22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
My phone rang at noon while I pored over a book on afterlife myths in the Prague collection and was about to cast it aside. I’d already learned most of this in my previous research. The phone’s bleating was a welcome distraction.
“Austin here.”
“Um…Austin…um…”
“Who is this?” I tossed down the pen I’d been using to take notes.
“It’s Charles. You told me to call you if I had information on the killings.”
I leaned back in my chair, my full attention on the stammering imbecile on the other end of the line. “Go on.”
“Someone t-tried to kill Emmett Graves last night.”
“That is mildly helpful,” I drawled. “Anything else?”
“He was alone in his office, and I guess, um, someone came in and attacked him, but he thinks they were interrupted. He passed out and woke up in his chair.”
“How do you know he didn’t fall asleep at his desk?” I asked.
“There was a man in a mask, and Emmett can’t remember what happened after that.”
“That is helpful.”
“O-okay.” His voice hit a higher, more frightened pitch. “So you’re not going to, uh…to bring that guy back to my house, right? I did what you wanted. My nose still hurts. Please?”
A fresh grin curled my lips at the memory of Rook smashing Charles in the face and how crude I’d thought the whole thing was.
“No, you’ve done well,” I said. “If you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to call me. Thank you, Charles.”
“Okay, thanks. Bye.”
The call ended and I closed the book in front of me. That was enough work on this today. I had pressing matters to investigate, and I needed food first. I shot off a text to Rook.
Juicy news about the murders. Come over after the fights?
Rook: Sounds good.
I caressed my fingers over the buttons.
I miss you.
Rook’s reply was immediate, and my heart squeezed around his urgency.
Rook: I miss you too.
I drove back to my penthouse, dropped off the car, and walked to the diner to gorge myself on home fries in the middle of the afternoon. Halfway through polishing them off, my phone rang again.
“Austin here.”
“This is Wesley Lake,” he said, and I sipped my tea as I waited for him to go on. “There was an attempt on Emmett Graves’s life last night, right in his Council office.”
“Interesting,” I said. “What happened?”
“From what we can gather, he was alone working late when a man in a mask entered the room and attacked him. He doesn’t remember the attack, just waking up groggy in his office.
No traces of magic again, but the attacker dropped the next message, so he must have left in a hurry.
We don’t think it was intentional. He was interrupted. ”
“What did the message say?”
“I’ll text it through to you.”
I tapped my fingers on the table. “Not to be rude, but doesn’t it help you if your opponent is dead? Perhaps you shouldn’t be sharing helpful information. Why are you sharing it with me?”
“You have the most resources to find the killer,” he said, “even more than the Council.” His slick politician's voice crept in. “If he’s dead, it takes out all the challenge for me. Look into it.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
A few moments after he hung up, I received his message.
Wesley: and 1nce the sword of justice appears
What do you think the masked man wants?
Wesley: My guess is he wants to derail the election.
That means you’re on the list.
Wesley: I’m not worried.
No, he was remarkably calm—too calm for someone who might cross paths with a killer at any moment.
Unless his path and the killer’s were the same.
***
“I call bullshit,” Rook said as we stood, shoulders brushing, staring down at the killer’s message on my kitchen island. I had written it all out together on a scrap of paper.
the hubris of magic
one evil with seven faces
wait 4 your demise, 5alvation denied
and 1nce the sword of justice appears
“Wesley has the most to gain from killing off people in the way of his representative position,” he said. “I don’t trust the asshole.”
“I don’t trust anyone on the Council.”
“You don’t trust anyone.”
I steadied myself with a breath and grasped his forearm. My eyes stayed on the paper, hiding from whatever expression he was about to make.
“I trust you.”
He shifted my arm so he could hold my hand and squeeze it.
“The number thing is still weird.”
“I don’t know what it means, but whoever was in Emmett’s office had keys to access the building late at night.”
His fingers were still on mine, his thumb making lazy trails along my knuckles.
“Do you still think you’re on the list?” he asked.
“He followed me home a few nights ago.”
“Jesus fuck, why didn’t you call me?” He turned me sharply and held on to both my arms.
“I didn’t know about it until later.” I let the next choice make itself before I could stop it. “I can hear the voices of people who have died. They told me.”
“But they can’t tell you who he is?”
I scoffed. “The dead are…fickle. Half the time they’re useless, and they said they don’t know who he is.” His eyes were bright and burrowing, full of questions, but I wasn’t sure which ones. “You’re not freaking out about me hearing voices.”
His hands dropped and one side of his mouth lifted in a tempting smirk. “It sounds more normal than having thirteen lives.”
“Death latched on and wouldn’t let go,” I said, “but that’s a story for another time.”