Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
Erasmus
“He is an interesting human.”
I barely twitched. Aurelia didn’t so much as sneak up on me as she simply popped up. Gone one second and there the next. The first few times I thought I’d die young of heart failure. Thankfully, my body adjusted to surprise remarkably well.
“Very interesting,” I agreed readily as I watched Franklin’s taillights fade.
“It will be entertaining, observing human mating behavior.”
I’d raised my glass of tea to my lips, but thankfully hadn’t drunk yet when Aurelia spouted that nonsense. “ Mating behavior? ”
“Hmm,” Aurelia hummed before sitting on my swing. Most likely she remained hidden from general view, and if any of my neighbors passed by my house, they’d likely think that I’d conjured a ghost who enjoyed a lazy afternoon swing on my front porch.
I wanted to correct Aurelia but couldn’t find the words. Instead, I asked, “Can djinn tear apart a soul?”
Aurelia didn’t stop swinging, but her eyes went distant with thought. “Why would one wish to do so?”
“I have no idea, and that’s not what I asked. Could it be done?”
“It would depend on one’s restrictions. I hold no such boundaries and doubt other djinn do either. Our restrictions reflect the fears of those who created us. I do not believe a shredded soul was something our witch creators considered.” She shrugged. “If it were, then they would have added it.” Aurelia didn’t seem bothered by the thought.
“So, that means we can’t rule out a possible djinn connection.”
“To the murdered witch?”
“Yeah.” I deflated, leaning against the railing much like Franklin had. “Just trying to make a list of possible suspects. In this case, those aren’t names, but species that could actually tear a soul apart. The list is a little longer than I’d originally thought it might be.” I cringed at the thought. Pops said a warlock could manage it, but they’d need a necromancer to help. That wasn’t as beyond the realm of possibility as one might think. While most warlocks shunned their necromancer sons, not all did. My pops was a good example.
Aurelia kicked her feet and the metal chain holding the swing creaked. I made a mental note to oil it soon.
“I do not see why you are so concerned. The death of a witch is nothing to mourn.” Aurelia’s words were sharper than any metallic blade.
Inhaling, I swallowed my gasp. “All life is precious, Aurelia.”
Her combat boots gripped the wooden porch slats. When her eyes found mine, they glowed an unholy Caribbean blue. “You did not feel that way when Janus died. Or when Arie Belview met his fate at the hand of the fairy queen.”
“I don’t relish death, but I won’t deny that sometimes it’s necessary. We all chose our own paths. Janus had a chance.” This was the first time Aurelia had mentioned Janus’s name. I’d wondered if she held me responsible for his death and asked just that. “Do you blame me?”
“For Janus’s demise?”
I nodded, swallowing a painfully thick lump of saliva. I’d never viewed Aurelia as an enemy and didn’t relish the thought of changing that perception.
“No,” she answered, disinterest evident. Lifting her feet, the swing creaked to life again. “Janus’s death was inevitable. You did not force a blade into his hand.” With a shrug, Aurelia seemed to dismiss the conversation. “As you said, Janus made his own decisions.”
My hammering heart stuttered before starting a hesitant return to normal. “I’m still sorry,” I offered.
Again, Aurelia shrugged. “Given your area of expertise, I find it odd that you have such distaste for death.”
Since I didn’t seem to be in immediate danger, I closed the distance between us. When the swing came my direction again, I sat next to Aurelia, adding my own manual labor to the cause. “I deal with the dead, but that doesn’t mean I want anyone to find that path before their time.”
“And who do you believe decides that time?”
I considered the question, but no magical answer was forthcoming. “I’m not certain.”
“Then how do you know their death was premature?” Aurelia sounded genuinely curious.
“I suppose I don’t. All I have to judge by is the average lifespan of the species. When one dies before their expected allotment, then it feels like they were lost too soon, like they were cheated.”
Aurelia quietly sat beside me before answering. “I suppose that is as good an answer as any. As a djinn, time has lost meaning. Nearly all species have fatally short lives compared to me.” Her gaze swiveled, catching with my own. “To my eye, humans exist for little more than the blink of an eye. It seems odd to mourn them when they pass even quicker.”
While I could understand her point of view, Aurelia’s cold delivery sent shivers down my spine. My own given allotment of time was no more than a human’s.
“And witches? They live far longer.” Witches and warlocks were on par with each other, often living at least four hundred years. There were a few reports here and there of a witch or warlock reaching over six hundred, but those were far and few between.
Aurelia’s eyes shimmered beneath slanted lids. “You may search all you like, but you will never find an ounce of sympathy within me when it comes to a witch. The current population may seem tame, but I assure you, there are those within their precious covens who would seek djinn power again should they believe there is enough gain and minimal risk.”
“I won’t argue the point, just offer that you’ll find that in every species.” I considered those words and amended, “Except maybe pixies. And brownies. Maybe.” I was fairly certain about pixies. Brownies were a different matter. They already packed a big magical punch. I didn’t think they’d have any need to create something like a djinn. So, did that truly make them morally better than other species? Maybe the only reason why they didn’t consider it was because it wasn’t necessary. Gaia, my head was starting to hurt.
“Perhaps you are correct. But I was not maliciously created by any of those species.” Aurelia lifted her face, capturing the slight breeze filtering through the open porch. “Pixies are curious creatures,” she said, sounding confused. “So far, Peaches has proved an…interesting master.”
I stared out across the street as the same kids that had ridden their bikes by earlier wheeled by, this time going the opposite direction. “I may not know him well, but I don’t think Peaches will disappoint you.”
Aurelia grunted something either unintelligible or in a language I didn’t know. “If there is one thing my centuries of existence has taught me, it is that disappointment is inevitable.”
I started to respond, but my words would have fallen on deaf ears. Or, in this case, absent ones. Once again, Aurelia winked away, leaving me alone on my porch swing.
M y alarm clock didn’t so much ring as blare to life, music filling my small bedroom. Reaching over, I slammed my hand down on it, searching for the off button. Finding it was an auditory gift.
“Shit.” Rolling onto my back, I rubbed my hands over my face. Two days after finding Rebecca Ann Mosely’s grave, I was still trying to recover. Unfortunately, time was up. I had another job tonight, and needed to get up and get going if I was going to make it to Biloxi in time for my appointment.
Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I stood reluctantly and made my way to the bathroom, crawling into the shower after relieving my protesting bladder. Summer or winter, I always liked a hot shower, and today was no different. Leaning into the spray, I tried thinking about my upcoming job, but just like the past few days, my brain kept defaulting to Rebecca. I still woke up each night, body covered in sweat, the sound of Rebecca’s screams and the rough feel of her tattered soul consuming my mind. I hadn’t heard another peep from Detective O’Hare, and wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. There wasn’t necessarily a reason he should be contacting me. At this point I figured I’d been as helpful as I was going to be.
That didn’t stop my disappointment. Unless I stumbled over another murdered corpse, I didn’t really have a reason to contact Franklin. And didn’t that just suck.
Leaning my head against the shower tile, I inhaled deeply, letting the steam and scent of my body wash fill my lungs. The lavender fragrance didn’t so much wake me up as calm me down. I wasn’t necessarily an anxiety-prone person, but I felt unsettled much of the time. My momma said I’d always been a restless child—body and mind. Pops had made me special charms when I was younger. They allowed me to sleep and gave Momma a much-needed break. I figured he helped save both our sanities.
Maybe I should have asked him for some rest charms when I sent the text requesting the pain ones, but Pops was already worried. If I asked for something to help me sleep, he’d be on a plane first thing, hand-delivering them.
That thought eased my compressed chest. No matter the species, I was one of the lucky ones. I never doubted I was loved. My parents made it abundantly clear that I was wanted. A necromancer son might not have been what Pops desired, but he’d never made me feel like less. He’d never made me feel unwanted or like I was a disappointment. Pops made it abundantly clear that he was proud of me. Momma and Pops were two pillars rooting me to the earth and holding me upright. They anchored me through the roughest storms and gave me a sense of safety. I didn’t think there was anything more precious in the entire world than that.
Wrapping a towel around my hips, I headed back into my bedroom to dress. According to Pops, my choice of wardrobe was a tragedy. I think he would have lit my closet on fire if he thought I’d change my habits. As it was, burning my clothes would be a waste of magical energy. I’d just go out and replace them with something similar.
What can I say, I liked being comfortable.
Sliding a soft, cotton t-shirt over my head, I stretched my arms high and filled my chest with air. My cargo shorts were next. I debated between flip-flops or tennis shoes and decided on the latter. I was headed to a cemetery I knew next to nothing about. If it wasn’t well tended, the weeds would be high and they’d get stuck between my toes.
Shoes in place, I shoved a Pop-Tart into my mouth, grabbed my wallet and keys, and headed for the door. My place didn’t have a garage like my momma’s, but it did have a covered parking area that kept the sun and weather off my car.
The drive to Oaklawn Cemetery and Mausoleum took a little over an hour. Thankfully traffic wasn’t bad, and I made good enough time that I got there before my client. This was my first visit to Oaklawn. Turns out, I could have worn my flip-flops. The grounds were well kept and the ashes in question were entombed inside an ornate mausoleum, the last name Randolph proudly carved above the door.
I whistled. I’d seen a lot of grave markers, headstones, and mausoleums in my time, and this was one of the largest and fanciest. It was also obviously maintained. The Randolph family was still going strong and hadn’t forgotten their ancestors.
Oaklawn was still taking in new customers, but it was one of the quieter cemeteries I’d had the pleasure of walking through. There was a disgruntled remnant voice here and there, but overall, the dead were a peacefully content group.
Sitting on the step, I leaned back against the cool stone surface and let the peace wash over me. The low background hum was welcome and eased the tension I’d been feeling since meeting Rebecca Mosely.
“It’s pretty here, isn’t it?”
Recognizing the voice, I cracked open an eye and I stared up at my latest client. She appeared as young as her voice sounded. A pretty, muted-orange sundress draped Alexandra Randolph’s lean, pale-ivory body. Her light-blond hair was pulled back at the sides while its length hung down to her mid-back. Besides looking like she could use a hamburger or twelve, Alexandra was a pretty young woman. The soft, welcoming smile she offered went a long way towards increasing her attractiveness.
“Mr. Boone, I assume,” she said, stretching out her arm and offering me her hand. I appreciated the gesture more than she knew. Most avoided direct contact, as if my necromancer abilities were a catching disease.
“Miss Randolph,” I replied in turn, taking the offered hand and rising to shake it.
Alexandra’s cheeks grew pink. She was about my height—the poor woman hadn’t been blessed in the vertical department either. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Boone.” Her southern drawl was very pronounced and soaked into me like warm honey.
“Feel free to call me Erasmus if you’d like.”
“Thank you. Likewise, you can call me Alexandra.”
I grinned while pulling my hand back and stuffing my fists into my pockets. “Would you like to chat a bit, or would you rather get down to business?” In this case, I was good either way. So far, Alexandra was proving good company.
Alexandra twisted a platinum band with a diamond that dwarfed her finger. I wasn’t sure who her fiancé was, but regardless, unless that ring was a fake, they were loaded. Alexandra glanced at the mausoleum door and said, “I suppose we should get to it. I…”
I didn’t have to be a genius to sense Alexandra’s hesitation. Some clients were like that. Others were eager to finally solve some mystery the deceased had taken to their grave. Three years ago, a woman hired me to bring back her mother’s soul so she could find out the secret ingredient to their family’s gumbo recipe. Evidently, her mother’s passing was unexpected, and no one could find the exact recipe. The deceased had been happy to answer her daughter’s questions. Traditional recipes might seem paltry compared to some of the reasons I’d been hired, but it had been one of my favorite jobs.
Given Alexandra’s hesitance, I doubted today would be so pleasantly heartwarming.
“Alexandra, we don’t have to do this if—”
“No.” She shook her head adamantly, tossing blond hair around her narrow shoulders. “This needs to be done. I need to know if I’m making a terrible mistake.” Alexandra worried her engagement ring even more.
“Okay.” I eased my posture, aiming for unassuming and harmless. I gave the young woman credit for coming alone. She was either desperate or had more steel in her spine than her small frame suggested. “Shall we go in?” I asked, sweeping my hand toward the door.
Digging through her purse, Alexandra pulled out a set of keys and, with only a slight quiver, unlocked the door.
Daylight poured in through a few narrow windows. The thick stone walls couldn’t keep out the Mississippi humidity, and the large room was musty with lack of air. The stone surfaces were covered in a layer of damp. The Randolph mausoleum might be pretty on the outside, but inside, it was like every other stone box I’d walked into.
Ignoring the odor and moisture, Alexandra purposefully walked deeper into the mausoleum. About two-thirds of the way in, she came to a stop in front of a plaque, a marble urn set in front and to the side. A bouquet of wilted roses was stuffed into a vase beside the urn, their once-beautiful blossoms decaying like the mausoleum’s residents.
“Daddy was cremated. You said that won’t be a problem.” All the timidity fled Alexandra’s voice, leaving that hint of steel along with a heavy dose of determination.
“That’s correct. Although without a body, you’ll only be able to hear your daddy. You won’t be able to see him.” Not like I would. Bringing back a soul using only the cremains was far more difficult, but not impossible. I could still trace their soul into the afterlife, but without a body, they returned as a hazy mist. I could probably amplify them enough for the mist to be seen, but I didn’t really see the point. It wasn’t like all those tiny, swimming particles resembled the deceased.
It was the voice that was important, and I was able to lend enough of my energy for the soul to answer questions that others could hear. I’d scheduled this appointment before my unexpected meeting with Rebecca Mosely. I hoped I’d recovered enough to do what needed done today without passing out. I’d only done that once before with a client. It had been beyond embarrassing waking up to my momma’s worried eyes. It had been even more embarrassing telling Pops what happened. I didn’t want my “in case of emergency call” card used again.
Alexandra gave a firm nod. “Hearing him will be enough.” She pushed her hair back over her shoulder. “Will he be able to see me?”
I wasn’t sure see was the right word. Regardless, souls knew who was nearby. “He’ll know it’s you,” I reassured her.
Alexandra’s eyes shimmered as she blinked back tears. “I’m glad. I…I can’t figure out if it will be good to hear his voice, or if it’ll rip off the precarious scar covering my grief.”
I wanted to tell her everything would be okay. But I didn’t have enough information to know if that would be a lie or not, and so I kept my mouth shut and waited for her to give the word. I didn’t have to wait long.
“Erasmus, if you’d please bring my father back, I’d like to ask him a question.”
“I’ll do my best,” I answered. Eyes slipping closed, I focused on the cremains. It took a bit more focus than usual, but soon enough, I had him. “Theodore Phillips Randolph,” I called, feeling the metaphysical tug on the other end of Theodore’s string. Guiding the soul back, a misty gray haze filled the air, settling not far from Alexandra.
The haze swam, coalescing and shifting like a swarm of starlings. Alexandra had no idea her father’s soul was so nearby. Her humanity made her oblivious as she stood there, stock-still, with anxiety eating away at her measured calm.
“Alex.”
She jumped, clasping her sundress’s fabric over her chest. “Daddy?”
“Alex,” Theodore whispered, that singular name awash with affection.
Alexandra choked on a sob as her slender fingers covered her mouth.
I couldn’t sense a hint of animosity in Theodore’s soul, only a great well of love. While I wasn’t certain what Alexandra wanted to ask her father I knew, down to my bones, that Theodore loved his daughter. Given Alexandra’s reaction, the feeling was obviously mutual.
If I’d had more energy to spare, I would have allowed their reunion more time. Unfortunately, time and energy weren’t luxuries I could afford right now.
Clearing my throat, I said, “Theodore Phillips Randolph, your daughter asked me to call you back. She has something important she needs answered.”
Theodore’s soul swam toward me, hovering a few inches away. “Necromancer.” Like most, he stated my species like it was a curse.
“Daddy,” Alexandra scolded. “I asked Mr. Boone to bring you back. Don’t be angry with him.”
Theodore’s soul retreated, hovering by his daughter again. “Apologies, Alex.”
“It’s okay,” Alexandra answered, even though I, the insulted party, hadn’t accepted the apology.
Moving on, I said, “Alexandra, you should ask your question.” I always stayed for this part. We’d already signed a nondisclosure contract. Unless it pertained to a criminal act, I could not repeat the words spoken here tonight. I’d had to add in that little stipulation a couple of years ago when it became obvious that a murder was being discussed.
Alexandra glanced my way. There was a well of trepidation in her eyes. Or maybe it was fear. Whatever she needed to know, Alexandra Randolph was afraid of the answer. Alexandra struck me as a levelheaded lady. If she was worried, then most likely her concerns weren’t without cause.
“I’m engaged, Daddy.” Alexandra held up her left hand, twisting it so the light bounced off the rock sitting there.
For the first time, dark emotion swept through Theodore’s soul. “Who?” he asked.
Alexandra swallowed hard before stating, “You know who, Daddy. Bart.”
Theodore’s soul recoiled and hot rage infused his essence with crimson. “Livingston,” Theodore spat.
Alexandra’s chin jutted out. “We were dating when you…when you passed. It shouldn’t come as a surprise. He comes from a good family. You were good friends with Bart’s father. I don’t see why you’re surprised or upset.”
Somehow, I highly doubted that. I thought this was exactly why Alexandra had asked me to bring her father back.
“Antony was a good man, and even he didn’t trust his son.”
Wait. I knew that name. “Antony Livingston?” I put the names together and came up with a bad case of heartburn.
Theodore’s soul turned its attention on me as his daughter gazed in my direction, eyes wide. “You know him?”
I swallowed hard. I’d signed the same nondisclosure agreement with Bartholomew, a.k.a. Bart Livingston. “I can’t really discuss the particulars…but I’ve met him.” I’d also liked Antony a hell of a lot more than his living descendants. Assuming we were all talking about the same family, then I understood Theodore’s concerns.
“Bart is not to be trusted. He is a greedy fool.”
My limited contact with Bart reinforced Theodore’s opinion.
Alexandra sucked on her bottom lip, chewing on it slightly. “I…I think you might be right.” She twisted the ring again. “He wants to elope. Bart says we don’t need a big wedding, but Mom would be so disappointed, and I want a wedding. I want all our friends and family to be there. I don’t understand what the sudden rush is and…” Alexandra trailed off. Gaze fixed on her ring, she said, “Bart spoke with an insurance agent. He says we need to take out life insurance policies on each other. He also wants me to make up a will.”
I inhaled sharply while Theodore’s essence overflowed with fear. In unison, we said, “No.”
Alexandra’s head snapped up, her eyes wide, her expression confused. “I understand why Daddy might say that, but why you?”
Theodore thundered and I figured if he’d had a corporeal body, he’d be ripping his hair out by now.
I stepped forward and clasped Alexandra’s fingers. As far as I was concerned, what she’d just said activated the escape clause I put into every contract. I had a very real feeling that Alexandra’s life was in danger.
“I’m getting ready to break my confidentiality agreement with Bartholomew Livingston. He signed the same paperwork you did. Do you remember the one instance in which I might break my word?”
Alexandra’s eyes scrunched before they widened with understanding. “Bart’s committed a crime?”
“Probably several, but those aren’t what I’m worried about. It’s the one I think he’s plotting that allows me to tell you what happened. I think you understand, deep down in here.” I poked a finger against Alexandra’s chest, right over her thumping heart. “That’s why you wanted me to contact your dad. You didn’t want to believe what your instincts were warning you against.”
A tear slipped down Alexandra’s cheek. “I love Bart, but he’s changed. Ever since his grandfather died, he’s been different.”
I nodded. “He’s different because he’s broke.”
“What?” Alexandra sounded genuinely shocked.
“Antony left them nothing,” Theodore answered proudly. “He told me he did not trust his grandchildren, especially Bart. He was concerned what his fortune might do in their hands.”
“Antony didn’t leave his grandchildren anything? But that can’t be right.” Alexandra sounded more confused than scandalized. “He told me his grandfather left them everything, he…”
“He lied,” I filled in the obvious ending.
“But why? Daddy was more than generous with me and Mom. I’ve got enough to keep us comfortable. I don’t care about Bart’s money.” Alexandra stared at me as if I knew the answer. I could hazard a guess, but turns out, I didn’t have to. Theodore knew.
“Because you would not allow Bart to use your money for nefarious dealings.”
“W-what kind of dealings?”
I had some inkling. So did Theodore. “Antony didn’t get into specifics. I’m not even certain Antony knew. He had his suspicions, and they were enough to remove his grandchildren from his will.”
Alexandra took a deep, calming breath. “What did Bart ask of you, Mr. Boone?”
“The same as you, only for completely different reasons. He and his siblings asked me to bring Antony’s soul back. While it sounds like Antony left them out of the will, Bart figured out that monetary objects were missing. Most likely, Antony didn’t put it past his grandchildren to steal from the true inheritors. Bart wanted to know where the missing loot was.”
Theodore cursed. Alexandra didn’t bat an eyelash.
“Did you tell them?” Theodore asked, anger suffusing his soul.
I shook my head, a happy grin lighting up my face. “I did not.” Holding onto Theodore’s soul was beginning to take a toll. Easing toward a long, stone coffin, I plopped down on top of the lid. “I know where it is, but I didn’t see a reason to tell Antony’s greedy grandkids. I learned all I needed from Antony’s soul and shared his concerns. That money is better off where Antony stashed it.” I’d never been more certain of a decision in my life. The only problem was that keeping the fortune from Bart very likely placed Alexandra’s life in danger.
A wave of pleased satisfaction slammed into me. Theodore was near giddy with my decision and said, “That is as it should be.”
Following my action, Alexandra joined me on top of her relative’s ancient casket. The stone was cool and the dampness seeped into my cargo shorts. The drain on my energy was enough to initiate a headache. Reaching into one of my many pockets, I fingered the pain charm Pops sent me. It wouldn’t take much to activate it. As soon as I released Theodore’s soul, I planned on lighting the charm up.
“The elopement and the life insurance policy. I had a feeling…” Alexandra’s shoulders sagged. “He’s just been acting so different, almost desperate.”
“Did you sign anything?” Theodore asked.
“No, not yet. Bart sounded so convincing, and his reasons were sound too. But there was something that seemed off, something that just didn’t sit right with me.”
“You’ve got good instincts,” I said. “A lot of people do, but they fail to follow them. You listened, and that probably saved your life.” I wasn’t sure Alexandra was completely out of the woods yet. My fingers itched to pull out my phone and dial Detective O’Hare’s number.
Alexandra let loose a choking laugh that morphed into a sob. “Cold comfort,” she mumbled, nose stuffy.
I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and pulled her against me. We were both hot and sweaty, but I figured she could use the comfort. Pangs of regret wafted off Theodore’s spirit. He desperately wanted to be the one offering the physical comfort. Even if he’d had a body, though, I doubted Alexandra would have wanted his decaying arms around her. Then again, who was I to say?
Energy waning, I asked, “Is there anything else you’d like to say to your father?”
Sniffing, Alexandra ran her finger under her nose. Her face was red and splotchy, and snot glistened just under her nose. “Thank you, Daddy. I love you. Mom and I both miss you.”
“I miss you both too, sweetie. And you know I love you more than all the grains of sand on the shore.”
“I know.” Alexandra offered a watery smile. “I knew I could count on you to tell me the truth. Even if it wasn’t what I wanted to hear.”
“Always,” Theodore answered. “You will take care of her, necromancer.” It wasn’t a question and while that wasn’t written into Alexandra’s contract, I would do what I could.
“I’ve got a friend on the police force. I’ve also got a pretty powerful warlock father who likes pushing his arrogance around.” Pops had the magical wherewithal to back up all that arrogance.
“I will hold you to that promise.”
I thought that was splitting a few hairs considering I hadn’t exactly promised . Still, I didn’t want to see anything happen to Alexandra either.
Theodore’s soul was about as peaceful as I figured he could get. It was a good time to let him go. “Theodore Phillips Randolph, I release you. Be at peace.”
Theodore’s soul eased back into the ether, traveling beyond the veil. I could bring him back again if needed, but I doubted that would be necessary. Alexandra had what she needed, even if it wasn’t what she wanted.
A ir-conditioning was a human wonder, and I cranked my car’s air on high as I climbed back inside, easing into the fake leather seats. I’d activated my pain charm on the walk to my car and felt its soothing relief ooze into every nook and cranny of my body. The pounding assaulting my head drifted away, leaving a peaceful zone of sheer nothingness behind.
Slipping my phone into the cup holder, I pulled out of the cemetery and started back toward the main road. At the last minute, I decided to take the back roads home. I wasn’t in a hurry, and the thought of interstate traffic made me physically ill.
There was something serene about coasting down winding highways that curved and bent. Rivers and streams passed me by while soft music filtered through my speakers. I hummed along, forgetting the exact words but enjoying the melody.
I was winding around one of those bends, Widow’s Lake coming up on my left, when I heard the call. The sound ripped through Pops’s pain charm, slamming into my head like a jackhammer.
The car swerved and the driver behind me screeched to a stop, barely avoiding rear-ending me. As they passed, their horn blared, adding another layer of mental assault.
There was a body nearby. If I had to guess, it was in the lake. And it felt just like Rebecca’s cries.
“Son of a—”