Under a Spell

Chapter Four

I tried pulling my pillow over my head and then pulled ChaCha, my ever-trusty three-pound pup over that, but neither did anything to drown out the incessant pounding that was going on in my skull. ChaCha just rolled off me and went to work licking my eyebrows.

“Oh, ChaCha, stop. Mommy has a—” I was going to say headache, but once I sat up in the blackness, I realized the pounding wasn’t coming from my brain—it was coming from the living room.

The pounding started again and ChaCha jumped to attention, a stripe of hair zipping straight up along her back. She curled her little black lips back, exposing frightening—if miniscule—incisors, and growled.

A stripe of fear went down my own spine and I stopped breathing, listening.

Another three raps.

“Go get it, ChaCha,” I said, pointing. “Go defend your turf!”

ChaCha made a second fearsome growl followed by a pitiful yip as she disappeared under my sheets.

“Useless dog,” I grumbled.

I was halfway through the living room, on my way to our sword closet (it’s not that weird), when the pounding came again. It stopped and I stopped, my every living fiber taut with adrenaline.

“Nina?” I hissed.

There was no answer.

“Vlad?”

Again, silence.

Finally, the front door tore open in a Lucasfilm-style haze of whooshing wind and spitting fire.

“Holy crap!”

I stopped, dropped, and rolled. Somewhere in my subconscious I knew that was for earthquakes or bomb raids, but it didn’t seem to matter as chunks of my doorframe blistered and turned to charred dust on the ground. I was being choked by smoke and my eyes stung, but I worked to keep them open until I saw the figure walking through the flaming frame coolly, as if he didn’t feel the heat.

“Who are you?” I screamed. “What do you want?”

“Sophie?”

My heart was clanging like a fire bell and the soft voice saying my name only terrified me further. I knew that voice, I remembered that voice. I gulped, sour saliva dripping down my throat.

“O-o-Ophelia?” I asked, my lips burning from the heat. “Oh, God.”

Ophelia was a fallen angel. One whom, until apparently right this minute, had been dead, killed by yours truly, staked with a trident to a UDA corkboard. The fact that she was the baddest of the fallen angel brigade made her death warranted. The fact that she was my half sister made the whole thing incredibly complicated.

“Oh God, ohGod-ohGod-ohGod,” I mumbled to my hands.

“No, Sophie, it’s me!”

The darkened form came closer and I could clearly make out slim hips, a tiny waist, and thick braids. I squinted. “Kale?”

She did some sort of Samantha Stephens move and suddenly everything—the fire, my charred doorframe—was fine. I took the opportunity to roll out of the fetal position and thank my lucky stars that in my last few years of being surprised, attacked, and other, my bladder was starting to strengthen up quite nicely.

“What the hell are you doing here at”—I glanced at the suddenly non-melted clock next to the door—“three a.m. and what”—I flailed wildly at the door—“was that? Why the hell are you trying to burn my apartment down?”

Kale seemed to shrink into herself and her blue hair as a Corvette-red blush blanketed her cheeks. “I’m really sorry, Soph. But look—” She knocked on the doorframe. “No harm no foul. It was all magik. An illusion.”

“Great. Please tell that to my cardiologist because I’m about to drop dead. Why are you burning shit—illusion or otherwise—at this hour? And why my shit? I thought we were friends.”

Kale rushed toward me and took my hand in hers. “Oh, Sophie, of course we’re friends! This wasn’t for you.” It took a microsecond for the sweet, apologetic look in her eyes to change to one of fiery rage. “It was for Vlad.”

“Vlad’s not here,” I said, my teeth gritted, my breath coming out in spitting gasps. “He and Nina are probably at Poe’s.”

Vlad and Nina—and the rest of their vampire brethren—have no need for sleep and, really, abhor relaxation of any kind (another reason I’m A-okay not being one of the pointy-fanged undead). As the majority of the breathing world fell asleep during the wee hours, some shopkeepers saw their niche in the market and started opening up a select group of shops—bars, coffeehouses, etc.—specifically for their all-night clientele. Vlad and Nina had a special fondness for a little hole-in-the-artery place called Poe’s and spent at least a couple of nights there each week, brooding and drinking blood out of giant cappuccino bowls.

“So sorry about that. And you know, this.” Kale’s bottom lip started to wobble as I prayed for her to leave so I could drop back into my blissful dreams about sexy men and not murder. But I was a pushover. “Come in.”

She did and immediately flopped onto the couch. “I’m just so mad at Vlad. Did you hear what he did?”

“Allegedly,” I mumbled. “But Kale, it’s the middle of the night. You’re eighteen. You should save the blowing up of ex-boyfriends for daylight hours, young lady.” I stifled a yawn. “Besides, aren’t your parents going to be worried about you?”

Kale waved a nonchalant hand and sniffled. “My parents won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“Oh, Kale, I’m sure that’s not true!”

“No, I put an oblivion spell on them.” She turned her watery eyes to me. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

I looked over her shoulder. “If you mean burning down doors at three a.m., no. If you mean trying to make Vlad pay his debts by throwing fireballs and whatnot at him? Still no. Ditto on the magical parental lobotomy. What’s all this really for, Kale? What do you want from Vlad?”

She sniffled again and used the heel of her hand to push the mascara-edged tears away. “I just want him to notice me.”

“Well, burning things might get you noticed, but not in the right way. Why don’t you try talking to him? Or, possibly sending him a nice, quiet text message?”

Kale heaved a weight-of-the-world sigh. “I don’t know. That’s really subtle. Do you think it would work?”

“I think it’s worth a try.”

She looked at her hands in her lap, shaking her head. A fresh round of tears rolled over her cheeks. “It has to work. You’re right, Sophie. I’m already nineteen. I don’t want to be alone forever.”

I bit into my bottom lip as Kale looked up at me with those round, earnest eyes. Eyes that truly believed that eighteen was, apparently, approaching the crest of “the hill” of which I was most notably over.

“I just don’t know how you do it. You don’t have anyone and you’re still just so confident.”

My left eye started to twitch. I pressed my index finger to it in a vain attempt at stopping the thrum. “You should probably head home now, Kale.”

Kale nodded and touched my hand softly. “Thanks, Sophie. You’re really wise.” She stood up and brushed her palms over her jeans. “And again, I’m sorry about waking you up.”

I swung the lock on the door and crawled into bed after Kale left, intent on getting at least another three hours of sleep.

I wasn’t going to be alone for the rest of my life, I reasoned. My life was very full with two incredible guys. One who was supernaturally bound to me and another who could never be truly happy unless he killed me.

Maybe I should go back on Match.com.

I tried to drift off to sleep—tried counting sheep and reciting the Gettysburg address, both usually fail-safe knockouts—but twenty minutes later my heart was still slamming against my rib cage and my whole body was tense, humming with adrenaline.

Kale was willing to show up in a shower of fire to get Vlad’s attention. She is willing to cut off his head due to jealousy, I thought. Yes, but she’s a teen witch, I reasoned. With non-witchy hormones.

I sat bolt upright in bed a second time.

Jealousy.

I grabbed my cell phone and counted the rings.

“This better be a matter of life or death, Lawson.”

I took a brief, fluttering second to absorb the velvet smoothness of Alex’s voice—even as it was throaty and gruff with sleep.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“A thrilling combination of good detective work and caller ID. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

I sucked in a breath and began pacing. “Sampson said you’re working on the Mercy kidnapping case, too, right?”

“Strictly the aboveground part of it. No creepy-crawlies or bump-in-the-nighties. Why?”

“Have you interviewed the girls’ friends yet? Cathy and Alyssa’s?”

I could hear the mattress groan as Alex changed position and I clamped my knees together and bit into my lower lip, scolding myself for thinking of Alex, position, and mattress all in the same sentence.

“So, Alyssa’s disappearance. What if it’s not the same unsub who snatched Cathy? What if it’s something entirely different?”

“I’m listening.”

“What if it’s jealousy? Alyssa was popular and friendly, everyone seemed to like her. She disappears and two days later another girl is sitting in her seat. Her clothes are burned on campus. That could be very significant. What if another girl is literally trying to be her?”

“Wait, wait, wait. What is this about Alyssa’s clothes being burned? And on campus?”

My chest tightened. “Didn’t Will mention that earlier? He was supposed to call you.” A flash of guilt washed over me and burned at the back of my neck.

Alex grumbled. “I don’t trust that guy.”

Ever since Will had inadvertently stabbed Alex in an attempt to defend my life, the two weren’t so keen on each other. And my Freudian slip—or my tossing of Will under the bus as it were—wasn’t helping.

I tried to appease my guilt by making a mental note that once the universe stopped vaulting into hell and raining down dead bodies, I’d throw some kind of bowling party or something so they could really bond.

But now wasn’t the time.

“I think I was supposed to call you. It wasn’t Will’s fault.” It rolled out in one complete string and Alex’s silence on the other end of the phone did nothing to make me feel better about coming clean.

“Where did you find Alyssa’s clothes? When? Who found them?”

“We found them. Today. In the Dumpster. They were on fire. Well, the Dumpster was on fire, but we were able to save some of the fabric. Enough to at least be able to figure out what it was.”

“How did you know it was Alyssa’s? Aren’t all the girls pretty much in the same uniform? Did it have her name printed on it somewhere?”

“No.” My stomach churned and I could feel the slightly warm plastic sole of Alyssa’s shoe in my hand. “We found one of her shoes. Her name was written on that.”

There was another beat of silence. Then, finally, “Lawson, this isn’t a game. A girl’s life is at stake.”

“I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you—”

It could have been an innocent cough, but I was pretty sure it was a derisive snort from Alex’s side of the phone. It wasn’t too long ago I was sitting in the passenger seat of Alex’s squad car, lying to his face.

I gulped and muttered weakly, “I promise.”

I could hear Alex processing the information. “Fine. But bring me the burnt uniform and all the information you have tomorrow. And no more conveniently forgetting to relay information. Deal?”

I nodded, knowing he couldn’t see me on my end. “Deal.”

“Now can I get some sleep?”

I chewed the inside of my lip, considering whether or not to tell him my theory. “No. My theory.”

Alex sighed.

“You said you wanted me to tell you everything.”

“And I’m already starting to regret it. But go ahead.”

“Well.” I sucked in a steadying breath. “A girl who is jealous of another girl can be ruthless.”

“Ruthless, sure. But murderous?” Alex sounded skeptical.

“People have killed for a lot less. It’s not like when you were—” I caught myself before saying “alive.”

“So you’re vetoing Sampson’s witchcraft idea?”

I sat back onto my bed and pinched my lower lip. “Not exactly. I’m just throwing a theory out there for you.”

There was an audible, painful pause and I held my breath until Alex spoke. “Look, Lawson, I appreciate the tip, but you’re with Will on this, aren’t you? Working the Underworld angle?”

I could hear a strain of something—annoyance? jealousy?—in his voice, but I couldn’t recognize it. “Yes, but—”

“How about you two stick to your end and I’ll stick to mine, okay? Physical evidence—anything other than black cats or pointed hats—is my end. Bring me the uniform tomorrow.”

The sudden change in Alex’s tone hit me like a ton of bricks. “Uh, well, oh—”

But Alex’s phone hit the cradle before I had a chance to respond.

I was determined the next day would be better. Nina laid out my clothes—a kicky combination of two items that I never would have thought to put together matched with a pair of shoes that were edgy enough to be cool, but not cool enough so that I’d blunder like an idiot and fall all over myself.

Nina was puttering in the kitchen when I walked in. She beamed when she saw me, her fangs tinged a faint raspberry red from her breakfast—O neg, I figured. Her face fell when I came closer.

“You look simultaneously ab fab and like your puppy just died.” She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyebrows quirking. “Oh, no,” she let out an aching whisper. “Not ChaCha.”

At the utterance of her name, ChaCha came prancing in, nuzzling up to Nina. She scooped him up, chirped, “Oh, thank God!” then turned to me. “Then, what happened to you?”

I yawned and filled a Big Gulp cup with coffee. I craned my head over the kitchen pass-through and found Vlad—as always—perched behind his computer screen. “Last night while you guys were out gallivanting I had to deal with the ghost of Vlad’s girlfriends past.”

Vlad’s eyebrows shot up over his laptop screen. “Kale?”

“Are you insinuating that there could be someone else blowing our doors off at three a.m.?”

Vlad shrugged and went back to sucking CGI blood.

“Anyway, Kale’s easy enough to deal with. There’s this popular girl at my school. I swear she’s hell bent on making my life miserable.”

Nina sat down across from me. “What’d she do?”

“Nothing. But you know the type. Super pretty, evil. Her name is Fallon.”

Vlad choose that minute to walk into the kitchen and snatch himself some breakfast. “Fallon.” He tried out the name, rolling it on his tongue. He must have decided he liked that because he nodded with a self-satisfied smile.

“She’s evil and she must be stopped.”

“Why don’t you hit her with a spit wad?” Nina grinned while I poured myself a bowl of something non-sugar-coated and vaguely healthy. I took a bite and reminded myself that I was a responsible adult who ate responsible adult food and I would not be flustered by an oversexed sixteen-year-old in a push-up bra.

“Oh! I made lunch for you!” Nina plunked a brown paper bag in front of me.

“Aw, Neens!” I pulled open the bag and peeked in: apple, hard-boiled egg, granola bar, something that looked like a sandwich. “This might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.

She grinned, looking every bit like a sweet, doting mother and I felt a twinge of sadness, knowing that she’d never be able to have—or be—that. I slung an arm around her neck and pulled her to me. “You’re the best.”

She tossed a handful of her perfect Pantene hair over one shoulder. “You’d better believe it.”

Like a sweet, doting mother with fangs.

I got to school so early that I met Heddy in the parking lot and Janitor Bud in the hall.

“He’s taking a leave of absence starting tomorrow,” Heddy told me as an aside.

“Isn’t that a little suspicious with a girl having just gone missing from the school?”

Heddy looked at me, indignant. “Janitor Bud has been with us for sixteen years. And the police did a full background check just to rule him out.”

“And did it?”

I thought Heddy’s eyes would explode out of her head with a trail of steam. I immediately started to backpedal, to open my mouth in an attempt to help Heddy simmer down, but she held up a single finger to me, her orangey lips pursed, eyebrows diving down. “And, he’s had this planned trip for seven months.”

I gave Heddy a moment, then licked my lips. “I wasn’t implying anything, Heddy.”

She gave me an over-the-shoulder harrumph and walked away, her sensible heels clicking down the pristine hall.

I went into my classroom, first flipping on the lights and doing my precursory “what wants to kill me?” scan, then dumping my things on my desk.

I was still feeling wounded from my early morning phone call with Alex. I let my fingertips ramble over the Ziploc bag of clothing that I hadn’t had the courage to drop off on my way to work, then felt a hint of smugness.

I didn’t need Will to babysit me and I didn’t need Alex’s help. I’d put the puzzle pieces together—alone—and I would find Alyssa—alive.

I sat at my desk, my back ramrod straight, hands clasped in front of me. I had each of the girls’ files spread out on my desk, the girls forever locked in open-mouthed joy. I revisited everything I knew about both of the girls—both abductions—in an attempt to force some kind of structure.

There were no witnesses to either of the girls’ abductions. The words “vanished” and “thin air” punctuated the reports, and each time I reread the words, my stomach, and my hope for finding Alyssa alive in the diminishing timeline, plummeted.

I sighed, resting my face in my hands, my index fingers rubbing small circles on each of my temples. I looked up and scanned the files as if something would have changed.

It didn’t.

I was biting my thumbnail and drawing little circles in my sparkly unicorn notebook when Janitor Bud pushed open my door.

“Oh,” he said when he saw me. “I didn’t know anyone was in here. Heddy said to bring these in.” The old man pulled a cart weighted down with yearbooks into the room. “Where do you want them?”

I stood up and Bud paused, then took a step back. “You’re not one of the regular teachers, are you?”

“No, no, I’m just substituting.”

He had a kindly smile on his face. “You look awfully familiar.”

I felt myself blush. “I was a student here myself. It was nearly fifteen years ago, but maybe—”

Bud wagged his head. “No, that’s not it.” His eyes cut from studying my face to the case files open on my desk. His smile dropped, his caterpillar eyebrows weaving together under his lined forehead. “Terrible thing about those girls, isn’t it?”

I hopped up on my desk in an awkward attempt to cover up the files. “Did you know the girls?”

Bud paused as if thinking. “I know all the girls here. Well, not by name.” He smiled again, one of those soft smiles that pushed up his cheeks into little fleshy balls. “Least I know them by sight. I know they were both good girls, though.”

I leaned forward. “Good girls? What do you mean by that?”

“Didn’t get in trouble much. Sometimes the girls come to me for punishment.”

Something shot through me. I looked at this man and had an instant image of his grin, terrifying and maniacal as hellfires shot up behind him in his basement quarters while he did unspeakable things to innocent girls. I was about to launch myself from my desk and into his chest for a severe pummeling when he continued.

“They get sent to me for cleaning supplies and they have to come back and clean up any graffiti or muck in the halls and classrooms.”

My heart flopped back to a normal beat. “Oh. That’s how they’re punished?”

Janitor Bud shrugged. “These girls aren’t like us, hon. Some of ’em have never seen a broom. They don’t like to see themselves as lowly folk like us. Put a mop in their hand and put them on display. Some of those girls will do anything to avoid ending up on my spray gang.” He pulled a spray bottle filled with blue liquid from his belt and pretended to shoot me. I could hear his laugh as he disappeared into the hallway.

I slid back into my desk chair and pulled my notebook closer to me, writing Suspects at the top of a blank sheet, with the name Janitor Bud right underneath. I chewed the top of my pen and wrote, Spray Gang. I felt quite accomplished and sleuthlike until I realized I had absolutely no idea how Windex and Janitor Bud fit into a ritualistic murder.

Feeling defeated, I pulled Bud’s cart of yearbooks closer and grabbed the one on top, paging slowly. I was looking at six smiling girls in a makeshift pyramid when a thought hit me. In a CSI-fueled stupor I remembered reading that in cases like this one, leads often come up well after the fact. Details that weren’t really anything—a slight memory of a car that looked out of place, a couple of kids rifling through a backpack they found shoved in the trash, a rivalry, a crush.

I went back to the file, shaking it now, willing something to fall out—a name, a location—anything that would rev me up, start me off, point me in any discernible direction. There was nothing. No screams. No strangers. Had Cathy known her attacker? Did Alyssa know her kidnapper? Trust him? It made my skin crawl just to consider the thought.

“Brought you a cuppa.”

Will’s cheery entry practically emptied my bladder and sent me to the ceiling. I clutched at my chest and tried to breathe.

“Holy crap, Will, you scared the crap out of me.”

Will stood there, holding two steaming paper cups, his brow furrowed, eyes sympathetic. I wanted to run to him and throw my arms around his neck, telling him it was okay.

I wanted something to be okay.

“Thanks for the coffee.”

“You sure you’re not going to go all meerkat on me again?”

I smiled and sighed, reaching out for the coffee. “Scout’s honor.”

Will cocked a brow, his sympathetic eyes going immediately sultry. “Scouts, huh? Still have that uniform?”

“You’re disgusting. And I was just going over Alyssa’s and Cathy’s files.”

“That’s what you needed to do so early this morning? Love, you know we’re partners, right? This isn’t a competition. We’re supposed to share information.”

I took a big swig of coffee and held up my hand, stop-sign style. “Don’t worry. If this were a competition, we’d both be losing. Big, fat losers.”

“Speak for yourself.”

I snapped my fingers. “Hey, what are you doing after work school today?”

Will grinned. “I think I’m about to get an invite to the ice cream store.”

I rolled my eyes. “No. You’re getting an invite to go to Alyssa’s house with me. And to Cathy’s.”

“Haven’t the police already done that?”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “Yeah, but maybe there is something we can see that they didn’t. You know, maybe take an Underworld kind of look at some overworld kind of evidence.”

It sounded good and supernaturally detective-like when I said it out loud, even though I really had no idea what Will and I could possibly find that the entire SFPD couldn’t—magically veiled or otherwise.

I just knew we had to do more.

Will looked over my shoulder and poked Cathy’s picture. “Isn’t that like the pin that we found?”

I pulled the photo closer to me. There was a little lock-shaped pin—key and all—attached to Cathy’s collar. “Lock and Key pin.”

Will sipped his coffee. “Coincidence?”

“Probably. It’s a big club. Everyone wants to be in it.” I brushed my fingertips over the photo of the pin. “All the popular girls already are.”

“So, our two girls were in the same club. Maybe we should figure out who else is in the club.”

I closed Cathy’s file and sighed. “Why bother? It’s an academic club. People aren’t killing to get in. And we already know the girls knew each other—they went to school together and it’s a small school. Everyone knows everyone. I just think we might be wasting our time.”

“You don’t think it’s worth our time?”

I stomped my foot, getting frustrated. “I feel like we’re not doing enough to help Alyssa. Actually, we’re not doing anything! At least the police are out there actually looking for her. I’m teaching a bunch of over-privileged stuffed bras about things they’ll never care about.”

“Seriously, love. Move on. High school is over. And how do you know what the police are doing? Talk to Alex?”

It was nearly imperceptible, but something flashed in Will’s eyes when he said Alex’s name. Something that clearly indicated how much he loathed him.

“No. Sampson told me.” I didn’t want to tell Will about Alex and my last conversation. About the fact that I had speed-dialed Alex twice since and twice gotten his voice mail. I was thrilled to see he called me back while I was in the shower, then crushed to hear his sterile, “I’ll come out and pick up the uniform if you can’t drop it by.” No hello, no good-bye, just a click at the end of the message.

“And he said someone is coming by today to pick up the clothes we found in the Dumpster.”

Will picked up the plastic bag, giving the uniform a cursory look before he laid it on my desk just as the first morning bell rang. He stepped into the hallway and I heard the first chirps of adoring greetings from the girls.

“Good morning Mr. Sherman.”

“Hi, Mr. Sherman.”

“Oh my God, is that a Mercy uniform?”

My eyes widened as Fallon appeared in the doorway, then made a beeline for my desk, snatching up the bags.

“It’s all burnt. Where—oh my God—is this what was on fire in the Dumpster? Is it Alyssa’s?”

I leaned a hip against the desk, crossed my arms in front of my chest. “What would make you think this belongs to Alyssa?”

Fallon suddenly seemed to realize that it was me, the repugnant substitute teacher, in her presence. She looked up, narrowed her eyes, and held her lips in something akin to a smile—or a sneer.

“Because Alyssa always wrote on her shoes.” She held the bagged sneaker out toward me; I snatched it out of her hand.

“Were you good friends with Alyssa?”

Fallon matched my stance, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She kicked out a hip. “Am I a suspect or something?”

I shrugged, trying desperately to maintain my cool. “It was just a question.”

Fallon shrugged back. “We knew each other.”

“Is there a reason you’re sitting in Alyssa’s desk all of the sudden?”

Fallon seemed taken aback for a short second. Then she blinked, iceberg coolness floating over her once again. “I just sat down in an empty seat.”

The second bell rang and Fallon cocked her head, listening until it ended. “This was fun. I’ll see you in sixth.” She gave me a little finger wave and flipped on her heel, her skirt and her thick black ponytail swaying behind her.

When the lunch bell rang, my last class practically toppled over each other trying to put distance between me and their Mercy skirts. I tried not to take it personally and tucked my head into Will’s classroom, where every desk was still filled, each girl in rapt, awed attention. Not a single mascaraed eyelash blinked. Not a single pair of pursed, newly lipsticked lips parted. The silent air was thick with baby animal magnetism. I saw Will pacing in front of the chalkboard and groaned, then yipped when my cell phone vibrated wildly against my hip.

“Uh, Sophie Lawson,” I whispered into it.

“Sophie, it’s Officer Romero. You have some evidence for the Alyssa Rand case?”

My previous uselessness broke into a wave of validation and I actually smiled. I slipped into the ladies’ room, doing a quick check for feet under the stalls as any good detective who was consulted by a major police force would. “Yeah. Did Alex tell you about the theory? I think I might actually have a little more to add if you want me to come by—”

Romero coughed lightly. “I’m here at Mercy to pick up some bagged evidence. Al—Detective Grace—sent me to pick it up. Do you have it?”

I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. “What?”

“I’m in the front of the building by the main doors.”

I blinked, still struggling to catch my breath. I knew Romero. Romero knew me. Romero even know about me—well, as much as he could know without his life being threatened. I believe I was listed on his Rolodex as Sophie Lawson, Call When Weird/Unexplainable Things Happen. And now he was acting like he didn’t know me. Like we hadn’t stood shoulder to shoulder on a crime scene just a few months ago. He was suddenly all business.

Just like Alex had been.

I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Let me just go back to the classroom and I’ll meet you. Right out front.”

Romero was in full uniform, pacing the steps outside the main door. He gave me a curt nod when he saw me and held out his arm. I held the uniform against my chest.

“Alex sent you?” I asked him.

“Yes.” He gave me one more curt nod and avoided my eyes.

I put a hand on his arm and finally, he looked at me, discomfort all over his face.

“Is everything okay, Romero? You know, it’s actually lunch hour here if you want to grab a sandwich across the street or something. We could talk.” I tried a cheerful smile. “My treat.”

“Actually, Ms. Law—”

“Sophie.”

He cleared his throat and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Detective Grace asked me to get the evidence and come right back to the station.”

I hung back and popped out a hip. “Did you guys come up on a big lead or something?”

“Look, Sophie, you know I can’t talk about an active case with a civilian.”

“That never stopped you before. And we both know I’m not just a civilian. I work with Alex.”

Romero looked at me then, a flash of hopefulness going through his eyes. “So you’re back?”

“Back from where? I didn’t go anywhere.”

His cheeks went red.

“Romero, tell me what’s going on.”

He held up his hand. “Look, I don’t want to get involved. I’m just doing my job. Alex sent me here to get the evidence from you and come back to the station. He said I’m not supposed to talk to any civilians about the case—”

I opened my mouth, but Romero rushed on.

“Especially Sophie Lawson. He said you two weren’t working together anymore.”

Relief flooded over me and I batted at the air. “Oh! On this case. He meant we’re not working together on this case. But it’s not like we’re not friends—er, colleagues. We’re just working different angles.”

“All he said was he needed to disconnect from you. I’ve really got to get back to the station.” Romero put out his hand again, and this time I didn’t hesitate handing over the burnt uniform. He may have said good-bye to me, but I didn’t remember. Suddenly everything was in a fog and my ears were full of cotton or rushing blood or whispers—just full of something that wouldn’t let me process anything like a normal human being.

Alex wanted to disconnect from me?

Everything inside me ached. I slipped into an alcove and dialed his number. There was no answer—I expected as much—so I dialed the station and asked to be patched through. The dispatcher didn’t ask my name.

“Grace.”

“Romero was just here.”

I could hear Alex suck in a slow breath. “Did you give him the evidence?”

“What do you mean, you want to disconnect from me, Alex? What is this all about? Is it just this case? Are you jealous because I’m working with Will?”

“Lawson, this isn’t the time—”

“Then when is the time, Alex? When I try and call you again and you ignore my calls? When someone else drops dead?”

“Lawson, you don’t understand. Things are—”

“Things are what?”

“They’re complicated.”

I didn’t try to hold back my splitting laughter. “Really? Really? That’s your excuse. Things are complicated. When have they not been complicated? I’m the freaking Vessel of Souls. You’re a fallen angel. Your whole job is to kill me.”

Alex didn’t say anything, and suddenly every inch of me was on fire. My heart was thundering through my rib cage.

“You want to kill me now?”

“No. Of course not. That’s not it. I just can’t talk about this here.”

“Were you not with me six months ago? Were you not the one who slapped the Somebunny loves you hat on my head?”

“Lawson, it was just a hat.”

“This isn’t about the headwear,” I spewed, tears breaking over my cheeks. “I picked you, Alex. I pick you. I’m not with Will. I thought you knew that. You. I want to be with you.” My voice was choked with big, body-wracking sobs. “I pick you.”

“Yeah.” Alex’s voice was soft but edged with something distant, something cold that I didn’t recognize. “Do us both a favor, okay? Don’t.”

The sound of his receiver clicking into the holder reverberated in my head over and over again.

I slipped into one of the upstairs bathrooms and locked myself in the handicapped stall in the back corner, crying until my chest hurt. After blowing my nose through an entire roll of toilet paper, I had mostly gotten a hold of myself and was about to put my feet down—I had braced myself against the stall—when I heard the ladies’ room door open and snap shut. Someone was panting like they were out of breath—or like they were about to cry.

I held my breath and glanced under the stall long enough to see a pair of white socks slouching into a pair of well-used sneakers. Their owner let out a half-scream, half-grunt before breaking into a torrent of huffing tears—not unlike my own. I was about to open the stall door and offer some help when the crying abruptly stopped. The sneakers turned and headed directly toward me.

My mind raced. I couldn’t spring out on the girl now that I had witnessed her obviously private moment. I thought about coughing or flushing the toilet when the sneakers veered left. There were a few short grunts and pants, then the sound of something hitting toilet water. I cringed. The toilet flushed. The sneakers went tearing out of the bathroom, the door snapping shut and leaving me with the sound of rushing toilet water. I quickly gathered my things, splashed some water onto my face, and hightailed it back to my room while I speed dialed Sampson.

I wanted to get out of Mercy. There was no coven, no witchcraft, no secret portal to hell on this campus and Will and I had now wasted the last two days—possibly the last two days of Alyssa’s life—looking for paranormal activity when there clearly wasn’t any. This was a normal school with normal school problems—girls crying in the restroom, cafeteria food that was as unrecognizable as it was awful, and queen bees who reigned with sneers and snarky one-liners.

I wanted to go back to work at the UDA. I missed my tiny, underground office with my perfect line-up of Post-it notes and pens. I missed Nina and Sampson and Vlad and even the hobgoblins with their constant fountain of oozy slobber.

And yeah, I even missed Steve.

“Underworld Detection Agency, this is Kale. What can I do you for?”

“Hi, Kale. It’s Sophie. Can you put me through to Sampson, please?”

Kale smacked her lips and paused. I could practically see her mind working, weighing whether or not to ask me about Vlad.

“I don’t know where Vlad is,” I added.

The next thing I heard was a series of beeps while Kale put me through.

“Sophie! Tell me you’ve got something,” Sampson said.

I blew out a sigh and caught myself, coughing so Sampson might miss my complete and utter dejection. “I was hoping you were going to tell me something.”

Now it was Sampson’s turn to sigh. “Everyone is coming up empty. The police force is stumped, there are no new clues, no fingerprints, no nothing. I was really hoping you’d find something, Sophie. I feel like you and Will are the only chance Alyssa has.”

I dug my teeth into my lower lip so hard I could feel the skin start to split. I didn’t want to fail Alyssa. I couldn’t fail her.

“I’ll get ahold of Lowe and have him pull you out tomorrow.”

“I’m really sorry, Sampson.”

“Hey, if there was nothing there, then there’s nothing there. We’ll try and follow another lead.”

I brightened. “There’s another lead?”

“No.”

The word hit me like a fist to the gut. “Um, can I call you back later?”

I didn’t stay on the line long enough to hear Sampson’s response because I heard the one sound that I would forever recognize since the first day it was burned into my own brain: a body slamming into a locker.