Black Arts, White Craft by Hailey Edwards

17

“Morning, Dollface.”

The smell of hot coffee and fresh donuts hit my nose, and I cranked open my eyes. “Food.”

Clay snorted then sat beside me on the bed in yet another hotel room. “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry.” I made grabby hands at his offerings. “Feed me.”

A rumbling noise poured into the hall behind him, and a flicker of hesitation crossed his features.

Holding up a finger, he said, “Be right back.”

Faster than a speeding bullet, he bolted out of the room, taking my reasons for living with him.

“The food,” I called after him. “Bring it back.”

“It’s back.” Asa entered the room, hands full, and kicked the door shut behind him. “Good morning.”

“Before you ask how I’m feeling,” I cut in, “I demand you hand over the coffee and the donuts.”

“You might want to sit up first.” He stood over me, smelling better than any man had a right to, and I don’t mean the food in his hands. Though that was amazing too. “Unless you plan on absorbing the caffeine through your skin after you dump it down your shirt.”

“I like you better when you play the strong, silent type.” I sat up with a grunt. “Now gimme.”

That was a total and complete lie. I hated how he shrank into himself for others’ comfort, but I was getting hangry. Food now. Lectures about him accepting himself later. As if I had any room to talk.

“There’s your milk.” He passed me a mug and a large dinner plate piled high. “There are your donuts.”

“Milk?” I perked and took a sip. “Aww.” I set the drink aside. “Clay even warmed it.”

The coffee must have been Asa’s usual breakfast brew. Served black, I was sure.

“No, that was Colby.”

“Oh Goddess. Are we dead? We are, aren’t we? She used the microwave and blew us to smithereens.”

“Clay supervised.” A soft laugh huffed out of him. “Does this mean your ideal afterlife includes me?”

“If black witches had afterlives, and we don’t, I wouldn’t be offended by the scenery.” I wiggled my toes. “Are you going to sit or just stand over me like a creeper?”

“I didn’t want to presume.” He sat with a contented smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Curious.”

Arching an eyebrow, he awarded me his full attention. “Oh?”

“Vanessa.”

“She gave me her number, but I never called her, as you heard.”

“Not that.” I shoved a cakey pumpkin spice donut with thick glaze into my mouth. “That’s fine.”

“That’s…fine?” A line bisected his brow. “You don’t mind if other women proposition me?”

“That was in the past, so not really my business. Plus, she’s dead.” I chugged my milk. “I win.”

“You win indeed.” His shoulders shook with laughter. “So, what was your question?”

“Her hand.” I crammed a blueberry donut in my mouth. “It just like, I don’t know, popped off her wrist.”

Camber and Arden would have squealed with delight at the fountain of spraying blood. Except for the fact it was, you know, real.

“Not quite.” His lips pulled to one side. “A y’nai was responsible. They’re too fast for me to see when they attack. That’s why Father chose them to shadow me. I have to focus, and even then, I hear and smell them more than see them.”

“That’s not comforting.” I bit into my third donut, a classic glazed one, having no regrets. “How did it know so quickly?”

“They can glamour themselves invisible,” he continued adding to my nightmare fodder. “It must have been in the room to act without hesitation directly after the infraction.”

“Yeah. No.” I shuddered. “Invisible hand-chopper-offers don’t need to be in my space.”

“They can’t harm you.”

“That doesn’t make it any less creepy.” I bit into my fourth donut then passed him the rest. “Seriously.”

With chit-chat out of the way, and his territorial urges sated, I asked the hard question. “How is Colby?”

“Her hands were healed in the process of helping you. There’s not so much as a smudge on them.”

Had her magic taken it upon itself to repair the damage? Was this yet another facet of our unique bond? Or had the book stuck its nose where it didn’t belong with a seemingly harmless suggestion Colby took?

With the grimoire forefront in my mind, I hated to ask, “How is she bookwise?”

“We’ve caught her talking to herself once or twice, but she claims she was praying.”

“I’ve never known her to pray,” I mused, “but then she’s never hurt me like that either.”

“It could be guilt,” he agreed, sounding unconvinced. “Or the book. It was in bed with her when I woke.”

Milk gushed out my nose, cementing my title as sexiest woman alive, and I almost coughed up a lung.

“She slept with it?” I used my comforter to wipe my face. “Tell me she didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I locked it in the hotel safe before I went to sleep. Its aura bothers me less than it does Clay. That’s why he brought you breakfast. I was returning the book to the safe after its little adventure.” He cut his eyes toward me. “Colby screamed when she woke up, that’s how I knew to go to her. She couldn’t get out of her room fast enough.”

“That book has to be my top priority when I get home.”

“I agree.”

“How did the hotel fare?”

“The center of the building caved in, and there’s extensive smoke damage to the rest. The fire department is blaming it on bad wiring.”

“Did anyone die?”

“No one was there.”

A vague memory of him telling me that surfaced, but I had been in too much pain to care at the time.

“The lot was full.” I folded my legs under me. “How were all the rooms empty?”

Then it hit me. Those congo zombies had to come from somewhere. From our hotel and its staff, apparently.

“There were several hotels.” I chewed my bottom lip. “How did Melissa know we’d pick that one?”

“Colby did her research, using Clay’s parameters. Melissa couldn’t know we would choose the one she selected, but she must have figured her chances were good. She ticked all the boxes. Clay or I would have chosen the same one based on the information available on the other three hotels. And, there’s also the fact she knew Clay, intimately, meaning they’ve spent some time together at hotels.”

Black Hats rarely liaised at their own homes. Few bothered with them. Most used hotels as apartments.

On that depressing note, I hoped for good news on some front. “Did the backup make it safely?”

“They’re at the hotel. Three teams. A fourth is en route.” He paused. “There were a lot of bodies.”

That sparked an excellent question. “Where are we?”

“At the hotel nearest our previous one. I checked us in and kept watch over you and Colby while Clay waited for the cavalry to arrive.”

Alrighty then, so maybe I shouldn’t use the word spark in context to our room, even in my head. “Where does that leave us?”

“Our job here is done.” He smiled at my surprise. “We followed our orders to the letter.”

But the case was far from closed, and we both knew it. The Proctor grimoire had a following, apparently.

“We hunted the zombigo, put it down.” He laid it out as he would in our report. “Access to the body allowed us to confirm it was a reanimated corpse. We tracked down its maker, a black witch, and the confrontation ended with her death, as well as that of her cohorts, and their creations.”

Neat and tidy, on paper, but the director would expect a full accounting. “What’s the official line?”

“Melissa arranged a coup, which happens every few decades, and she failed.”

“And if the director asks why an entire team went rogue?”

“Then we tell him the truth, but not everything. They wanted more power, and to be free.”

“The fae in you pops up at the most unexpected times.” I don’t know why I did it, but I tore off a piece of donut and tossed it at him, laughing when he caught it in his mouth. “It sounds like you’ve got it figured out.”

“Not all of it.” He caught another piece, cementing my new favorite game. “We still need to determine what Nolan Laurens was doing at your house.”

Last I checked, he was still there, camped out on my land like he had a right to be there.

“Agreed.” I cackled with glee when he caught another. “That’s a problem for Samford.”

A quick review of my cameras proved Nolan hadn’t budged an inch since the last time I looked in on him.

Sadly, that meant I was holding my cell when a notification flashed to warn me the director was calling.

Enjoy your all-expenses-paid vacation straight to my voicemail, Gramps.

“You’re not worried he’s a zombie too?”

“Zombies don’t howl and clutch their butts when they get shot. He’s alive. Maybe a masque, but alive.”

David Taylor had worn other people’s faces to conceal his identity, meaning Nolan might not be Nolan. He might be another member of the rogue coven, one who got stationed at my home to hedge their bets.

All the same, I prayed to the gods and goddesses that had forsaken me that Nolan was himself. That there was a reasonable explanation for his actions, and an association with me wasn’t about to cost the girls more than they had already paid for their friendship with me.

“We’re almost done here.” He stole the donut, pinched off a bite, and tossed it at me. “Maybe four more hours, and this case will be officially closed.” He chuckled when I missed. “We can go home.”

Home.

The emphasis on the word caused me to miss his second throw too, though, let’s be honest. I wasn’t going to catch it. I was never going to be one of those people who could toss popcorn in the air and ring their open mouth with it. Donuts appeared to be doomed to the same fate.

Careful not to place any emphasis on the word, I dusted crumbs out of my hair. “Home?”

“Samford for you.” He rolled a shoulder. “A hotel for us.”

“You could always stay with me. Us. You and Clay,” I blurted, then cursed my impulsivity. “If you want.”

“You wouldn’t mind having two houseguests underfoot?”

“Clay is like a brother to me, and you’re…” I dusted off my shirt. “You’re you.”

“I’ll ask him.” Asa shifted his attention to the door. “We ought to have a week off, after working two cases back-to-back. That’s in the regs.”

“You would be there for Thanksgiving,” I realized, delight winging through me. “Clay could help me cook a full spread.” It had been years since I bothered. I usually joined the girls with their parents and brought dessert in trade. “He can make me corn fritters.” I kicked my feet and squealed. “I always screw up those.”

The door burst open, and the golem in question stuck his head in the door. “Everything okay in here?”

His gaze traveled over me, the empty plate, and the bedful of crumbs.

“Pretend I didn’t ask.” He eased the door almost shut. “I don’t want to know.”

“Wait.” I swung my legs over the bed. “Asa said you’re off for a week as soon as the paperwork clears.”

“Hopefully.” He nudged it back open. “You know how that goes.”

Sometimes, the regs were the absolute law in Black Hat. Other times, they were more of a guideline.

“Will you stay with Colby and me?” I knotted my fingers in my lap. “It’s Thanksgiving, and you’re…” my throat got tight, “…you’re family.”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed his jaw. “I had plans to binge The Essence of Emeril and fantasize about his Cajun-injected spicy turkey with grilled polenta, balsamic roasted carrots, andouille cornbread dressing, and fig mille-feuille with balsamic drizzle.” He struck a thoughtful pose. “Do I want to eat actual food instead of licking my phone’s screen and crying inside?”

“Yes.” Colby bulldozed into the back of his head, knocking him forward a step with the force of her hug. “Please, Clay. Will you stay? I’ll be on my best behavior. Promise. You can sleep on the rock in my room.”

“A rock of my very own?” He patted her back, ruffling his blond buzzcut. “How can I refuse an offer like that?”

Chances were good he knew the rock was a gray beanbag, but I wasn’t going to ruin her fun.

“Ace?” Clay checked with his partner. “What do you think?”

The daemon burst from his skin in a lick of flame and scooped me off the bed into his arms.

“Stay with Rue.” He turned his head so that his hair slid over his shoulder. “Rue pet.”

“I can see from your expression,” Clay said smugly, “that you didn’t think your invitation through.”

The daemon wilted on the spot, a question in his eyes, and I sensed the disappointment in him.

Twirling a lock of the daemon’s hair around my finger, I couldn’t hurt his feelings. “Sure, I did.”

Teeth bared in a huge grin, the daemon flashed his thick fangs at Clay in a clear I told you so.

“If I’m going to move into production,” I told him, “I need a test subject for my haircare line.”

That got the daemon’s attention. “Rue brush hair?”

“Brush, wash, comb, braid. All of it. If you let me use you to test my new products.”

A growl pumped through his chest. “I like Thanksgiving.”

Smothering a laugh, I began to explain. “Thanksgiving is—”

“Brush, wash, comb, braid.” He dumped more hair in my lap. “All of it.”

“Close enough.” I patted his shoulder. “Can you put me down now?”

His grip tightened before it loosened, but he grumbled then placed me back on the bed.

“I’m starting to see what you mean.” Clay frowned at his partner. “The daemon is…different…with you.”

From the corner of my eye, I watched Asa reclaim control. The absence of shirt didn’t bother me one bit.

“The daemon wants to ensure Rue cares for him too.” Asa proved he’d heard the tail end of our conversation. “He’s more likely to assume control without warning during the fascination.”

“You’re doing it too.” Clay tilted his head to one side. “Referring to your other form as another person.”

A faint smile twitched in his cheek. “Am I?”

His nonanswer only served to make me more curious about him. Fascination was a good word for it. My thirst for all things Asa was only growing as we spent more time together. I would have cracked open his skull and peeked at his brain to learn all his secrets. If that was a thing. And if it wouldn’t kill him. It was this side of creepy too. Best keep that thought to myself.

Clearly, I had spent too much time around zombies to have brains on the, well, brain.

“They’re so weird.” Colby twitched her wings. “Do all grownups act that strange when they’re dating?”

“Yes.” Clay backed from the room. “You got it right, staying a kid. I would go back in time if I could, and I was never a child. I would just like to erase some of the things I learned as I got old.”

Only the tightness in his lips hinted there were other things he would like to undo. He was such a good man. The best. But he was at his master’s disposal. Always. When he was ordered to act, no matter the atrocity, he had no choice but to commit it. To fight it was impossible. The magic animating him would seize control of his body and force him to fulfill the order to the letter. I had seen it for myself.

“I bet there’s a spell for that,” Colby said thoughtfully as they left. “We should Google.”

Alone with Asa, I couldn’t stop my pulse from skipping at his proximity.

“I need to touch base with the girls,” I said, “let them know I’m coming home.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“They expect me to obsess over the shop details,” I reasoned, “and Nolan is supposed to be in Africa.”

“Are you certain the girls don’t know?” He kept his tone neutral. “That they don’t remember?”

The details of the night they were abducted had been blurred enough for them to heal. Their trauma stemmed more from the fear they were forgetting details than what they recalled. It was the lesser of two evils, I knew that, but it was horrible to cause them to doubt, to wonder, to dread.

“I trust them.” I gathered clean clothes. “They would come to me with any concerns.”

Jaw tight, he let it go. I could tell he didn’t want to, but I couldn’t entertain the possibility I would lose two members of my makeshift coven.

No.

They were more than that.

Much more.

Like Clay, they were family.

“All right.” He mulled it over. “We’ll confront Nolan, see what he has to say for himself.”

“We have video evidence we can use to pressure him into a confession.”

“What about the footage of Mrs. Gleason shooting him?”

Expression blank, I studied him. “What footage?”

Rough laughter rumbled through him, an understanding I would never supply evidence that might be used against her one day. Though she was careful to stick to trespassers, she did have a reputation for an itchy trigger finger.

“We have to figure out if he’s Nolan first.” I shooed Asa toward the door. “Leverage only works if we have the right type.”

“Have you caught him on film since the incident?”

“He’s camping on the property.” I shook my phone to explain that was what I had been doing earlier. “I’ve got hours of him sitting in a tree, staring at my house.”

The odd behavior was one of the reasons why I was okay with waiting until I got home to see what he was about. Surely, if he was coven, he would have bolted after the failed mini coup at the hotel. The radio silence would have told him all he needed to know about whether Melissa emerged victorious.

Once I nudged Asa out into the hall, a little disappointed he let me, I changed and did the hygiene thing.

Since he said we had time, I packed my bag too. Everything smelled like smoke, but at least it was clean.

When I joined the others, all on their laptops at the table, I noticed Colby was paying her screen extra attention. That made me realize she hadn’t asked how I was feeling or otherwise acknowledged me since I woke.

Not gonna lie.

It hurt.

But I had a good idea why she was acting like I was invisible, and I decided to let it go.

For now.

“I’m going to step out on the balcony.” I hooked my thumb toward the door. “I need to make a call.”

Asa watched me go, but Clay frowned at Colby, who pretended hard not to hear me.

Outside, I slid the glass door shut behind me and leaned over the railing as I dialed Arden. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” A giddy quality in her voice made me pause. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to let you know I’m heading home.” I was twitchy to go just thinking about it. “How are things?”

“We’re right on schedule, boss. The shop looks better now than it did for our first grand opening.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” I wrinkled my nose when the wind shifted, blowing smoke toward me. “Anything else to report? How are you and Camber?”

“Now that the AC is repaired, we might have to start wearing cardigans to work.”

“Or you could just turn down the thermostat and save me money on the cooling bill.”

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

“Keep it above seventy, please.”

“Oh,” she gushed, totally ignoring me, as usual. “We could get the shop logo embroidered on a few.”

Dollar signs danced behind my eyes. “I don’t know if—”

“Mrs. Talbot-Gray has a fancy embroidery machine. She makes a killing stitching names on cheerleaders’ bloomers for the local schools. She did ours when we were in pee-wee cheer squad. It won’t cost us but a few dollars each. Maybe we could even have some polos done? Oh! Or shirts we could sell in the store?”

“Let’s get through the grand reopening first.” I rubbed my forehead. “We’ll talk merch after that.”

“See you tomorrow,” she said, sounding certain she had argued and won her case. “Safe travels.”

When I started coughing, I trudged in, my mind a million miles away. The guys were MIA, and Colby had a deer in the headlights look, as if they had vanished into thin air, and she had no idea how it happened.

“I’m going to read.” I waved. “I have a snake shifter and mouse shifter romance calling my name.”

Before I could shut the door to my room, Colby cleared her throat. “Rue?”

“Hmm?” I flopped onto the mattress on my stomach and reached for my book. “What’s on your mind?”

Using her butt, she pushed the door closed then landed on the mattress beside me. “Are you mad?”

“Why would I be?” I rested my chin on my fist. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Magic isn’t whispering to me, is it?”

“A type of magic is, yeah.” I didn’t touch her to comfort her, as I usually would have, not when I worried a wrong move would lengthen the distance between us. “The grimoire is giving you ideas. Some are good ideas. They’re not bad or wrong.” I debated how to handle the next bit. “The problem is, when a book like that wants to use you, it has to be smart about it. It can’t tell you to, say, stab someone with your sword. You know right from wrong, and you would tell it no. But, if you were playing with Clay, for example, the book could tell you it was okay to stab him. That it would be fine, because Clay is hard to hurt and pretty much impossible to kill.”

“He’s my friend.” She worried her hands. “I wouldn’t do that to him.”

“You say that now, but the book might convince you.” I couldn’t resist the impulse to rub her fuzzy cheek. “And once you did it to Clay, the book might give you another idea. It might say, ‘See? Your friend is fine. I bet you could stab so-and-so with your sword, and they would be fine too. Do you want to try?’ And if you listened to the book for long enough, you might not think it was a bad idea anymore. You might do it, and you might hurt someone for real. Or kill them.” I took a moment to remind her, “Swords are not toys. Even toy swords are not toys.”

“I don’t want that.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to hear the voice anymore.”

“Don’t worry. We’re going to figure it out. You and me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t check on you.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

A bit of her usual sass returned. “Moths don’t sweat.”

“Smarty fuzz butt.”

“Can I stay in here with you?” Her antennae perked. “You can read. I won’t look.”

Steamy romance was not appropriate for ten-year-old moths, but I suspected she peeked when I was too engrossed in the story to notice.

“How about we pull up your Twitch channel and watch your latest kills instead?”

“Really?” She flitted onto my head. “I’ve got a lot more than the last time we watched, thanks to Clay.”

With Colby leaning over my forehead, her legs propped on my eyebrows, we settled in to watch orcs die horribly so that their gold, pets, and potions could be looted off their corpses. I didn’t get the same thrill from virtual violence as Colby, I had seen too much of the real thing for that, but I was happy she had made such good friends. I loved listening to them chatter, how they synced dinner like they were eating together, and how every holiday her crew exchanged gifts.

It gave me hope I was doing right by her, as much as I could, given the circumstances.

This life would be enough for her, I reassured myself.

It had to be.