Declan pulled a bottle from the fridge and tossed it to me. “I’ll need to do some poking around in Freedman’s background. Find any known acquaintances, and see if they might have any info on who might have wanted him dead. The good newsandthe bad news is that Freedman was a prolific witch. Word of his murder has probably already spread through the supernatural underworld of Chicago, and has most likely spread farther than that.”
“Why is that good and bad?” I said after taking a drink.
“It’s good, because it will be easy to find the people he knew. A guy like that leaves a trail so bright you could follow it at midnight on a moonless night. The bad part is that because he’s pretty famous, anyone asking questions will be seen as suspicious. I’ll have to be more cautious. If whoever killed Freedman is going to use you as their scapegoat, then neither of us is safe.”
“Because—”
“Because a dead person can’t explain why they didn’t kill someone else,” Declan said. “If they kill you before the witch community finds you, then all anyone will think is that the guilty party is dead. Boom, just like that, our perp is free to walk the streets.”
The bottle in my hand shook slightly as I took in his words. I hadn’treallythought about dying. I’d only been afraid of being taken to a witch’s prison and spending the rest of my life in a dank cell for a crime I didn’t commit. The idea of some shadowy murderer sneaking up behind me and slitting my throat or blasting me to bits with a spell wasfarmore terrifying.
Declan took a can out of a cabinet. He pulled the ring and peeled away the top, then held it toward me. “Pears?”
“No thanks,” I said, wrinkling my nose.
He got a fork out of a drawer. “Your loss.”
Thud.
Declan and I froze, turning our heads toward the rear of the apartment where the bed and bathroom were.
“Declan?” I whispered. “Is…is there someone else here?”
He put the can on the counter, then pulled his gun out. Up close, I could see tiny orange and purple runes along the barrel and down the handle. His gun had more than just silver bullets going for it.
He glanced at me and put his finger to his lips before he crept to the open bedroom door. I backed away slowly, inching closer to the front door. Declan vanished around the corner and into the bedroom. As soon as he did, a faint, almost inaudible knock came from right behind me.
I nearly screamed, clamping a hand to my mouth to stifle the shout. Spinning in place I stared at the door.
Knock-knock-knock.
Again, slight and gentle enough that I could barely hear it. It sounded like tiny knuckles on metal. This time I didn’t flinch, but I did turn to see if Declan had heard. He hadn’t come running, so I doubted it.
“Absolutely not,” I said.
I hadn’t been born last night. No way was I unlocking the door without seeing who was behind it. One of the few spells I could do without much trouble was a scrying window. It was similar to the portal I’d conjured the night before, but instead of being able to travel through it, you could only see things beyond it.
Holding my hand up, I closed my eyes and reached into the ether with my magical aura and latched onto the source of magic that flowed through the world, invisible and unseen until the right tool came along to harness it. Kinda like the Wi-Fi and Bluetooth humans used, butmuchmore powerful.
After harnessing the energy, I said the incantation and did my best to focus my power on the door. Thankfully, I managed it without much strain. A thin ring of red hovered right where the door was, expanding until it was nearly a six foot circle showing the world beyond. What I saw outside the apartment was too strange for words.
A tiny boy, maybe six or seven years old, stood there. He was absolutely filthy and wearing nothing but a torn T-shirt and tighty-whities. His feet were so black from dirt and God only knew what else, that it almost looked like he was wearing shoes. He looked up at me with tears in his eyes and took a step forward, placing his hand on the door.
“Please let me in,” he said in a tiny voice. “I’m lost. I need to call somebody.” His eyes locked right on mine.
“What the fuck?” I muttered, taking a step back. He shouldnothave been able to see me. A scrying window only worked one way. Had it been a lucky glance?
“Do you have a phone?” he said, still staring right at me. A shiver ran up my spine, and I opened my mouth to call for Declan, but fear had paralyzed my vocal cords.
The boy smiled. “I need to call my mommy?—”
“All clear back there,” Declan said.
His voice knocked me out of my paralysis. I spun, pointing at the door. “Declan. Something’s outside. We need to?—”
“Too late,” the boy said, but the little childlike voice was gone, replaced by a guttural wet sound that was barely understandable.
“Fuck!” Declan cried.
