Then again, the black warlock–turned–serial killer who stalked Austin for the past few weeks pretty much defied human description. Poor Nate was stuck hunting him without having a clue as to what he was really up against. I’m a witch, soulbound to one of the darkest warlocks around, and I still have nightmares of being raped and murdered by that monster.
I look at the dark circles under Nate’s eyes and wonder if he’s having as much trouble sleeping as I am. I hope not.
“Where are you with Kyle?” I ask, breaking the uncomfortable silence that stretches between us.
“The D.A. has decided to seek the death penalty. He’ll probably call you today or tomorrow to fill you in. He’s planning on contacting all the victims’ families.”
When I don’t immediately respond, he looks at me questioningly, but I’m not sure what to say to him. Especially since I’m too busy considering what that decision means to focus on an answer that won’t give anything away.
I wonder if the prosecutor plans on contacting Declan, since he was the closest thing Lina, the first Austin victim, had to a family. If he doesn’t, I’ll have to tell him. Kyle was the Council’s hired killer, and right now, Declan’s magic is the only thing keeping them from stepping in and seeing that Kyle evades justice. But once they realize the death penalty is on the table, they’ll up their efforts to break Declan’s spell.
It’s no easy task—the man has so much power it leaks from his every pore—but the Council is filled with some of the most talented practitioners of Heka in existence. It’s not a stretch to think that together they’ll find a way to circumvent him.
Hell, they’ve probably been working on it for the last eight days. Not because they actually care about Kyle—he was just a tool to them, after all—but because the Council has always stood firm on the fact that witches do not stand trial in human courts. Ever.
It’s a carryover from the times when we were hunted, tortured, burned and hanged by people who didn’t understand our powers and what we could do. And while I agree with the Council’s stance in theory—humans do have a tendency to get a little excitable when magic is involved—I still think witches that commit crimes in human society deserve to pay for those crimes by human laws. Three of the four women Kyle killed had no power, and no way to defend themselves against what he did to them. He needs to answer for that. And while I’ve never believed in the death penalty before, I know the blackness of the magic that lives inside Kyle. Letting that magic loose—ever again—is not an option.
I shudder to think what Declan will do if the Council steps in, because not killing Kyle is already eating away at Declan’s soul. I can feel it when he holds me, see it in his face when he thinks I’m not looking. And that eats away at me. I know he’s trying to spare me the pain of it—my power is such that I feel the violent death by magical means of anyone within a certain number of miles from me (I’m not yet sure how far that power extends)—but I’m not so naïve as to think Declan won’t step in if the Council tries to interfere with Kyle’s trial and sentencing. By the time he’s done, there won’t be enough of Kyle left to recognize, let alone rescue.
“How are the families doing?” I finally ask, my voice breaking a little under the weight of my guilt. It’s my fault those women died screaming, my fault they were taken away from the people who loved them.
“The funerals were this week. It was rough.” He pauses, looks uncomfortable. I’m sure he’s remembering that Declan was responsible for Lina’s, that he saw both of us there. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine.” It’s my standard answer. Just close enough to the truth that I can’t be accused of lying. Kind of how I’ve lived all twenty-seven years of my existence up to this point.
“You look tired.”
“So do you. Must be something about coming into close contact with a sociopath that makes it hard to sleep at night.”
“Or any other time.”
I laugh, but it doesn’t hold a lot of humor. Because he’s right. For me, the only thing that keeps the horror at bay is Declan. My only nightmare-free sleep comes after he’s made love to me until I’m quivering with exhaustion.
Suddenly I need a break—this conversation is slowly leeching all the joy from me that I felt earlier after being in Declan’s arms.
“Is that all you wanted to tell me? About Kyle?”
I gesture vaguely toward the tables around us, all of which are taken. It’s three o’clock and the coffeehouse is filling up again.
Employees on their midafternoon coffee break.
Students finished with classes for the day, looking for a quiet place to unwind or study.
Tourists combing downtown, looking for a place to wait out the rain, which has turned the air cold and the sidewalks slick.
“Actually, that’s not what I came to talk to you about at all.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls out an envelope. “I should have gotten to this sooner. I know you’re busy.”
“It’s fine.” I watch as he slides the envelope across the table to me. “What is that?”
“I have a favor to ask. I know you don’t normally do the whole psychic thing—at least not if you can help it. But—”
“Nate, no.”
He holds up his hands. “I know, I know. It’s uncool of me to ask. And I wouldn’t, if it wasn’t desperately important. There’s a little girl. She’s missing.”
I want to slam my hands over my ears, to sing “la la la la la la” like a little kid who doesn’t want to hear that it’s bedtime. Because it’s not that I don’t want to help. It’s that I can’t help.
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“What doesn’t?”
“My . . . gift.” I barely stop myself from blurting out the word magic. “I don’t see things that I concentrate on. I feel emotions. Pain. Violence. Fear . . .”
Death.
The truth is, I sense death and all the intense emotions that go along with it.
“Maybe if you look at her, you’ll pick something up. She’s got to be scared, right? She’s been missing for four days.” He grabs the envelope, slides a picture out of it and puts it faceup in the center of the table.
And despite my best intentions, I can’t help but look.
She’s a pretty little girl, maybe six or seven. In the photo, she’s smiling, and there’s a huge gap where her two front teeth should be. Her wide green eyes are bright and innocent and her long, brown ringlets are tied back from her face with purple ribbons that have white polka dots on them.
I stare at her for long seconds, mesmerized. I know I should close my eyes, should look away—the last thing I want is a picture of this lost little girl in my head. I can’t help her, can’t find her, no matter how much I wish I could. She’ll just be one more nightmare for me to live with when the lights go out.
When I finally manage to pull my eyes away from her sweet, happy smile, I find Nate staring at me, his blond brow furrowed with concentration. “Did you . . . ?”
“I told you. It doesn’t work that way.” I look at him curiously, doing my best to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. “How did you get involved in a kidnapping case anyway?”
“It’s my neighbor’s daughter. She was playing in the front yard with two friends after school. Her mom went to the back of the house to start a load of laundry and when she went to check on her about seven minutes later, Shelby was gone. She checked with the neighbors, but it turns out their mom had called them home about five minutes before. So sometime in the space of those five minutes, Shelby disappeared. Her parents are—” He breaks off, shakes his head. “They’re a mess.”
“I can’t even imagine.” The horror of it is pressing in on me, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. Pulling at me until I can feel myself spiraling downward, though I don’t know why. It’s a sad story, a terrifying story, but it isn’t much different from a dozen others I’d heard about on the news in the last year.