Grave Memory: An Alex Craft Novel Read online

  I hadn’t seen what happened but…“I don’t think he jumped.”

  “Alex Craft,” he said. He smiled. At a murder scene. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  How was I supposed to respond to that? Thankfully, before I had to come up with something to say, he continued.

  “Okay, Ms. Craft, did you see what happened?”

  “Not exactly.”

  The officer’s lips twitched. “That was a yes or no question.”

  “I was around the corner, so I only heard the impact,” I said and the officer, who had been poised to write down my statement, lowered his pen. I hurried on. “But he wouldn’t have killed himself. His wife is pregnant. With a son. He was very excited about it.”

  “You knew the jumper?”

  Jumper? Oh, didn’t that sound like he’d already made up his mind. Of course, I was one to talk. I’d come to the same conclusion before hearing the ghost’s diatribe.

  “Ms. Craft, I asked if you knew the man.”

  I winced. “Uh, not exactly.”

  His smile faded. “Either you knew the man or you didn’t because if you’d raised a shade and questioned him, I’m pretty sure someone here would have mentioned that fact.”

  Crap. I glanced at Rianna. Her eyes no longer glowed, and I had no idea how much of the ghost’s one-sided altercation with the eyewitnesses she’d seen. She tilted her head to the side and shrugged, which didn’t tell me anything.

  I took a deep breath and let it out again before saying, “His soul didn’t transition properly. So—”

  “Our dead guy left a ghost,” the officer finished for me. “And the ghost swears he didn’t jump.”

  Okay, I was impressed. Despite the OMIH’s attempts to educate the public on different kinds of magic, grave magic was too rare for most people to bother learning the details. Academy trained wyrd witches knew the difference between shades and ghosts, but your average witchy witch didn’t—even those trained at prestigious spellcasting schools. I gave him an appraising look. He was thirty tops and, judging by the fact he wore several charms and at least two rings holding raw Aetheric energy, was a witch. If he was wyrd, I couldn’t spot any of the telltale signs of an ability burning out one of his senses.

  “I’m impressed.” Credit where credit’s due, and all that. Him knowing the difference also saved me a lot of time trying to explain the difference.

  The smile was back and he gave me a careless one shoulder shrug. “I try.”

  Right.

  Someone in the crowd cleared his throat, and the officer snapped to attention, his gaze locking on his pad and the last note he’d taken.

  “So you talked to his ghost. Did he tell you his name?”

  And back to the case. Thank goodness. Except as I thought about it, I realized out of all the pleading and ranting the ghost did, he never once mentioned his or his widow’s name.

  “I can ask,” I said, turning toward where I’d last seen the ghost. He wasn’t there. “Uh, I think he followed his body.”

  The officer closed his notepad. “Well, then, guess we’ll have to solve this one with good old-fashioned police work.” He winked. “We should go out for a drink sometime.”

  “Take him up on the offer,” Rianna whispered, nudging me. “He’s a cute one.”

  Was he? I would have called him average, but then, both Death and Falin set the bar pretty high when it came to looks. Unfortunately, I had a bit of a reputation among the boys in blue—I’d taken more than a few home with me after working a case. But I wasn’t interested in Officer…I glanced at his nameplate…Larid.

  “I have to pass,” I told him and he had the gall to look shocked. Geez, is my rep that bad? I hadn’t slept with that many of the cops. Hell, I hadn’t slept with anyone in over two months.

  When he turned on his regulation polished heels and walked away, Rianna turned to me. “I closed my shields as soon as the cops arrived. Did the ghost really deny jumping?”

  “Vehemently.” I recounted the ghost’s reactions to the witness statements.

  “Huh,” she said, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I have an idea.”

  She jogged after the officer. I caught a flash of light reflecting off something she pulled out of her purse, but didn’t realize it was the business cardholder I’d just given her until she passed one of the cards to him. They spoke for a moment or two more before she headed back to where I stood, gaping at her.

  “Did you just ask him out?” At a crime scene?

  “Don’t be silly,” she said, snapping closed the clasp on her purse. “I simply asked him to pass our card on to the widow and let her know that we know her husband’s death wasn’t suicide, and that Tongues for the Dead is willing to prove it.”

  I blinked at her. “You didn’t.” But I had no doubt that was exactly what she’d done.

  Rianna smiled a smile so mischievous, it looked exactly like the ones she used to flash me back in academy. Those typically came right before she suggested we test out a school-banned spell, like turning soda into whisky. Without her smile slipping an inch she said, “Hey, we’ve expanded the business. We need to get the word out, right?”

  “Right?” I said, but even I heard the uncertainty in the word. Handing out business cards at crime scenes reeked of sleazy, like a talking dead version of ambulance chasing lawyers. But she did have a point about needing the business. That didn’t mean I had to agree. At least, not until I saw if it worked. “Let’s get out of here. If we don’t make it to the Bloom soon, Holly will probably eat the doorman.”

  * * *

  “Caleb’s going to kill me,” I said as Holly pulled her car to a stop in front of the house we shared.

  Since Rianna had parked my car in an overnight garage near the Eternal Bloom, there should have been more than enough room for Holly to pull into the driveway, but tonight the drive was full. Three sleek black vehicles surrounded the car that belonged to Caleb, our third housemate and landlord.

  I’d seen those cars before. They belonged to the Fae Investigation Bureau. Which meant the house was being raided.

  Again.

  “We could keep driving,” Holly suggested, letting the car idle instead of putting it in park.

  A tempting idea. Except if Caleb found out he’d be livid. Actually make that more livid than he likely already was. Besides, if the FIB were here…Falin probably is too.

  I shook my head and pushed open my door before Holly had time to cut the ignition. Climbing out of the car was a relief, the balmy September air soothing my exposed skin, which tingled from the amount of metal in the vehicle. It wasn’t a fae friendly car.

  I started toward the side of the house, where a staircase led to a private entrance to my one room loft above the garage. I’d made it only halfway across the lawn when the front door opened.

  “Alex,” Caleb yelled, his voice echoing off the houses on the quiet suburban street.

  I cringed but turned dutifully toward my friend and landlord. “Another raid?”

  He marched down the front steps, thrusting a tri-folded bundle of pages at me. His normally tanned-looking skin had a slightly green tinge to it, his glamour slipping under his anger. “They’re looking for the Sword of Frozen Silence this time. That artifact has been missing for half a millennia.” He took a deep breath. “This is harassment.”

  I plucked the search warrant from his fist and passed it to Holly—she was the lawyer after all. She studied it, scanning the small printed text. All I needed to see was the signet stamp. It had been endorsed by the Winter Queen herself. Even if the warrant wasn’t legit, there wasn’t a higher authority in Nekros’s fae population. And the fae policed themselves.

  “Is she trying to irritate us into submission?”

  “Not us. You.” Caleb’s eyes bled to black as he glanced over his shoulder at his defiled sanctuary of a house. “What did you turn down this time?”

  “A feast held in my honor.” I studied the scuff on the toe of my boot
. “It would have been tonight. Caleb, I’m—”

  His head snapped around, his sharp look stopping me from apologizing—we both knew better. That didn’t make me feel any less guilty.

  “You need to pick a court or declare yourself independent, or this is never going to stop,” he said, and I looked away. “There is a revelry on the equinox. Go to it. See Faerie at the height of its magic. Choose and make this stop.”

  It wasn’t that easy and we both knew it. If I picked any court other than Winter, I’d have to leave Nekros as this was currently the Winter Queen’s territory. If I declared myself independent, there was nothing to prevent her from continuing to harass me. Still, he was right about one thing, I couldn’t put off choosing forever.

  I was saved from the overworn argument by the front door of the house opening and a man stepping into the doorway. The near dusk hid his features from my bad eyes, but the light from the house poured out from behind him, outlining a very familiar sleek but muscular body that his tailored suit accented perfectly and making his loose blond hair glimmer. My heart stalled, my breath catching.

  Falin.

  As if trying to make up for that lost beat, my pulse sped up, my heart fluttering in an attempt to escape my chest. I took a step forward, toward the house, before catching myself—and Caleb’s dark glare.

  “I can’t stay here and watch them tear apart my house, again.” Caleb’s teeth were green now too, his fae-mien almost completely revealed. He glanced at his car. His blocked car.

  “I’ll give you a ride,” Holly said, holding up her keys.

  Caleb had as much trouble with Holly’s car as I did, more if he couldn’t get his glamour back up to protect him from the iron and steel, so it said a lot when he nodded and marched toward her vehicle.

  “You coming?” Holly asked.

  I glanced from Caleb to the figure in the doorway. “I, uh…I should probably walk PC.”

  “Yeah, you’re thinking about your dog right now,” Holly said, shaking her head. “I don’t know if this is tragically romantic or just pathetic, but it’s your heartbreak.”

  She was right. I knew she was, but I couldn’t help walking toward that open doorway. I’m not sure my legs would have listened had I tried to stop them from climbing the steps.

  Falin didn’t move, not even a muscle twitch, as I approached. I wanted to see him smile. Hell, after the kiss he’d said good-bye with a month ago, a kiss so full of promise, of need, I wanted those lips to do a lot more than just smile. Not like that could happen. His face was hard, impassive. But his eyes betrayed him. Ice blue, but oh so warm as they swept over me.

  “Hi.” My voice was breathless and not from the three squat steps I’d climbed to reach the door.

  “Ms. Craft. I trust you saw the warrant.” The words were crisp, professional, and cold enough to make me flinch. Only the lingering warmth in his eyes gave me hope.

  “I saw enough to know it’s bullshit.” I leaned back against the doorjamb crossing my arms over my chest. “She’s not going to stop until I accept one of her invitations, is she?”

  He looked away. Neither of us had to clarify who “she” was. Falin was the Winter Queen’s bloody hands, her assassin, her knight, and was completely bound to her will. Her current compulsion prevented him from having any contact with me outside of a professional capacity. Even our discussions were limited to FIB business. But then she sent him here, to my home, on these damn raids. Why? To remind me that if I wanted Falin I had to come to her first, had to join her court? Or was she simply torturing both of us, making him the instrument of her harassment because she was a possessive bitch and he belonged to her, not me?

  I didn’t know, but I should have gone with Caleb and Holly. Seeing him, being so near, but with the queen’s icy barrier between us, hurt. My staying had been cruel to both of us. I pushed away from the doorjamb and started into the living room and the inner stair that led to my apartment, but paused as I took in the havoc the FIB agents had rendered on Caleb’s normally orderly house. They weren’t breaking anything, just ransacking the place so it looked like a mini whirlwind had hit the room.

  Damn, no wonder Caleb had been so pissed. The previous raids hadn’t been this bad.

  “Alex.”

  I stopped at Falin’s voice. It was still distant, but not quite as cold as it had been a moment before. I turned, hoping when I made the full one eighty I’d find his chilliness would have as well.

  No such luck. His expression was just as hard as when I’d turned away.

  “If you have a case you think involves fae, or have any trouble that might call for FIB involvement…” He pressed a card into my palm, his gloved fingers tracing the back of my hand as he drew back again.

  My stomach did an inappropriately excited somersault for such a small gesture. I swallowed, but the wall was still there between us, as if the movement hadn’t been intentional. But it was. He couldn’t break his queen’s commands, but he’d bend them as far as they’d go. And man, was I ever tempted to go find a case involving fae. Except that would mean looking for trouble, and enough found me without me actively seeking it.

  Someone farther inside the house called Falin’s name as I glanced at the card he’d given me. It was his business card, but he’d scrawled his cell number on the back.

  “Actually,” I said, slowly. “I am having fae troubles. I’m being harassed. Think the FIB could put a stop to that?”

  For a moment, his hard facade broke, a small lopsided grin breaking through as he shook his head not in a “no” but in sad amusement. The change lasted only a moment. By the time I blinked, his expression was set and cold once more. That invisible distance was even worse for the contrast to the small slivers of emotion that escaped.

  I hated this.

  I hated that Falin could be so close and yet so far away. I hated that Death disappeared whenever I saw him.

  I was so through with emotions. If only I could find an OFF switch.

  An agent called for Falin again and he closed his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “I have to go. Don’t interfere with the raid, Ms. Craft.”

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” I said, heading for my apartment and the Chinese crested awaiting a walk and food. I might know the raid was bullshit, but I also knew better than to interfere. If you crossed the FIB, not only did you not pass go or collect two hundred dollars; you also didn’t go to jail. You went straight to Faerie.

  Chapter 3

  It took us the better part of a week to get the new Tongues for the Dead offices something akin to presentable and ready to open, but it took me only three days to discover the major flaw in having an office: someone had to be present during posted business hours. Since Rianna was at a gravesite, right now that someone was me.

  Not that any clients had visited the office yet. At least, not any new clients. A woman who’d contacted me before we opened had, under protest, stopped by to sign paperwork and drop off a retainer fee, grumbling about the drive the entire time she was here. The office? Yeah, not so much a success thus far.

  I sighed and tapped the touch pad on my laptop to wake the screen.

  “You look bored.”

  I jolted at the unexpected voice and my thrift-store chair screeched in protest as my heart jumped to my throat. Not that I didn’t recognize the voice, or the approaching shimmery form dressed in baggy jeans, loose T-shirt, and open flannel shirt so threadbare it would have been nearly transparent even if it hadn’t been worn by a ghost.

  “Hey, a little jumpy there, Alex?” Roy, my self-appointed ghostly sidekick asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. Then he squinted, staring a little too hard. “Your magic is overflowing again, isn’t it?”

  I gave an inward cringe. It had been almost a week since I raised a shade, and my magic was battering my mental shields in an attempt to escape. “That obvious?”

  Roy shrugged. “You’re sort of…flickering.”

  That wasn’t good
. Roy, being a ghost, existed in the land of the dead, which was separated from the reality and the living by a chasm. All grave witches could bridge that chasm—that was how we raised shades—but as a planeweaver, part of my psyche always touched the land of the dead. Despite that, Roy had once told me that I was usually as shadowy and uninteresting looking as any of the living, at least, until I actively drew in grave essence. Then I apparently lit up like a roman candle. If I was flickering, my power was clearly slipping.

  I should have taken the ritual in the cemetery today—I’d just wanted to give my eyes as much time as possible to recover.

  “So whatcha working on? Do we have a case yet?” Roy asked, leaning forward to stare at my screen. He made a face. “Apparently not.”

  I blushed and closed the laptop, hiding the two windows I’d had open. One of which was the Dead Club Forums, which was the unofficial digital gathering place for the small population of the world’s grave witches. The other window was the reason for my embarrassment. It held a game that’s sole premise involved slingshotting birds at strangely colored pigs. I wasn’t sure how the creators had done it, but I’d swear they worked a spell into the code. That was the only way to explain why the game was so unnaturally addictive.

  “What do you need, Roy?” The question came out snippier than I meant—the pressure of holding my shields was wearing on my nerves—and the ghost jerked back. He took a step to the side and hunched his shoulders, all but broadcasting his hurt feelings.

  Well, crap. I squeezed my eyes shut and buried my face in my hands. I really had to loose my magic soon. If I didn’t use it, my shields would crumple with my will. Considering those shields were the only things keeping the different planes of reality from trying to converge through me, I needed to make sure I—and not my magic—was in control when I lowered them.

  I was too fae to apologize, so instead I said, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”