Chapter 6

SIX

Willow

I pour myself a second cup of coffee and open my laptop. I took one of the pills Dr. Nolan prescribed, but it didn't do spit for me after my visit from the two NSA agents—other than leave me with the world's worst hangover and dangerously low blood pressure. I've almost passed out twice this morning, and I've only been out of bed for an hour.

It's not hard to verify that Dr. Hannah Smith and Special Agent Isaac Barton work for the National Security Agency. The helpful woman on the phone emails me their ID photos and confirms they're assigned to a special project at the moment, but she won't—or can't—tell me what it is.

I wish I could talk to my whisper. Or that she could talk back to me. Heck, I'd settle for seeing her right now. What if she doesn't come back?

My laugh hits at the exact wrong time, and I almost choke on a sip of coffee. I finally find people who believe me the same day my whisper disappears forever? I'm not that unlucky. Am I?

You're about to be fired from the best job you've ever had because your department chair thinks you're losing your mind. That seems pretty damn unlucky.

Well, shit. My thoughts run wild when I'm sleep deprived, and the marathon they're currently on feels like it's leading me right through the Bermuda Triangle.

I stare at the card Barton left for me until the numbers on the back start to blur. What do I have to lose? If my whisper truly is gone, they'll understand, right? Or they'll know how to bring her back.

Dr. Smith picks up on the first ring. "Willow? It's good to hear from you. I hope you were able to get some rest last night."

"Uh, n-no. Not really. But…I called the NSA. Can we meet?"

"Of course. If you're up to it. We can always wait until you've had a good night's sleep. We want to help you. Not add even more stress to your life." The warmth and concern in her voice raises a lump in my throat. She's not pretending to care like Dr. Nolan did. Not trying to drug me into oblivion rather than help me.

"No. I don't want to wait. Where should I meet you?" If I have to go one more day without knowing why I now have a whisper, I'm not sure I'll survive it.

"Anywhere you'd like," Hannah says. "We can come to your apartment, I can give you our address, or, if it would make you more comfortable, choose a public location and we'll be there within an hour."

I swallow hard. In for a penny, in for a pound. Or so my dad always says. "I'll come to you."

The address Hannah gave me is less than two miles away. The rains have stopped, so I tuck my pepper spray and phone into my crossbody bag. The walk along the waterfront should calm me. So should the presence of my whisper at my side. She appeared the moment I stepped out of my apartment.

She hasn't pulled me into her head, though. Thank God. Every time she appears, I think she gets a little stronger. I can still see right through her, but from time to time, I catch a flicker of shadow. Not mine. Hers. I wish I could ask her if she feels more real. If she's doing this on purpose. But though she has occasionally answered a question with a nod or a shake of her head, she's ignoring me now.

I check my phone outside a plain, almost run-down building two blocks off Market Street. It would look like every other building if not for the fancy security panel next to the heavy metal door.

The screen glows as I approach, and a beam of blue light sweeps across my face.

Welcome, Willow Saunders.

Well, that's not creepy. Though, this is the NSA. They could probably find out what I had for breakfast this morning. Or get my kindergarten report card.

The door swings open, and I step into a brightly lit waiting area, complete with couches, a fancy espresso machine, and plants in every corner.

I beeline for another cup of coffee. I need all the caffeine I can get. The rich scent comforts me, and I wrap the paper cup in both hands, needing its warmth for what I'm about to do.

Part of the wall slides open without a sound, and Hannah steps into the waiting room. "Oh, Willow. You look like you haven't slept at all!" She nudges my chin up gently—she's several inches taller than I am—and stares into my eyes. "This whole ordeal has been hell on you, hasn't it?"

A wave of emotion clogs my throat. Tears lend a watery glow to the room, and I nod. "I just want to understand…why."

"I know. You will. I promise." She's so earnest. So open. She'll explain everything.

"Dr. Smith, I?—"

"You must call me Hannah." She leads me through the hidden door, down the hall, and to another security panel where she punches in a long code and swipes a badge clipped to her black jacket.

I gape at the state-of-the-art lab. Glossy white workstations, flat-screen monitors, and half a dozen men and women chatting or fiddling with equipment. In the far corner, in a glass-walled conference room, Barton sits in an ergonomic chair with a cup of coffee at his elbow.

"Can I get you a refill? Or maybe something better?" Hannah asks, pausing at a gourmet beverage station. "The machine in the lobby is good, but this one makes cappuccinos and lattes too. We have the best coffee in the city."

Three cups in a day is plenty. Any more and I risk having a severe POTS episode. But my mouth waters as she makes herself a cappuccino.

"Um…sure? That smells great." I pass her my paper cup, and after a few moments fiddling with the levers and dials on the machine, she offers me a ceramic mug with a perfect layer of foam on top. I take a sip, and the flavor calms my nerves.

She shuts the conference room door, and all the sounds of the lab fall away. It's almost eerie how quiet it is now. I can hear Hannah breathing, and Barton's fingers drumming softly against the arm of his chair.

"Willow," Isaac says, leaning forward and steepling his hands on the polished wood table, "the manifestation you've been experiencing is not a figment of your imagination as your therapist believes. Whispers are so rare, only a handful of people outside of this lab know about them—and about Whisper Keepers. How long have you been seeing your whisper? Two weeks? Three?"

I almost drop the mug.

"A little less than three."

Did he guess? Or…?

The dark web. I did more than search. I posted too.

His intense hazel eyes gentle slightly. "That's a long time if you don't know why. I'm assuming—because you're here—you don't."

I shake my head. If I try to speak, I'll end up sobbing. I'm going to get answers. Real answers. I can feel it in my bones. In my heart. These people can help me.

"Whisper keepers hold some of the most powerful magic in all the world. You, Willow, are a witch, and the things you can do—that you'll be able to do?—"

"I'm not a witch," I protest, my voice cracking. "If I were, wouldn't the Other medical clinic have been able to tell? They did these scans. Some device. The Ocular Transmutational Health Existence something."

"Reporter," Hannah says with a delicate, feminine snort. "I swear, whoever names things in the world of the Other has the oddest sense of humor. Or maybe no sense of humor at all."

I manage a weak chuckle. She's not wrong. Calling an Other detector something that anagrams to O.T.H.E.R. is so obvious, it borders on the ridiculous.

She drains the last of her cappuccino and dabs at her lips with a handkerchief. "Most magic has its origins in the elements. Earth, air, fire, water, and aether. Witches tap into these elements, bending them to their will and using their power. They register on the device because the elements flow through them every moment of every day. Your magic is different. Yours is woven so deeply into your DNA, it can't be scanned for."

"I don't understand. How?" I run my fingers over the edge of the mug. An odd scent wafts over me now that the cappuccino is mostly gone. Almost…metallic. But it fades in seconds.

"The magic is your legacy," she says. "It skips generations—from what we've been able to learn. But all the women in your line carry it. Accessing it, though…that's a completely different matter."

The women in my line?

I don't know any of the women in "my line." My parents adopted me when I was an infant. I'd been found on a park bench at dawn, wrapped in a pink blanket, only days old.

Isaac clears his throat. "The spells you need to use your gifts come from an ancient book locked away behind so many wards and barriers, only your whisper can get to it."

"I don't understand. I'm thirty-six years old. And I only started seeing my…whisper less than three weeks ago. If I've had this magic in me all my life, why did it choose now to manifest?"

Ugh. I should have asked for water instead of a cappuccino. My mouth is suddenly bone dry, and my heart is beating so hard, I can feel it in my cheeks.

"Have you ever been to St. Mary's Cathedral on Gough Street?" Hannah asks.

Shock cools the flames licking up my neck. My body is freezing now. I wrap my arms around myself so I don't start to shiver. "Y-yes. How did you know?"

Isaac leans forward. "The book is in a vault under the cathedral. You must have been close enough for the power to sense you. It created your whisper. Gave you the key to claim your birthright."

"I don't want this birthright. Can't I…turn it off? Or give it back?" Tears prick at my eyes.

Hannah and Isaac exchange a glance. Something passes between them, but before I can figure out what it is, Hannah shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Willow. We don't think you can. But you can learn to control it." A large flat screen monitor winks on at the head of the table, and I gasp as Dr. Nolan's session notes come into focus.

"Willow complains that the ‘whisper' wakes her up at night. She claims to be able to see through the ghost's eyes and hear what's going on around the ghost, even when they aren't in the same room. Her delusions are quite well thought out, which is remarkable. And suspicious."

"Suspicious?" A harsh sob escapes my lips. "She thinks I made the whole thing up?"

"Shhh." Hannah reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. "We scrubbed your records from her files, and we'll gently suggest that she transfer out of the San Francisco Bay Area. We can be very persuasive when we want to be."

I let that woman drug me. She was so certain I was making the whole thing up, and I let her drug me.

Hannah's fingers are warm, and she gives my hand a gentle squeeze. "We can teach you how to protect yourself from your whisper's…whims," she says. She's so confident. So calm, I can't help but believe her. She gestures between herself and Isaac. "We're both human, Willow. But we've studied magic for our entire careers. Half the techs out there are witches and warlocks. We employ a vampire and a shifter as consultants when we need them. Your talents? They can do so much good in the world."

"I don't understand how my whisper—my magic—can help anyone. She's a ghost. She can't do anything but keep me up at night and pull me into her reality."

Hannah shakes her head. "She's not a ghost. She's an extension of you, Willow. Non-corporeal—for now—but we think if you were to work with her instead of fighting her all the time, she could one day affect the physical world around her. And if you can activate the full power of your gifts…" Hannah's light brown eyes take on a sparkle, "we think you'll be able to find the Blade of Liminal Transference."

"The…what?" I try—unsuccessfully—to stifle my laugh. "That's…not a thing."

Isaac sits up straighter in his chair, and for a moment, I think he's about to snap at me. But then he blows out a deep breath. "Until three weeks ago, you didn't know anything about the world of the Other . How many different types of creatures can you name?"

"Uh…vampires, witches, werewolves, ghosts? Faeries? I have a Ph.D. in Mythology and the Occult. I know a lot about what the rest of the world thinks are… other creatures. That doesn't mean they're all…real." He's testing me—baiting me—and frustration prickles over my skin.

"They are. All of them," he says. "But so are centaurs, banshees, hydras, sirens, griffins, unicorns, every type of shifter you can imagine—including werewolves—dragons, even yetis and the Loch Ness monster."

My jaw drops open. Until I remember what we were talking about in the first place. "Fine. But…the Blade of Liminal Transference? The BLT? That's a sandwich."

This was a mistake. I don't care if my whisper keeps me up every night for the rest of my life. I can't trust anyone who thinks BLT is a good name for some sort of magical artifact.

Hannah reaches for my hand before I can get to my feet. "Willow, the Blade was named centuries ago. Long before anyone decided bacon, lettuce, and tomato made a proper sandwich. And the device the Other medical clinic used on you? What was that called again?"

"O.T.H.E.R. Point taken. I guess." I drain the last sip of the now-cool cappuccino, then set the mug aside. "Why do you need me to find this thing? Is it a weapon?"

With a tiny cough, Hannah sits back. "The last witch to possess the Blade—that we know of—died in 1879. Her sons built St. Mary's Cathedral and they kept her spell book in the vault under the old church. But after the earthquake and fire in 1906, the vault was sealed shut."

"That still doesn't explain why you need me. You're the NSA. Go down there with some sort of drill and break in." I push my chair away from the table.

"We can't. The vault is warded." Isaac jerks up and starts to pace. "Six stone masons and two witches have died in the last fifty years trying to do just that. But the wards will open for you. Only for you."

I stand too quickly. My heart pounds so hard, it's all I can feel. A soft roar fills my ears. Bracing my hands on my thighs, I force slow, deep breaths until Hannah wraps an arm around my waist and eases me back into the fancy chair.

"You're special, Willow," she says. "So is the Blade. Once you come into your full power, you'll work miracles with it."

I scoff. "Miracles? No one can work miracles."

"You can. A hundred and fifty years ago, we didn't have the medical technology we do now. We weren't this close to curing cancer. Parkinson's. Dementia. Shifters have a natural immunity to almost all human diseases—and many Other illnesses too. The Blade can transfer that immunity to anyone—or everyone. And it's not just the big ones. Cancer. Heart disease. Renal failure. Vampire blood allergies will be a thing of the past. Wand Rot could be wiped out in a matter of days ."

This is all too much. Wand Rot. Vampire blood allergies. Miracles.

My head spins. Dark spots float all around me. Hannah sounds like she's underwater. My blood pressure drops like the roller coaster just started its descent. I'm going to pass out. I can't stop it. All I can do is give in.