A Drop of Magic Read online

  The pressure in my gut spread to my lungs. I didn’t like where this was going. “He’s a friend. We went to college together. Why?”

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Mr. Daye is dead.”

  The mug slipped from my fingers. I was only dimly aware of coffee spilling across the table and dripping to the floor. My vision began to swim. I crossed my arms over my stomach and rocked in time to the throbbing in my ears until I remembered how to breathe.

  “He was killed in his home last night.” Garcia’s voice sounded distant, as though she were at the far end of a tunnel.

  I slammed invisible chains over the door behind which my emotions pounded. A cold hollowness enveloped me, and I welcomed it like an old friend. I hid in that emptiness like a child in a blanket, waiting for the monsters to pass.

  “When did you last hear from him?”

  I remembered his picture flashing across my screen and the voice mail I’d put off listening to. “Oh my god!”

  “What?” Garcia perched at the edge of her seat, looking as though she wanted to vault the table and wring her answers out of me.

  “He called me last night, but I was tired. . . . I didn’t answer.” My voice caught on the implication. Could it be my fault he was dead, because I’d been too wrapped up in my own life to answer the damn phone? My message may well have been the last words of a dying man. Fumbling the phone out of my pocket with shaking fingers, I accessed my voice mail and put it on speaker.

  “Alex?” Aiden’s characteristically tense voice was pitched low, carrying my name through the receiver in a hoarse whisper. “Damn it! What’s the point of having a cell phone if you don’t pick up? Listen, I think someone’s watching me. I’ve got this feeling, ya know? Anyway, you should pick up the present for your grandfather as soon as you can. Okay, well, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  As the message cut off, Garcia and I stared in silence at the phone in my hand, processing words cast back to us by a ghost.

  Garcia recovered first. “Do you have any idea who might have been following him?”

  I shook my head. “Aiden always said stuff like that. He always thought someone was out to get him. When we were in college, he thought people were planting devices in his room to spy on him. He wouldn’t let anyone into his house until he’d run a background check. He was paranoid.”

  “Maybe he had reason to be. Did he ever mention who might be out to get him, or why?”

  “No. His paranoia seemed totally illogical. Just a weird quirk. When we asked him about it, he’d get all secretive and say it wasn’t safe to talk.”

  “You never saw any evidence that he was being targeted?”

  “Like I said, I thought he was just being paranoid. But that part about picking up a present for my grandfather . . .”

  “What about it?”

  “I don’t have a grandfather. I haven’t got any relatives. Aiden knows, er, knew that.”

  “Could it be a misdirect to confuse whoever he thought was watching?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. If he was trying to confuse someone he did a good job, because I have no idea what he was talking about.”

  Garcia pulled a digital recorder out of her pocket. “I’d like to make a copy of that message.”

  “Of course.” I played the message again, choking up at the end. Turning away, I scrubbed at the pressure building in my eyes and tried to push away the conviction that if I’d only answered the phone that night I might have prevented my friend’s murder. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Home invasion. We don’t know what, if anything, was taken, but the house was tossed.” Garcia paused before adding, “Your friend put up a fight.”

  I pictured Aiden fighting for his life and clenched my fists. Why hadn’t he just run? But then, that was just like him, fighting even when he knew he couldn’t win.

  “We haven’t released the name or details yet,” Garcia said. “So please keep this to yourself for the time being.”

  Without thinking, I blurted, “I have to tell David.” Then added, “He was Aiden’s only real friend besides me.”

  Garcia flipped to a back page in her notebook. “Would this be David Nolan?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m planning to speak with him later today. I’d appreciate it if you’d wait until tomorrow to talk to him.” Garcia’s tone made it clear that “appreciate” really meant “insist,” and I wasn’t going to like the outcome if I didn’t comply.

  It pissed me off, but I could understand the reasoning.

  “You and Mr. Nolan were the only emergency contacts listed with Mr. Daye’s employer. Do you know if he had any living relatives?”

  I shook my head, a cavern opening up in my chest. “He didn’t.”

  She nodded and made a quick stroke in her notes. The finality of the motion made me cringe.

  “When will his body be released?”

  Garcia’s eyes softened. “You’ll need to contact the coroner’s office for that information.”

  I didn’t need to know, not really. Aiden had a standing order at a crematorium. David and I had teased him mercilessly when he told us about it. Now? Well . . . I rubbed at the pressure behind my sternum, trying to ease my breath. All I had to do was scatter the ashes when they arrived.

  Flipping her notepad closed, Garcia pushed back from the table. “Thank you for your help, Ms. Blackwood.”

  I held up a hand to stop her as a thought struck me. “A couple fae came to my studio this morning looking for a box they seemed convinced I had. Do you think it could have to do with Aiden? If he meant for me to pick something up . . .”

  Garcia sat back down. “What happened, exactly?”

  “They were looking for a silver box. When I said I didn’t have it, one of them tried to grab me, and I hit him with the iron tongs I was holding. His glamour broke, and he passed out. The second guy seemed to believe I didn’t have what they were looking for, and they left.”

  “Hmm. If they were killers you’d probably be in the morgue, but the timing is suspicious. I’ll check with the PTF, look for a connection. What agent did you speak with?”

  “O’Connell, O’Conner, something like that. He’s in the Boulder office.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Blackwood.” Garcia held out a business card. “If you think of anything else, call me.”

  I took the card, swallowing a lump in my throat. “Please find who did this to my friend.”

  She nodded. “I intend to.”

  Cat was still on the porch when I opened the door for Garcia. For a moment, I considered letting him in just to have another heartbeat nearby. Then Garcia’s SUV started down the drive, and I closed the door on the offer of comfort in those big green eyes.

  Crossing the living room, I picked up one of the framed pictures on my stone mantle. It showed David, Aiden, and me making silly, drunken faces on a spring break beach in Mexico. The dull ache in my chest sharpened, growing deeper. When I’d started college, I’d been alone. No parents, no relatives, no friends. A lifetime of moving had left me with few real connections and no delusions about lasting relationships. David changed that when he sat next to me in freshman lit and struck up a conversation despite my best efforts. Two months later he introduced me to his eccentric roommate, Aiden, and the three of us became inseparable. With Aiden gone, it felt like a piece of my heart was missing.

  I stared at the photo until a growling stomach reminded me I was still alive. Hobbled by the order not to contact David until the following day, I found some leftovers in the fridge, ate them cold, and turned in for an early night, all the while clinging to the dim hope that a good night’s sleep would bring a better tomorrow.

  Chapter 2

  FROM THE MOUTH of the valley, a warm wind blows the scent of decay in
to my face, whipping my hair into a tangled curtain. I stand alone on a field of death. Corpses of fallen soldiers litter the ground as far as the eye can see, and every face is my father’s, staring at me with blank eyes. I clench my jaw against the familiar pangs of anger and loss that threaten to break free of the prison in which I locked them so long ago.

  Rows of humans in shining armor stand under the banner of the Church’s Sorcerer Troop on the hill to my right. A horn sounds. Hazy red sunlight glints off metal as they begin their descent into the valley. To my left, the faerie hoards scream their battle cry. From monsters that make my blood run cold, to angels whose beauty bring tears to my eyes, the faerie army begins its advance.

  “It isn’t safe.”

  I turn toward the voice. “Aiden?”

  He nods, staring into me with one dark, heavy-lidded eye. A shock of straight, black hair covers the other.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Keeping my promise.”

  Promise?

  Aiden pushes back his hair, revealing a swollen eye. His ocher skin is bruised purplish-black, and blood oozes from a gash in his cheek. When he smiles his lopsided smile, his teeth are stained red from the split in his lip. He looks just like he did the night he saved me. The night he promised he would always be there for me.

  “They’re coming for you,” he says.

  “Who?”

  “Everyone.”

  Waves of darkness crash in from either side, crushing me between them.

  My eyes snapped open.

  Heart hammering against my ribs, strings of sweat-drenched hair plastered to my clammy skin, I untangled myself from the twisted sheets and focused on slowing my breath.

  Aiden’s battered face dredged up a memory I hadn’t thought of in years. Sophomore year, when I was dumb and naive, and I’d had way too much to drink, I left a party with some jock I barely knew. By the time I realized my mistake, I was in the middle of nowhere with a man twice my size.

  I shivered at the memory of meaty hands pawing me, a warm tongue probing my lips.

  Aiden had tried to stop me at the party, told me I was drinking too much, but I’d ignored him. Not just ignored him. I’d chased him off, accused him of ruining my fun. But on that god-forsaken hillside, it was twerpy little Aiden who yanked open the door of that jock’s Firebird.

  He got his ass kicked that night, but he saved me. That was the night he promised he’d always be there for me, no matter what.

  The ache in my chest made a mockery of that promise, and it was my own damn fault. Once again, I’d been stupid and selfish, and Aiden had paid the price. I’d been too wrapped up in my own damn life to answer the phone. One simple act that could have changed everything. Now Aiden’s face had joined those of my father and mother to haunt my dreams.

  I wiped a trail of tears off my cheek.

  The clock on the nightstand read 5:23 a.m. The early hour, coupled with a long night of jumping at every snapping branch and creak of the house for fear some homicidal maniac had come to murder me, left cobwebs clinging to my thoughts. I rubbed the grit from my eyes and cringed at the rancid flavor in my mouth. I needed more sleep, but that dream had robbed me of any desire to close my eyes again. Besides, I was scheduled to open at the bookstore.

  I draped an arm over my forehead and sighed. Maybe I should quit my day job. With my art doing so well, I didn’t need it.

  But I couldn’t do that to Maggie. She was more than just my bibliophile boss, she was a friend. As roommates in college, we’d gotten into and out of more trouble together than I cared to remember. I couldn’t leave her hanging.

  Plus, working at the bookstore kept me from becoming too much of a crazy shut-in.

  Shaking off the disturbing dream, I stretched to my full extension, feet dangling off the end of the bed while my palms pressed flat against the headboard.

  I shuffled to the kitchen in slippers and a t-shirt, switching lights on as I went, until I reached the coffee maker I’d treated myself to last Christmas. It didn’t do anything fancy, like cappuccinos with swirly patterns in the foam and whatnot, but the built-in timer meant coffee was ready and waiting when I stumbled over to pour myself a mug of steaming black caffeine. I downed half the cup in a single gulp, topped it off, and carried a bagel slathered with cream cheese to the bar that separated my kitchen and living room.

  Chewing a bite of bagel, I contemplated my phone. I’d missed a call from David shortly after passing out last night. Guess that meant the cops were done with him. He probably wasn’t awake yet, but Aiden’s death hung over me like a black cloud, threatening to drown me in sorrow.

  “Alex?” He picked up faster than expected. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I just . . .” I bit my lip. “Did the police talk to you?”

  “Yeah. I can’t believe Aiden’s gone. I wasn’t able to sleep at all last night. How’re you holding up?”

  “I’m managing. Not sure it’s really hit me yet. I was hoping we could get together today. I work till four, but I could come over after. Maybe order Chinese and watch a Kung Fu movie in Aiden’s honor?” Aiden, David, and I had a tradition of renting old martial arts movies and mercilessly tearing them apart until our sides split. It seemed as fitting a way as any to say goodbye.

  “Sounds great, Alex. I’ll meet you at my place around four-thirty.”

  “Perfect.” I just had to survive my shift without falling apart.

  MAGPIE BOOKS WAS tucked between a deli and a health club just off Arapahoe in Boulder. The drive took half an hour along the winding canyon road that traced the curves of Boulder Creek, and despite waking early, I was pushing the clock as usual. The eastern sky was just starting to lighten when my rusty blue Jeep shuddered to a stop behind the bookstore.

  Emma Yamada, my opening counterpart, loitered by the back door in calf-high black boots, striped rainbow leggings, a short black skirt, tie-dyed tank top, and black fishnet sleeves. Magpie didn’t have much of a dress code, so long as all the important bits were covered, but my outfit of jeans and a t-shirt was downright professional compared to her drunken punk rainbow.

  Tired and depressed though I was, her unapologetic fashion brought a smile to my lips as I waved in greeting. “Hey girl, been waiting long?”

  Emma shook her head and pushed off the wall, her many piercings flashing as they caught the early morning light. “Did you hear? There’s been another one!”

  My smile faltered. “Yeah, I heard.”

  She was practically bouncing with the news. Small shops like Magpie were breeding grounds for local gossip, and nothing sparked more interest than a murder. Well, almost nothing. The idea that the fae might have broken the peace treaty was spreading like wild fire.

  “It was all over the news this morning. People are up in arms, claiming the faeries want to start another war, but that’s just crazy.”

  “You don’t think the killer is a faerie?”

  She shrugged. “It’s possible, but they could just as easily be human. Besides, why would the faeries want a war?”

  “Why would anyone?” I countered.

  “Good point.”

  Like me, Emma lost her father to the Faerie Wars. Unlike me, there’d been enough left of hers for a funeral. While I tried not to let anger cloud my judgment about the fae, Emma actually succeeded. In fact, she seemed enamored by them.

  “They haven’t identified the victim yet, but it apparently happened Friday night. Oh! Speaking of which, how did your show opening go?”

  Bless Emma’s short attention span. Gleefully clinging to the new topic, I reaffixed my smile. “It was good. Lots of rich people in fancy suits that wanted to shake hands with an artist.”

  “Don’t knock it. They’re paying your way so you can do what you love, right?”

  “Yeah. It
just feels so. . . . I dunno, like I’m outta place. Like any minute they’re gonna realize I don’t belong there and kick me out of my own damn party.”

  “As if James would ever let you leave. I bet he was lookin’ hot. That man is fine.”

  I gave a noncommittal grunt. Fine didn’t begin to cover James Abernathy, owner and curator of the prestigious Souled Art Gallery where I showed my work. When he’d first appeared on my doorstep with an offer of patronage, I’d been dumbstruck by more than just the opportunity he represented.

  Emma gave me a knowing look. “I’ve said it before, you two should hook up.”

  I rolled my eyes. That was the problem with being a single woman pushing thirty—everyone thought they were entitled to an opinion about my love life, or lack thereof. But I’d given up the illusion of lasting relationships when I was sixteen, after the fifth time I’d come home from school to find all my worldly possessions stacked in boxes by the front door. A few moments of pleasure weren’t worth the inevitable pain when it all fell apart.

  I shook my head. The last thing I needed was that kind of emotional complication. I’d finally managed a level of stability in my life, and I was damn well gonna keep it. Pushing the thought away, I focused on helping Emma carry in the fresh-baked goods provided by her mother’s bakery. Emma would sell them at the bookstore’s café, where she worked her coffee magic.

  A few minutes later, the mouth-watering smells of fresh-baked pastries and brewing coffee filled the store. Emma slid a latte across the counter and winked. “Just the way you like it.”

  I took a long sip and sighed with pleasure. Now that was coffee.

  Smiling, I tipped my chin toward Emma’s hair. “I like the new look. Big plans for Halloween?”

  Emma’s hair was almost as versatile as her wardrobe, changing with her moods. Last week’s bob of blue and green stripes had been replaced by short spikes dyed black and orange with two purple tendrils that framed her face.

  “I promised to take my sister trick-or-treating so mom could do a promotion at the bakery, but I’m headed to a party after that. You wanna come?”