Grave Witch Read online

Page 17

  Author: Kalayna Price

  I knelt, digging out the sheathed dagger. I’d almost forgotten about you. The enchanted dagger purred power across my hand, wanting to be drawn—that was one reason it was in the drawer. Fae-wrought, it was part of a pair and could pierce just about anything. Rianna had given it to me when she’d graduated from academy. She’d kept the mate. I ran my fingers over the charmed leather. I would feel better with a little protection.

  I know I have an ankle holster in here somewhere. I dug through the drawer until I found the holster meant to conceal the dagger under my boot. After strapping it in place, I grabbed my purse and took the inner stair down to the main portion of the house.

  “Holly? Caleb?” I called as I reached the bottom step.

  “Workroom,” a deep voice called back, and I headed down the hall to the garage Caleb had converted into a studio-slash-workshop.

  His circle was up, so I couldn’t step farther than the open doorway, but Caleb was in the center of the room with a chisel in one hand, a mallet in the other, and a hunk of marble in front of him. Stone dust covered his slightly green arms—his glamour was down—and when he glanced over his shoulder to look at me, it was with shiny black eyes. I’d been renting my loft from Caleb since my freshman year of college, but I’d never gotten used to seeing him completely in his fae-mien. After yesterday’s kidnapping, it was more disturbing than normal.

  He must have sensed my discomfort, or maybe he simply didn’t like being seen for what he truly was—he rarely went without his glamour—but his green skin darkened to a well-tanned brown, and his eyes turned human. Suddenly, he looked not fae but like any average joe you might pass on the street whom you wouldn’t glance at twice. Well, except for the fact he was covered in marble dust.

  “New commission?” I asked, nodding at the block of stone. Caleb was an accomplished wardsmith and an artist. People commissioned his work not only for the power of his enchantments but for the aesthetics of his work.

  He shook his head. “Just something I’m working on. There still cameras pointed at my house?”

  “Uh …” I didn’t even have to look to know the answer to that one. “Yeah? Sor—” I stopped myself before I finished the word. You weren’t supposed to apologize to fae. “I was wondering. When you get to a stopping point, you think you could give me a ride to the store?”

  “What happened to your car?”

  “Gremlins, I think. ”

  Caleb turned and stared at me as if to see whether I was joking. I wasn’t.

  He set down the chisel and mallet and brushed his hands on his jeans. “Yeah. Let me take a quick shower first. Did you say gremlins?”

  ———

  PC pranced around my feet as I lugged in two bags of groceries.

  “Hey, miss me?” I asked, smiling at him as I kicked the door closed behind me. I’d filled Caleb in on the abduction attempt during our drive to the store. He wasn’t happy, and he wanted me to keep a low profile—which was already my plan, so I didn’t disagree. He had connections in the solitary fae community, so he promised to keep his ear to the wind for me, see if he heard any chatter involving me. He didn’t ask me about my case, and I didn’t tell him.

  Having survived my trip to the grocery store with nothing worse happening than a reporter accosting me in the cereal aisle, I was feeling pretty good. It had been foolish to hide in the house all morning. As Falin and Caleb said, I just needed to keep my head down. Which meant much more discreet poking into the whole Coleman thing, and just enough to find out whether my father was involved. But I couldn’t stop living. Besides, after my shopping trip, I had only twelve dollars left, so I needed to find a new client.

  PC bounced, his front paws working the air, his blue cast flashing, as he tried to entice me to pick him up. I dropped the grocery bags by my feet and reached for him. His ears perked up, and, forgetting all about me, he rooted through the bag.

  Little traitor.

  I rubbed his head as he whined and attacked the bag of dog food.

  “All right, all right. Give me a second. ”

  I filled his bowl, then left him to chomp happily as I unloaded the rest of the groceries. I’d bought the bare necessities of life, most overprocessed or freeze-dried to the point where they no longer resembled food, but they were cheap and edible. I grabbed two packs of ramen noodles and opened the cabinet.

  If I wasn’t looking further into Coleman, I needed to contact the FIB and tell them what I knew. I didn’t have to tell them who I suspected was the next victim, though they would probably come to the same conclusion. I picked up the new pack of hot dogs and tossed them in the bottom drawer of the fridge. If I reported my outrageous story about a body thief, the FIB would start poking around. What if they discovered the fae Falin had shot? I hadn’t done anything wrong. Hell, they’d been trying to kidnap me. But I hadn’t reported the shooting.

  That made me an accomplice. The thought sent a shiver along my spine.

  “If you weren’t standing in the fridge, you wouldn’t be cold. ”

  I jumped at the voice, almost dropping the carton of milk I was putting away, and deep masculine laughter filled the air behind me. I turned.

  Death leaned against my kitchen counter, his thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans. Ben Franklin once said, “In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes. ” Death was certainly consistent in my world. The black T-shirt that showed off the muscles on his chest, the chin-length hair, the dark eyes he watched me with that seemed to smile even when he didn’t, all were exactly the same as the first time I’d seen him eighteen years ago. He came and went at apparent random, sometimes to talk, other times to tease. He kept his secrets tight, and he never interfered.

  Until now.

  He’d saved my life. Not just stalled on collecting my soul—he’d pushed me out of mortal danger. I had no idea what to make of that, or how to thank him.

  I still had the carton of milk in my hands. I glanced down at it and turned back to the fridge. I set the carton on the top shelf and frowned at the fact the fridge still looked empty. Then I shoved the door closed. “I was kind of expecting you to show up sooner. ”

  I knew he moved closer only because I could feel the chill of his skin in the air behind me. “I had to take care of some errands. ”

  Errands. So someone somewhere had lost his … My mouth went dry, and I flipped around. “Not John?”

  Death shook his head, and a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding rushed out of me. I’d asked about John at the station last night, and they’d told me he was still unconscious in ICU. I hadn’t liked the tones the cops used.

  John had been asleep too long. People were starting to whisper about brain damage.

  “You should go see him. ”

  “I know. I meant to go yesterday, but everything went crazy, and then today …” I looked down, away from Death’s eyes. He knew me too well—which was totally unfair, as I didn’t even know his real name, or if he had one. But he knew I avoided hospitals, particularly wards with comatose patients. “Thank you for”—I waved a hand in the air—“everything. But isn’t it sort of outside your job description to save people from mortal harm?”

  Death shrugged again, but he smiled, and while his lips lifted only a little, the full radiance of the smile escaped through his eyes. “I’ll catch flak for it back at headquarters. ”

  My gaze snapped up. Headquarters? Was he now giving away secrets, too? The mischief reflected in the crook of his mouth said he was teasing me, but I still pried. “So you’ll get in trouble because of me?”

  His smile grew wider. “You can make it up to me by giving me coffee. ”

  I laughed. I’d introduced him to coffee as an experiment when I’d been a teenager. Rianna and I had noticed that my grave magic bridged the gap between the world of the living and whatever plane Death existed on. It was the one
thing I could do that she couldn’t.

  Rianna, two years my senior, had been my roommate, my idol, my best friend, and my biggest competition.

  Where I had nearly flunked out of traditional Spell Casting, in academy she could work any spell her teachers assigned—and many they didn’t teach her and probably would have wished she hadn’t learned. But when it came to Death, she had to be in touch with the grave to see him, and even then he wasn’t solid to her.

  It was probably actually a negative point against me that I could see Death under normal circumstances. It probably meant I’d never learned to shield properly, to keep my psyche from crossing the chasm between the living and the dead. I didn’t care. It was something only I could do. A kind of secret between him and me. And not only could I see him, but when I interacted with corporeal objects, so could Death.

  One day I’d given him a mug of coffee. It turned out he liked it. A lot. If only he had let me take him to class as a magic fair project, I probably would have made better grades in academy.

  I made two cups of coffee. Black for me, with milk for him. It wasn’t until I picked up his full mug that I realized the problem. I had only one good hand. The other was sprained and in a brace.

  “Uh, well, I guess I’ll have mine later,” I said, holding out Death’s mug toward him.

  Death wrapped both hands over the mug, his fingers covering mine. The heat of the coffee pressed into my palm, contrasting with the chill crawling over my skin from his fingers. He lifted the mug, with my hand still attached, to his lips. With those sparkling eyes locked on mine, he blew at the steaming liquid. His breath smelled of dew and freshly turned soil, and it mixed with the heady aroma of the coffee. “You can share mine. ”

  I did a mental check on my heart. Yup, still in my chest.

  Though I was pretty sure it had spun a little. Tossing my head back, I crinkled my nose at him. “Your diluted coffee? Wouldn’t touch it. ”

  “Of course. ” He grinned, then drew his hands away.

  I was tall, but he was taller. The height difference made it awkward for us to both hold the mug without him leaning and me lifting my arm uncomfortably high.