Chapter 1
Sorry I’m late. I didn’t want to come.
“If you run out of gas, I’m calling a tow truck to haul your ass to the junkyard.” I’m two miles from my hometown and running on fumes. It’s not where I want to be, but I dropped everything when Dad called—not like I had a lot going on anyway. His words still echo in my head. “Hey, Frankie, we need ya.”
If he called, it must be serious. He knows why I left and why I haven’t been back.
I breathe a sigh of relief when the glow of the service station on the edge of Hill Crest comes into view. If I would have been paying attention, I would have fueled up in the last town. I need to be smarter if I plan to get out of here without anyone noticing.
Thankfully, my car isn’t recognizable, just an older beat-up Dodge Charger I keep promising myself I’m going to turn in, but I never get around to doing it. I pull into the farthest pump from the station and keep my head down as I fill up. I could pee, but there’s no way I’m going inside. In this town, news spreads faster than Tammie Turnbuckle’s legs.
When I get back in the car, I shoot a text off to Dad to warn him I’m in town so he can clear out the crime scene. I agreed to do this on my terms. That means no prying eyes. I wish I had the luxury to wait around and make sure he’s going to follow through, but I only have until midnight to get into Mickey’s Bed and Breakfast before she’ll lock my butt out. She’s a mean old broad, but one who has secrets of her own, so I hope she won’t tell anyone I’m in town for a few days.
Dad’s police issued truck is parked near the front steps of the town library. It’s a grand historical building that matches the school next to it. Hill Crest used to be a big deal. Several high-powered magical bloodlines came from my little town, but that was a long time ago.
I park behind him, ignoring the meter, and grab my satchel to loop over my head. My messy hair gets caught on the strap, and I end up losing a few strands in the wind. “Great, it’s like I’m sabotaging myself.” I slam my car door shut with a huff and hustle up the concrete stairs.
Thankfully, it’s dark, and I don’t see anyone around. News hasn’t spread yet, or something else is keeping the looky-loos away. I’m betting Dad dropped a charm, knowing that makes me feel better.
The door swings open freely, and I’m hit with the odor of moldy books and decomposing flesh. It’s not a pleasant combination. I scrunch up my nose and take a second to get used to the stench.
“Frankie!” Dad bellows, sounding way too jovial, considering the situation.
“Hey, Pop. You been cooking again?” I tease, letting him pull me into his barrel chest and pat the back of my head. My hair is always a messy nest, so it doesn’t really matter anyway.
“Let me get a look at ya, would you?” He pushes me back with a meaty hand on my shoulder and gives me a scrutinizing stare.
“I just saw you a few weeks ago, Pop.” I may not come back to Hill Crest, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see my dad.
“This new?” He toys with the metal chain that holds my badge. I look down and smile. I’m damn proud of that badge.
“Yeah, just something I picked up.” I pretend it’s not a big deal to be wearing an MBI special agent shield.
“Looks good on you.” Not only does his tone convey how pleased he is, but it’s on his face too.
“Enough about me.” I shoo the emotion away. “Tell me what happened and why you need me.” My dad has been a cop for the better part of thirty years. Murder might be rare in Hill Crest, but this isn’t his first rodeo.
“Come take a look for yourself.” He tilts his head to the right and turns to walk away. I follow behind him, letting my eyes linger on the old place. I used to study here when I was in high school. A grin tips my lips when I see the scorched wall before I can stifle it. The guys were always getting me into trouble back then. I remember the day Felix blackened the stone with a spell that went awry.
My smile falls as quickly as the memory invades my thoughts. Instead of walking down memory lane, I focus on Dad’s back and try to figure out where he’s going. He’s huffing a little when we reach the upstairs floor. The entire space is empty, except for heavy bookcases and their filled shelves. All the furniture that used to be up here is missing, so it feels strangely empty.
He continues walking to the back stacks and the smell gets stronger. “You might want to plug your nose.” Dad glances over his shoulder, but I’m already ahead of him—I can taste the death in the air.
We stop a good twenty feet from the body, and I blow out a breath. “His head popped,” I mutter. The blood splatter reaches all the way out to our feet. It’s like one of those stupid videos where they put dozens of rubber bands on a watermelon and watch it burst. His body is still completely intact, however, other than the gore decorating his suit.
“See why I called?” Dad points to the mess. I nod wordlessly. It would take a lot of magic to do something like this, and focused magic at that. We may have something big on our hands here.
“I need to get closer. Did your guys already get everything they need?” I can feel magic brushing my skin, but it doesn’t feel powerful enough for this. Maybe they used a cloaking charm.
“We took pictures and bagged a few things, but I wanted you to be able to see everything,” Dad tells me, waving his hands to encompass the back forty feet of the room. After seeing this, his phone call makes sense.
Not many people have my kind of magic. It’s what got me a place in the MBI, and it’s also made my personal life a bit of a nightmare.
My classification is psychometry, or touch magic, but that can be misleading. I don’t necessarily need to touch anything. Instead, I can read the magical signature left behind by the user. It makes me very valuable when the MBI has a suspect for a magical crime. I can usually tell them if their suspect is the one who created the magic. Things can get tricky with produced charms, but this was no apothecary spell.
Creating a mental shield was one of the first things I learned after my magic manifested. My barriers are solid, and I have to think about pulling them down more than I have to worry about erecting them anymore, but just to be safe, I always wear a piece of jewelry or two that I’ve spelled. I slide the simple silver band off my thumb and place it in my pocket, then I lift my necklace out of my shirt and over my collar so none of the metal is touching my skin. Normally, I would excuse myself to the bathroom to remove it, but Dad is familiar with the thin, rose gold chain and protection pendant, so I don’t need to hide it from him.
There’s a part of me that just didn’t want to take it all the way off either—being home is making me nostalgic and shit. I feel Dad’s eyes on me, but I ignore it. Without me telling him to, Dad takes several steps away. It’s not that I can’t feel the signature through his own magical aura, but it makes it easier.
