Chapter 3
Ruadan
The courthouse was a regal building, with its marble columns and mosaic tiled floors.
The air was scented with wood polish, from the hours spent making the teak furnishings gleam, and the comforting scent of parchment still lingered, even when these days, most of the business conducted here was done on computers.
It was the lack of scent from these electronic devices that unsettled me the most. I knew, logically, that the case files were all contained within the computers, as a series of ones and zeroes, and I had made it a point to understand how to use them, but that didn’t mean I had to like them.
I told myself that the internet allowed me access to information that might otherwise be unobtainable, but it was impersonal, distant.
I sighed, tapping away at the keyboard to get the information I needed. It was hard to trust in something that could not be seen or heard or smelled. I much preferred a tactile experience, the brush of paper against my fingertips, the warmth and certainty of a book I could hold in my hands.
I was currently tucked away in a windowless room at the back of the courthouse that Lagamal had assigned me to use as a base of operations, so that I could go over all the case files and logged evidence without taking them off the premises.
I had a suspicion he was already blurring the lines by calling me an “external consultant,” but nobody had objected to me being involved in the cases, so here I was.
It seemed neither side was worried about what I might uncover.
It wasn’t about who won or lost. We all wanted the same thing—the truth.
Mal, having known my particular preferences, had left paper documents for my reading pleasure, but there was nothing to be done about the video evidence. “Come on, you useless piece of shite,” I muttered, stabbing at the laptop’s keyboard when it didn’t immediately obey. “Give me what I want!”
Impatience and hunger were making me irritable, but there was also a lingering tension in the air that I couldn’t quite put a finger on.
It pushed in close, a frisson of energy winding its way through me so that it took extra effort simply to draw breath.
Was this my patron goddess, Danu, finally communicating something to me?
Pay attention, it seemed to say. Something is coming.
Finally, through persistent clicking and button mashing, the folder opened on the screen. I wanted to say I’d shown it who was boss, but we both knew it would never be me.
The first video I watched was from an interview of one of the perpetrators—alleged perpetrators, I reminded myself.
The man, Kian Loire, was a 25-year-old actor, accused of murdering a coworker on the set of the TV show they were filming, NYPD Heat.
And they’d just so happened to be in the middle of a scene, so they didn’t just get it on camera—they got it from three different angles, in HD.
His panicked voice came through the speaker as I hit play. “You’re joking… right? This is some kind of prank. Richard isn’t dead. I saw him just yesterday. I might not have liked the guy, but why would I kill him? That’s insane!”
The detective across the table from him had a laptop much like I did, and he brought up the footage of the murder to show the man.
Since Kian was an actor, I’d expected his performance to be believable, but at the sight of the video, he’d begun to shake, and then he turned and vomited on the floor.
I’d seen him act before, and he wasn’t that good.
It certainly seemed to go beyond simply playing a role of an innocent man.
Then he’d passed out, cracking his head on the edge of the table on the way down. Also hard to fake.
Honestly, when I watched the footage of the murder, I couldn’t blame him for throwing up. It was beyond gruesome, the way he’d used a clapperboard to crush the guy’s windpipe. There was no sign of humanity in Kian’s eyes, no hesitation, no remorse—until after he’d been arrested, of course.
I hit pause on the video and leaned back in my chair with a sigh, staring at the man’s limp form on the screen.
Lagamal had been correct. There was no pattern to the perpetrators of these crimes, but their stories were all the same.
“I didn’t do it, it wasn’t me!” Under normal circumstances I would’ve laughed, because it was a song often heard being sung in prisons across the world.
“I’m innocent!” But that was from known criminals, not…
soccer moms who volunteered on the PTA. A schoolteacher, a postal worker, a nurse.
Average people—good people—with not a single black mark to their names.
Lagamal was just doing his job. He’d looked inside them and judged their souls, finding evidence that they had, in fact, committed these crimes, so he had no choice but to bring these people to trial, to convict them and put them behind bars, and then to condemn their souls, but…
He knew something wasn’t right, and the conflict was tearing him up inside.
In his quest to maintain the balance between right and wrong, this was in opposition to everything he stood for.
Assuming these people had actually done the crimes, as all evidence suggested, and assuming we believed them when they said they had no memory of doing it, then there had to be something else at play here. Something we weren’t seeing…
Gritting my teeth, I shoved back from the table, the chair screeching across the tile floor.
I’d learned all I could from the police files.
I needed a lead, and it was clear I wasn’t going to find it while just sitting here.
I needed to know the rumors, the whispers in shadowy back alleys that could never be used in court.
This was why Mal had come to me in the first place—because he couldn’t bend the rules, but I had no qualms about getting my hands dirty.
And what better way to find answers than to become one of the shadows myself…
I started at a seedy dive in the heart of downtown, simply named BAR. It was originally called Sam’s Bar, but after Sam passed, the new owner had simply taken the name off the sign, leaving a giant neon BAR above the door. The name stuck.
I’d dredged up information here before, as lips became looser under the influence of cheap alcohol.
I sat at a table in the corner and just listened for a while, wishing I’d picked a place that served food.
A raucous group of university students who acted like they were slumming it on the wrong side of town bragged about whose ass they’d fucked last weekend.
A couple of men in black suits talking in code about a “job” they were planning for their “boss.” A scrawny guy with sunken eyes had set up shop in the booth by the door, discreetly doling out baggies.
It was this man who seemed the best bet for information.
I slid out from my chair, and by the time I’d crossed the bar, I’d donned the look of a man in need of a fix.
My clothes became threadbare, my fingers stained yellow like a heavy smoker’s.
My face became more haggard, a patchy beard clinging to my jawline, eyes bloodshot.
“Hey…” I whispered with a nod. The guy looked up at me, taking in my appearance, my jittery hands, and the way my eyes darted back and forth, never staying in one place for more than a second.
He gave me a nod in return, seeing an easy sale, and I slid into the booth across from him. “Whatchu need?” he asked, voice pitched low.
“Whatever you got,” I said with a shaky laugh, leg bouncing beneath the table. “I’m not picky.”
“How much you lookin’ to spend?” he countered.
“Fifty,” I said, reaching for my wallet.
I might’ve been able to change my appearance on a whim, but money was outside the realm of my abilities.
This would cost me for real. Before I even laid a finger on the small baggie of white pills he’d concealed in his palm, though, I said, “I heard some crazy shit has been going down lately. This won’t make me go crazy, right? Kill a coworker or rob a bank?”
The dealer froze, his eyes hardening into chips of ice as he glared at me. And then just like that, he shoved the baggie back in his pocket and slid from the booth without a single word, heading for the door at a brisk pace. “Hey, wait!” I called, following him. “Did I say something wrong?”
Catching up to him, I grabbed his shoulder, and he rounded on me, hissing in my face, “Leave it alone. You start askin’ questions, and I promise you won’t like the answers you get.
They got what was comin’ to ‘em. They went lookin’ for more than what they had, the greedy bastards.
Those people asked for it—literally. They shoulda known better, and so should you. ”
Startled, I loosened my grip on his shoulder, and he tore out of my grasp and dashed out the door. I didn’t bother to chase after him, he’d already given me more than I could’ve hoped for. But what did it mean?
I stepped outside to find it had started raining, the pattering droplets catching in my hair, now back to its usual tangle of red curls, and making the world sparkle like it was bejeweled with diamonds.
As I started walking in the direction of the next bar a few blocks over, I ran through what the dealer had said.
They went lookin’ for more… They asked for it…
What was it they wanted, and who had they asked to give it to them?
Clearly someone bad. We needed to go back to the perps and ask them further questions about what happened leading up to their crimes, but I had a bad feeling they wouldn’t remember that either. It was almost like they were possessed.
As I approached a cross-street, the skin on the nape of my neck tingled, hairs lifting, and I slowed my steps, trying to glance around me inconspicuously, like I was lost, just checking my bearings.
It was that same shiver of energy that I’d noticed earlier.
Pay attention it had said, and I knew well enough to do just that.
Danu? I asked, reaching out to that part of me that had always been connected to the Tuatha de Danaan since my mortal death more than two thousand years ago.
My patron remained stubbornly silent, but I swore I could feel a lick of her amusement.
She was toying with me. Fuckin’ gods and the games they played.
I shook my head, absently rubbing at the scar that marred my chest right over my heart, a reminder of the price of those games.
My gaze was drawn, with a visceral tug, to the right.
Down the block, almost inconspicuous amongst the sparse crowd that lingered between dinner and a night on the town, I saw a man with his shoulders hunched against the rain.
There was no such thing as coincidence for the gods.
I was meant to be here at the same time as this man.
I felt fate’s heavy hand on my shoulder and could do nothing but obey.
It was this instinct that drew me toward him, and I changed my direction, following at a distance.
It was too dark to make out much beyond a lean figure in a navy hoodie, but I swore there was a strange aura coming off him.
His outline was distorted, like heatwaves coming off the road on a hot summer day.
No one else seemed to notice, but I sure as shit did.
As I drew closer, though, I could make out what appeared to be tendrils of black smoke, almost like it was seeping from his pores.
Who—or what—was this guy? Certainly not human.
I decided to follow and see where he went, hoping he might lead me to an answer, but almost as if he sensed that he was being followed, he picked up the pace.
So, I walked faster to keep up, glad for the rain to disguise my footsteps on the sidewalk.
We wound through the blocks with no clear destination, almost as if he were trying to lose me.
The crowds tapered off, until we were alone.
This was my chance to approach him, with no witnesses.
I swore the guy stiffened as I got closer, and he glanced over his shoulder.
I caught sight of dark eyes, before he took off at a near jog.
Maybe he was just trying to escape the rain, but I had a feeling it was more than that.
He ran like someone who had something to hide.
I couldn’t just run after him, so I did what I did best—I blended in.
Instead of trying to look like a beautiful woman or someone down on their luck, I let my form go soft, darkness wrapping around me until I was nothing more than a shadow.
When the man next looked behind him and found no one on his tail, I’d expected him to stop running, but instead, he looked directly at me, as if he could see straight through my disguise.
But that’s impossible… isn’t it?
There was no mistaking his panic as he bolted, sneakers slapping against the pavement, arms pumping.
Well, if that didn’t scream guilt, I didn’t know what did. “Dammit. All I wanted was some dinner,” I grumbled to myself before I gave chase. The man clearly knew something, and I would do whatever it took to find out what it was.