Chapter 48

Chapter

Forty-Eight

Gracie Hensley had a hell of a hug.

She barely let me get past the threshold of their hotel suite before she threw her arms around me and squeezed so tightly that I swore my ribs creaked.

Pain nearly took my breath away.

A full fourteen hours after my battle with Gregory Pierce, I hurt all over, and no healing spell and no amount of ibuprofen made any difference. Almost as bad as the pain were the waves of extreme heat and cold that swept through me in turns without warning. I had no appetite and could barely drink water. Even the thought of coffee turned my stomach.

I'd been on the receiving end of a necromancer's black magic and the aftereffects might last for days, or weeks. Or longer. Katy was making me potions to soak in, but they weren't ready yet. Sheer determination alone kept me upright and putting one foot in front of the other.

I'd only left my bed because I wanted to meet the Hensleys in person to wrap up my case. I also wanted to see how they were doing. Not well, judging by how grim and pale they both looked .

"Alice," Malcolm muttered. Only Matthias and I could hear him, but he spoke in an undertone anyway. He'd been subdued all day because I was suffering and he couldn't do anything to help. "Get in there and sit down before you fall down."

Beside me, Matthias rumbled. He probably wanted to put an end to Gracie's enthusiastic and extended hug—forcibly, if necessary.

I gritted my teeth, rubbed Gracie's back, and extricated myself as quickly as I could without seeming unkind. "Hey, Gracie."

The room wasn't cold, but she wore a long-sleeve turtleneck, presumably to hide the healing bruises and cuts on her neck. I doubted that prevented Oliver from thinking about them, but she was doing her best. I supposed we all were today.

I looked past her at Oliver, who was sitting at a table by the sliding glass door that led to the suite's balcony. "Hi, Oliver."

"Hi, Alice." He managed only a brief smile. He'd noticeably lost weight in the few days since I'd seen him last. He no longer wore his ankle monitor, but that didn't seem to offer him much solace.

Gracie turned to Matthias, who'd accompanied me to the meeting. "Can I hug you too?" she asked, a bit timidly.

In answer, he opened his arms. She gave him a quick hug.

In the meantime, Philippa Grayson stood next to Oliver with one hand on the back of his chair as she studied Matthias and me. Her poker face gave little away, but I saw some sympathy in her gaze. She probably thought I looked like hell because of the wreck. I planned to let her think so, at least for now. They'd hear the truth soon enough, and more to the point, this meeting wasn't about me.

"I must say, Alice, I didn't expect this case to go in this particular direction," Philippa said. "I really can't decide if this change of jurisdiction is pure brilliance on your part, or the biggest mess I've ever found myself in, legally speaking."

I started to shrug, then thought better of it because I ached so much. "We can go with both, if that helps."

Philippa chuckled. Actually chuckled . I got the impression that didn't happen very often. She eyed my companion, her expression more curious than apprehensive. "And who is this?"

"Matthias Albrecht," I said. "Beta of our pack. My driver, for the time being."

"He helped us the other night," Gracie added. "He was very kind."

"Nice to meet you, Matthias." Philippa gestured at the table. "Shall we sit?"

Moving slowly, I made it to the chair opposite Oliver's and sat, all without Matthias's help. I'd hear about it in the car on the way home, in addition to agreeing to meet rather than staying in bed, but I still had some pride left—though it was mostly in tatters after being carried everywhere lately and so much fussing. Matthias scooted in my chair and leaned against the wall behind me.

"So," Philippa said, folding her hands on the table. "Where should we begin?"

"I have a lot to tell you all," I said, and wasn't that a hell of an understatement. "But if you'll bear with me a moment, I have something I need to do first." I reached across the table toward Oliver and held out my hand palm up. "Please."

Clearly surprised, he took my hand. I held on gently but firmly, the way Sean always did when I needed to hear something important, and because I wanted him to feel how much I meant what I was about to say.

"I need you to listen to me." I met his gaze, but with kindness and not aggression. "You did nothing to deserve what's happened to you and Gracie. Nothing at all. You are not at fault for any of it. I understand if you can't believe me right now, or maybe your head knows but your heart hasn't gotten the message yet."

I'd guessed right; Oliver did blame himself. He wore his guilt in his expression as plainly as the shadows under his eyes.

I had never felt more like Carly in my life than I did in this moment. The only things missing were scones and a pot of tea.

"I don't know exactly how you're feeling right now," I continued. " But I do know anyone can easily end up thinking they're complicit in their own victimization, even when they know who the real culprit is. They can internalize the blame because deep down I think a lot of us feel that bad things only happen to bad people, and because the bad guy seems so distant and big and almost unreal. There are a lot of factors, but they all lead to the same place: guilt you don't deserve to carry."

"It all feels like stones on my shoulders." He swallowed hard. His hand in mine turned cool and clammy. "Not just because I don't know why he picked me. I want to know why I lived and so many others didn't."

Survivor's guilt was another terrible burden I understood all too well.

"I don't have those answers yet, and honestly, I don't know if we'll ever get them. Even if we do, though, it won't magically make it all go away." I took a deep breath because every word I said applied to me as much as Oliver, and I'd had versions of this conversation with Carly more than once. "We can't control what happens to us, and I think that one shitty fact is at the root of most of self-blame."

"How so?" Gracie asked.

"Most people don't want to believe they aren't in control of their lives." I explained. "We'd almost rather think we're to blame when bad things happen than accept that. Everything I just said, I know from experience. I don't normally tell anyone that, but I want you to know I have some idea of how you feel right now because I've been there."

Malcolm put his hand on my shoulder. I felt his love—and his worry—through our binding.

No one said anything for several beats. Gracie took Oliver's other hand and laced their fingers together, tears shining in her eyes. Even Philippa sniffed, though it might have been allergies that caused it.

When Oliver finally spoke, his voice was wry. "That's a lot to process on an empty stomach," he said, with a faint smile .

Humor was a necessary defense mechanism. Sometimes we needed it to survive.

"I know," I said, giving him a little smile of my own. "Does any of this sound like what you're thinking and feeling?"

"Every damn word. Every. Damn. Word." He took a deep breath and let it out for the first time since we'd arrived. A little of the hunch left his shoulders. "Gracie's been trying to get me to talk it out with her, but I didn't know how to describe how I feel until now."

"That's a common roadblock," I assured him. "I have that problem myself. But if I've learned anything about dealing with the bullshit in my head, it's that it's all like a traffic jam. If you leave those cars there, that highway will stay messed up. You need to get in and start moving those cars, but not all at once—one by one. Does that make sense?"

He nodded slowly. "What do I do?"

"You do what Gracie suggested: you talk. Or if you can't talk about it yet, you can do other things to help get you to where you can talk." With my free hand, I dug into my shoulder bag and took out two business cards and a stack of photos face down. I slid the cards across the table. "Here's a counselor for when you're ready to talk, and here's the number for a trauma therapist who specializes in non-speaking methods. Both are important."

Gracie and Oliver studied the cards for a long time, as if the answers were inscribed on the paper.

"Have you done this?" Oliver asked, his expression guarded.

I translated that question as: Will this help me?

"Yes," I said. "Not with these specific people, but with my own therapist. And it has changed my life for the better. They're both expecting your call, and they're each holding bookings for you both this week. You and Gracie can heal together. I do that too—healing together. It's a little easier to take that journey when you're not taking it alone."

His mouth turned down. "I don't know what to say to a counselor, though. "

"That's okay, because they'll know what to ask, and there's nothing you can say that's wrong."

Gracie squeezed his hand and smiled at him with so much love that I could almost feel it. "We'll talk to each other, Alice, I promise. And we'll make the calls."

"I'm so happy to hear that." And I was, though my aches made it difficult to show it. "As for the bad guy being some kind of mysterious, bigger-than-life monster…" I slid the stack of photos across the table. "This is Gregory Pierce. He used magic to assault you and many others. He tried to kill me. He murdered Madison Fernell and five other people. He's not some shadow or ghost or demon. He's a human being. He's flesh and blood. And he's going to pay for his crimes."

One by one, Oliver and Gracie turned the photos over and studied them. I'd put together a little collection showing Pierce in college and practicing as an attorney, as the D.A., at formal functions, and posing in posts from social media.

The last two photos in the stack were of Pierce in custody: one in the cage, and one in his cell at Northbourne, where he wore a jumpsuit and spell cuffs on his right wrist and left ankle. In the latter photo, he was staring at the camera, unsmiling. I was just petty enough to enjoy that his once-perfectly styled hair was sticking out in all directions and he needed a shave. And his stubble wasn't even the sexy kind.

"This is the bad guy," I said, gesturing at the photo. "Not you."

Oliver let go of both Gracie's hand and mine so he could hold that photo of Pierce in prison with both hands. He looked at it for a long time.

Little by little, his expression morphed from despondent and almost hollow to rage. Gracie's tears became anger too. I was glad to see their reaction, because anger directed at Pierce might help them let go of their own misplaced guilt.

I knew because that was happening to me when it came to Moses. The more I saw him as a person and not some far-away, vaguely monstrous boogeyman, the less I blamed myself for everything that had happened to me in Baltimore, and the closer I came to forgiving myself for things that had never been my fault to begin with.

A wave of cold washed through me, followed by painful tingling in my hands and feet. With their focus on the photo, Oliver and Gracie didn't see me flinch or move restlessly in my chair, or bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound.

Malcolm did, though. And so did Matthias. Their unhappiness was palpable.

Carly had warned me none of us would come away from our encounters with Pierce unscathed. As usual, she had been absolutely right. How deeply affected we were and how long those effects would last remained to be seen.

Oliver crumpled the photo and dropped it on the table. "Fucking asshole," he said, visibly trembling in anger. "Why did he do it?"

I took a few deep breaths until I could talk without sounding shaky. "I'm going to tell you everything I know," I said, because hearing the truth would be so important to their healing process. "More will probably come out at Pierce's trial. You're going to get some answers, but you need to know not all of them will make sense. It sucks, but we can't make sense of senseless things."

When Sean had told me that on the night we'd fought the úlfhéenar , I didn't think I'd end up quoting him so many times, but it might have been one of the truest things he'd ever said.

Gracie touched my hand. "Thank you, Alice. You saved our lives. I can't imagine what you've been through to solve this case, but I do know we owe you everything. Everything ."

"Speaking of which," Philippa said, with a surprisingly kind smile, "do you have an invoice for us?"

"So practical," Gracie said, also smiling. Even Oliver smiled a bit. The mood in the room had changed drastically for the better, and I was glad for it .

"Lawyers are always practical, at least in my experience." I dug my invoice out of my bag and slid it over. "This settles us up."

"Won't there be more to do?" Oliver asked, frowning. "You said on the phone last night that you'll be collecting evidence for trial and appearing as a witness."

"I—" I swallowed hard when another wave of cold hit. "Anything else I do will be at the Court's behest," I managed to say. "Compensation will come out of their pocket, not yours."

"But the rates we talked about don't seem like enough," Oliver argued. "You saved our lives ."

I'd gotten into mage private investigator work to do exactly that: to save lives. To help people who had nowhere else to turn. Tough to put a dollar amount on that, though I had to quantify my services at an hourly rate for invoicing purposes. Not to mention when it came to paying taxes, the feds probably wouldn't react well to seeing "I did it all for the good of humanity" written on my forms.

"Call the therapists and we'll call it even," I said. "Really. That's all I need from either of you."

"I promise." Gracie looked at Oliver. "Are you ready for her to tell us everything about how she tracked Pierce down and what happens next, babe?"

"Yes." He still looked rough, but he was sitting up straight now and making eye contact, and that was a huge improvement from when I'd arrived. "Will I have a Vampire Court trial?"

I shook my head. "You're a victim and a witness, not a defendant. Pierce will be on trial. The district attorney's office has already dismissed the charges against you due to the change of jurisdiction. The Court hasn't filed anything against you and won't."

"I'm still guilty in the public eye, though," he said, and how much that hurt him showed in his expression and the way his shoulders hunched again. "We can't go home right now, Philippa says. Vandals broke into the house last night. We're not safe there. And my company has asked me to take a leave of absence. Unpaid, of course. "

Damn it, I hated this for them. I wanted to yell from the rooftops that both he and the others were blameless and Pierce alone was the perpetrator. But the legal process had to run its course, and Philippa would guide them through the steps of rebuilding their public image, maybe through interviews with journalists. It would take time, but I had to believe they could regain what they'd lost.

"I know, and I'm so sorry," I said. "But by the time Pierce's trial is over and all the facts are out there, there won't be any question who's to blame for these murders."

Oliver's eyes shimmered. He blinked rapidly. "Thank you, Alice. You don't know what this means to me, to us."

"I'm a mage P.I.," I said, managing a smile despite how much I ached. "It's what I do."

Thank all the stars in the cosmos, by the time Matthias, Malcolm, and I returned home from meeting with Philippa and the Hensleys, Katy had been by the house to drop off a basket of potions.

The first thing I did when I got upstairs was pour one bottle into a bath full of hot water, throw my clothes at the hamper, and climb into the tub, sinking down until everything was underwater except my nose and mouth. The potion smelled warm and safe, like Carly's house. White witch magic—the purest power I knew.

I stayed submerged for a long, long time.

I didn't fall asleep, but I dozed, occasionally murmuring the incantation Katy had written on a scrap of cinnamon-scented paper. Each time I did, the water swirled around me and the scent of the oils and herbs floating on the surface filled my nose and lungs.

For as long as I remained in the water, no waves of hot or cold went through me, and I felt no painful tingling. Heavenly.

I drifted in the quiet. From time to time, tears of relief leaked out from under my lids .

He did it silently, and thanks to the magic and the warmth I wasn't quite fully aware of my surroundings, but I still sensed when Sean snuck into the bathroom. Something in my body changed when he was nearby, even before I caught his forest scent blended with Katy's potion. I felt safe and at home when he was near. I was truly, deeply, loved .

The moment he came into the room, the last of the tension in my shoulders evaporated.

Eventually, the magic in the potion began to wane and the water cooled. When I exhaled and started to sit up, I was stunned that it didn't hurt to do so. Well, at least it hurt way less than I'd expected.

Then Sean was there, helping me to sit up with one hand on my back. He gently poured a cup of clean water over my face and handed me a towel. Pleasant-smelling or not, witchy potions could really sting eyeballs.

"I love you," he said as I wiped my face.

I opened my eyes to find him kneeling next to the tub, his shirt wet in the front from where I'd apparently splashed him while sitting up.

He smiled at me, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in the way that had drawn me to him from the moment we'd met. "You look better," he said. "You don't smell like pain now. More like…" He sniffed. "Marjoram?"

I swirled the bathwater with my hand and watched the herbs and oils spin on the surface. "Looks like a spice cabinet in here, so probably."

He surprised me by unfolding a huge, fluffy bath towel almost the size of a bedsheet. "I got you a present."

"Wow. Thank you." I rubbed the towel between my fingers. "Ooh, so soft."

He winked. "Wait until you're in it."

Moments later, he had me wrapped up like a burrito and sitting sideways on his lap on the bathroom floor, tucked under his chin with my head against his chest. Katy's instructions said not to rinse off for at least thirty minutes after getting out of the tub, so I'd have to wait to shampoo the stuff out of my hair. At least I smelled nice.

"This towel is the best thing ever," I murmured. "We're going to have to chain it to the floor so Esme doesn't steal it."

"Forget Esme— I may steal it." He kissed my hair. "Or at least ask you to let me borrow it sometimes."

I smiled. "Big ol' alpha werewolf in a fluffy bath towel. Better not let Malcolm see you in it or you'll never hear the end of it."

"I don't plan for anyone to see me in it but you." Gently, he rubbed my back. "Better?"

"Better." I yawned. "I'm so tired. I don't even care if I go to sleep with wet hair that smells like marjoram."

"Daisy is already on the bed, ready to sleep next to you." He rested his chin on top of my head again. "I'll stay too for as long as I can, but I have work I need to do. Ben is coming over later to talk with Matthias and me, and then they're going to run together at the pack land."

Ben and Matthias, hunting and running together as wolves. As pack mates. As Sean's beta and third. I never thought I'd see the day.

As if he could hear my thoughts, Sean shook with silent laughter.

"Do not say I told you so," I warned.

He cleared his throat. "Wouldn't dream of it," he said, and I heard the smile in his voice.

I wanted to watch Ben and Matthias running together, but that would have to wait until another time. Judging by the heaviness in my limbs and eyelids, I'd probably sleep straight through until tomorrow. I needed to heal. Maybe Katy's potion would grant me a long, pain-free sleep, and I'd wake up tomorrow rested and ready to drink coffee and chow down on one of Matthias's breakfast casseroles.

"Coffee and casserole," I murmured as Sean rose with me in his arms.

"Are you putting in a breakfast order for tomorrow?" He chuckled. " I've been cast aside. You used to demand my breakfast burritos."

"We could do both, if you don't mind." I yawned again. "I think I'm going to wake up hungry."

"I don't mind at all." He kissed the tip of my nose. "Miss Magic, the words ‘I'm going to wake up hungry' are music to my ears."