Midnight Curse (Disrupted Magic Book 1) Read online

  “And killing humans is part of a vampire’s nature?”

  “Well, yeah. At least some of them. So in theory, I think a boundary witch could get a vampire to kill a human.”

  “Even someone they cared about?”

  Lex blew out a breath. “Yeah, probably. If the witch was strong enough.”

  “Is it something you could do?”

  There was a pause. When she replied her voice was stiff. “Are you accusing me of something, Cruz?”

  “No, no,” he hurried to say. “But there’s a vampire here who claims she was forced to kill a bunch of women. She says she didn’t want to, she actually liked these girls, but she was sort of . . . compelled to do it. Is that possible?”

  “Hmm.” Jesse gave her a moment to think it over, idly reaching so he could scratch Shadow beneath her collar. The bargest licked his hand appreciatively. “Obviously I’ve never done that,” Lex said at last. “But yeah, I think I could. I’m stronger than most, though.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Lex.”

  “Wait! If there’s a rogue boundary witch running around LA, I should probably know about it. Can you keep me updated?”

  He promised to call her back when he knew more, and hung up the phone feeling a familiar rush of internal satisfaction. He’d fit a piece into the puzzle. He could now explain to Scarlett and Molly how it was possible that Molly had been forced.

  Then his elation faded. A rogue boundary witch running around LA. That couldn’t be good. But what would she have against Molly?

  Chapter 10

  As expected, the emergency room trip took frickin’ forever.

  The paramedics got the bleeding under control, thanks to Jesse’s tourniquet, and the ER doc gave me a local and some stitches. He offered me a prescription for oxycodone, but I declined. I needed to be sharp when I got out of there. The whole time he was working on me the nurses kept asking me who they could call, but I just shook my head, claiming I didn’t have any phone numbers memorized and I would be fine. Luckily, we weren’t at the hospital where my brother worked. If I’d bumped into him, I never would have gotten out of there.

  The moment after the last stitch went in, two uniformed police officers shouldered their way past the doctor to ask me questions. I kept it very simple: I had stopped by to check on my friend, who was having a hard time since his divorce. He wasn’t home, but while I was walking back to my van someone rolled down a window and shot me. I told the police I didn’t have any enemies and that it was probably just a random thing.

  Under other circumstances, they might have let it go at that, but they were suspicious about the tourniquet on my arm. I considered saying that I’d done it myself, but realized that whichever neighbor had called the police may have seen Jesse with me. So I said it was some Good Samaritan out with his dog, and I couldn’t remember what he looked like.

  The hardest part of the conversation was maintaining the right amount of shock and fear: I wanted to look as upset as a victim of random gun violence should, but not so upset that I seemed like I was overdoing it. I also wanted the cops to drop the whole investigation, so I had to imply that it was probably just random kids shooting guns—without seeming like I was implying it. Trying to walk that fine line after blood loss proved to be exhausting, and in the end I didn’t need to work very hard to look shocked or confused.

  The cops still insisted on going through a bunch of background on me: my job, my boyfriend, my regular activities. They were clearly hoping I’d reveal secret connections to the mob or a gang, but the joke was on them. My cover story was airtight. Dashiell had made sure of that. On paper, I was a freelance housecleaner who lived with her bartender boyfriend in San Marino. I had a perfect tax history, thanks to Hayne’s CPA brother, plus health insurance, good credit, and my own vehicle. Anyone who dug into my records would get the image of a twenty-something with all her shit together.

  That was a little hilarious to me, all things considered, but it worked. After more than two hours of me repeating the same story consistently, the police finally gave up. I’d like to think that I wore them down with my personality.

  When Jesse finally walked in, I was in the middle of bartering with a nurse named Rochelle, who wanted me to sign a form absolving the hospital of responsibility when I walked out. “I’ll sign the AMA,” I insisted, “as soon as you give me some scrubs to wear out of here.”

  “Nuh-uh. Those are hospital property,” she countered.

  “But the people at the hospital are the ones who shredded my other clothes!”

  “Here,” Jesse interrupted, tossing me a plastic bag with a logo I didn’t recognize. “I got you these while I was waiting.”

  “Yes!” I did a fist pump with my uninjured arm. “How’s my dog?”

  “She’s fine.”

  Rochelle “hmph’ed” and turned to Jesse, shaking a finger in my general direction. “She still needs to sign the paperwork before she walks out of here!”

  “Ma’am,” he said, busting out his thousand-watt smile, “I’m sure Scarlett would be happy to do that right away. If you can go get the papers, I promise I won’t let her leave without signing.”

  Even when he’s scruffy and bedraggled, few females can resist Jesse’s powers of hotness. I almost felt sorry for Rochelle. “All right then,” she mumbled. “Be right back.” She blushed her way out of the room.

  I made a face at her back and reached for the bag. “Where did you find clothes at this hour?”

  He shrugged. “My mom knows the woman who owns one of those shops on Melrose. They’re open till eleven, anyway, so she didn’t mind hanging out a little longer.”

  I dumped the shopping bag out on my lap. Inside were a pair of black ponte pants, a simple blue T-shirt, and a sports bra. At the bottom of the pile there was also an olive-green canvas jacket with pockets. Lots of pockets. It looked a lot like a jacket I used to own years ago, one of my all-time favorite clothing items. I’d had to burn it after a werewolf fight. “Oooh, Jesse!”

  “I wasn’t sure about your exact size, so I went for mediums.”

  I touched the material. It looked like leather, but was actually waxed cotton, which made it waterproof. If—okay, when—I got blood on it, I could just hose it off. “It’s awesome.” I flipped over the price tag and dropped the jacket like it had bitten me. “Ack! Okay, I can’t afford this, but I’ll pay you back for the shirt and pants.” Regretfully, I began rolling the jacket back into the bag.

  Jesse put a hand on mine, then lifted it away quickly. “Keep it. Consider them belated birthday presents.”

  I raised my eyes to meet his. “Jesse . . .”

  “Scarlett,” he said back, mimicking me. “Trust me, I can afford it.”

  Oh. Right. The book. “Thank you!” I said, resisting the strong urge to hug the jacket.

  “I almost forgot.” He dug in the pocket of his leather jacket and handed me a much smaller bag with a Target logo. “New phone.”

  “Nice!”

  I dumped it out too. A pretty basic model, but it would have everything I needed. The packaging was open—Jesse had been charging it in the car. I could get Abigail Hayne to transfer all my information over to the new phone. It wasn’t the first time—I was hard on what little technology I bothered to use.

  “How’s your arm?” Jesse asked.

  “Sore, but I can move it.”

  “Do you want me to get Rochelle to help you get dressed?”

  “You mean the president of my fan club? No thank you.” I twirled my finger in the air, and Jesse took the cue to turn around. I pulled on the pants first, which made my arm ache a little but was otherwise fine.

  “I think I figured out how the bad guy—or bad guys—made Molly kill her friends,” he said, facing the wall.

  “How?” I dropped the hospital gown—they’d let me keep my underwear, thank goodness—and stuck the sports bra over my head.

  “A boundary witch could have pressed her.”

  Oh my God, I was a m
oron. I jerked the sports bra down too quickly, letting out an involuntary whimper as the material scraped against my stitches.

  “Scarlett?” Jesse said, concerned.

  “I’m fine.” But my voice came out as more of a squeak. “Just give me a second.”

  “Sure.”

  My arm hurt, but I also wanted to smack my head against the wall. Of course Molly had been pressed by a boundary witch. How had I not thought of that? I mean, I’d never actually seen Jesse’s friend Lex do her thing, but I’d heard somewhere that boundary witches could press vampires. I was an idiot.

  This mental berating went on for a while. I was also very focused on getting the T-shirt over my stitches, so I didn’t realize Jesse had turned on the ancient mounted television until I heard a crisp, news-anchor voice say, “Thankfully, the fire was contained before it reached the buildings on either side.”

  I whirled around with my arms still in the air, the shirt stuck on my elbows. The news team camera was fixed on the smoking ruins of the building I’d been in only a few hours earlier.

  The fire department had managed to get the flames out before the whole place was cremated, but all that was left were some waist-high walls that ended in charred tips. “Fire department investigators have recovered the bodies of eight young women who were likely residents of the house,” the reporter announced.

  Jesse and I looked at each other. I’d completely forgotten that my arm and one elbow were stuck in a shirt that was partially over my face. “Did she just say eight?” I demanded. “There were twelve. I counted.” My voice came out more defensive than I’d intended.

  “Maybe they haven’t recovered the others yet,” Jesse suggested.

  But the reporter went on. “There is no word yet about the other five women who were residents of this building, but Los Angeles Fire Department investigators have found accelerants which suggest those remains were completely incinerated.”

  Like hell. Molly was one of the missing, but what the hell had happened to the other four?

  Chapter 11

  The news anchor droned on, but I didn’t hear her. My brain was whirring. “We gotta go,” I told Jesse.

  He strode over to me, placed one hand very lightly over my wound to protect the stitches, and yanked the T-shirt down over my head.

  “Thanks.” My boots were fine—the cops had even let me keep my knives, which were just small enough to be legal. I pulled on the boots, stuck a knife in each holster, and followed Jesse out the door. I didn’t even think about the long-suffering nurse until we had left the building. Poor Rochelle.

  The second we were in the parking garage, I started dialing numbers in the disposable phone. “Who are you calling?” Jesse asked.

  “Remember when the nova wolf was running around, and a couple of the werewolves betrayed the pack?” I asked, not waiting for him to answer. “We set up a couple of protocols after that. I’m activating one now.”

  Before I could explain further, a female voice answered the phone. “This is Kirsten,” she said, her voice guarded. Right, she wouldn’t recognize my number.

  “It’s me,” I replied. “I was wondering if you’re free for a drink at our usual place.”

  There was a long pause, and then: “Really?”

  “Yes. Thirty minutes?”

  “See you there.”

  We reached Jesse’s sedan, and a very excited bargest spent several minutes licking me and sniffing the stitches on my arm. I checked her ribs, but she seemed completely fine now, probably thanks to our hours-long separation. The bargest spell that had been performed on Shadow—a spell that required a goddamned human sacrifice, like something out of a fairy tale—was complex and layered. Being a null meant I affected the parts of it that required active magic: Shadow’s intense drive to hunt (and eventually kill) werewolves, for example, and her accelerated healing. If she was near me, she healed at normal canine speed, and her temperament was similar to that of any huge dog.

  However, the spell also involved physiological changes that were too permanent to be nullified: her decelerated aging, her unnatural intelligence, and her armor-like skin. Those parts of the bargest spell were irreparable alterations to her very DNA, which meant magic was no longer actively involved.

  I patted the furry parts of her back and told her she was a good dog-monster until she seemed pacified. Then I asked Jesse to head for Chinatown. While he drove, I called Dashiell and repeated the same phrase. He was obviously still upset with me, but we’d set up the protocols for a reason, and he couldn’t exactly refuse.

  My last call was to Hair of the Dog, the bar owned by the alpha werewolf, Will. It was also the bar where Eli worked, which was why I had put it off until last. I still didn’t want to talk to Eli, but Will often left his cell in his desk drawer while he worked. Everyone worth talking to knew to call the bar’s landline.

  I checked my watch. It was after closing, but Will would still be there. Probably Eli, too. I gritted my teeth and dialed.

  Luck was with me—Will answered the phone himself. I gave him the same rehearsed line I’d given the others, got the exact same pause, followed by reluctant agreement. “You know,” he said before he hung up, “your boyfriend has been worried about you. He’s been texting you every five minutes.” There was just the slightest hint of irritation in his voice. Will was an understanding boss, but he had his limits.

  “I lost my phone.” Not technically true, but learning that my phone had been exploded by a bullet wouldn’t exactly reassure Eli.

  “Do you want to talk to him?”

  Did I? Next to me, Jesse was studiously pretending he couldn’t hear what I was saying. This wasn’t really the time to get into a fight. “Could you just let him know that I’m fine? I’ll try to call him later.”

  “Fine.”

  There is a shitty little Ramada in Chinatown that serves as a surprisingly suitable meeting place for the Old World leaders. Security is lax, with zero video cameras, and most of the hotel guests are tourists who don’t speak English well enough to find a better place to stay. Best of all, no one in the Old World goes there, stays there, or works there. And there’s free coffee in the lobby 24/7.

  Jesse handed me a cup as we wandered over to the grouping of chairs in the threadbare lobby. There were two couches and two armchairs, all made primarily of polyester, all grouped around a very large coffee table covered in stained Formica. The lights had been dimmed, and although we were technically in view of the front desk, there was no one actually manning it. If you listened hard, you could hear someone snoring from an adjacent room in the back.

  I chose the chair at the head of the seating area, the one that faced the entrance. Jesse sat down to my right, and Shadow curled up over my feet. Before we got out of the car, I had dressed her in the little cape that identified her as a service dog, which got her access to all public spaces. In the US people aren’t legally allowed to ask me why I need a service animal, but just in case, I carry a signed affidavit from a neurologist, stating that I need Shadow for a seizure disorder. Dashiell had arranged it for me. It’s amazing what you can get away with when you have mind control abilities.

  We waited quietly, sipping the stale coffee and watching the door. Kirsten was the first to arrive, giving both of us a tight nod before taking a seat, arms folded over her chest. A slender Swedish blonde in a long dress and denim jacket, Kirsten was looking stormy, and I couldn’t blame her. When you traffic in magic, promises are a powerful thing. The murder of a Friend of the Witches, especially by a member of the Old World, was the equivalent of Kirsten breaking a promise.

  “Why is Jesse here?” Kirsten asked.

  “Because I asked him to help,” I said simply. “And because he has a connection with a boundary witch in Wyoming.”

  “Colorado,” Jesse corrected me. I waved a hand, conceding.

  Kirsten’s eyes widened. “Allison Luther?”

  Jesse nodded, but didn’t look surprised that Kirsten knew the name. Intere
sting. “After Jesse talked to her earlier, we’ve got a theory.”

  “This better not be some sort of diversion while you break Molly out of my house,” Dashiell warned as he entered my radius and strode over to us. I hadn’t heard him approach, but then I wouldn’t. Will was standing right behind him, looking much more affable, his hands jammed in his pants pockets. “Beatrice has been practicing with her shotgun. I told her to shoot anyone who shows up.” I swallowed. Dashiell’s wife, Beatrice, was one of the few vampires who seemed to sort of like me, but I had no doubt that she’d shoot me if Dashiell told her it was necessary.

  “Dashiell!” Kirsten’s voice was more shocked than admonishing, which is probably why she got away with the reprimand. “Scarlett wouldn’t do that.”

  “Wouldn’t she?” Dashiell’s hooded eyes never left me. “Did she tell you she took Shadow out of the county?”

  Tattletale, I thought, but didn’t have the nerve to say. “The fastest way to do this is if you let me tell you everything I know from tonight, and then you can yell at me afterward,” I told them.

  “That sounds fair,” Will said, to break the tension.

  I walked them through the whole night, starting with the girl showing up at Eli’s art fair. I may have glossed over the part where I lied to Eli, and I left the question of whether or not Molly had forced me to drive her to Thousand Oaks open to interpretation, but I didn’t leave out any other details.

  They all listened without interrupting, even Dashiell, until I got to the part about seeing the news at the hospital. “And that’s when I called,” I finished.

  Will was looking at Dashiell. “You should tell them,” he said, his voice calm.

  Jesse, Kirsten, and I all turned to the vampire. “I received a text message,” he said, sounding a little begrudging. “From Molly. Asking me to come to the house.”