Chapter 43

Chapter

Forty-Three

The clock on my nightstand read 2:25 AM when Sean and I crawled into bed.

I barely had enough energy to take off my clothes and throw them in the direction of the bathroom before I collapsed naked on top of the covers. Sean put our clothes in the hamper and got me settled in under the sheet and our spare comforter. I hadn't bothered with sleepwear, so neither did he.

Sex wasn't happening tonight, as much as we both wanted the intimacy. My exhaustion was bone-deep and my heart felt sick. He wrapped his arms around me and I rested my head on his chest.

"This wasn't a failure," I murmured, more to myself than him.

He answered anyway. "No, it wasn't a failure."

"Then why does it feel like one?"

It was the question that had haunted me from the moment Carly opened her tattered circle and put us to work cleaning the basement. And if the others' expressions and the grim silence were anything to go by, I wasn't the only one who thought so.

"We didn't get the identity of the necromancer like we'd hoped," he said. "We came face-to-face with real monsters, but instead of a demon or some other creature, Micajah and the necromancer are human. Humans aren't supposed to be monsters, but some are . I think that's harder to process than when the monsters have a thousand arms or a poisonous barbed tail or a body made of snakes."

"Not to mention we all put a lot of time and effort into preparing for the ritual, and then…" I shrugged wearily. "It didn't go according to plan at all. What a letdown."

"We also found out there's a much bigger danger we didn't know about before. All these things weigh heavily on everyone." He nuzzled my hair. "Don't lose track of what we did accomplish, though. We got Micajah and Wiley Harpe sent back where they belong, and that will save lives. You and Malcolm returned safe from Tartarus. And even though we don't know who the necromancer is yet or who this mysterious ‘king' he talked about might be, knowing there's a dark force who is marshaling forces and seeking power is crucial information."

"Yeah, but who do we tell about that?" I asked. "Charles? The Council? The local police? SPEMA? They'll want know what we know and how we found out. We'll be the center ring of a three-ring circus, and we don't want to be."

He nuzzled my hair again and didn't reply.

"Right?" I raised my head. "We don't want that?"

"That's a complicated question, Miss Magic." His expression was thoughtful. "We have information and information has value. These are uncertain times—more so than usual. Charles Vaughan wants to solidify his position as head of the Court and move it in a new direction that expands its reach. The Council has serious concerns about its own relative political position and sphere of influence. Moses has already shown he's not the quiet businessman Darius Bell was. He's not content to simply pull strings behind the scenes and keep his head down as money rolls in. I get the impression he wants to be as much of a visible factor as the Court and the Council."

"That's how he operates in Baltimore," I said. "It's the worst-kept secret in town. "

"On top of all that, the new police chief still has a lot to prove, especially when it comes to bringing mages, shifters, and nonhumans to justice. And you know the feds always have their own agendas. The district attorney's office and the federal courts won't like Charles's plan to make the Court a more visible and active participant in judicial matters. It's a lot of wheels in motion and everyone's toes are feeling vulnerable."

"And now here comes some mysterious ‘king' who wants his piece of the pie." I yawned hugely. "Or maybe the whole dang pie. So what do we do?"

"We're going to think about the information we have, see what else we can find out, and then figure out what to do with it." He kissed my temple. "Speaking of which, what have you decided about this ten o'clock trap in Fields Park?"

I laughed softly at the phrase ten o'clock trap . "Well, first of all, obviously I'm not going alone. I'm sure he doesn't expect me to."

"Then why make that demand in his message?"

"Dramatic effect?" I shrugged. " Come alone, Alice Worth ," I said, making my voice spooky and deep. Sean chuckled. "He knows I'm not dumb enough to meet him face-to-face by myself. Dude's a drama queen. All necromancers are. Necromancy is all about showmanship. Well, and power."

"Put that way, he sounds less scary."

"Oh, no, he's absolutely very scary." I rubbed my nose on his chest. "Just because he's flashy doesn't mean he doesn't have the goods. I'm not taking any chances at this meeting." I yawned again.

"Babe, let's go to sleep. You've had a long, terrible day." He pulled me closer. "Good night, my love. Try to dream of beautiful things."

"That's a big ask," I murmured, and closed my eyes.

At least with Valas out of me I wouldn't have to relive her memories anymore. Then again, while I could have done without the horrors I'd witnessed in those dreams, it had been an unprecedented chance to get information about her that we never would have access to otherwise. A silver lining .

Dream of beautiful things .

Well, it was worth a shot, anyway.

At nine fifty-five that morning, I got out of my SUV, stuck my phone in my back pocket, and headed for Fields Park's north gate.

I didn't bother looking for my backup—I knew they were all close by. Most of my pack was here. Katy and Carly were here. Malcolm and Liam had stayed at the house, safe behind my wards. They were vulnerable around the necromancer and I couldn't afford to divide my attention.

My pockets contained several amulets, including Carly's most useful spell, Return to Sender , which rebounded any magic that came at me back on whoever threw it. It worked on necromancers just as well as mages and witches. I also had some spellwork drawn on my skin hidden under my clothes. I was as protected as I could be, and I was ready.

On an ordinary day, the north gate was the park's busiest because it was close to the largest playgrounds. Today, the lot was nearly empty and the equipment unused. The mayor had lifted the curfew between six a.m. and six p.m. but clearly most people had stayed home. That was just as well. I didn't want to meet the necromancer near a playground full of children.

I spotted a few mid-morning walkers and joggers on the trail that looped around the park. Other than that, the area was quiet.

About twenty yards from the gate, I came around some tall bushes and spotted a dark-haired man in a suit sitting on a bench facing one of the empty jungle gyms, his back to me. I'd walked on the grass rather than the gravel path, but I had no illusions that I could sneak up on a necromancer.

Black magic tingled on my arms. He'd deliberately let me sense his power—not only so I knew I was in the right place, but as a not-so-subtle reminder of who I was dealing with. As if I didn't know .

Shifter magic prickled on the back of my neck. Sean and the others had probably felt that little surge of black magic. I was walking up to one of the most dangerous kinds of human occult practitioners by myself, and nobody watching liked it at all. I didn't like it much either, but it had to be done. I wanted to know who this man was and how I knew of him so I could move on to the question of how to deal with him.

I walked around the bench to look my quarry in the eye?—

—and immediately knew two things: why I'd had a notion of him working in a corner office, and that nothing about a plan to deal with him would be simple.

District Attorney Gregory Pierce smiled up at me. "Hello, Alice." He gestured grandly at the other end of the bench. "Won't you have a seat?"

That was the voice, all right. I'd heard it at the occasional press conference and in campaign ads during the most recent election cycle. Hell, he'd even stood next to SPEMA agent Trent Lake at the press conference last year during the announcement of the arrests of the West-Addison harnad.

I tried to imagine telling Diaz the necromancer we'd been chasing, who'd caused the deaths of so many people, was the freaking district attorney. There was no version of that conversation that ended well.

No wonder Pierce looked like he thought he was untouchable in this scenario. He pretty much was.

Unlike our earlier interactions, Pierce didn't appear threatening at all. That put me more on guard, since in my experience playing nice hid more malicious intent than violence and threats. But the amulets in my pocket didn't signal the presence of spells or even dormant spellwork. And that initial little surge of black magic aside, I hadn't felt so much as a tickle of power from him. That could change in a heartbeat, of course, but I sensed he wanted to talk…at least for now.

I sat on the bench, turning sideways so I could keep a close watch on his every movement. "You don't have enough power running the D.A.'s office?" I asked.

He smiled. He had a really nice smile. I could imagine liking it if I'd met him socially instead of like this. His eyes even sparkled. Easy to see how he'd run a successful election campaign against the longtime incumbent. District attorneys tended to run on charisma as much as legal acumen and politics and he clearly had that in spades.

"I enjoy my job." He relaxed back against the bench, his ankle resting on his knee, and brushed some dirt off his shoe. Designer, of course, to match his tailored suit. "I've worked hard to get where I am in all aspects of my personal and professional life. I didn't come from a privileged background, unlike yourself, but we've both faced a tough uphill climb in some of the same ways. You enjoy the power and influence of the positions you hold and the alliances you've made. We're not that different."

"I'd say we're very different," I countered. "I don't go around killing innocent people using spirits I dragged here from Tartarus. I don't want to make the public too afraid to leave their homes. I don't use fear to get people to worship me or fall in line, or to curry favor with some mysterious ‘king.'"

He chuckled. "Saint Alice, so comfortable on her moral high ground. We all think our own way is the right and noble way. How many times have you used your magic and power to intimidate someone into doing what you want? How many times have you decided what justice should be and appointed yourself the proverbial judge, jury, and executioner without giving much thought to what actual judicial process looks like? Nothing's as simple as good guys and bad guys, white hats and black hats."

"I know that," I snapped. "More than most people, I understand all the shades of gray between good and evil. But I know good and I know evil, and I know which I'm sitting next to. What I don't understand is why you brought the Harpes into this. You had to know how evil they were. And I know you controlled what the spirits did and how, at least in the beginning. It takes real malevolence to do that. There's no shades of gray involved in the murder of innocent people."

"I don't know these Harpes," he lied smoothly. "But I don't think someone like you describe would summon the spirits of killers and use them to commit crimes just to make people afraid. That seems like not quite the right answer."

"Then why?" I asked. "Why go to all the trouble?" Why did all these people have to die?

"Maybe they like causing fear, but they also want the thrill." He gave me an elegant shrug. "It's hard to say, since I obviously don't look for that kind of stimulation myself, but maybe a person who can control spirits and make them kill craves the rush. As a prosecutor, I've talked to many murderers. A lot of them say there's no rush like killing."

My stomach churned at the casual way he described his motivation for summoning the Harpes and destroying so many lives.

"Serial killers say their first is always the biggest thrill," he continued with a smile. "After that, they're just chasing that first big high. They have to up the ante every time to get the rush they want. But in this scenario you've imagined, where someone uses murderous spirits to control people who've never killed before—never even thought of killing—both the spirits and the person controlling them would be able to feel that first-kill rush over and over. Every killing would be as terrible and thrilling as the last. If the spirits were already killers themselves, they would enjoy it as much as their master. Everyone gets what they want. Hypothetically."

Everyone not counting the victims and the people who cared about them, about whom Pierce clearly did not spare one single solitary thought. And of course he'd framed it all as a hypothetical situation, careful not to incriminate himself in any way.

This man was evil . Pure evil in designer shoes and an expensive suit. A true psychopath.

"Too bad the whole spree came to an end last night," I said. "And now everyone will find out the truth about who is really responsible."

"I imagine any evidence of what you're envisioning would be hard to come by, though." He picked at some imaginary lint on his pant leg. "The physical evidence and eyewitness statements against your client and the other perpetrators are some of the strongest I've ever seen in case. Surveillance footage clearly shows who perpetrated these crimes—and in several cases, the crimes themselves. A district attorney such as myself couldn't hope to have better evidence for trial. You never think of any case as a slam dunk, but…" Pierce waved his hand. "I expect quick verdicts across the board."

"There's more potential evidence and testimony than what you've got," I pointed out. "Plenty to give the defense teams. Enough for reasonable doubt."

That elicited his baritone laugh. "I have no doubt you'd like that to be true. I'm sure Oliver Hensley is paying you good money to try to come up with something to help him and you have to justify your hourly rates. But even if your imaginary situation were real, there just isn't anything you can put in front of a jury, is there? Besides wild accusations, I mean. And maybe magic trace that humans can't really see, feel, or hear. They'd have to take one mage PI's word over the mountain of physical evidence submitted by the prosecutor. I just don't think it's likely, Alice."

This cannot be happening , I thought. I cannot possibly let this man get away with framing Oliver and the others for murders they didn't commit and walk away scot-free.

Pierce, meanwhile, wasn't done taking his victory lap. "I'm sure the Hensleys will pay you even though you have nothing to show for your time. I can't imagine Philippa giving you any references, though, which is a shame. She could have been a lucrative connection for someone like you. I wouldn't mind facing you in court someday. I think getting you on the stand would be a real treat for me."

My eyes narrowed. Oh, I would be a treat for him, would I? A dozen sarcastic responses welled up, but I just stared at him instead, my expression flat.

I suddenly understood Arkady's claim that sometimes she wanted to punch someone so badly her knuckles itched. Not only did my knuckles itch, but my blood magic tried to surge too. I was close enough and fast enough that maybe I could get my blood magic blades into his heart before he had a chance to fight back, but I couldn't very well kill someone in broad daylight in the park.

Besides, killing him—assuming I even could—wouldn't solve anything because all that evidence he'd mentioned would still exist. And obviously he wasn't going to own up to jack shit. So far, this entire tête-à-tête was just to make it clear he had all the cards.

Having made his point, or thinking he had, Pierce put both feet on the ground and leaned forward, his forearms on his knees. To a casual observer at a distance, his demeanor would have probably appeared honest and earnest, but from my vantage point I clearly saw how hard and cold his eyes had become.

"You know, you're intriguing to me," he said. "The Were Ruling Council doesn't know what to do with you. The Vamp Court doesn't seem to either. Despite what I think we can both agree is a questionable past, you've done well both personally and professionally. Your business is growing and you have a good reputation as a thorough and dedicated PI. And you've managed to land yourself the most highly respected alpha werewolf in the region."

That wasn't the first time someone had described my relationship with Sean that way, as if I'd sought him out for power and nothing else, and I liked it less every time. "Greg, if I were you, I'd keep my opinions about my personal life to yourself."

"Duly noted." His smile turned indulgent, as if my objection to his words was adorable. The itch on my knuckles increased. "Professionally speaking, then, you're interesting. It makes me wonder if we might find a way forward where our interests are aligned."

"That does not seem likely." This conversation was deadly serious, but I couldn't help but smile at the amount of understatement in my words.

"It might seem that way now," he countered. "Despite my initial impressions of you, I don't think either of us are going anywhere soon."

Huh. So he didn't want my heart anymore? Or he did, but he wanted to lull me into thinking he'd changed his mind?

"I'm a logical man," he said in reply to my frown. "Don't forget that I weigh pros and cons, evidence, and conflicting interests for a living. Situations change rapidly. People like me always have to think ten steps ahead. In the future, I see a lot of potential for people like you."

"What, when your ‘king' takes over and you're one of his generals, you mean?"

"What a vivid imagination you have." He chuckled. "Have you ever thought about becoming a writer? That might make a good fallback career if you get tired of PI work."

Become a writer? How much of a masochist did he think I was?

"What did you mean by people like me?" I asked, genuinely curious to hear his answer.

"People who see the world more clearly than most." Pierce tilted his head thoughtfully. "You see all those shades of gray you talked about earlier. You know who wears a black hat, who wears white, and who just tries to blend into the woodwork and not be noticed. And either by accident or design, you have the range of connections most people would either kill to have, or avoid at all costs." He smiled. "Like I said, intriguing. The fact you've survived all these conflicting interests and…misadventures…is really remarkable. It speaks to your character and strengths more than anything else."

"So that's why we're sitting here?" I demanded. "You think I'm intriguing? "

"We're sitting here because you've involved yourself in cases my office is handling," Pierce said, which was certainly one way of putting it. "But I'm having this extended conversation with you because, as I said, we may find ourselves allied in the future, and I like to know who I want on my team."

It was my turn to smile. "Professionally speaking, you mean."

"Professionally speaking."

Sorting through all the lies, evasions, and vague references, I got the impression he was feeling me out in more ways than one. He used the word ally , but in my experience that was code for "person I want to use until they're no longer useful to me."

I was powerful, and I had powerful friends. No doubt he'd seen the darkness in me and my aura, from the strength of my blood magic to my willingness to take a spirit back to Tartarus because it was what needed to be done. Maybe he knew about some of the shadier situations I'd found myself in recently, like the death of Spencer Addison, or had heard the less-than-savory rumors we knew some members of the Council and the Anderson pack had spread about me. It made a kind of twisted sense that he might think I was closer to "bad guy" than good. And maybe he wasn't wrong.

But all I could see when I looked at him—like, really looked at him, past the designer clothes and perfectly barbered hair and seductive smile and superficial psychopathic charm—was a vision of him roasting on a spit in Tartarus.

The question was, what was the best way to get him skewered on that spit? And what about my client and all the others Pierce had framed?

And what about this triple-damned, mysterious, would-be king?

It occurred to me that once again I found myself talking in circles with someone who thought they were in charge even when they needed or wanted something from me. Maybe it took me a couple times around the block to learn something, but I did learn. Eventually.

"Here's the thing, Greg," I said, and gave him my best smile. "I am still alive despite everything, as you've noticed. And I assure you that what you know of me is such a tiny fraction of the whole truth that it's kind of funny that you think you've got a handle on who I am. You must have an inkling of that, or you wouldn't be here on this bench talking hypotheticals with me. I've been in conversations like this before. And you know what I've learned?"

"What's that?" His gaze had turned dark, and for the first time since I approached him, I felt a tingle of black magic.

"I've learned my own value." I let my smile widen. "If you're looking for allies, I don't come cheap. And I don't play amateur games, get off on power trips, or go looking for cheap thrills."

Judging by the way his eyes narrowed, that one got him right where it hurt. He'd told me he killed people for thrills just to see my reaction. Well, my reaction was that he was trash, and someone like Gregory Pierce was not used to being dismissed as trash.

"I play hard, I play dirty, and I play to win," I went on. "That goes for allies and adversaries alike. Just ask the vamps and the Council and whoever else around town you think might have an educated opinion on the topic."

"Do I hear a proposal coming?" His expression turned calculating. "What would your terms be, I wonder?"

He'd bitten that hook so fast that I would have high-fived myself if it wouldn't have given away the game.

"Great question. I'll let you think on it." I rose. "I have somewhere I need to be, so if that's all?—"

"We're not done." Scowling, he reached for my arm, maybe intending to yank me back. To his credit, he instantly thought better of it, but his expression didn't change. "Nobody walks away from me before I'm done talking."

There was that menacing voice I remembered—the one that had promised to come for my heart. Shifter magic prickled on my neck again. The wolves had heard it too.

"Is that so?" I raised my eyebrows. "Maybe in your courtroom or your office or your circle —" I put emphasis on the word so he knew what kind of circle I meant "—but you're just a guy in a suit to me."

Not really, because even someone who liked playing with fire had to respect the power of a necromancer, but I'd found his sensitive spot and I felt like jabbing it a few more times.

"You've said your piece; I've said mine." I made a show of checking the time on my phone, then stuck it back in my pocket. "We each know where we stand and what the question marks are. Make your next move, and I'll make mine. And now this is me walking away from you, Greg."

And that was what I did. I left him on that bench, and I walked away.