“I was called on an emergency-”
Brooks dismissed her with a flick of his hand. “Enough, I don’t want to hear it. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted black witches.”
“-an emergency for Councilman Gallagher,” she continued as his smile faltered. “Maybe you could confirm with him yourself?” She knew he wouldn’t call Frederick, otherwise she wouldn’t have said it. “Or maybe I’ll just…” She let her words drift off.
“No, no,” he said quickly. “There’s no need to contact anyone from The Council.”
She couldn’t blame his slight panic. Other than Frederick, she had never met anyone else who held a seat on The Council, the people who reigned over all Breed. If they were anything like Frederick, she hoped she never had to deal with them.
Brooks paused, pale skin glistening. His smile seemed forced, lips stretched so wide she could make out every single tooth. “Aren’t you lucky I was able to do you this favour?”
Kyra waited.
“I defused the situation with the client, and they have agreed to give you another chance. You’re very lucky, because it took a lot of convincing.”
“I’m sure it did,” she said, the words harsher than she intended. “What exactly am I supposed to be doing for this client? You know my restrictions under the law.”
“Oh,” he grinned, hands rubbing together. “Nothing you haven’t done before, I’m sure.”
Chapter14
Xander
The air was bitter, the sky pale and threatening snow. Xander ignored the curious glances from the two siblings, their attention strained between watching Kyra tease salt around the grave and him. They bickered, as siblings frequently did, but with an extra venom entwined with abhorrence. He wanted to blame grief considering they were both standing above their recently deceased father’s grave, but from their frequent peeks at their watches he assumed they were just soulless arseholes.
“Is this going to take much longer?” the man said, checking his expensive gold watch for the fifth time in the last thirty-minutes. “I have a meeting to get to.”
“And it’s cold!” his sister added, tightening her designer scarf. “This should have been resolved days ago.”
“Indya, I’m dealing with it,” the man snapped, his smile fake when he turned back to Kyra. “Now, can you answer my question?”
She looked up from the position on her knees, the salt laid in a circular pattern, pale against the freshly turned soil. “Not too much longer,” she replied in her soft voice.
“Then get on with it,” the woman said, her tone sharp. “Aren’t we paying for your necromancy services by the hour?”
Xander hadn’t realised he scowled until the woman glanced at him, and clearly took a step back, behind her brother. Her reaction didn’t bother him, not when it was something he was accustomed to. He didn’t have the friendliest of faces, not when his hair was so pale it was almost silver, which was a great contrast to the black of his brows. And then there were his eyes. He had always gotten attention for his eyes,striking, they had been called when he was growing up, but cold. Blue irises that seemed to startle people, but to him they were just eyes, ones that saw things others couldn’t.
“Hey, hey you!” a voice called beside him, followed by a partially transparent hand fluttering in his eyeline. “I know you can hear me.”
Xander leaned heavier against the headstone, folding his arms. Cemeteries, the one place he purposely stayed clear of, and yet there he was, watching a black witch call the dead, or whatever the fuck she was doing. She said she was a dark witch because she didn’t embrace death, and yet there she was calling the fucking dead.
It had taken years of patience to learn to ignore the spirits who screamed for his attention, to pretend he couldn’t hear or see them. They were a pain in his arse, always demanding things like explanations or forgiveness. It wasn’t his fault they died… usually.
“Hey, I know you can hear me!” A face appeared this time, partially blocking Xander’s view as Kyra finalised the lines in the salt. “Hey you prick, you could at least acknowledge me!”
The spirit flickered, his face disappearing altogether before reappearing. He was relatively weak, pulling power from somewhere close, possibly the newly dead to generate his some-what transparent form. Xander remained frozen, careful to not respond. He concentrated on Kyra’s soothing voice, so damn soft and calming that it pissed him off. Surely someone who worked with the dead shouldn’t sound so warm and comforting?
Her voice and face should reflect her magic, ugly and coarse with crooked teeth, wrinkles and warts. Except her skin looked soft, a dark bronze that hinted at sunshine and warmer climates. Her face, frustratingly not unpleasant, was a mixture of heritages, with dark amber eyes that were slightly upturned and emphasised with cat-like eyeliner.
“Yeah,” the spirit grunted, “well fuck you too.” He lifted a fist, knuckles passing through Xander’s nose as if he was just a slight breeze. When Xander didn’t flinch he sighed, shoulders drooping as he wandered off further into the cemetery.
Bored, he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting one quickly between his lips. He ignored the woman’s cutting stare, instead breathing out a steady smoke. He blinked, realising the smudges in his peripheral were more ghosts slowly moving towards him. Some were almost solid, the fresher ones faces always twisted with confusion and dread. Others were barely visible, just glints in the light, but they all still pestered, pulled to his aura in a way he didn’t understand or care to learn.
It was why he stayed away from places where they would accumulate in great numbers. He sure as hell didn’t want any to follow him home, he had enough issues with his brothers arguing in his ear, he didn’t need dead people too.
A brush on his shoulder, a hesitant hand.
Xander didn’t need to turn to know it was the father who stood by his side. A stream of light still tethered him to the grave, stopping him from passing over to whatever was next.
