A feast held in my honor.” I studied the scuff on the toe of my boot. “It would have been tonight. Caleb, I’m—”
His head snapped around, his sharp look stopping me from apologizing—we both knew better. That didn’t make me feel any less guilty.
“You need to pick a court or declare yourself independent, or this is never going to stop,” he said, and I looked away. “There is a revelry on the equinox. Go to it. See Faerie at the height of its magic. Choose and make this stop.”
It wasn’t that easy and we both knew it. If I picked any court other than Winter, I’d have to leave Nekros as this was currently the Winter Queen’s territory. If I declared myself independent, there was nothing to prevent her from continuing to harass me. Still, he was right about one thing, I couldn’t put off choosing forever.
I was saved from the overworn argument by the front door of the house opening and a man stepping into the doorway. The near dusk hid his features from my bad eyes, but the light from the house poured out from behind him, outlining a very familiar sleek but muscular body that his tailored suit accented perfectly and making his loose blond hair glimmer. My heart stalled, my breath catching.
Falin.
As if trying to make up for that lost beat, my pulse sped up, my heart fluttering in an attempt to escape my chest. I took a step forward, toward the house, before catching myself—and Caleb’s dark glare.
“I can’t stay here and watch them tear apart my house, again.” Caleb’s teeth were green now too, his fae-mien almost completely revealed. He glanced at his car. His blocked car.
“I’ll give you a ride,” Holly said, holding up her keys.
Caleb had as much trouble with Holly’s car as I did, more if he couldn’t get his glamour back up to protect him from the iron and steel, so it said a lot when he nodded and marched toward her vehicle.
“You coming?” Holly asked.
I glanced from Caleb to the figure in the doorway. “I, uh … I should probably walk PC.”
“Yeah, you’re thinking about your dog right now,” Holly said, shaking her head. “I don’t know if this is tragically romantic or just pathetic, but it’s your heartbreak.”
She was right. I knew she was, but I couldn’t help walking toward that open doorway. I’m not sure my legs would have listened had I tried to stop them from climbing the steps.