“And our team?” Angel prodded.
“Classified.” The unspoken truth hung in the blood scented air; someone higher up was stonewalling. They had pieces of the puzzle, but the picture was being kept from us. Did we even have enough of the records to make a comparison? Or were we deliberately being left in the dark?
Hanna’s sharp gaze cut back to me, the professional frustration shifting into a more urgent concern. “Which brings us back to the original problem. You’re a walking, talking high value asset with a target on your back and no control. This,” she gestured at the void where Bowman’s ghost should have been, “is a problem. You need training, Holt.”
“We’re working on it,” Angel said, his tone defensive.
“Me not seeing a ghost here isn’t a lack of training,” I argued back. “Something ate this guy’s soul.” Why I was certain of that, I couldn’t explain, but a heavy silence stretched across the scene.
“What about the two others?” Hardy asked, not intervening until that moment.
“Gone,” I said. “Not like Bowman. They crossed when the spell collapsed.” How could I explain the difference? “The body on the gurney feels like a rock, a paperweight, lifeless, as if there has never been anything there. The two others feel human. Even though there’s nothing left to talk to.” I waved my hands as if it could somehow make it all make sense. “If you blindfolded me and asked me to point to a dead body in the room, I’d give you the duo on the floor and not even pick out the body on the gurney.”
“What even is that?” Agent Smart asked Hardy, who shrugged in reply.
Hanna stepped aside and motioned for us to exit the crime scene, and while normally I’d have liked to dig in, I knew a roadblock when I saw one. She waited until we were in the hallway, arms folded across her chest and gaze narrowed. “You realize these are level five abilities,” she said.
As I had no idea what that meant, but Angel nodded, I assumed he did.
“Lilith would be a good shield.”
“I’m his shield,” Angel stated tightly.
“And if the military takes you both?”
“I’ve already stated my piece about that. Xavier will let us stay.”
“But will he stand between the mortals who seek power and a necromancer?”
“I have other obligations I can call in.”
I gripped Angel’s hand, not knowing what else to do. What if I went to Lilith? Would it be so bad?
“Our bookstore friend is a Reaper,” Angel offered in a low whisper. Would Hardy and Smart hear?
Hanna’s eyes widened.
“And you’ve read the report from across the Veil,” Angel added. “It’s not the first time.”
“You’re playing with fire,” she said.
“I disagree. We’ve got a great mentor for him. Xavier supports me, and Jude’s little brother is also a shifter. Which means Xavier’s got an interest in keeping Jude alive and safe, too.” Angel’s grip on my arm was viselike. Allying with a force like that came with a price, a debt that could never be fully repaid. It meant trading one kind of leash for another, potentially more dangerous one.
“I’ll need official paperwork,” Hanna said, her voice low and final. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Angel held up his hands, keeping me at his back. “Better to be indebted to the angel of death than the goddess of murder.”
And if that was the difference, I was all in on Angel’s plan myself.
34
The city lightsbled into streaks of gold and red as Angel drove. The only sounds were the hum of the engine and the low thrum of Stray Kids “Red Lights,” a song that felt too on the nose for the chaos of my life. The grimoire from Nat was a lead weight on my lap, its cool leather a stark contrast to the simmering panic I couldn’t seem to shake. For a few hours, I’d actually dared to hope, to believe I could find a path forward instead of just being a walking disaster.
Then, of course, reality exploded. Again. Now I was a person of interest in a cop’s murder, a guy I hadn’t even known well enough to hate. As if I’d ever use his family as fuel for some ritual to tear the world apart.
We were two blocks from my apartment when my phone erupted with the eighties pop of “Stray Cat Strut”—Ivan’s ringtone. A cold knot twisted in my gut. He should have been safe at home, lost in his webcomics.
I answered, skipping the hello. “What’s wrong?”
