The Trouble with Twelfth Grave
Page 34“I wouldn’t go there, either.”
“Okay, how about why are you here? Only the truth this time, yeah?”
“I’m trying to solve Hector Felix’s death. A friend of mine, a friend other than this one, is a person of interest in it, and I want to make sure her name is cleared.”
She nodded and opened the file.
“Do you have any clues into his death?” I asked, hopeful.
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
“Really? Why? Isn’t that, like, your job?”
“We’re after bigger fish, Davidson.”
“The matriarch.” It hit me why they had Judianna in protective custody. Hector’s mother had ordered the attack.
Kit closed the file. “You are about thirty seconds away from fucking up my case.”
“Come on, Carson. You know my record. We can work together on this.”
“You’re good, Charley, but not this time.”
“What? Why?”
“We have someone on the inside. Someone with family connections. For the first time in a decade of investigations, we’ve managed to infiltrate their family. I can’t risk his life, Davidson, no matter how much I’d like you on the case.”
I fought the disappointment bubbling inside my chest and nodded.
“And I’m not going to arrest you even though I should. I don’t want to bring any more attention to Judianna or this case than is absolutely necessary.”
A get-out-of-jail-free card. I’d take it.
“But if I see you butting your nose into this case, Davidson.”
“Kit, I’m only after Hector’s killer.”
“That’s butting.”
“Not this time. My case has nothing to do with Judianna, who’s totally great, by the way.”
I let out a long sigh of surrender. “Fine. No going near the family.”
“Swear to me,” she said, like she didn’t trust me.
I held up my pinkie. She glared, then kicked me out of her SUV. Two minutes later, she absconded with Judianna, heading north with a full security detail following.
Judianna must have had something good on Edina Felix, Hector’s mother. Something solid. I couldn’t mess that up if I just went to Hector’s funeral, could I? I hadn’t actually sworn. We never shook pinkies. And I really, really, really wanted to meet the woman Hector Felix called Mommy.
* * *
It seemed that shifting in and out of the celestial realm stirred up my anarchistic husband, or the anarchistic entity residing in my husband’s body, even more. I’d felt him close all day, but when I shifted to sneak into the safe house, I’d felt a stronger version of his presence. His warmth. His energy. His anger. He obviously hadn’t found what he was looking for.
I hadn’t found what I was looking for, either, so we were even.
I walked back to Misery, climbed inside, and picked up my phone just as it rang.
“Hey, Cook,” I said, turning the engine over and heading back to the office.
“Are you wearing a little black dress?”
“Not this month.”
“How are your clothes as far as attending a funeral? Will you blend?”
“I won’t stick out, but I’d rather change. I take it the funeral is soon?”
“Hon, the funeral is at two.”
I held my phone out to check the time. “Oh, I have just under three hours.”
“In El Paso.”
“Texas?” I asked, appalled. “Why El Paso? I thought the Felix family was from Albuquerque.”
“They have a few holdings here, but they’re based out of El Paso.”
“Wonderful. Okay, I can do this. I’ll run home, grab some clothes, and change on the road.”
“While you’re driving?” she asked, equally as appalled.
“Why don’t you just do that teleportation thing?”
My shoulders sagged. “I’m just not that good. I could end up in Scotland again. Or Siberia. Or Mars.”
“I’ll get some clothes together and meet you out front.”
“Thanks, Cook. I owe you.”
“You already owed me. How’d it go with Judianna?”
“Kid’s a survivor, through and through. And I didn’t get arrested. So, you know, that’s a plus.”
“Good for you.”
Ten minutes later, I sped into the parking lot of our apartment building, grabbed the bag out of Cookie’s outstretched hands like a drive-through, slowed down and backed up to grab the coffee cup she held out, then peeled out of the lot and headed back to I-25.
The reality of what I’d done sank in about three miles later. I’d just allowed a woman with the worst fashion sense I’d ever seen pick out clothes for me. Clothes in which I’d have to appear in public. Not the best scenario, but I’d faced worse.
I figured I could wait and change as I got a little closer, so I turned to the heat emanating from the backseat. Seeing nothing, I decided to watch the road again. Going ninety-five in a seventy-five in Albuquerque traffic took concentration. And guts. Mostly guts.
“Are you going to talk to me?” I asked, speaking to the emptiness around me.
Nothing.
Either Rey’azikeen was sulking or he was figuring out how to kill me and drag me to hell. I could’ve summoned him, forced him to shift onto this plane, but I didn’t want to do something so drastic in a traveling coffin. Bad enough that I was speeding.
“You know, you could do me a favor and keep a lookout for cops.”
Nothing times two.
My record was clearly not improving when it came to tall, dark, and sulky. Maybe I would summon him just to piss him off. Maybe—
I stilled as a realization dawned. If the priest were on this plane, if he was attacking people, killing them, all I had to do to bring him forth was to summon him. But I’d need his name to do that.
Unfortunately, I didn’t know his name. And I had no idea how to get it. He’d lived in the 1400s and had been locked in the hell dimension ever since.
I racked my brain trying to come up with a way to learn the priest’s name. Researching something like that would take years, and there was no way to know if any of the records from his parish survived. But someone knew. Michael? Would he have that kind of information? And if so, would he share?
Rocket. Rocket would know. But his telling me would be breaking the rules. His own set of moral rights and wrongs that made sense to Rocket and to Rocket alone. Would he break the rules if it were super-duper important?
“Why would I lie about something so trivial?”
I flinched and looked in my rearview. Reyes, or Rey’azikeen as the case would be, sat in the backseat, lounging like a delinquent schoolboy in the back of a classroom. Knees spread. Hands resting on his thighs. Expression dark as he locked his gaze onto mine in the rearview. His irises fairly sparked with energy.
It took everything in me to tear my gaze from his and focus on the road.
“You know the name,” I said, almost accusingly. “The name of the priest.”
“Yes,” he replied as though teasing me. Tempting me.
It worked. I practically salivated for it. “May I have it?”
“Tell me where it is and you may.”
“Reyes, look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I need more information. I’ll help you find it, I swear.”
He turned away from me, frustrated. “I don’t have more information.”
“Okay.” I frowned in confusion. “What do you have?”
“It is ashes. It is embers. That’s all I know.”
“The god glass? The pendant I sent you through?”
“Why would I need that?”
“If you don’t know what you are looking for, why are you looking for it?”
“I do know. I just don’t … have access.” He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that Rey’aziel is keeping it from me. He won’t give me access to the information I need.”
How could Reyes essentially keep something from himself? It made no sense.
Then again, if Reyes was keeping information from Rey’azikeen, it meant that he was in there. Somewhere. Somehow. Holding the information close. Denying Rey’azikeen access to that part of himself.
My heart left my chest and soared. Metaphorically. He didn’t know what he was even looking for. He didn’t know because Reyes was still in there.