Chapter Nine #2
“Let me know what they say about the cat,” she mutters. “I’m dropping Lucinda’s order off like I promised, then going home. I’ll bring the truck back in the morning.”
She doesn’t wait for a reply.
Veda stews during the drive to East Proventia. She turns into one of the many subdivisions that have multiplied around the city. After passing a community pool and two stop signs, she parks in front of a pale-yellow house with green shutters and a matching front door.
Beyond her Oracle Council role, she doesn’t know Lucinda well. The drop should be quick, but this assumption unravels the moment she reaches the door. Lucinda’s talisman is rusted, and the gemstone, normally shining, is now opaque.
Something is wrong.
Only a handful of spells can alter a talisman; the spell must match the strength of the magic used to create it. It’s a dangerous guessing game for Mages, even those with amulets. Upon further examination, Veda realizes it’s not damaged. It’s sleeping.
Her interest is piqued.
One rap on the door creaks it open slightly. It’s eerily quiet.
Like a mausoleum. Veda shudders, stomach churning.
The wrongness is why she dials the number Peter gave her for Lucinda.
The phone rings from inside the house. Once, twice, then cuts off mid-ring.
No voicemail. Veda knows better than to call enforcers to a Seer’s home.
It never ends well. Instead, she calls Gabriel. He answers on the second ring.
“I’m at Lucinda Hampton’s house at five-six-three Shelling Port Drive. Her talisman is opaque, the door’s slightly open, and the phone disconnected mid-ring. How close are you?”
After a pause, he replies, “Ten minutes out.”
Veda waits on the porch, growing anxious. Birds stop chirping. The breeze holds its breath. Time stills. It’s so quiet, she can hear her wristwatch ticking . . .
And footsteps on the floorboards inside.
The door creaks open a fraction more. Then more.
Shattered glass and fractured wood float in suspended animation. Black scorch marks streak the walls. Gray ash coats the furniture. Blood soaks the carpet. Music plays from a destroyed record player, its needle still spinning on the vinyl.
“Come in, Veda.”
Dread coils around her throat. Eyes darting, searching for the source, she sees no one . . . until she does.
The figure lives in her nightmares: a grotesque blur of shifting features, surrounded by red spider lilies that have sprouted from the carpet and lead to the open doorway.
It’s them. Veda steps back, ready to run, but a black flash strikes Lucinda’s talisman.
The door explodes, windows shattering with it.
Blinding magic engulfs her, burning hot.
The blast throws the impostor and Veda in opposite directions.
Veda lands on her side in the grass, eyes burning, head pounding from bouncing off the ground. Glass and wood rain down.
Pain blurs her vision. Blood fills her mouth.
Another wave slams into her, tossing her through magic’s torrential current.
Her scream is a silent shout in the chaotic haze of power, noise, and light.
She shields her aching head until someone grabs her arms and drags her away.
Her ears still ring, but Veda makes out the vague figure standing over her, their muffled voice asking if she’s okay.
She coughs violently.
Clearer now, they say, “You’re safe, you’re safe.” Then they swear and run away.
She’s unsure how much time passes, but eventually Gabriel’s voice cuts through the smoke, frantically shouting her name. “Shit, are you okay?”
“I—I think,” she stammers, though her body protests when he helps her sit. Francisco is with him, on the phone with dispatch, requesting medics and backup. The house—walls, roof, even the grass—has been scorched black by magic.
Gabriel and Francisco stay until investigators swarm the yard and the paramedics arrive to usher Veda to an ambulance. She’s forced to swallow vile-tasting tonics, injected with potions that dull pain and emotion. The burns on her hands throb while they wrap them in healing gauze.
“They won’t heal instantly,” the paramedic says. “Magical injuries can’t be healed with magic, but it can speed it up.”
“How long?”
“Re-bandage daily, or at least every other day.”
“Okay.”
A grim-faced Gabriel joins Veda in the ambulance while the medic pulls glass from her arm using a minor spell, her standard-issue medic amulet glowing green. Suddenly, she gasps. The blood hovers on the edge of Veda’s cut but doesn’t spill. “What the—”
“Sanguis Curse,” Veda says casually, earning a wide-eyed look. “Antiseptic salve and a bandage will do to keep it out of sight. My blood is here to stay, and it’s not all mine . . . it’s a long story.”
“You—you shouldn’t be able to walk around—”
“It’s dormant.” For now.
The medic’s eyes somehow bulge further.
Gabriel pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll take over. Go report.”
The medic looks ready to argue but nods and leaves. Gabriel finishes the bandaging, his thoughts elsewhere.
“Was Lucinda home?” Veda asks.
“Yes,” he reluctantly replies. “We found her in bed. Marlene is doing a scene analysis, but preliminary findings suggest she had been dead for hours when you arrived. The explosion was her talisman self-destructing to expel intruders. Do you remember what happened?”
She recounts everything, from the talisman’s state to the door opening and the distorted figure whispering her name.
“It was the Botanist. Same scrambled facial features, the music, everything floating, the spider lilies. Someone else was there, too. After the talisman woke, they pulled me from the magical tidal wave, asked if I was okay, then ran. I didn’t see their face. ”
Before Gabriel can respond, Marlene lumbers toward them, wearing a baggy white bodysuit that resembles a marshmallow. She’s subdued and wincing, gait uneven.
“Are you okay?” Gabriel asks.
“Yeah, I tripped getting into the house and fell on my ass.”
“Almost did the same myself. Be careful.”
“I will.” She sighs heavily, turning to Veda. “Shit day, huh?”
“That’s putting it lightly.”
“Glad you’re not seriously injured.”
“Could have been worse,” Gabriel says grimly. “Did you finish the scene analysis?”
“We can’t confirm what spell killed Lucinda because of the wasting curse degrading the Imprints, just like all the other killings. There were spider lilies all over her living room and under her bed.”
Confirmation makes Veda sick.
“Call your aunt Ruth,” Gabriel tells Marlene. “The Council will come for Lucinda’s body to give her a proper burial.”
Veda taps her foot, biting her lip. “Actually, don’t call Ruth yet.”
Gabriel looks up from applying the last patch over her cut. “Why not?”
“You need to answer that question, gather evidence, and then approach them with all the facts. Otherwise it’s pointless.” She rolls her sore shoulders. “Were there any Imprints?”
“One,” Marlene replies slowly. “A Seer’s. Dr. Everett Simpson.”
“Do you think he came to save you?” Gabriel’s question confirms that they’re thinking the same thing.
“What do you mean?” Marlene’s sharp gaze mirrors Gabriel’s.
“He warned me to be careful of who I trust. That tricksters fly.”
Marlene sucks in a breath. “What else did he say?”
Veda jiggles her foot, restless. “A lot, but also a little. How did he know I’d be here?”
“He’s watching you,” Gabriel says grimly. “Francisco was right. You need protection.”
“I’m not letting enforcers into my cottage. It’s cloaked. I’m safe there.”
“And when you’re not there?”
Veda doesn’t know. “I’ll figure it out.”
Once they leave to finish their investigation, Veda calls Khadijah to pick her up. Her thoughts spiral in every direction. Everything is connected—but how?