“I would like that too, Laszlo.”
The demon lifted me off his lap. My knees wobbled when my feet found the floor. There was a tenderness in his movements as he cupped my waist and waited for my trembling to subside.
“Do you really have an inner beast?” I asked.
“You have no idea, little witch.” His grin was as wicked as anything I had ever seen. I decided on the spot I could handle getting to know this man better.
Still, as he held my hand and led me up the two flights of stairs, I held on to the hope there was some kind of escape hatch built into the Demesne. Because as much as I wanted to believe in the power of magic to find one’s true love or destined mate, I chafed at the idea of having a romantic partner assigned to me.
Things were happening on the third floor. Beryl, Kostya, Maritza, and Alabastair had gathered around the table with the drawers and boxes, all the notes and objects relating to Rémy and Gosia spread in front of them. Alderose was sitting on the floor, her back to the wall, sharpening her blades. The contents of her duffel bag were spread out around her legs. I knew my sister was a weapons collector, but I didn’t know the extent to which she’d been accumulating blades of all shapes and sizes. Well, shapes and sizes that could fit into a medium-sized duffel bag. Her fabled sword was nowhere in sight.
Laszlo squeezed my fingers and pointed to my sister. “I want to check out her gear.”
Alderose angled the tip of her blade toward Kostya. “You might want to check in with your brother first.”
“Kostya, what’s up?”
“I think Rémy has cast a spell around the building.” The demon teased his phone out of his front pocket. “The delivery guy joked about how weird it was that the rain was confined to our block, but his comment didn’t really sink in until now.” He tapped at the screen. “My weather app doesn’t say anything about the wind and rain we’re experiencing.”
I jogged to the window nearest my mother’s desk, pressed the sides of my hands to the rattling glass, and peered out. I couldn’t see much. Laszlo stood at my side. “Add hail to that list,” he said, as tiny balls of ice slammed into the windowpane. “The street and sidewalk were wet when we arrived, brother, but there was nothing like this going on. Is there a way for us to access the roof?”
I pointed to the back wall. “When Kostya had me up on the ladder, I noticed a fire escape on the back side of the building.”
Alderose wiped her hands on a rag and beckoned me over. “Let’s see if there’s another hidden door. The stairs to the roof should extend up from the stairwell we’ve been using.”
My sister moved to the workroom’s doorway, with the steps to the second and ground floors descending to her left. She faced the back wall of the building, a small wall to her right. “And the door to the roof is…” She gripped the railing, faced the small wall, and raised her arm, palm forward. We all heard the click of a lock releasing. “Hah! This is where I’m grateful that Mom backed up her magic with logic.”
I kept my knee-jerk response to myself, thinking that if Mom had backed up her magic with logic, we’d have closed this case by now.
Alderose dug into her bag and pulled out a hooded jacket. “Who’s coming with me?” she asked, zipping up to her chin. She tucked her hair into the attached hood.
Kostya volunteered. Beryl, Laszlo, and I crowded behind. “I think we’re all going.”
“Bas and I will stay here,” Maritza said. “Please do your best to avoid trouble.”
“And tunnels,” Bas added.
These stairs were narrower and the risers were higher. Alderose stopped at the top and asked us to wait. “Kostya, help. The handle won’t turn.”
Kostya joined her and ran his light along the frame. From where I was standing at the bottom, I could see the walls to either side were stained. Short, dark story threads danced at the periphery of my sight.
I held on to Laszlo and peered more closely at the stains. “I think that’s blood,” Beryl said, handing me her phone. “Here, take this.”
A slow sweep of the walls confirmed there was something there, something that looked a lot like dried blood. I backed onto the third-floor landing and spotted faded handprints at shoulder height.
“Laz? Can you come down here, please, and stand behind me?” When he hesitated, I added, “I see old blood on the walls and the story threads want to tell me about it.”
I was about to add that I knew the story was dire when he said, “Of course, Clementine.” He ducked around me and held on to my hips. “I’ve got you.”
“Thanks,” I whispered. “Sometimes I see things that are really upsetting.”
“Want me to hold the phone?”
I shook my head. “I need your arms free to catch me if I faint.”
“Blood makes you faint?”
“I—” The story threads were gathering. “I’ll explain later.”
The palm prints to either side of the lower door were made by a hand close in size to mine. The fingers pointed down, but the streaks led up. I softened my gaze and let the threads take over.
Heeled boots and a long coat—a duster, that’s what they were called—stitched from waxed canvas. Water beaded off its surface. The garment’s lower half flared out to one side then the other as the being ascended the stairs. Its hands left long streaks of blood that faded the closer it got to the outside door. The attached capelet snapped in the wind. A hood covered the being’s head.
Menace. Dark waters gathering, pouring over the threshold and onto the roof, rising in a spiral toward the low-hanging storm clouds.
The door to the
