Ghosts & Echoes (35 page)

“Shut up,” Sylvie snapped.

“Who are you to tell me what to do? I’m sixteen, nearly—”

“I’m the one who cleans up the messes made by humans fucking around in the
Magicus Mundi
.” Her hand was tense on the gun; Zoe’s ring hand was behind her back. “I wouldn’t try that again. You’ll find I’m immune to most magic.”

Zoe paled. For one moment, Sylvie thought that was it. Either her older-sister glamour was back, or Zoe really hadn’t expected such fierce and informed disapproval and was feeling chastened.

Then Zoe let out a shriek, more air than sound, as angry as a spitting cat, shrill as a siren. “You
knew
! All this! This . . . world, this power, and you knew! And you kept it from me!”

The gulf between them was deeper than she had ever imagined. Zoe’s introduction to the
Magicus Mundi
hadn’t been like Sylvie’s, a long haul of fear and chaos and loss. Zoe’s introduction had been about pleasure and power and profit.

“I hate you,” Zoe spat. “Hate you.”

“That’s too bad, because I’m the one who’s going to get you out of this mess.”

Zoe stamped her foot. “Where’s my money?”

“Who sold you the Hand?”

“Who made it your business?”

“You’re in trouble, Zoe. Real trouble. Your friends are in trouble,” Sylvie said. Exasperation and fear made uncomfortable inroads in her belly. Bella . . . Suarez hadn’t told Zoe. That much was obvious.

“Hardly my friends,” Zoe said.

Sylvie dropped onto the couch and stared at her sister. “You’ve spent every waking hour with them for the past two years.”

“C’mon, Syl, you really think the rich kids play nice with me out of the goodness of their hearts? I bought my way in.” Zoe slouched back into the desk chair, brought her knees up, crossed her wrists over them. She looked ready for a photo shoot, down to the soft pout and the hard eyes. She looked like a stranger.

Sylvie swallowed, her fingers tensing on the arms of her chair. “You weren’t holding those pills for Bella.” She made it a flat statement though her voice quivered with rage. How could Zoe have fallen so far? So unnoticed? “You were refilling them.”

“I make a good go-between,” Zoe said. “Keeps Bella and Jasmyn and their boys from having to talk to the dealers. Keeps their parents in the dark. In return, as long as I can keep up with them, they let me play.” She rubbed the pearl ring thoughtfully.

“ ‘ Keep up with them’?” Sylvie kept her gaze on that ring, on her sister’s words. A large part of her was paying the kind of attention she’d spend on an enemy, waiting for them to strike. But Zoe’s words were more hurtful than any attack; she’d had no idea her sister felt like this. Left out, bitter, alone, valueless.

“With their style? The clothes? The parties? Eating out? It all costs money. God, Syl, people pay you to find out things? You’re slow.” Zoe shifted in her chair, crossed her arms across her chest, dropped her gaze. Sylvie wondered coldly if it was shame that made her refuse to meet Sylvie’s eyes or anger so great it choked her.

“Why? Why bother with them if they’re that shallow?” Sylvie asked. Her throat felt stretched around all the words she wanted to say.

Zoe raised her head, pushed back the dark mane of her hair, streaked salon-tipped nails through it, her eyes old and cynical. “Because they’re the power brokers. Their futures are mapped out, and people go out of their way to help them along the path. All I was trying to do was get a push here and there. Half their parents are benefactors at major schools. Hang out like I’m one of theirs, and who knows the letters they’d write, recommending me. Grades aren’t enough anymore.”

“So you’re prostituting yourself to make them happy?”

“Not since I learned that I can make things happen. All on my own. I don’t need them anymore.” She smiled, and it was such a happy thing that Sylvie almost didn’t say it.

But facts were facts.

“Magic turns on its user,” Sylvie said. “It’s not the answer, Zo.”

“Maybe not for some people. Maybe for them, it’s dangerous. But I’m good at it.” Zoe licked her lips. “It’s like, all my life, I’ve been waiting for a talent. For something that interests me more than school. For something that feels right. This is it.”

“Who told you that?” Sylvie said. “That you’re good. Your what—do you have a mentor? Or are you basing it on the fact that you’re not dead yet? ’Cause it’s early days.”

Zoe jerked as if Sylvie had struck her. “You’re just jealous.” She was losing momentum, though, in the face of Sylvie’s convictions.

“You’re in danger, Zoe. Your friends are in danger.”

“I don’t care about them, remember?” Zoe scowled.

“Bella’s dead.
You’d better care.
”

Zoe went white.

Sylvie found a brief spurt of relief in her sister’s reaction. The girl had some fellow feeling after all. Sylvie, who’d dealt with her share of sociopaths, thought that simple selfcenteredness and alienation were far easier to stomach. Zoe might grow out of both.

“You’re lying,” Zoe whispered. “She’s sick, yeah, but—”

“Truth,” Sylvie said. “If you hadn’t kept your Hand of Glory in milk, you’d be dead, too. Not that I’m not thrilled to pieces you’re not dead, but why did you do that?”

“Bad dreams,” Zoe said, malleable with shock. “When I complained, she said to put it in milk. Said warm milk made for sounder sleep.” Her voice lost its brittle edge, became her sweet little sister again, whom she had read to, babysat, entertained, and taught. It soothed Sylvie’s temper as nothing else had.

“Oh, Odalys,” Sylvie said. “Selling platitudes along with spells.”

Zoe gaped, her poise utterly gone under the twin blows. Bella’s death. Sylvie’s knowledge. Something satisfied purred in Sylvie’s chest. Always so good to have her suspicions confirmed.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out? What I want to know, Zoe, is what she told you. What she said to make you think this was a good idea, dabbling in magic. Did she say you were special, were her friend? She’s not your friend, not your savior from the unfairness of life. She’s your dealer, and she’s pushing death.”

“Not true,” Zoe said. “She warned me. She told me how to be safe.”

“She gave you a defective Hand of Glory with a lich in it. That’s not being safe. Tell me about the Hands. Tell me which of your friends still have them.” Hammering hard, and Sylvie saw her mistake even as she made it. Zoe lowered her head, and when she raised it again, her eyes were hard, her jaw set.

Lilith’s blood. That refusal to bow her head, passed down in the blood, passed down as a latent force hidden as stubbornness. Lilith’s blood in her. And in her sister.

Zoe’s eyes grew wet, but they stayed resolute. It took all of Sylvie’s willpower to not start the interrogation up again. Instead, she sucked in a steadying breath, counted her heartbeats, making them slow down.

She reached out, stroked Zoe’s hair; the girl jerked her head away. “I’m not the person you need to talk to. I don’t like magic. I don’t trust it. And I don’t want you involved in it. But if that’s where your talent lies—”

The door jangled, and Alex came in, coffees already in hand, mouth already going. “Hey, Syl. Got your report. Wales sounds like freaky good fun. I want to go next time. Wright upstairs?” She balked when a few steps in allowed her to assess the mood in the office.

“You found her!”

“Lio did,” Sylvie said. “Alex, I want you to take Zoe to Val’s. Get Val to take her in, keep her safe. From herself and from Odalys.”

Alex groaned. “How the hell am I supposed to do that? She hates us.”

“You sent me there,” Sylvie said. “Didn’t seem to bother you then. Look, I’ve got to put Zoe someplace safe. Hell, I even considered letting Lio keep her, but I’m not sure he can control an angry teen-witch wannabe.”

“I’m not a wannabe,” Zoe said. “I am a witch.”

“So’s Val. You’ll like her. She dresses well,” Sylvie sniped. “And you will be polite to her, or she’ll turn you into a toad.”

“Aw, c’mon, Sylvie, people can’t get turned into things—” Sylvie shook her head, muttered, “You really do not know the world you’re fucking around with, Zoe. Go to Val. Be nice. Learn stuff. Learn to walk away.”

“Am I supposed to say thank you?” Zoe said. She snagged a cup of cold coffee and nuked it.

Sylvie said, “Hey! You’d better be damn grateful. Sending you to Val is going to save your life.”

“Give me back my money, and you’ll see gratitude.”

Sylvie slapped the wall. “Goddammit, Zo. You don’t need money and magic both. Pick one or the other.”

“I need both,” Zoe snapped. “The one gets the other.” Sylvie’s temper moved to high boil. “Oh, don’t tell me. Odalys is making you pay her for the privilege of fucking up your future, for giving you a deadly toy.”

“Whatever,” Zoe muttered, and Sylvie marveled that it was possible to love and hate someone so much at the same time. Zoe took her coffee and headed upstairs, probably to try the safe. Sylvie had no illusions. Zoe would run if she got her hands on the cash.

Her grip tightened on the desk, and she hung her head, chest hurting. Alex rose, leaned over her shoulders, and rested her forehead on Sylvie’s back. “Teenagers suck?” Alex offered. It was thin, brittle, scanty comfort, but Alex’s concern came through loud and clear.

Sylvie laughed. A little ragged, but laughter nonetheless. “Eloquent as always. But I’ll have you know, I was a saint when I was a teen.”

“Of course you were,” Alex said. She sighed. “Anything else you want me to do? Once I’ve dropped off Zoe?”

“Back here and do the computer searches on Odalys.”

Alex eyed her a moment, sighed, pressed keys at random on her computer keyboard, and said, “So. Just dirt in general? Do you even know her last name?”

“Nope,” Sylvie said. “’Swhat I pay you for. I’m especially interested in any connection with the murderous old woman we identified.”

“Tentatively identified,” Alex corrected. “Based on Bella’s dream and a tragedy with a toddler. You know how many kids drown every year?”

“Do you?”

Alex grinned, caught out. “Well, there’ve got to be lots, or there wouldn’t be so many PSAs.”

“Check out smothering victims and old ladies also,” Sylvie said, thinking of the moment when the lich ghost had touched her, shown her a piece of its corrupt spirit. “Zoe’s Hand remembers a dead man in a hospital.”

“I can do that. What are you going to do while I’m playing chauffeur and research assistant? Bang down Odalys’s doors and start demanding answers . . . ? I was kidding, Sylvie.”

Sylvie paused at the front door. “But it sounded so good. Alex—”

“Yeah?”

“Will you get Zoe out of here before she figures out the code to the safe?”

THE GLASSY FRONT OF INVOCAT WAS DARK, FEEDING APPROACHING storm clouds back into the heavy sky. Sylvie squinted, trying to see the sign from her slow-moving truck; a car honked behind her, cut around with a roar of exhaust and aggravation. She found an echo in her own breast. Not only did the store look closed, but there was a lean form sitting on the step, hunched over like an old Cuban porch-sitter, watching the street life go by with a frown and a newspaper. All he needed to blend in was about thirty-five years and a cigar.

She pulled the truck over, cut the engine; Wright raised his head and waved at her.

“She’s closed. Running, you think? But how she knew you were coming—”

“Wales isn’t dead. That might be enough for her,” Sylvie said. “I thought you were staying at the apartment?”

“No,” he said. “You left me there. But I’m not an ornament. I can move. I have feet and hands, and surprisingly, cold hard cash. Did you know Demalion kept an emergency cache in Miami? I got a cab.”

“What, he left you a note?” A weird twinge touched her, a tiny taste of something that might be dread.

Draw the line between the living and the dead, keep it fast,
her little dark voice murmured.

Maybe that was it. Hard enough to bear Demalion’s presence, a constant reminder that she’d failed to save him before, might fail to save him again, but that was a matter of pain, of resurgent grief. Demalion communicating directly with Wright felt . . . dangerous, like Demalion was encroaching, absorbing more of Wright’s life, a single suggestion at a time.

“Dreams, actually. Apparently we can dream each other. I think a little more practice, and we’ll be able to hold conferences inside my head.” Wright looked up at her, blue eyes sharp with a knowledge he hadn’t earned. “He said you like to ditch people who are trying to help you.”

She sank down onto the cement step beside him, stretching her legs out before her and studying the patterns her shoelaces made. With her hip, she bumped the newspaper he had folded beside him, and he shifted it closer to his side. “You’re my client.”

“No,” he said. “You haven’t cashed my check. This is what’s going to happen. My problem isn’t going to be fixed fast or easy. Especially if you’re dealing with this other case. Especially if you want your guy alive. So I’m going to get off my ass and help you with the Hands, with the kids, with Odalys. After that, you’re going to help me. Full focus, nothing else on your plate.”