“Nick, give me the gun.” Again, I spoke calmly. No accusations. Simple instructions. Focusing on what I wanted him to do.
But he ignored me. Tears appeared in his eyes. “Bobby. Now that shouldn’t have happened. I just wanted to know where you were. The will and your name change . . . I couldn’t find you.” He tried to make eye contact with Sylvie, but I stepped to the side, intercepting him and keeping as much of his focus on me as possible. Looking at me now, he said, “Her name was different. On the will, she had his name.”
“Bobby’s name.”
“Yeah.” He looked at me like I’d just admitted to understanding everything. “Exactly. So I found him.”
“But he wouldn’t help you,” I said in a neutral tone. But it was hard, because a few of Bobby’s pieces were falling into place, and it made my head and my heart hurt. He’d died protecting his ex-wife and then he’d stayed, as much of him as had survived, to make sure she was safe.
All of this—Bobby’s death, stalking Sylvie, hurting Lilac, Clarence—for one man’s greed.
“You sorry son of a—” Sylvie stopped abruptly, and I heard Lilac making shushing noises. I hoped Lilac had the sense to physically restrain Sylvie.
I kept my eyes on Nick, on the gun. “Nick, give me the gun.”
And then he did.
He just handed it to me.
I dropped the clip into my hand, pocketed it, cleared the chamber, and then almost passed out.
Thankfully, Hector and Tamara waltzed through the back door, Mrs. G in tow, at exactly that moment.
I couldn’t pass out in front of a woman I had romantic interest in, a guy who had both the coolest toys and the most enviable playhouse, and two women who would never let me forget.
Except maybe I could.
Sylvie appeared from nowhere and wrapped an arm around me. Okay, she propped me up. Either way, I stayed on my feet and didn’t pass out.
30
When I’d finally caught my breath and was sure I wasn’t going to embarrass myself with a quick trip to the ground, I leaned down and whispered a thank you in Sylvie’s ear.
She leaned in, gave me a quick, one-armed squeeze, then let me go. And I felt like a heel. She’d just confronted her burglar and her husband’s murderer, and she was making sure I didn’t hit the pavement with a splat.
I redirected those feelings toward a smug demon and his witchy buddy. “Where have you guys been?”
“It’s been five minutes.” Hector smacked me on the back. “I knew you were good for five minutes.”
Tamara shot Hector an exasperated look. “And Mrs. G said there was no way Nick would shoot. He’s terrified of being haunted. Thinks if the constructs kill for him, the ghosts can’t find him.”
He might be right if Bobby was any indication, but I still thought that was death fugue. “Bobby?” I called out. But there was no response. Where was he? “Has anyone seen Bobby? Uh, heard him, felt him, anything?”
But no one had.
While I’d been, ah, getting my bearings again, Mrs. G had gone to sit next to her nephew. No one had put him in cuffs—although I didn’t suppose we had any—but he didn’t look like he was going anywhere. He didn’t look quite awake. I peered closer. He didn’t look quite alive.
Tamara approached me. “He’s gone.” Seeing my confusion, she said, “There were two constructs in the alley. One attempted to enter through the rear door.” She shrugged. “The other kept us busy without getting too close. That’s what took us so long. The creature avoided a direct confrontation.”
Her words made it clear who’d come out on top every time in that confrontation. She and Hector were maybe a little scary as a pair.
“So you were distracted by one construct, while the other tried and failed to get in, because of Hector’s key,” I said. “I figured the key out at some point.”
Tamara rolled her eyes. “I told him to tell you, but he didn’t want you relying on it. He wasn’t sure it would be as effective, since she leased the space, but he’s overly conservative with his precious cursed objects.”
Three constructs. That was a lot of magic. A lot. “Wait. Was he controlling the two in the back directly?”
Tamara pinched her lips together. “Creativity is one thing; twisting magic to be used in ways it’s not intended is simply foolish. And dangerous.”
So, yes. I looked at the blank expression on Nick’s face. “Are you telling me he’s blown a fuse?”
“Magically speaking, yes. I don’t think there’s any recovering from that.”
A knot of dread landed in my stomach. “Clarence.”
Tamara frowned. “He wasn’t in either of their cars.” She looked at Mrs. G. She was huddled next to Nick on the sofa, the same one that had propped up the construct for his blessed-water dousing and had eventually been covered with that creature’s ashes. They must have moved him while I’d been speaking with Tamara.
“He’s at the house.” Mrs. G said in a tired, small voice. She blinked red-rimmed, dark-circled eyes at us. “The key’s under the yellow flower pot.” Then she turned to Nick and tucked his head against her bosom like one might do with a small child.
I felt for her. She’d been caught between the love she felt for her nephew and what she, as a good and decent person, knew was right. She’d have to live with her choices.
But those thoughts were secondary as we piled into the car to rescue Clarence. Hector, bless his efficient soul, was handling the remaining necessities with Nick and Mrs. G.
It was only as we raced back home that I realized not one of us had thought
