“I figured it out,” he whispered. Relief washed over me—all his. He hated keeping secrets, it seemed.
“How?” I asked.
“I saw your bracelet. Didn’t work with your pantsuit. I know how an Esprit works.”
“Don’t give me that crap,” I muttered, gritting my teeth. “I can barely spot someone like that, and I’ve been a magical longer than you. There’s something you’re not telling me, Jake. I can feel it.”
“How do you know?” he challenged me.
“I’m an Empath. I can read you like an open book.”
He stilled. His heart shrank with sheer horror. He was headed straight for a panic attack. My pulse was racing. His breathing became staggered and heavy.
“I can’t read your thoughts, relax,” I continued, trying to reassure him. “I can feel what you feel, that’s all. If you’re sad or hungry or… feeling happy or guilty… stuff like that. It takes a lot more work for me to figure out exactly what your emotions relate to. Chill, Jake.”
He seemed to relax. I couldn’t blame him for being fearful. Nobody liked having their mind read, after all. It was the worst kind of privacy violation.
“Like I said, I know you’re lying to me,” I added, eager to steer the conversation back to my point of interest. “How did you know I’m a magical? Don’t give me the Esprit crap. That’s flimsy. I should know, I’ve tried it.”
Jacob sighed, his gaze dropping to the grassy ground. “I can… I can sense you.”
“You can sense me,” I murmured, unsure of what that meant.
“I can feel other magicals,” he said. “It’s one of my abilities.”
Holy crap!
This was huge. Krieger would’ve had a field day testing him. But was such an ability even possible? If so, how? What combination of magical bloodlines could lead to such a development? I found myself in awe of Jacob, stunned by his confession.
Then I realized the implications.
Jacob, if discovered, could lose his freedom, his livelihood… his everything. The Ryders and the likes of Katherine Shipton would’ve loved their own living, breathing magical detector. The same went for the coven, too. That made everything a million times more difficult for me. He’d just found a home with the Smiths, and I had no idea where he’d been before.
“You can feel magicals?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
He nodded once. “My skin tingles.”
“What, like a Spidey sense? You’ve got to be kidding me!” I gasped.
Jacob shrugged. “Kind of? I don’t know. It’s difficult to describe.”
It didn’t really matter how he could do it. What mattered was that he could. It made him more valuable than gold. I could think of plenty of magicals who would’ve done anything to get Jacob on their team. Covens with enough influence and money could capture him, maybe even take him by force, since he wasn’t registered.
That was the downside of being a rogue magical, and not a Neutral. The former meant he was off the books, anyone’s for the taking, basically. As a Neutral, he was registered with a coven. Frankly, with such an ability, I doubted they would allow him to remain Neutral.
I could almost hear Alton’s heart explode once I told him about Jacob.
But did I want to tell anyone about him? Wasn’t he, perhaps, safer under the radar, able to steer clear of magicals? At the same time, I didn’t want a Cranstons repeat, either.
“Does anyone else know this?” I asked. Jacob shook his head. “Okay. Let’s keep it that way for now, until we figure out what’s going on in San Diego.”
He sighed. “I was going to say the same thing. I’m not sure I want myself out in the open.”
I frowned. “Are you scared of something?”
Fear did trickle through me, but not with enough intensity to trigger a serious alarm. It was more angst than fear, in fact.
He shook his head again. “Just cautious.”
I was inclined to believe him, but not completely. There was always a catch, somewhere. A hidden page. A well-kept secret. In my experience, people like Jacob and me were never fully honest with those who claimed to want to protect us—not in the beginning, anyway.
Twenty-Two
Tatyana
We had quite a doozy on our hands.
Nine-year-old Andrew Prescott had gone missing yesterday afternoon. His biological parents had just moved to San Diego about a month earlier and had yet to register with the coven. We got as much information out of them as possible, then rigged their house with charms. If the Ryders, whose card we’d found there, were going to come back, we’d be notified.
Astrid spoke to Alton and got him to put a pair of eyes on the house, just in case. By the time we were done debriefing the Prescotts, the worst news came from Wade’s team. Micah Cranston was missing, and his human parents were dead. It broke my heart, but I couldn’t let it get to me.
Oberon was nestled inside me and, to my surprise, kept me focused on the task at hand.
Garrett fit in quite easily on our team. He maintained a professional demeanor and a calm approach. That, too, helped.
We drove up to the Devereaux mansion next, all three of us quiet as the Cranstons’ death sank in. The Devereaux couple were rich, owners of a gorgeous hacienda-type property up in Tierrasanta. It was part of a seemingly safe, gated community, with distant views of the Mission Trails Regional Parks at the back.
The house itself was huge, built on three levels, with sumptuous arches and sprawling gardens. Magnolia trees trembled in the late spring breeze, their pink petals drifting away.
As soon as we reached the massive iron gate, we knew there was something wrong. There was a police car outside by the main steps, its red-and-blue lights on.
A terrible thing happened here, Tatyana… Oberon’s voice echoed in my head.
“That can’t be good,” Garrett muttered, frowning as he eyed the cop car. The front door was wide open. He fumbled through his jacket pocket and pulled out his fake FBI badge. “Let’s use these for good measure. We have Marjorie Phillips missing, too, so plenty of reasons to stop by the Devereauxes’ if their kid’s gone.”
I nodded and took out my fake FBI badge. Astrid rang the intercom. We listened to it ring twice, before someone picked up, their voice crackling through the speaker.
“Who is it?” the man asked.
“FBI, sir. We’re here to talk about Louella,” Garrett replied.
“What if the cops are there for something else? What if the kid isn’t missing?” Astrid whispered.
Garrett smirked. “After everything that’s happened since yesterday, do you really think this isn’t what happened here?”
The gate buzzed and slid open. We made our way to the entrance on foot, carefully analyzing our surroundings. There was definitely a bad vibe here, but I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it.
The spirits are restless, Oberon said. They saw something.
Hold your horses, I thought my reply to him. I had to pay more attention this time around, and make sure that Astrid and Garrett didn’t hear me accidentally talking out loud with my ghostly passenger. Let’s talk to the Devereauxes first.
As soon as we reached the front door, however, I knew that all those bad feelings I’d been having about this place were justified. A side table had been knocked over. Stuff was thrown across the floor.
Sirens wailed in the distance, just as we made it into the living room, where we were greeted by two police officers in uniform and two dead bodies. It didn’t take a scientist to guess who the dead couple were. Ted and Lucinda Devereaux were quite well known around San Diego, their faces plastered on several local tabloids. They came from a wealthy oil family from the Midwest and had moved here about five years ago. I remembered the notes on their profile, from Alton’s list.
Their throats were slit, and there were black smudges all over the place.
“Obliviscaris in Perpetuum,” Garrett muttered, his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched.
Both cops were pale, their eyes wide as they stared at the bodies. The Devereauxes were pale, too, their eyes glassy and their lips purple. They’d been dead for at least five, maybe six hours, judging by their looks and the dried-up blood on the wooden floor.
“How’d you know to come here?” one of the cops asked. I spotted his nametag: Bowman. His colleague was Fraser. “We haven’t even called this in yet.”
“How’d you get here, then, if this wasn’t called in?” Garrett replied, flashing his FBI badge.
Bowman narrowed his eyes at it, before he sighed and shook his head slowly. “An alarm went off on the property. It’s linked to our station.”
“When did that happen?” Garrett asked.
“About twenty minutes ago. Dispatch tried to reach out to the Devereauxes over the phone, but there was no answer, so they sent us here,” Bowman explained. “So, what’s the FBI doing here?”
“The kid’s missing,” Garrett said.
Personally, I thought this was a gamble. The cops could’ve known about this. Judging by the surprised looks on their faces, they didn’t.
“Again, how’d you know?” Bowman asked, visibly concerned.
“The Devereauxes called us last night,” Garrett replied, absolutely winging it. “What can you tell us about the crime scene?”
Bowman glanced around, visibly disturbed by the bloody sight. Astrid wasn’t looking great, either, as she slowly moved back and slipped out of the living room altogether.
“No sign of breaking and entering. The door was open, the locks intact,” Bowman explained. “The alarm went off twenty minutes ago, but these two have been dead for longer than that. My guess is maybe the maid came in, saw the couple, freaked out, and ran off before punching in the security code.”
“No CCTV then?” I asked.
Fraser shook his head. “No murder weapon either. The kid’s not here. If she was missing since yesterday, then that’s a whole other case.”