Grave Witch

His hands slipped to my waist, and he lifted me effortlessly to the counter. I shivered under his fingers, only half in reaction to his chill.

With me sitting on the counter, our heights were better matched. He cupped the mug again, taking a slow sip without looking away from my eyes. His skin was cold—not the chill of the grave, but an unnatural cold that burned as it settled under my flesh. I knew the reverse was true for him, my skin scalding his.

“So, you want to tell me anything about the shooter you saved me from?”

The shape of his smile remained the same, but I could tell the question dimmed it. He didn’t answer, but closed his eyes and sipped the coffee.When he opened his eyes again, lights danced in his dark irises. His smile brightened again, as though it had only been dampened by a cloud that had blown away. His gaze traveled over me.

Then the humor bled from his face. He released the mug, his brows drawing to a concerned point over his nose.

“What happened?” His voice held no trace of teasing, and I frowned at him, not understanding. His fingers reached out, hovered near my collarbone.

I glanced at the scratches on my shoulder. “A shade attacked me. It was weird. When I was trying to raise her, it felt as if she’d been through a dicer. Then she came out screaming and violent. Have you ever seen a shade lash out?”

Death frowned and leaned closer, but he didn’t touch the wound. “Alex, this is important. Where was she found? Was it a warehouse?”

“It was a body dump.” I had no idea where the actual murder had taken place. The police didn’t, either.

I did know about a warehouse, though. Twisted magic had taken place there, and if that was the place he was referring to … “What do you know?”

Death didn’t answer.

“You’re scaring me.”

He met my eyes, and there was no laughter in them now. “The wound is infected with a spell. It’s spreading like a virus.”

I nearly dropped the mug of coffee. Infected with a spell? Virus? Swallowing hard, I focused on turning and setting the mug beside me.The ceramic clattered against the countertop, and I drew my trembling hand away.

I took a deep breath. Let it out. I can deal with this.

All spells had counterspells. I just needed to learn more about this one. “What is the spell?”

Death pressed his lips together, and for the first time in my memory, he looked uncertain. He stepped back, his eyes pinched at the corners. Then he vanished.

I jumped off the counter. “Dammit! What does the spell do? How do I reverse it?”

PC looked up from his food bowl, but no answer came from Death. I didn’t know if he had left or was simply invisible. I had no idea if he didn’t know the answer or if he wasn’t allowed to tell me. I didn’t know anything.

Because, as long as I’d known him, I didn’t really know him.

Chapter 9

I sat in the center of my active circle, my legs crossed and my eyes closed, trying to find peace. It wasn’t coming easily.

I used a meditative trance to reach the Aetheric, the magical plane, but at times like these I wished my ritual was more active, like dancing or chanting. Or screaming.

I’d been shot at, a group of fae had tried to nab me, my father might have gotten his body stolen, and I had a spell spreading through my body. Oh yeah—I could really get into screaming right about now.

I concentrated on my breathing and attempted to clear my thoughts, but it was no use. My brain was buzzing.

Okay. Plan B.

I channeled energy out of my ring and into an inert spell in my charm bracelet, activating it.A false calm descended over me, and my next breath was deep, slow. A bubble trapped all my thoughts, my worries, my personality, moving them out of reach. My mind went instantly blank, tranquil. I sank into a trance.

My next breath was full of color, light. I’d reached the Aetheric.

Wisps of magic floated on all sides of me. I ran my mental fingers through a strand of blue energy. It curled around my hand, and I drew it into my body. In the Aetheric, my body began to glow with magic and warmth. I laughed, giddy with the touch of it. The sound changed to bright blue notes in the air.

I danced through the swirls of energy, searching for blue and green threads, the colors that resonated with me. I drew magic until I glowed like a suncatcher. Only then did I remember why I was working magic.That was the problem with the meditation spell: the bubble didn’t always pop once I hit my trance.

I moved outside of myself, looking at my Aetheric body. It was identical to my mortal body except for the whole glowing-with-energy part. The advantage was that I could see magic. All magic. The obsidian ring on my finger glowed teal with the energy I’d stored in it.

The silver bracelet containing my shields was a mottle of colors because of the various inert spells I carried in the dangling charms. Both looked bright, clear, and healthy.

My gaze moved on.

The scratches in my shoulder were black. They were like a void absorbing the glow of magic leaking out of the skin around them. I’d never seen magic so dark. Surrounding the scratches, dark tendrils grew like thirsty roots, digging over my collarbone, reaching down my arm. The skin around the tendrils was an angry, hurt crimson. As I watched, a thin tendril shot out of the scratch wound. It was only an inch long, but where it touched, the light died. Death was right: the spell was bad news, and it was growing.

I reached for a passing swirl of green energy and wrapped it around my hand. A thought turned it into a glowing green bubble. I concentrated on the dark spell, trying to pull it from my skin and force it into the Aetheric bubble the way I would if I absorbed tainted magic.

The spell resisted, and I pulled harder. Red sparks of light ignited in the swirls around me, reacting to my strain. Still I pulled. Something dislodged, and the Aetheric spun in bright flashes of orange, red, and agony.

When the world righted, I looked at myself. The spell was still firmly attached to my shoulder, but I seemed slightly off center. I blinked, looked again. How could I have pulled something inside myself askew? Because the spell was holding on to … something. Something that made up my core.

I swallowed hard. I had no idea if Death could see magic, but I knew one thing he could see. Souls.

If this spell was sucking on my soul, I was so totally screwed.

———

I paced the narrow area between the kitchenette and my bed. It took only thirteen steps to cross from the boxy mattress to the other side of the small studio apartment—not nearly enough room to expend my nervous energy. PC watched from the safe perch of his pillow. I’d cast a healing spell on my wrist and on the scratches. Not that I was holding out a lot of hope that it would help, but I had to do something.

I had a malignant spell spreading and … I didn’t even want to think about what it was doing, but sucking on my soul was at the top of the list of possibilities. I rubbed the cotton pad containing the healing spell I’d covered the scratches with. I’d known they burned more than they should.

I stopped pacing. The scratches had hurt the most when I was in the warehouse. So, did the spell transfer to me from the shade, or did it somehow seep into the scratches at the warehouse? Both options were ridiculous, maybe impossible; and yet, Death had said the spell originated from the scratches, and that had been my conclusion in the Aetheric as well. Too bad Death hadn’t said anything else. Damn him for disappearing when I asked questions.

That wasn’t really fair, and I knew it. If Death hadn’t told me about the spell, I still wouldn’t know about it. I just wished there was some way to contact him. My list of questions for him was growing. Guess I could try for a near-Death experience. The chuckle that leaked from my throat was rough.

I couldn’t draw the spell out in the Aetheric. I needed a counterspell. There was an anticurse center in the Magic Quarter. Unfortunately, I hadn’t paid my bill after I’d been cursed by an old widow who’d hired me to raise her husband’s shade. She hadn’t been thrilled to discover her late husband had been having an affair.

Why she cursed me I wasn’t so clear on, but needless to say, the center wasn’t an option. If I could just figure out more about the spell, maybe I could research a counterspell myself.

Tamara.

Tamara was the most sensitive person I knew. If anyone could puzzle out the spell, it would be her. That’s if she’s talking to me after this whole Coleman debacle.

I rushed to my purse before remembering that my cell phone was crushed and decorating the pavement.

Right—no phone. Holly was still at work, but Caleb was probably back in his studio in the garage. He’d let me use his phone.

I was headed for the inner door that led down into the main house when a loud bang sounded on the front door. I jumped, and PC launched himself from the bed.

The dagger was in my hand before I realized I’d reached for it. I crept forward and peeked around the curtain.

Not again. “What do you want, Detective?”

I kept my foot wedged behind the door so Falin couldn’t shove past me, but he didn’t even try. Instead he smiled, his full lips curving around perfect teeth.

“Invite me inside, Alexis Caine.”

———

“How did you learn my name?” No one should have been able to find my name change. I’d picked “Craft” for the irony and to annoy my father, but once the change was legal, my father had buried the paperwork. I had no idea how, or really how deep, but no one had ever found the connection before—not reporters, not Internet gossip groups, not even the investigators hired to find mud to sling during the campaign.

Falin frowned without answering and glanced at the dagger I was holding. I hid my hand behind my back, out of view.

“Well,” he said, “I’m glad to see you’re finally taking some precautions, but you weren’t this tense when I dropped you off last night.”

“But you were this annoying. At least one of us is consistent.” I started to shut the door in his face.

His hand shot out, holding the door, but he didn’t force his way in. “Let me in, Alex. Please.”