Chapter 18

Moonlight slid over my face, bright enough to wake me, and I stretched until my knuckles rapped on the headboard. The motion pulled on my hip, but conking out for who knows how long had done me a world of good. I hadn't even dressed for bed. Just shucked my shoes and cardigan then climbed in.

Peeling back the covers, I sat up, wondering about the time, starting a yawn that ended on a scream.

Deep in the shadows of the far corner, a man sat in a chair, one leg crossed over his knee.

"Frankie." Harrow shot forward, gripping me by the upper arms. "It's me."

"What are you doing in my room?" I yanked the cover up to my neck. "How did you get in?"

"A badge can get you anywhere you want to go," Carter said from the bathroom with zero apology.

"Why are y'all throwing a sleepover in my room?" I patted my frazzled hair. "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong is you texted me that your friend disposed of an unknown charm without first identifying it." Harrow looked tempted to shake me. "There's no picture, no evidence. Nothing is left but ash. Now we have no way to tie the witch from River Street to the witch who left the delivery."

"Have you found something to help you identify the River Street witch?"

"Well, no." He released me with a slow unfurling of his fingers. "We haven't yet."

"Then I don't see the problem. Matty had a bad reaction to the magic. We had to act fast to save him."

And Pedro.

"We had to act fast." He let those words hang like an accusation. "You're a we now?"

"Harrow," Carter warned softly. "We need her cooperation, and this isn't how to get it."

"You're right." Harrow sank back in his chair. "I was afraid for you, Frankie, that's all."

"I'm not excusing his behavior," Carter said stiffly, "but it didn't help matters when we came to check on you, and you didn't answer the door." She flashed a quick grin. "You sleep like the dead."

"Drugs." I pointed to the nightstand. "I overdid it today."

"Shocking," Harrow muttered under his breath, folding his arms over his chest.

"Play nice." Carter stepped into his space. "Or you get to wait in the car."

Hoping to snap him out of his funk, I switched topics. "Your uncle stopped by today."

Harrow shot to his feet, looming over Carter to see me. "He did what?"

Oops.

So much for snapping him out of his funk. I hadn't expected him to care either way. But he was acting like his uncle was under strict orders never to visit me and had broken them. Given our history, it was not a terrible idea for Harrow to have laid down ground rules when he first got home to keep the peace.

"He wanted an oil change for a lowrider SPD is auctioning off for charity, but he showed up right after Kierce had disposed of the charm." I tucked the sheet tighter under my arms. "I told him we were closed, that we were waiting on an electrician to fix a wiring issue, and I sent him on his way."

Carter bounced her gaze from me to him then back again, reading our history in the dark flush of his cheeks.

"I'm missing something here," she decided. "Is there a reason why he shouldn't visit Frankie?"

The answer to that was simple. "He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you. He has complicated feelings about my mother. About me. It spills over onto you."

How many times had we had this conversation? Lyle had issues when it came to the woman (a witch) his brother (a human) had married. Had he hated witches before her? I had no idea. Had he hated her? Also unsure. But those two factors fed into Harrow's self-hatred, and the only reason for him to feel that way was for someone to put the belief his magic, and therefore he, was tainted into his head.

People don't know there's something wrong with them unless someone else tells them. Even then, they must hear it more than once to believe it. Wrong doesn't have to be true, but wrong is often persistent. The person pointing the damning finger won't stop until they've convinced their target they aren't right, aren't worthy, aren't loveable.

During Harrow's adolescence, Lyle flung a lot of wrong at him. He wanted his nephew to be normal. What he meant was he wanted Harrow to be human. They might have bumped along okay if Lyle hadn't taken Harrow to the food bank that day. If Harrow hadn't met me, right after his eighteenth birthday. If he hadn't seen what I could do, he might not have taken an interest in his magical heritage.

We dated for two years. Two years. We were young, dumb, and broke. But happy.

I thought we loved each other. I thought we had that. I thought one day we might…

But Harrow chose Lyle over me. Over us. He sicced the sentinels on me.

Lyle saw history repeating before his eyes, and he put his foot down, stomping my heart in the process.

Harrow had chosen his loyalties, and they didn't lie with me.

"You can talk to Kierce about the charm." I rubbed my forehead. "He handled it, briefly. I didn't open the box. I could tell something was wrong with it. But then Matty passed out, and it became a moot point."

"You two didn't lock down a time frame for our friendly chat," Carter remarked with a pleat across her brow. "Do you think Kierce could meet us here?"

"Here?" I clawed my hair into a semblance of style. "Now?"

"You need to rest." Harrow ground the words between his teeth. "It would be best if you stayed in."

"He's not wrong." Carter pulled out her phone. "Let's order in. I'm starving. Pizza okay?"

"We had that last night. And the night before. And the night before that." Harrow looked green around the gills, and I could sympathize. Matty was a pizzaholic too. It was the one food he deemed worthy of consumption aside from peanut butter. "Can we do wings or burgers?"

"Armie's restaurant is just up the road from the shop." I might be biased, but the food was amazing. "They don't deliver, but I can probably guilt him into making an exception."

As soon as I gave her the name, she pulled it up on her phone and started scrolling.

"The menu looks good." Carter's eyebrows lifted, and she passed her cell to Harrow. "Really good."

"Call it in." Harrow got to his feet. "I'll pick it up and grab drinks from the gas station too."

Carter volunteered me to kick us off by handing me her phone. I dialed the number from memory, and Armie answered with a gruff, "Yeah."

We got lucky. He was working the bar. That was where the carryout orders got logged in.

"Hello, Armie-dildo." I chuckled in anticipation of his reaction. "I need to place an order."

"Frankie?" Patrons buzzed in the background, competing with the music. "This isn't your usual number." A growl entered his voice. "Also? I thought we agreed to never use that nickname again. On pain of banishment from my fine establishment?"

"I'm with a friend." I didn't have to raise my voice for his sharp ears. "And nice try, but Armie-dildo is too good to retire." His FWB status practically begged for it. Plus, it reminded me of armadillo. Which meant I was obligated to tease him that he shifted into one. If he would just fess up to his animal, I couldn't tease him half as much. "I reserve the right to use it until the day I die."

"Then I will count the days."

"Jerk." I gave him my order, and one for Kierce, then offered the phone to Harrow. "Your turn."

"I'll do the honors." Carter plucked her cell from my fingers. "I know what he likes."

While she rattled off their orders, I asked Harrow, "Are you sure you don't want to let him drive it over?"

"I'm good." He palmed his keys. "It's a short trip."

"You're wasting gas." I wanted to beat sense into him with the TV remote. "He won't mind."

The urge Harrow men provoked in me to smack them upside the head with objects must be genetic.

"Let him go blow off steam." Carter ended her call. "Kierce needs time to get here anyway."

"Mmm-hmm. Yeah. Sure." I sank my toes into the carpet. "I should call him, make sure he's available."

How I was going to do that if Carter stayed behind was the problem.

A burst of inspiration had me slipping on my cardigan and rising from the bed. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" Harrow paced after me. "You won't heal if you keep pushing yourself."

"I want a second of privacy to call Kierce." I pretended not to notice his eyes flare. "Is that okay?"

Giving up on us, Carter sat at the foot of the bed, settling in to wait on me to return from the hall.

"I would prefer," Harrow pressed, "if you called him while you were sitting."

"Okay." I flashed a bright smile, pivoting toward the bathroom. "Be right out."

Carter snickered while Harrow looked ready to spit nails that I was hinting I would call Kierce while sitting on the toilet.

With the door locked behind me, I put down the toilet seat, unwrapped my hand, then picked the scab. I didn't put it together until I was smearing blood on the brand that I hadn't bound my hand. I had been too tired to even clean it. Which meant…

Harrow had done it. Carter could have too, but no. This had his name written all over it.

Unsure when I activated the call last time, since it had been a fortuitous accident, I couldn't say for sure how long it had taken Kierce to respond. I waited a few minutes, but he didn't pop in. I gave him a few more, noticed the open first-aid kit on the sink, and decided my hand could use a fresh bandage.

The cut wasn't as bad as I thought, but I hadn't paid it much attention. The blood, and panic over Matty, must have played tricks on my eyes. I was happy for it. This shallow graze was quick and easy to clean and patch.

"How's your hand?"

Springing back from the vanity, which hurt like the dickens, I spun toward the voice. With the collar of my cardigan clutched in my hand, I found Kierce standing in the tub. He glanced around, as if confused where he was or how he got there, then he stepped out onto the mat. He left a trail of muddy shoeprints behind, proving I had pulled him away from his nightly hunt and also convincing me gods paid their PAs well if he could afford to ruin that much Italian leather.

"I interrupted you." I gestured to the muck. "Harrow and Carter are here. They wanted to know if you're available to have that talk now." I smoothed my skirt. "I can always tell them you're busy."

After a moment's consideration, he shook his head. "Now is good."

"Harrow went to pick up dinner for everyone." I tangled my fingers at my navel. "I took the liberty of ordering for you, but I understand if you would rather abstain."

"That was thoughtful of you." His unease was clear. "What did you choose for me?"

"What you said about being the Viduus made me think a blue steak might be okay?"

A pleased flush warmed his features as he peeked up at me. "You don't mind it being extra rare?"

"Josie is on again/off again with a shifter, and he's the owner of the restaurant. It's one of the few places I would trust to order a blue steak." Those steaks were cooked just shy of being rare. "They prefer steaks bloody. Really, all meat bloody. So, no. It doesn't bother me. I'm used to it."

"All right." He edged around me, opened the door. "This should be interesting."

"That's one word for it." I stepped out, amused when Carter's eyes bulged. "Carter, this is Kierce. Kierce, this is Carter. She's Harrow's training officer." I patted the mattress. "I don't have any chairs, Kierce, but you're welcome to share the bed with me."

"And here I thought Josie moved fast." Carter's shock dissolved into humor. "Way to go, Frankie."

"That's not what I meant." I jerked my hand back. "I meant he's welcome to sit."

"I'll stand for now." He trailed his fingertips down the back of my arm. "You should rest."

"It's driving you crazy to be the one fussed over," Carter remarked. "You're usually the caretaker, right?"

"Yeah." I winced on the way down, and Kierce was there to catch and lower me. "I hate sitting still."

Nervous energy was one of the reasons I was as active in my own side of the business as the auto shop. The alternative, staring at the blank walls of my apartment, would suck. Worse would be if I leaned harder on my sibs for companionship than I already did when they each kept active social calendars.

Maybe in my medically ordered downtime, stuck in a hotel room, I would find motivation to furnish my apartment beyond the bed and a few pots and pans. I had a whole wish list of items saved that I always talked myself out of purchasing. I could finally click buy and blame it on shopping under the influence.

"We'll wait on Harrow before we begin." Carter scooted down to leave room for Kierce if he chose to sit. "That way we only have to go over everything once." She studied him. "That was a neat trick in there."

"Thank you."

A smile tickled the corner of my mouth, but I kept it from forming. "How's Harrow's bird bite?"

"He sealed it. Doubt it even scars." She shot my hand a pointed look. "I didn't know until today he had a minor talent for healing."

Spells required witches to use herbs, blood, or bone, among other things, depending on the spell, to cast. But innate talents could be used without the prep. Witches called upon those skills, and they answered.

"Neither did I." I flexed my fingers, absorbing what she was and wasn't saying. "Handy skill for his line of work."

"True." She aimed a smile as sharp as an arrow at Kierce. "What do you do for a living, Kierce?"

"I'm a personal assistant," he said without blinking, and I lost my battle to grin.

The wheels turned in her head, her tone hardening. "Work for anyone I might have heard of?"

"I've never met a powrie employed in law enforcement." He matched her intensity with indifference. "They're too quick to anger. Too fast to act on that anger. You must possess impressive restraint."

The kind of restraint aided by eating her body weight in cheddar puffs each day.

The kind of restraint that held her back when she smelled my blood during the summoning.

The kind of restraint I had no intention of ever testing if I had any say in the matter.

Unable to help myself, I searched her head for a bloodied hat, but I didn't find one. "You're a redcap."

The wry humor I had come to expect from her drained away in a rush of unease.

"Message received." Frost clung to the words she fired at Kierce. "You want to keep this professional."

"That would be my preference, yes."

With nothing else to talk about, the three of us sat there in awkward silence until Harrow returned with a large paper bag in each hand and a clear plastic gas station bag looped over each wrist. He had brought an old throw with him, and Carter spread it across the floor to give them a place to sit and eat. That left Kierce and me sharing the bed.

Halfway through the awkward scrape of plastic utensils on Styrofoam boxes, Harrow got down to business. "What do you know about this devourer?"

"Devourer?" The fork slid from Kierce's hand. "Where did you hear that word?"

"That would be me." I picked the lettuce and tomato off my burger, my punishment for the Armie-dildo comment. "The spirits called you that the first time we met at the cemetery." I had made a mess of my hands and reached for the napkins. "Now that I think about it, they haven't called you that in a while. I figured they gave up on cautioning me against you when I kept seeking you out—um, bumping into you—anyway."

"The spirits warned you while you were in the cemetery with me?"

"Yes." I wished I could blame a ketchup smear for the red rising into my cheeks. "A couple of times."

"They didn't mean me, ocelle." He reclaimed his utensil. "They meant the creature I'm hunting."

Carter, who had also ordered a blue steak, wiped blood off her chin. "What creature is that?"

"A dybbuk." Kierce glanced between us. "What else?"

"You can't be serious." A fry tumbled from Harrow's mouth. "You expect me to believe a necromancer is involved in vampire slayings?"

"Your belief matters little to me." Kierce sliced through his steak. "It doesn't change the truth."

"I'm not familiar with the lore." Carter looked straight at me. "What's a dybbuk?"

One of the creatures Vi had warned me against time and time again. Pair my necromancer blood and gift for communing with spirits, and you got an ideal host for a shade with a good sales pitch. But I had what most who succumbed to the lure of shades had lacked in life. Josie and Matty. Two reasons to resist.

Granted, it wasn't only the power hungry who chose that dark path. As long as a shade was fed well and often, it could heal most any disease or illness in its host through their bond. That promise of health was a powerful motivator for the sick or dying.

"Humans create ghosts when they die. Necromancers produce shades. A dybbuk is a shade that strikes a bargain with a host, trading its power for the use of their body. But since shades are made from necromancers, their host must also be a necromancer."

"Power?" Harrow set aside his plate. "The dead can't work magic."

"The dead have no magic of their own, but shades gain strength through consuming spiritual energies." Which fit the bill for the killer, didn't it? "Mostly they target weaker ghosts, going for quantity over quality."

"Souls." Carter nodded. "What does the dybbuk get out of the arrangement besides a free ride?"

"Channel that energy through a host who can work magic, and it allows a shade to hold on to and grow the power they amass. A bonded pair can cast spells again. Their strength is directly proportionate to their rate of consumption."

"Can your loaners do that?" Her eyes sharpened on me. "Cast spells?"

"No." I lost my appetite thinking of the victims. "I choose human donors for that reason."

"A human donor can't channel a ghost's talents?" Harrow cocked his head. "I wasn't aware of that."

"Okay, I choose specific humans." I waved a hand. "Nulls. People with no ancestral magic. Zero."

The only spark in them was the one I gave them, which made it even harder for them to break my rules.

"Learn something new every day," Carter remarked, chewing away.

"As much as I would love to continue helping—" I saw my chance to make a clean break and leapt for it, "—I don't want to cross the Society."

"This is our case." Harrow made no bones about it. "We're not turning it over."

"The 514 has to get its feet wet sometime." Carter cracked a bloody smile. "Might as well start big."

Butting heads with the Society to launch their own investigation into vampires' deaths fit the bill.

"This proves I'm not a killer. That my loaners aren't killers." Despite getting shot down, I saw light at the end of the tunnel and couldn't help chasing it. "Which means I'm no use to you." I searched each of their faces. "I can bow out now."

"That charm could have killed you." Kierce was the one to voice the fear twisting in the back of my mind. "If you hadn't acted so quickly, your brother would be dead. So would your sister." He swallowed. "So would you."

"Someone is targeting you," Harrow agreed. "First setting up your loaners, then running you down, now this charm." He wadded up his trash and tossed it into the nearest bag. "We have to consider this from a different perspective."

Afraid I already knew the answer, I went ahead and asked, "What perspective is that?"

"You're not the perp," Carter broke it down for me. "You're the victim."

The demotion from suspect and promotion to target wasn't as great a relief as I would have thought.

"That means I have to ask…" Harrow scrunched up his forehead. "Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt you?"

"Someone really sicced a dybbuk on my clients?" I knocked my fries flying with an enthusiastic wave of my arm. "Just to get to me?"

"That appears to be the case." Kierce knelt and cleaned up my mess. "Powerful dybbuks hunt vampires." He dumped the food in a bag and dusted his hands. "The vampire hunter mythos originated with them."

"Only Matty, Josie, and I can access my client list, and they don't know any particulars unless the clients are regulars. They have no reason to open the files when they're not directly involved in that side of the business." A cold sensation traipsed down my spine. "The only way someone could identify my clients was if…"

…Josie was right about someone spying on me.

"They must have eyes on the garage." Harrow twisted his mouth. "Do you have any security cameras?"

"No." I rubbed my palms together. "We've never needed them. No one bothers us."

Plus, if the Society came knocking, we didn't want a visual record of my clients' comings and goings.

"You need to fix that." Carter sounded apologetic. "Sooner rather than later."

As much as I hated to agree, if we'd had security, we would already know the identity of the dybbuk.

"I'll ask around." Harrow made it his job. "See if anyone knows a good para security company."

Because a human one wouldn't do. Especially with ghosts, deities, and death charms aplenty.

That was the kind of footage that could cause all kinds of problems if it got leaked to the public.

"Okay." Already I regretted the expense. "Armie might have a suggestion too."

As rowdy as shifters could get when high on good food and life, he required evidence to ensure the right people paid for busted chairs, tables, and plates. And medical bills. For that reason, as well as them acting as a deterrent, he mounted cameras in the corners of every public space in his restaurant.

"Badb will stay with you." Kierce glanced out the window. "She'll alert me if you're in danger."

As if to punctuate her agreement, she tapped her beak on the glass three times.

Harrow startled, backing away from his new nemesis.

Carter stared at the bird, but she held in any questions she might have to avoid answering more herself.

That Kierce knew her for a redcap had bothered her, and she didn't appear eager to revisit the topic. I didn't see why. Redcaps were fierce. Murderous, yes. But as he said— She was clearly in control of her urges.

As far as I could tell, she wore no red cap, and that part of their name was literal. A redcap counted coup on their enemies by sopping their blood with their hat then wearing it like a badge of honor. Glamour or a good spell could have hidden it from sight, but the smell… Yeah. I doubted you could hide the pungent tang of aged gore.

"You need more than a bird watching your back." Harrow rubbed his elbow where Badb had bitten him. "You need a guard."

"I can't pull my siblings away from their jobs to babysit me. We have bills to pay."

Harrow opened his mouth then snapped it shut with an audible click.

A thread of embarrassment wove through me, worried he would fling my pickpocketing in my face. No. I decided it wasn't the reminder of what I had done to provide for my family during those lean years living on the streets. It was Kierce hearing what it had taken for us to survive. For me to provide.

I wanted to keep that tender corner of my past to myself. Bad enough I shared history with Harrow and couldn't erase his memories of me at my lowest. It was nice to make a new…friend…who saw me as I was now.

Independent. Happy. Successful.

"I'll shadow you," Carter offered, holding up a hand at my spluttered reply. "Just me."

Temper sparking, Harrow turned on her. "Carter?—"

"You're not a restful person, Daisy, and Frankie needs time to heal." She left it up to me. "Well?"

As much as I wanted to ask for other alternatives, I didn't want to be rude to Carter. She was as good as any cop they would station outside my door. Better her than a stranger. "That's fine."

A text chime interrupted us, and Carter raised her eyebrows. "The car that hit you has, most likely, been found."

"How do you know it's the same one?"

"It's a classic. A muscle car with a bright red glasspack muffler." She lifted her eyes. "There's also a dent in the front bumper at approximately the same height as the mailbox. It's on the right side for it too."

"Do they know who was driving it?" I held tight to the hope I might wriggle out of protective custody if they had a bead on the dybbuk. "Have they caught them yet?"

"The car was set on fire," Harrow told me, reading from his own text. "We won't find any evidence in it."

"That's one way to get rid of fingerprints." I rubbed my arms. "What make and model was it?"

"Hold on." Carter skimmed the details. "A Lincoln Continental Mark V."

A quiver in my stomach radiated through my legs. Had I not already been sitting, I might have swayed on my feet.

"Frankie?" Carter glanced over at me. "Does that mean something to you?"

"That's the make and model of the car Lyle drove to the shop," I rasped. "The auction car."

There hadn't been a dent. I would have noticed. Especially in the chrome.

But there had been a laminated card taped onto the front bumper. That alone wouldn't have hidden the damage, but it wouldn't have taken much for a witch to spell the paper into a small-scale illusion for that purpose. The solution worked. Except for the part where it required Lyle Harrow to hire a witch.

"Hold on." Harrow's knuckles turned white around his phone. "Are you suggesting Uncle Lyle did this?"

"All I'm saying is he drove the car on the day the charm almost killed me, the day after I was run over."

"The car was slated for auction?" Carter tensed to get between us. "That's what he told you?"

"Yes." I folded my arms across my stomach. "He wanted to get an oil change before then."

"Those sales are a team effort." Harrow started pacing. "Any number of people would have had access."

Vehicles confiscated or seized during criminal investigations ended up on the auction block. Cars, trucks, vans, SUVs, motorcycles, even boats. Pretty much anything that went vroom. The money was then put to use where the department needed it most.

I was under the impression they were sold as is, but maybe this had been a project car for someone. Lyle claimed it benefited charity. Either it had been chosen for that purpose or donated for that reason.

"Not a bad way for the driver to cover their tracks." Carter wiped up blood from her steak and licked it off her finger. "Smart, really."

"The driver might not be involved in the auction," Harrow countered, "but he could be someone with clearance to enter the area."

"We'll start with the people we know had access and go from there," Carter decided. "We don't need to make more work for ourselves." She held up her hands in a peacekeeping gesture. "That means we have to question your uncle, but he couldn't be a suspect for the killings. He's human."

"That would exclude him on one front," Kierce allowed, "but he still could have struck her."

"He hates magic." Oh, how it stuck in my craw to stand up for Lyle. "He wouldn't have sent the gift."

"He has no contacts within the magical community. He couldn't have sourced the charm, and he wouldn't have left it at the garage." Harrow wiped a hand over his mouth. "He knows Frankie. He wouldn't hurt her."

Us fighting over Lyle was nothing new, but I wasn't as sure as Harrow that Lyle wouldn't harm me if it got me out of his nephew's life. I just couldn't see him taking this route to do it.

After all, how could he enjoy me rotting away in Atramentous if he was also incarcerated?

"Perhaps you ought to step outside." Kierce flexed his fingers down at his sides. "You're upsetting her."

"It's fine." I took his hand, smoothed his fingers flat. "He's upset too."

"The truth is often painful." Kierce let me soothe him. "That doesn't mean it can be ignored."

"You don't know me or my uncle," Harrow growled. "You sure as hell don't know Frankie."

"I know enough to tell your anger frightens her, almost as much as her memories of your uncle."

"How…?" I dropped his hand as if his skin had burned me. "I never said…"

"You didn't have to say it. Your pulse jumps at his name. He said something, did something to you."

"You're talking about my uncle." A vein looked ready to burst in Harrow's forehead. "A man who's dedicated his life to upholding the law. A man who spends weekends working in food pantries and soup kitchens." He swung his head toward me. "Can you sit there and tell me he ever said or did a wrong thing to you?"

"I'm not having this conversation." I got to my feet too fast and wobbled. "I would like everyone to leave."

"All right." Kierce dipped his chin, his gaze sinking to his feet. "You know how to reach me."

He left first, and he didn't look back. He took me at my word.

I couldn't decide if I appreciated him listening to me or wished he would have fought to stay.

"This is bullshit," Harrow tossed out as he stormed from the room.

"I can stomp out and then stomp back in," Carter said, "but you're not getting rid of me."

Hissing through my teeth, I sank back onto the mattress. "Then can you find the remote?"

Turn the TV up loud enough, and I might not be able to hear the tumble of my own thoughts.

In the morning, I could face reality. Tonight, I was good with watching romcoms until I passed out.

Maybe if I looked pitiful enough, Carter would share some of her cheddar puffs with me.