the Darkest Edge Of Dawn (2010) (30 page)

"Can't we spell his body so it won't deteriorate?" I asked.

"That's death magic, black crafting," Bryn answered. "You're going against the laws of nature, not working with them."

Okay, so my sister's knowledge was out. I folded my arms across my chest and leaned back against the kitchen counter and watched the activity over Hank's shoulder. The medics were putting Aaron's body into a cold bag to slow the death process. The chief stood over them, issuing orders, and occasionally shaking his head.

"I can reanimate a corpse," Liz said, "but I don't have the knowledge to get the soul back inside, or spell a body to keep it in stasis. I think we need a Master black crafter for that." She glanced around the room. "You guys must know someone, right?"

Since black crafting was technically illegal, most practitioners performed in secret. There was only one Master Crafter I knew, and from the uncomfortable way Hank and Bryn were looking at me, they knew just who I was thinking about.

The woman I commonly referred to as The Bitch.

The chief barreled through the sliding glass doors, pushing them wide so the paramedics could remove Aaron's body. Silently we watched them roll him out. For a long moment, no one spoke as the chief sidled up to the counter on the other side of Liz, sighing heavily and sitting on one of the stools.

"She won't help us," I said. Not since I fractured her jaw with a fury-packed right hook.

"Who won't help?" the chief asked.

Bryn gave him a knowing look. "The O.W."

That was the thing about being beaten to death by a ghoul hired by the Master Crafter who had slept with my husband and ruined my marriage--everyone ended up knowing all of the sordid details.

A frown pulled the chief's eyebrows together. "What the hell is an O.W.?"

"The
other
woman," Bryn said quietly.

I ignored the slack jaw on the chief's blustery face. "She's not going to help. She tried to have me killed, remember? You think she's going to suddenly forget that I punched her in the face for sleeping with Will and just let bygones be bygones?"

The last thing I wanted to do was revisit Will's addiction to black crafting and the woman who had taught him, spent time with him, and ultimately rose to his challenge one night when he boasted he'd become too skilled to be coerced by anyone. She'd had him in bed and breaking his marriage oath with the snap of her fingers. And the night she ordered my execution was the night Mynogan and Titus saved my life and altered my DNA. All because of lies and deception. Years' and years' worth. It was a wound that I didn't think would ever heal--that sting of betrayal from someone who claims to love you ...

"What about Rex?" Hank suggested. I met his gaze before he glanced away, but I saw in that brief look that he'd seen my hurt and was redirecting me back to the task at hand. "Will was a crafter. He'd gotten pretty good if he went up against the Bitch herself. Maybe Rex can access his knowledge ..."

I shook my head. "No. Revenants only have access to the short term memory, and when that fades, that's it."

"So we're going to need a Master Crafter
and
a necromancer," Bryn said. "One to keep Aaron's physical body in stasis and one to reanimate him when the time comes. The soul, though, must go back by itself. We can't force it. But once it's back, Aaron's natural healing process should kick in and repair any damage."

"Can we bring someone over from Charbydon?" I asked the chief.

"Lots of red tape and travel time, Charlie."

"Okay," I muttered, releasing the counter. "I guess it's her, then." She'd surely make us pay for the favor. "And I'll go. She needs to know up front I'm involved. I don't want her finding out when she gets to the station and then backing out."

"With the cold bag, you have approximately three hours to get her to the morgue to spell his body before it begins to suffer damage. Too much damage, and I'm afraid no amount of healing will save him," Liz said. "I'll monitor the bag, and his temperature. Our biggest concern is the brain tissue." She turned to the chief. "Give me a ride back?"

"Sure. And Madigan?" he said, standing. "Don't piss her off. She might be our only hope of saving Aaron's life."

Yeah. That and finding Llyran and getting the life forces back, if they hadn't been used already. If we found that ring in time, we might actually be able to bring Aaron back from the dead.

"That leaves one big obstacle," Hank said. "We need to find our killer."

"What about me?" Bryn asked in a small voice.

"What about you?" I said.

"I was at the warehouse. I was here when he died. I'm being used, and I don't remember any of it. Maybe there's a way to tap into what I'm forgetting to find Llyran? I ... I need to make this right," she said with a glassy, pained look. "Aaron's dead because of me. I need to make this right."

"Hypnosis might work," Liz offered. "Doctor Berk is highly experienced. Bryn can come to the station with me and the chief. You guys go get your Master Crafter, and we'll meet at the station."

Are you sure?
I asked Bryn with my gaze. She nodded, her chest rising and her conviction firm. "Okay. Hank, you're with me. Bryn's with the chief and Liz. Hopefully we'll meet you back at the station with ... What's-her-face."

Nuallan Gow.

No one in the ITF would've known she was our resident Master Crafter if not for Will sitting down with me the morning after and telling me everything. He'd been completely stunned by the ease with which she'd coerced him, by the fact that he'd done something with her that he'd never thought he'd do. But he'd been solely responsible for lying, living a secret life, and making that damn bet to begin with. He never should've done it in the first place. And once he'd come clean, starting the twelve-step addiction program for black crafters and pretty much straightening up his entire life, I'd actually considered a reconciliation. And then he'd turned around and made a deal with a Revenant. He hadn't learned a thing.

Bringing up the past like this did nothing for my mood, and by the time Hank drove his car down Gow's street, I was ready to blow a gasket.

"You sure she lives here?" Hank's words brought me out of my thoughts as he parked against the curb and shut off the engine.

We looked out the window at the two-story home with landscaped yard, porch straight out of
Southern Home Magazine,
white Christmas lights, and a welcome wreath on the front door.

Buckhead was the playground for Atlanta's elite. Extreme white collar all the way and not a place anyone would ever think a black crafter, much less a Master, would call home. But everyone had their secrets. Even in the swanky neighborhood of Buckhead.

"Yeah. She lives here with her two-point-five kids, Labrador retriever, and devoted husband."
While she had completely destroyed my life.
She'd
earned
her title.

"Let me do the talking." Hank got out of the car.

I followed him up the steps and waited as he rang the doorbell. A jingle proceeded the open door, and we were greeted with the Labrador--which had just been a guess on my part--and a slim, highly seductive-looking woman in a white cocktail dress and upswept brown hair streaked with gold tones.

The Bitch herself. Nuallan Gow.

Hurt and anger mushroomed in my gut like a cold burst of wind. My fist curled into a tight ball. She took one look at me and slammed the door.

I leaned forward and rang the bell again, holding it down. When that didn't work, I started making a little tune with the doorbell. "Jingle Bells." It was the holiday season, after all. I could do this all fucking night. And I was certain she didn't want her husband coming to investigate.

No matter how hard we tried, Hank and I had been unable to pin the ghoul attack on her. Her followers were completely devoted, and the creature who carried out her orders to kill me had taken the fall completely and willingly.

There was a huge scandal when I'd accused her of being a black crafter, but she and her husband had the luxury of money and attorneys on their side, and no one believed an upstanding citizen like herself would ever do something so terrible. The ITF was
clearly
grasping at straws.

The click of her heels made me release the doorbell and stand back once more, linking my hands behind me, so I wouldn't be tempted to punch her in the face when she answered.

The door opened and she stepped out onto the wide front porch, closing it quietly behind her. "I am having a dinner party, Detectives."

I rolled my eyes as her perfume reached my nose, perfume that hid the stench of black crafting's telltale scent of wet ashes. She had no aura whatsoever, which was no surprise. She kept a tight lock on her extracurricular activities and hid any and all signs of what she truly was.

Her dark, bewitching gaze fell on me, her lush red lips thinning as they dipped down. Her beauty, I liked to imagine, was a glamour spell, and in real life, when all the crafting was stripped away, she was a haggard old witch.

"We're in need of your skills, Ms. Gow," Hank said. "We're hoping to save a life, a very good one."

My hands twitched, but I kept them firmly locked. The struggle inside of me was so great that sweat broke out on the small of my back and my heart was pounding from the hurt of old memories, and the injustice that came with it. She never gave a damn about breaking up my family, changing the entire future for me and my kid, or the pain my child had gone through during the divorce. None of that mattered to her. She'd had her fun and then moved on, leaving me and my family to pick up the pieces. I wanted to stab her in the face, but since I couldn't do that, I sent a silent plea to the Powers That Be that karma would come back a thousand-fold and bite Nuallan Gow in the ass.

"Charlie?" Hank asked, leaning close.

"Huh?"

Nuallan smirked, eyes traveling from my head to my toes and back again with an unimpressed expression. "Having trouble focusing, Detective? Thinking about the past, are we?"

I gaped and then snapped my lips closed and did a one-eighty, giving her my back and looking up at the hard face of my partner as he stepped in front of me. "I'm going to kill her now," I whispered. "Please let me kill her."

Hank grabbed my shoulders and turned me back around, saying over my shoulder, "You're the only one with the knowledge to save this man's body until we can return his soul to him. But we need to do it now."

"Why should I help you?"

I cut off Hank's reply. "Because you destroyed my marriage and broke my kid's heart, you--"
Stupid, dumbass skank.
My heart hammered, pushing the blood around my body so fast it made me dizzy. I was trying really hard to stand there in front of her, but it wasn't working. I couldn't get ahold of my emotions.

"No, Detective, your husband did that."

"And so did you!" I was going to hit her. I committed to it, took a step forward, but Hank wrapped his hand around my arm and pulled me back. "You played a part, and you hold some responsibility, too," I practically growled. "And one day someone is going to rip your heart out and hurt the ones you love."

She pursed her lips. "Perhaps. But not today."

"Excuse us for one second," Hank said, escorting me down the steps and to the curb.

"Let me go," I said through gritted teeth once we were on the sidewalk.

He released his grip, and I yanked my arm away, spinning back to the brightly lit mansion. But I didn't move forward. I swallowed the huge lump of grief in my throat and blinked away angry tears.

"Charlie." Hank's hand landed on my shoulder, his fingers touching the mark beneath my shirt. Instantly dizziness clouded my vision as a warm wave of lust traveled through my body. His hand jerked back. And I knew he hadn't meant to touch me there. "I'm sorry," he said, pausing for a long moment as though he wanted to say more, but didn't. Instead he said, "Stay here. I'll go talk to her."

I paced by the car as Hank and Nuallan's conversation mixed with the sounds of the dinner party inside. Buckhead was a beautiful neighborhood, but all I could see as I looked at the manicured lawns and precisely trimmed hedges and trees was the future. A future where everything green had turned to dust and the darkness continued to roll overhead.

Finally Hank came down the steps, making long strides toward the car.

"What happened?"

"She's coming. She just has to make excuses to her guests and get some things."

"How the hell did you manage that?"

His nostrils flared slightly, and he couldn't seem to make eye contact with me. The muscle in his jaw twitched. "I gave her my ring."

"You
what
?"

I'd never seen Hank without his ring. Ever. Middle finger, left hand. A flat band carved of one entire, flawless piece of Idiron, a rare Elysian gemstone that reminded me of the deepest, darkest red amber. He'd showed it to me one time. I'd always thought it was a plain band, but the inside, where it rested against his skin, had been carved with small detailed script that signified its wearer and the wearer's family. It had been in his family for thousands of years, he'd said.

"It's just a ring, Charlie," he said, shrugging it off.

"What's she going to do with it? Pawn it to pay the electric bill?"

Hank didn't answer. He was already ducking into the car.

Nuallan came out of the house with a large bag, her heels clicking down the steps and over the stone walk, breezing by me as if I were invisible, and got into the front seat. My seat.

Whatever.

The ride to the station was completely silent, allowing my thoughts to drift into those old hurtful memories, regrets, and ill wishes. After this was all over, and Aaron was back--because I had to think that way--I was going to step up my training. Having these powers inside of me was a total waste if I couldn't use them at will like the off-worlders. And plus, being able to wield them meant being able to make people like Nuallan Gow pay on a level she could clearly understand and appreciate.

A glance at the console clock as we pulled into the station lot showed we had exactly one hour and forty minutes for Nuallan to perform whatever ritual needed to halt Aaron's body from decomposing to the point of no return.