Chapter 15
Sunlight reflects off the blood pooled on the cobblestone. A smoldering pile of ash is next to it, smelling like I burned a week’s worth of garbage. Blinking back tears, I move away from the house and look at the carnage left in the front yard.
What the hell am I supposed to do with the bodies?
I bring a trembling hand up, pushing my hair out of my face, and fight the fear that threatens to plague me. Someone knows who I am. They knew where I was last night. Have they been watching me?
“Are you watching now?” I ask through gritted teeth. Anger surges through me and flames start to flicker around my fingertips again. I hope they are watching. Then I can catch them and end them.
Too angry to put out the flames, I go to the pile of ghouls Hasan left and bring my hand down, lighting them on fire.
They ignite, and the magic in the flames causes them to turn to ash just like the others.
Refusing to let myself think about Jacques, I hurry around the yard and drag the ghouls into the same pile, turning them all into ash.
Once the ghoul bodies are burned, I feebly walk to the house, stopping next to Thomas and Gilbert.
They’re standing strong, posed like usual with nothing out of the ordinary.
I rest my hand on Thomas’s wing, closing my eyes and wishing I could talk to them, figure out a way to keep them with me during the day.
Still barefoot, and now painfully aware of the uneven ground underfoot, I hastily walk around the house to look up at Hasan. I saw him take off but didn’t see him land. I need to know he’s okay. From what I can tell, he is.
But Jacques isn’t.
Are his injuries paused, and will they pick up right where we left off? Will he weaken as the day goes on? I love all my guys, and the thought of losing even one of them terrifies me.
They are my family. I don’t want to lose another family. I can’t. I hardly survived it the first time.
I break through spiderwebs as I hook up the hose, dragging it around front to wash away the blood. Everything I do is methodical, and it’s almost like I’m covering up a crime scene. I guess I am, in a sense, though I’m not the guilty party.
Going into the house, I realize there is no way I’m going to get things cleaned up in time for work. I haven’t called off in three years, and when I did I was so sick with the H1N1 virus I was hospitalized for two days.
I call in, saying I got food poisoning, and don’t feel bad about lying.
Setting my phone down on the kitchen counter, I grab a broom and dustpan, and a cardboard box from the basement. I line it with a garbage bag and start cleaning the glass from the broken window.
“This looks original,” I grumble, noting the thick broken sheets. “Fuck you, whoever sent them and bound my powers. Fuck. You.”
I grab the last of the big pieces and get the broom next, sweeping little shards into a pile. I’m going to have to go over this with the vacuum a few times before I’m sure the glass is actually gone.
A car turns into the driveway, and my heart jumps out of my chest. I drop the broom and race into the two-story living room to get my gun from the couch. I don’t have many rounds left, but I rarely miss a target.
I just hope this one can die.
But it’s not someone coming to hunt me down and kill me, at least I don’t think so. It’s Richard from down the street, and he keeps his car running as he apprehensively gets out, eyeballing the broken front window.
“Shit.” Keeping my gun in one hand, I rush into the kitchen and grab a sweater, slipping it over my arms and pulling it tight around my neck to hide the blood and scratches.
“Hello?” Richard calls, stopping on the cobblestone. The blood has been washed away, but the ashes are still there. “Detective Bisset?”
I open the front door, gun in my hand, and step onto the porch. Richard looks me over, and his eyes widen. Oh, right. I have claw marks on my face.
“Are you okay?” he rushes out. “I’m on my way to work and saw smoke.” He looks away from me to the large pile of smoldering ghouls. They don’t look like anything more than a heap of rotting garbage at this point.
Which is exactly what they are.
He looks back at the broken window, and I know I can’t say things are peachy and send him on his way.
“It’s taken care of,” I say instead, and keep my arms close to my body. I’m not going to offer an explanation, and I don’t think he’s going to ask. “Thanks for, uh, being a good neighbor.”
He nods and points to the broken window. “Speaking of being a good neighbor, do you need help with that?”
Dammit. I do. Because I don’t know how to fix it, and I need it boarded up so I can leave the house.
“You teach history, right?” I ask, remembering him saying his area of expertise happens to be the same time period this house was built.
“I do.”
“Do you know of any places that work with historical homes? I think the glass was original and I’d like to replace it with something close if possible.”
“Yeah, I know a guy who restores anything from early American history. I can give him a call.”
“Thanks.” I bite my lip, fully aware of how fucking awkward this is. I thought moving out into a rural part of town would mean not having to deal with neighbors, yet here I am.
“It might be a while before he can come out, and even longer until he can get new glass ordered. I have some leftover plywood from a project I started last summer. I can bring it over so you can board up the broken pane in the meantime.”
“That would be great. Thanks, Richard.”
“Jared has vocational today and doesn’t have to be in until noon. I’m going to send him over. The kid is handy, and it’s the least we can do,” he adds before I can protest. Right. I almost forgot I could have had Jared arrested. No wonder Richard is going above and beyond to be a helpful neighbor.
I appreciate the help, really I do, but right now I don’t need anyone else at the house, especially Jared. Unfortunately, I do need the window boarded up so I can leave. And it’s more than just that right now. I’m someone’s target, and they went to great lengths to try and take me down.
Being around me is dangerous.
After cleaning up the mess in the living room and my bedroom, I take the world’s fastest shower before Jared gets here.
I was already covered in blood and got more on me when I scrubbed the floors clean.
Richard expected him to move slowly since it’s early and today is Friday, meaning he lacks motivation, but I have a feeling once Jared knows he gets to come inside the house, he’ll spring out of bed.
Toweling off my hair, I’m careful not to rub over my new scabs, then walk out of the bathroom into the bedroom.
I mopped my floor clean, but my sheets are twisted and on the floor, and when I look at my bed, I remember waking up with the ghoul on top of me.
How did it get in? Were the others sent as a distraction?
One or two ghouls would have been enough to kill an average human. With my background in law enforcement and my training in martial arts, I’m a bit above average when it comes to self-defense, but nearly a dozen ghouls…that’s overkill.
The sender has to know about my protectors. And sending them so close to dawn? They needed the cover of night but pushed it as close to sunrise as possible. Does that mean they know the guys can only protect me in the dark?
I toss my towel onto the foot of the bed and go to my dresser to grab a bra and underwear. My body is sore, and I can’t stop worrying about Jacques. He shouldn’t have risked himself for me. I would have been fine.
Maybe.
Probably.
Okay, probably not. I still have a dull headache from hitting the back of my head on the ground, but it’s nothing a little coffee and Advil can’t fix. I pull on dark jeans and a gray tank top, accessorizing only with my gun and badge.
Combing my hair with my fingers, I’m heading out the door when I realize the grimoire is gone.
“Fuck!” I race to the bed, throwing the pillows back. I left it here last night. It had to have fallen in the scuffle. Desperately I drop to my knees and pick up the blankets.
The book isn’t there.
Throwing the blankets back, I get down onto my stomach and look under the bed, blindly reaching forward and feeling around for it. Suddenly, it makes sense. Having that many ghouls sent to kill me was overkill. But sending that many to take me out and get the book…
That’s what they wanted. Whoever sent the ghouls, whoever knows about me and the guys, wants my book.
I get up, not ready to give up yet, and look around the room.
Thinking back, I replay the attack over in my mind.
There’s one more place I can look, and relief washes over me when I see the book wedged between the nightstand and the mattress.
I grab it and hug it against my chest. Jacques’s notes were left downstairs, and though they’re not complete, they are an exact copy of the book in English.
Racing down the back staircase, I find his notebook untouched on the table, right where we left it, along with the list of ingredients I need in order to do the concealment spell. Maybe I should do one for the book too. Keep it away from anyone who wants to get their hands on it.
I put the grimoire and the notebook in my purse in the closet, but it doesn’t feel safe. This house is so damn big. Someone could be in here, hiding and waiting, and I’d never know.
I need to get a dog. Or two. Maybe even three.
Rubbing my forehead, I go back into the kitchen and plug in my coffee pot.
I’ve lived my life in somewhat of a routine for years, and it’s helped me stay on top of things.
Today didn’t start out at all like I expected, but I need to get back into my rhythm so I can function. I can’t afford to waste any time.