Grave Witch

One wasn’t.

I clicked to open the message. It was from a young couple who wanted me to raise the woman’s parents.

I read on. Apparently the couple had been having trouble with conception. They had an appointment with a fertility specialist but wanted to find out her family health history, which she didn’t know because her parents had died in a car accident when she was a child.

It was a client. And it sounded like a good easy case.

I frowned. I didn’t really have time to work a case right now, but at the same time I couldn’t just stop working.

I was late on rent already, I had no car, and I had only twelve dollars to my name. None of that would matter if I didn’t find Coleman.

I silenced the negative thought and glanced at the time stamp on the message. It had come in almost two days ago. Writing a quick response, I attached my standard contract, then added a line about half my fee being paid up front—I was tired of getting ripped off.

I hit SEND. Then I spent the next hour reading articles about Bartholomew. Falin was right: he was a hothead and occasionally stuck his foot in his mouth, but reading about his outbursts in the House and his views on this or that bill did little but make my eyes blurry.

I leaned back in my chair and stretched. My back gave a satisfying pop, and PC lifted his head.

“I think we’ve been sitting here too long.”

He apparently didn’t agree because he laid his head back down and closed his eyes. I scratched behind his ears and tabbed back to my suspect list, which now had a lot of useless information under Bartholomew’s name.

If Coleman was stealing the energy from souls, he had to be storing it in something. Some material that could hold a high concentration of magical energy, like a gem, obsidian, or silver. No, not a gem. Not with as many souls as he’d drained. Whatever he was storing the energy in had to be large. There hadn’t been any kind of magical receptacle at the warehouse, which meant Coleman probably had it at his host’s home or office.

So, I was looking at breaking into the lieutenant governor’s home or the statehouse. Oh yeah, because neither of those will be a problem. I slumped forward and propped my chin on my hand. The statehouse was a public building, at least, but the offices weren’t, and they would have more security. Of course, magic could get around tech. I knew an excellent charm witch.

I hit the “home” icon to return to my in-box before closing my browser. I had one new message. I blinked.

The couple had responded already.

I opened the message. The woman had signed, scanned, and returned my contract. Her appointment at the fertility clinic was first thing Monday morning, and she was anxious. She got off work at six and wondered if I would be available to meet her at Sleepy Knoll Cemetery at six thirty.

I chewed at my bottom lip and glanced at the clock.

It was quarter to one now, and if I was breaking into the statehouse, I was going to have a busy afternoon. But I thought I’d be able to make it to the cemetery by six thirty. And how long could a family medical history take to convey? Half an hour? An hour? It would be easy money. As long as I didn’t go blind again.

Considering everything that was going on, I’d make sure I didn’t go alone.

I wrote her a quick message confirming that I’d meet her and reminding her I collected half my fee up front.

Then I shut down the laptop, grabbed my purse and Tamara’s dress, and went to beg another ride off Caleb.

After I made a quick trip to the morgue, I’d pay a visit to the statehouse.

———

I dropped my purse on the conveyer belt, but I hadn’t yet made it past the metal detector when the machine began beeping. The guard on duty dumped the contents of my purse and grabbed his spellchecker wand. What could have … Oh crap. The gray spellbook. With everything else that had happened last night, I’d forgotten all about the spellbook.

I glanced around, hoping Central Precinct’s lobby was empty. Not only was it not empty, but because reality clearly hated me this week, one of the people present was Lusa Duncan, the star reporter for Witch Watch.

And, of course, the angry beep had caught her attention, so she was watching me like a familiar monitoring a spell.

I turned my back to her and watched the guard work.

As the wand crept over the book, the bead on the tip turned red. Crap. Not just magic. Malicious magic. As in illegal.

“Miss Craft, I’m going to have to ask you to wait right here.” He reached for his radio.

“It’s not mine.”

The guard gave me a look that said he’d heard that one before. He barked into his radio, and I opened my mouth, closed it. Now what? I glanced back. Lusa wasn’t watching me anymore. Instead, her eyes were closed and by the way her lips were moving, I guessed she was chanting. Probably checking me out in the Aetheric. Will she see the spell on my soul? That would certainly reflect badly on me. I turned back to the guard.

“I’d like to talk to Detective Falin Andrews.”

———

Falin kept me waiting more than fifteen minutes. By that point I’d reclaimed the contents of my purse—except the book, of course—and been told not to move out of the uncomfortable orange chair the guard had pointed me to. Lusa was still haunting the lobby, watching, and I’d lost count of how many people had passed by me and stared while I sat there feeling miserable.

When Falin arrived, the guard tried to explain how he’d found the book, but with a terse “I’ll take it from here,” Falin plucked the book from the guard’s hand.

I jumped to my feet as Falin stormed over. He wrapped a hand around my biceps and all but dragged me out of the lobby.

“I, uh—”

“Be quiet.”

He marched me down a twisting hallway before pushing me into a room. The small room had a single table in the center with two chairs on one side and one on the other.

I clutched my purse to my chest. “Uh, this is an interrogation room.”

“Yeah, it is.” He slammed the door. “What the hell is going on? You’re a gray witch?”

“No!”

“Then what’s this?” He tossed the spellbook on the table.

“It’s not what it looks like. I’m not stupid enough to dabble in gray magic.” Especially not while I had a dark spell sucking on my soul.

“Then why don’t you explain it to me.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it.”

I frowned and looked up at the large mirror covering half the far wall. Two-way glass. “Who’s watching us?”

“That’s not your concern.”

“Then you might as well take off your gloves and use your truth-seeking sp—” I cut off as he stepped forward, his eyes wide with alarm.

In the next instant, his face regained its composure, or at least went back to just looking pissed. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. “No one is listening.”

“Really? So there’s no issue if I talk about the illegal truth-seeking spell you used on me last night?”

No reaction this time, but I knew what I’d seen. He’d reacted first, thought second.

“Are you trying to goad me, Miss Craft?”

“No.” Just ensuring we’re alone. I sank into one of the chairs. “I stole the book from Casey’s room last night.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “The governor’s daughter? Your sister?”

“As I said, complicated.”And it had “scandal” written all over it. While I might enjoy putting my father in the hot seat, it would eventually turn out bad for everyone involved. “I’d planned to destroy the book, but after the warehouse … I forgot I had it on me.”

Falin sat down in the chair opposite me and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. As the pissed look drained from his face he just looked tired. “Why are you here, Alex?”

“I was headed to the morgue to—”

“You are not allowed to raise shades here, not now.”

I frowned at him. “I was just going to return Tamara’s dress.”

“Give it to me; I’ll take it to her.” He held out a hand.

“I, uh, it’s not in the best of shape. I should probably take it myself.” Which was true. It had been covered in dust and grit from the warehouse, so I’d thrown it in Caleb’s washer when I got home this morning. Apparently it was dry clean only.

Falin pushed away from the table and pocketed the book. Then he opened the door. “Fine. That’s where I’m going anyway. I’ll walk you down. But don’t go near any bodies.”

———

“I’m really sorry about the dress.”

“It’s all right. We’ll chalk it up as a casualty to improving your social life.” Tamara gave me a weak smile. “But here is a tip from me to you: the night shouldn’t end with you in handcuffs … unless you’re into that.”

“Tamara!” I hissed, but we both laughed.

We were standing in the basement corridor outside the morgue. Apparently that was as close to the bodies as Falin trusted me to get, as though I just wouldn’t be able to resist raising a couple of shades if I went into the autopsy room. He, of course, got to go inside. If I were honest, with my damaged shields and the way the grave essence was reaching for me out in the hall, I was thankful for the extra space from the bodies. Not that I’d tell him that.

“I’ll replace the dress,” I said, avoiding looking at the shrunken black scrap I’d returned to Tamara. And I would replace it. Once the check from the city came in, the dress would be my top priority.

“Alex, don’t worry about it. I’ve only ever worn it once.”

“Strangely, that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

She shook her head and smiled. “Thanks for dropping it off, but I know you didn’t come all this way just to bring me a ruined dress. What’s up?”