“They never could have understood.”
“But you do, Trick.” Her eyes blazed. “You have to kill Prout. He betrayed you. Let him die here. Let everyone see how black his heart really is.”
Argent arcane fire poured over me. Every moment of pain I’d felt exploded within. I’d made a good life. I’d had friends. I’d been respected, and Prout conspired with my mother and with criminals to smear me and destroy me. Leah’s magic wrapped me up and bled down into the blade, tracing silver lightning bolts over the metal.
One second. A heartbeat. A quick stroke and Prout’s blood would splash hot over me. I could revel in it. Victory, finally.
Then it was over.
I dropped the knife.
She stared at me. “How?”
“I’ve been where you’ve been, darlin’. As low as can be.” I let blue energy gather in my palm. “No vanity. No illusion. I know exactly what I am.”
The azure bolt caught her in the chest and smashed her back against the wall. Plasterboard cracked. She left a bloody smear as she sank to the floor.
In turn I used magic to put Prout’s family out and to let them forget. They’d have nightmares, but there was no reason to make them worse.
And it was going to get worse.
I’d been worried that Martha could have turned a jury with her
I had to deal with it.
I picked up the knife. I wrapped Prout’s hand around it.
We went to work.
Cate found me on the hill overlooking Anderson’s graveside service. Huge crowd, including Prout. He dressed properly. The only white on him was his shirt and bandages on his face. He stood beside my mother, steadying her, being stoic and heroic.
That was his right, after all, since he’d put an end to the Society Murderess.
“How can you watch this, Trick?”
“Only way I can make sure he’s dead.” I half-smiled. “Think my mother will throw herself on the casket?”
“Not her. Prout. Preening.”
“Why shouldn’t he? He’s a hero. He killed a sociopath.” I nodded toward him. “She put up a hell of a fight before he stabbed her through the heart. I heard his jaw was broken in two places.”
“Three. Cracked orbit, busted nose.”
“Whoda thunk she could hit that hard?”
“Never met her.” Cate shook her head. “How’s your hand?”
“Scrapes and bruises. I’ll be more careful walking to the bathroom in the dark.”
“You know, there were some anomalous fingerprints on the knife.”
“Ever match ’em?”
“No. Was I wrong about you, Trick?”
“I don’t think so, Cate.” I met her stare openly. “They need their heroes. They need someone to fend off the things lurking beyond the firelight. Prout battled to save his family. Its best he never knows how much danger he was in. How much danger they were all in. All their fear and they couldn’t even imagine.”
“I don’t think they really want to.”
“You’re probably right.”
Down below, Martha Raines closed the prayer book and made a final comment. I didn’t hear it. I didn’t need to.
They did, and they looked peaceful.
Grave-Robbed by P. N. Elrod
When the girl draped in black stepped in to ask if could help her with a seance, Hal Kemp’s version of “Gloomy Sunday” began to murmur sadly from the office radio.
Coincidences annoy me. A mournful song for a dead sweetheart put together with a ceremony that’s supposed to help the dead speak with the living made me uneasy-and I was annoyed it made me uneasy.
I should know better, being dead myself.
“You sure you’re in the right place?” I asked, taking in her outfit. Black overcoat, pocketbook, gloves, heels, and stockings-she was a walking funeral. Along with the mourning weeds she wore a brimmed hat with a chin-brushing veil even I couldn’t see past.
“
“I’m Mr. Fleming. I fill in for Mr. Escott when he’s elsewhere.” He was visiting his girlfriend tonight. I’d come over to his office to work on his books since I was better at accounting.
“It was Mr. Escott who was recommended to me.”
“By who?”
“A friend.”
I waited, but she left it at that. Much of Escott’s business as a private agent came by word of mouth. Call him a private eye and you’d get a pained look and perhaps an acerbic declaration that he did not undertake divorce cases. His specialty as an agent was carrying out unpleasant errands for the unable or unwilling, not peeking through keyholes, but did a seance qualify? He was interested in that kind of thing, but mostly from a skeptic’s point of view. I had to say
And nice to meet you, too.
Hal Kemp played on in the little office until the girl stood, went to the radio, and shut it off.
“I hate that song,” she stated, turning around, the veil swirling lightly. Faceless women annoy me as well, but she had good legs.
“Me, too. You got any particular reason?”
“My sister plays it all the time. It gets on my nerves.”
“Does it have to do with this seance?”
“Can’t you call Mr. Escott?”
“I could, but you didn’t make an appointment for this late or he’d be here.”
“My appointment is for tomorrow, but something’s happened since I made it, and I need to speak with him tonight. I came by just in case he worked late. The light was on and a car was out front… ”
I checked his appointment book. In his precise hand he’d written
She did so, correct for both.
“What’s the big emergency?” I asked. “If this is something I can’t handle I’ll let him know, but otherwise you’ll find I’m ready, able, and willing.”
“I don’t mean to offend, but you look rather young for such work. Over the phone I thought Mr. Escott to be… more mature.”
Escott and I were the same age but I did look younger by over a decade. On the other hand, if she thought a man in his mid-thirties was old, then she’d be something of a kid herself. Her light voice told me as much, though you couldn’t tell by her mannerisms and speech, which bore a finishing school’s not so subtle polish.
“Miss Saeger, would you mind raising your blinds? I like to see who’s hiring before I take a job.”
