Chapter 5

T he lack of sleep meant my eyelids kept drooping during the morning rush. I even switched from tea to a coconut mocha blend of dark coffee that caused Josie to vibrate after drinking a cup. I drank four, with an eye on five. All it had done for me, so far, was make me pee.

" Jefa , you've got a visitor."

Swallowing a yawn, I laced my fingers on the desktop and arranged my expression into a smile. "Ready."

Paco, too polite to call me out, tipped his chin and stepped aside to reveal a diminutive blonde woman.

A drum banged inside my chest when she smiled, her teeth sharper than I recalled, but she just laughed.

"Hey." She flung a bag of cheddar puffs at me. "Consider this visit the first in a twelve-step program."

"Nah-ah." I fumbled the bag, caught it against my chest, then tossed it back at Carter. "No way."

"That's fair." She tore it open, shoved one in her mouth. "You don't have to forgive me."

"It's not that." I breathed easier with her fingers stained orange. "You already have a taste for my blood. I would rather face a lion with a raw steak tied around my neck than you with an opened bag of cheddar puffs in my hands."

A snort ripped out of her, and the tension bled out of her shoulders. "Am I forgiven then?"

"What's a little attempted murder between friends?" I cracked a grin. "I'm hard to kill."

The lie brought color rushing into her cheeks, and she grinned back. "Glad to hear it."

Unsure if she was marking an item off her to-do list or curious what I had dragged Harrow into while she was away, I asked, "Is this an official visit?"

A fraction of her earlier stiffness returned, and I wished I had kept my mouth shut. "Does it have to be?"

More uncertain than ever, I forced out a stilted response. "No?"

"I'll be frank," she began.

"Please don't be Frank," I deadpanned. "Then folks will have trouble telling us apart."

"See?" A chuckle moved through her. "Now that was funny." She shook her head. "Harrow could learn a thing or two from you." Her eyes darkened at the mention of him. "How is he?"

The glimpse of vulnerability surprised me. "You haven't seen him yet?"

"I wanted to come here first." She crunched another cheddar puff. "Not sure he'll want to see me."

With her assigned to him as a training officer for the 514, a new secret para law enforcement division of the Savannah Police Department, he wouldn't get a say in the matter.

But I had read her wrong. I saw that now. Guilt, not vulnerability, pinched the corners of her eyes.

Lyle Harrow had attacked her, though she hadn't been herself at the time. No sooner had I ripped Pedro out of the ether and thrust him into her body to keep her from killing me than Lyle sensed the presence of a spirit and launched himself at her in a frenzy, desperate to suck Pedro from her bones like marrow.

"I wasn't sure either, but I didn't give him much choice."

He was too good of a person to leave me hanging when I asked him for help.

"You could be holding the smoking gun, and he would forgive you."

"I don't think you have to worry." I aimed my gaze out the window. "He's already got a target in his sights."

Following my lead, she spotted Badb swaying on her usual power line. "Kierce?"

"Yeah." I touched the leaf through the fabric of my pants pocket. "Harrow has decided everything that happened was Kierce's fault."

"Lyle made his own choices. He agreed to become a dybbuk."

"Harrow always idolized his uncle." I worried this might martyr him in Harrow's eyes. "The circumstances of Lyle's death…"

"You mean Harrow pulling the trigger?" She wadded up her empty bag. "I can see how that would screw with his head."

"Kierce hasn't come back." I might as well tell her before she got around to asking. "I'm hoping that time will help clarify things in Harrow's mind." I tapped the bird mirror on my desk. "Kierce was injured badly. He might not be able to collect Badb."

"The bird. Yeah. Mmm-hmm." She rung the trash can with her cheesy ball of polymer. "That's the only reason he's got to return to Thunderbolt."

"He's the next best thing to a god." Heat prickled in my cheeks, but I couldn't afford to get sentimental. I didn't want to get hurt. "Spirits don't mark time well. Gods may not either. I might be bones before I see him again." I twisted my lips. "Not that I would see him again. If I were bones." I blinked. "No eyeballs."

"That's damn depressing," Josie said from the doorway. "You miss him that much?"

For her to be here, eyes sharp on Carter, she must have spied the big black truck in the parking lot. That, or Paco tipped her off that I had company, and she came running to check on me or check out Carter.

With Josie, and her raging crush on Carter, it could go either way.

"Can we not talk about Kierce?" I plunked my elbows on the desk. "What are you doing tonight?"

When Carter realized I had aimed the question at her, she widened her eyes. "Watching cartoons?"

"That's adorable." Josie bumped her shoulder on the way over to me. "What are you thinking, Mary?"

"That we should celebrate Carter's return with a Marys' night out."

"Who are you, and what have you done with my shut-in sister?" Josie squealed and bounced around me like she had springs in the balls of her feet. "Matty won't believe you want to hit a bar. Oh. Or a club."

Still twirling, she rushed out the door to pass the message through Paco to our brother.

Once she disappeared from view, Carter whistled softly. "Do you really think that liquoring up your sister will get her to leave you alone about Kierce? Because a club doesn't sound like your idea of a good time."

"A girl can hope." I lifted a shoulder. "Plus, I'm trying this new thing called having a life outside work."

Carter made a noncommittal noise but agreed to go home, change, and meet us at dusk.

About to leave, she cocked her head to one side while staring in the vicinity of my lap. "What's that?"

"Hmm?" I hadn't realized I had slid the leaf from my pocket onto my thigh. "Oh. That."

"You don't feel it?" She wandered closer. "It's not hot?"

"No." I rose, curiosity tingling through me, and approached the window. "See that?"

Outside, the elm roared with flames, which set Carter gawking. "Should we do something about that?"

"It does that now." I spun the leaf between my fingers. "Just ignites when the mood strikes it."

Even without a physical connection, the leaf appeared to follow the tree's ignition pattern.

"That's not normal."

"Nope."

"Your sister's a dryad." She reached toward the leaf, hesitated, then touched it. "What does she think?"

"Give it a minute." We stood together, watching until the fire extinguished itself. "Show's over."

"The leaf is fine." Crossing to the window, she stared across the road, her forehead scrunching. "The tree wasn't harmed either." She glanced back at me. "Want me to get someone out here to look at it?"

Eventually, a burning tree would draw unwanted attention, and the wrong people would get curious. They would come sniffing around The Body Shop for answers, and that was not a level of scrutiny the other family business could survive. Already my bottom line was sore from the hit I took after spirits learned how two of my lessees had been devoured by the dybbuk.

Even among the dead, death was bad for business.

"I would appreciate that." I returned the leaf to my pocket. "Just in case."

Just in case Kierce wasn't responsible for the phenomenon after all.

Dusk found me sitting outside the gates of Bonaventure in my wagon. Paco had gone on his way and left Matty dozing beside me. I gave him a minute or two to acclimate to being alone in his skin, then I did what any good little sister would do.

I poked him in the same spot over and over until the repetitive pain woke him.

"This is why Josie is my favorite sister," he mumbled. "She's never this mean to me."

"Josie isn't the one who suggested we meet at Lure."

"Lure?" His eyes flew open, and he shot upright. "Are you serious?"

Owned by the local incubi and succubae clan, Lure answered an age-old question.

Who goes to a sex club to eat chicken wings?

That would be me.

"Mary," he said, flashing me a million-dollar smile, "I thought you would never ask."

Lure had no dress code. Mostly because its patrons tended to lose bits and pieces of their clothing as the evening wore on. Part brothel, part dance club, it wasn't my scene. Except for their most excellent chicken wings. The Caribbean jerk was amazing . Their loaded French fries? Cheese, bacon bits, homemade ranch dressing, and fresh green onions? Who needed sex when you could have a foodgasm?

As soon as Matty and I crossed the threshold, our sister flagged us down near a booth in the back.

Josie sashayed over to us, popping her hips in time with the music, wearing a slinky emerald silk dress that barely covered her butt. Her feet were bare, as usual, but she had trained vines wrapping her ankles and calves to give her a sandaled look that matched her homegrown hairband and fit her nature aesthetic.

Matty hadn't changed after work, and neither had I. I came for the food. He came to forget.

About Keisha.

Who he had broken up with despite Josie and me begging him to give her a real chance.

"Bash will be right out with your food," Josie yelled in my ear. "I already placed your order."

"Thanks." I waded toward the booth but stopped when a slim man cut in front of me. "Oh my God."

Not a man. Definitely not a man. Josie was going to flip.

"What?" She cranked her head to the left. "Good God almighty."

The trim figure finished rolling up the sleeves of a gray silk dress shirt to expose her toned forearms. Her slacks matched her shirt, making her black vest pop. Her usually wild hair had been parted to one side and slicked back, the tail twisting into a tight bun at her nape. She wore large silver rings on her fingers and a pocket watch, sterling chain flashing, nestled in her vest on her nondominant side.

I felt my mouth fall open, but I would have had to steal a car jack from the shop to wedge it shut again.

"Marry me," Josie breathed, wetting her lips.

"I'm not the marrying kind." Carter held out her hand. "I'll dance with you, though."

Grinning from ear to ear, Josie let Carter lead her out onto the floor.

As I stood there, grateful to Carter for distracting Josie from her heartache, a rich scent hit my nose. Had I any inclination toward recruiting a FWB of my own, the man next to me would top my list, and not just because he could cook like nobody's business. "Bash."

Six feet and change. Natural blue hair brushing his shoulders. Built like he ate mountains for breakfast.

"Frankie," he rumbled through his deep chest. "Where you been?"

The thing about Josie dating Armie was we had congregated at his restaurant when they were on again. Only when they were off again had Matty and I been allowed to venture to Lure with Josie's permission.

Which sucked. I liked Bash. He was good people. Sweet and funny and sexy. A rare combination.

He and I bonded after I word vomited my problems all over him at the bar my first time at Lure. I had been so pathetic, stuffing myself with the best chicken wings I had ever put in my mouth, sipping a Bijou, while Matty and Josie danced with anyone who could keep up with them.

On the bright side, Bash appreciated my healthy appetite enough to befriend me and ply me with treats.

Feeding a stray? Or taming one? Either way, I took no offense at his often deep-fried attentions.

"Work." I backed toward the table Josie had chosen. "How's business?"

"Better now that you're here." He set my plates down with a clank. "You stroke my?—"

"Please tell me you were about to say ego ."

"Folks come here to forget." He dragged a knuckle down my cheek. "It's nice to be remembered."

For his skill in the kitchen rather than his talents in the bedroom. Even if, as an incubus, the latter was as much food for him as the former was for me. As someone often ribbed for allowing her work to define her, I got his desire to not be pigeonholed by his breadwinning talents alone.

"You're welcome to join me." I slid across the seat. "I can't hold all this anyway."

Not that it ever stopped me from trying, but I had yet to succeed.

"Don't mind if I do." He sat opposite me, draping his long arms down the seat back to either side of him, and watched me take my first bite of chicken. Then lick my fingers clean. "Watching you savor my flavors is almost better than sex."

A cough lodged in my throat, choking me, and I reached for my glass of water, chugging it.

When I could speak again, I asked, "Why does everything you say sound so…?"

"…filthy?" A slow grin spread across his rugged face. "It's one of my many gifts."

There was an odd intensity in his stare that struck me as serious. "Something on your mind?"

"Word is that Armie Buchanan is no longer among the living."

"You know the rule."

"We don't talk about Armie." His lips thinned in consideration. "I have respected your loyalty to a friend, but confirmation would go a long way toward helping me smooth any ruffled feathers. You can keep the details to yourself, I don't traffic in gossip, but some folks seem to think you had something to do with it, and I would like the opportunity to prove I can be loyal to my friends too."

Air rushed from my lungs, and I sat there, deflated, my feet itching to run before it was too late.

How was that rumor circulating? Who had seen? Who had told ? And what did this mean for my siblings?

"Frankie." Bash gathered my hands in his, ignoring my ironclad grip on the half-eaten chicken wing. "You don't have to tell me, but you deserve to know in case you want to get in front of it." His lips hitched to one side. "Anyone who knows you knows you wouldn't swat a bee unless it threatened to sting you."

Aside from the morning after Armie died, when I taped a closed until further notice sign on the front door, I hadn't given his restaurant much thought. It hurt too much. But the longer it sat there, the more curious folks would get about why it wasn't open and where he had gone. Even when he traveled, he didn't shut his doors. Which meant his employees must be getting nervous about their job status.

"Armie is gone," I confessed on a wheeze, "and he's not coming back."

"All right." He accepted my word without hesitation. Maybe he could read my earnestness in my emotions. "Should I extend an offer of employment to his people?"

Snapping my eyes up to his, I ignored the prickle of tears threatening to fall. "Yes."

"I'll get Shannon on it." He leaned back, releasing me, and passed me a napkin. "He's always harping he wants more responsibilities." Shannon was his little brother, desperate to live up to Bash's expectations. "The clan might petition for ownership of the bar, given this new information. We could use the income, and we could keep Armie's people in a more genteel environment than what I can offer them here."

"That would mean a lot…" I couldn't risk the true explanation, "…to Josie."

"She must be heartbroken." He scanned the crowd then cracked a smile. "Or not."

Carter spun Josie in the center of the dance floor in some mix of Charleston and Flapper Rag, both with a definite '20s flair that left their brows glinting with sweat and their eyes bright from exertion.

"She doesn't know what to feel." I bit into a wing. "Armie was her friend, and sometimes he was more."

And he had betrayed her. All of us. For reasons we might never discover.

"Hmm."

Curious what had distracted him, I glanced over to find his focus fixed on the man cutting a path through the crowd to where we sat. His faded-denim eyes slid past the half-dressed women caressing his arms to land on me. His brown hair was damp from the shower—or too much time outside in this heat—and the way he scooped it off his forehead with his fingers left furrows and exposed the flex of his muscular arm.

"Well, well, well." Bash cleaned his hands. "Your lust is perfume in my nose."

"I'm not lusting."

"Incubus," he reminded me wryly. "I could stoke that kernel of want into a bonfire that consumed you."

"He's an old flame. I'm not interested in striking any matches in his vicinity."

People wanted things that were bad for them all the time. Cigarettes. Drugs. Ex-boyfriends.

"Does he know that?" Bash filled his lungs when Harrow reached us then tapped the side of his nose in a clear indication the desire was reciprocal, which I knew thanks to Matty trespassing into Harrow's dream and scarring himself forever with that glimpse into Harrow's psyche. "Should I leave you two alone?"

"Yes," Harrow answered for me. "We have business to discuss."

"That so, Frankie?" Bash continued lounging. "Do you two have unfinished business?"

Flames erupted in my cheeks, stinging a hot line down my nape. "Bash."

"I'll be at the bar if you need anything, sweet girl." He leaned over to kiss my cheek. "Anything at all."

Only after he sauntered away did Harrow slide into the space he had vacated. "Incubus?"

Any sting I might have felt over the insinuation that his species was why Bash lavished me with attention I blamed on my tendency to overthink. Especially when it came to men. And doubly so with Harrow.

"I think of him as my chicken wing dealer first and incubus second, but yes. Why are you here?"

"I drove out to visit Carter, to clear the air before our first shift tomorrow, but she climbed in her truck looking…" he rolled choice words around in his mouth, "…very un-Carter-like."

"You followed her out here."

"I did." He appeared to examine his surroundings for the first time. "I was surprised to see the wagon."

"Every time after Armie and Josie broke up, we'd come here. Hedonism helps mend broken hearts, or so I've been told. Mostly the other Marys like the atmosphere."

Folks who came here wanted to dance, to have sex, and to forget. The romance-free environment suited Matty's relationship preferences and gave Josie a safe place to have fun without any pesky expectations.

"And you like the food."

"Try one." I passed him a wing, though it was lukewarm. "Then judge me."

As soon as he got a taste, his eyebrows popped up, and he cleaned the meat to the bone.

"That's what I thought." I smirked at him. "Bash ought to open up his own place."

Though, if his clan bought Armie's old restaurant, he could do just that.

"I'll definitely be coming back here." He scanned the table for a menu. "And placing an order to go."

"You're welcome to eat with me." I sipped my water. "We can discuss that business you mentioned."

As he skimmed the options on the short list, he rubbed his jaw. "Sure you won't lose your appetite?"

"I have a strong stomach."

"I had the 514 run a background check on Farah Kent. Then I repeated the process at the SPD."

"Okay." I started picking apart my cold fries. "Any reason for the double entries?"

The 514 would have been collating a para crimes database since their launch, likely with help from more established entities. For him to check her records with both organizations, there must be some link I had missed between Farah and the nature of her death.

"She wasn't human." He passed me his phone, open to a PDF in his email. "Neither is Audrey."

The report on Farah Kent from the 514 listed her as a quarter nixie and Audrey Collins as part Melusine.

"Her grandfather didn't mention this to me." I returned his phone to him. "That's a big omission."

A Melusine was a type of freshwater spirit with a set of bat-like wings and the lower body of a serpent. It was a detail not to be left out of a physical description when you were as desperate as him to find her.

"If she doesn't present any traits, he might not know."

Among the myriad arguments as to why paranormal society ought to allow humans to believe they ruled this world was simple math. They outnumbered us. Even if every single para faction banded together for a battle to overthrow humans, which would never happen thanks to centuries of bristling animosity with too much history to unpack, we would still lose a war. Humans also held the advantage of compatibility with an alarming number of supernatural races, making them excellent breeding stock for dwindling species.

But, if impregnating humans was all it took to stave off extinction, they would be kept in pens instead of in penthouses. The problem—biologically, not morally—was while offspring might prove plentiful with a human, children didn't always inherit the powers or traits that would endear them to a magical parent.

A roundabout way of saying Audrey might be half Melusine but appear to be one hundred percent human.

The reason her father wasn't in the picture could very well be he wasn't interested in a nonmagical heir.

As for her mother, well, there was always a chance her father hadn't disclosed his species before Audrey was conceived to protect his secret. And if she didn't know her child claimed a supernatural lineage, she couldn't have told her father either.

"He's scheduled to meet me for a status report in two days. I'll run this past him then."

"There's a bigger problem."

"These days, there always is, right?"

"There are five missing persons cases open with SPD for victims who fit the profile."

Victims.

That single word summed up the most likely outcome, its permanence metallic in my mouth.

The world wasn't kind to girls. Not to women either. Definitely not to those it viewed as different.

"Profile." I searched his face. "For a killer. Like a serial killer? One targeting teenage girls?"

"Two of the cases are open with the 514, but given the girls' descriptions, I'm inclined to believe we need to investigate the matter further and not dismiss the similarities out of hand." He turned his attention to the dance floor. "Carter's still here, right? I'll draft her to help cross-reference the information we have."

Not just a killer then. A killer targeting teenage girls with para heritage. Maybe aquatic para heritage.

"She was with Josie last I saw." I shoved away my plates. "How can I help?"

"Talk to your source. Find out if there are any other new ghosts who fit with what we know so far."

"Water disrupts magic," I mused, considering our next steps.

"I'm aware," he said wryly. "I do know one or two things about magic theory."

For someone who once had such an aversion to his witch heritage, he was rebounding quickly.

"No offense meant." I held up my hands in surrender. "I'm thinking out loud."

Arm thrust in the air, he flagged down a topless waitress before asking me, "Does water disrupt spirits?"

"Sometimes, yes." I let my mouth curve. "Sometimes, no."

"That's a very scientific answer."

"Each spirit rises with a certain amount of free will to exert over themselves and the world around them, the same as the living. The amount depends on the individual. Stubborn folks, like Farah, defy limitations that could bind another soul. She has no clue where she died, how she died, or where her body has gone but is more determined to find her friend than she is to solve her own mysteries."

Before he could quiz me more, Carter broke from the sweaty bodies and made a beeline for our table. She must have noticed Harrow and couldn't resist an opportunity to hash things out before they got on the clock tomorrow.

"Go find somewhere quiet to talk." I shooed him from the booth. "I'll put in your order with Bash."

"You don't know what I want," he said, the words pelting my skin like raindrops.

"I bet I can guess." I hadn't meant it to come out flirty. "Pick up your order at the counter in ten."

Abandoning my food, and my siblings, who wouldn't be ready to leave until dawn, I tracked down Bash. I placed Harrow's order, paid my tab, lamenting the wasted food, then texted the Marys my plans as I left Lure, ready to go home.