The Darkest Edge of Dawn

Liz is coming, too, and the chief.”

“He doesn’t need a goddamn medic! He needs help! He needs us !”

Bryn sniffed. “What are you saying?”

“Black crafting. Earth magic. Whatever we need to do to save this body and keep it fresh …” The two of them looked at me like I’d finally lost it. “Llyran is collecting their life forces into that damn ring. If we find the sonofabitch, take the ring, and get Aaron’s life force back into his body, then maybe we can save him. Bring him back.” I stilled, realizing just how insane that sounded. “He’d do the same for any one of us.”

Bryn wiped her wet face with her arm and nodded. Her shoulder trembled. Her mouth went tight, trying to stop herself from bursting into tears once more. “I didn’t do this, Charlie.” Her bottom lip trembled, and I could see the horror she faced, not knowing how they came to be here, what part she played. “I couldn’t have. I love him.”

“I know.” I shook my head in regret and sorrow, hugging her. “I know.”

18

“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