Guardian (The Protectors Series) (15 page)

“Fuck.” Griff ran his hand over his face and took another swig of coffee.

“That’s what I thought. When I told her I’d used energy to heal him, she bought it. She didn’t want to, but her own logic is leading her to the truth.” Stefan got up to refill his coffee and Griff’s.

Griff accepted the refill with a word of thanks. “The Council won’t care about her logic. Or her intuitive gifts. If they see her as a threat, you know what they’ll do.”

Stefan knew all too well. The deletion of Mack’s memories had turned a gifted musician with a knack for numbers, a kid with a scholarship to Juilliard, into a tone-deaf, somewhat uncoordinated guy who saw algebra as beyond the pale.

No way would Stefan let that happen to Mel. Even if he had to take her and run.

And if the magic made her freak, wouldn’t she love life as fugitive with him? Far better to be sure matters never reached that point.

“Stefan?” Quietly, Griff asked, “You okay?”

Stefan nodded and sipped coffee, thinking. “I’m trying to go a day at a time. Whatever I do, I can’t spring anything on her. She has…family issues.” Stefan rubbed his gritty eyes. “She needs to come to it in her own time. Form her own conclusions. I don’t want everybody taking an interest in this.”

 “Then I’ll tell Valeria you were once involved and you want your privacy. Oh, and good luck.”

“Appreciate it.”

“As for the main problem, I still have some contacts among the former reeves,” Griff said. “Now that I’m not on the Most Wanted list, I’ll put out some queries.”

As Griff set his coffee down, the light caught the shadows under his eyes.

Stefan asked, “Everything okay with you?”

“Great. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Just checking,” Stefan said. Val had asked him to arrive a little early for lunch at The Bar this afternoon, so maybe she would enlighten him.

Meanwhile, he had worse things to worry about. If a Void demon had survived from the Middle Ages, someone should have spotted it. Someone should have known.

Would ghouls know? If Void demons were the Old Ones, the Teachers Will mentioned, that implied an alliance in the past, not only the prospect of one that last summer’s events had raised.

Dread prickled down Stefan’s spine. Was there a Void demon coming out of hiding after all this time? And if so, why was it emerging in Wayfarer?

S
ifting through microfiches in the Wayfarer
Oracle
back room, Mel had trouble focusing. She still couldn’t believe the body had disappeared from the morgue. She and Deputy Thompson, who’d shot the guy at the break-in scene, had been put on desk duty per procedure because of the shooting. With no corpse, though, Sheriff Burton expected to rescind that by the end of the day.

The EMTs had delivered the body, as hospital security confirmed, but it was gone when Milledge arrived. How did a corpse disappear? Burton suggested theft by an accomplice. The county hospital wasn’t exactly a beehive of activity late at night. With no other plausible theories, they were all operating on that one, though it made this whole business even more worrisome.

On top of that, the hair color didn’t match the description of either known assailant. How many purple-eyed thugs were running around?

Mel put the last microfiche sheet back in the folder. There weren’t nearly enough for the paper’s entire history. Nothing had turned up, so maybe this was a dead end anyway, but she’d feel better if she could check issues before 1973, the earliest year in the folder.

She pushed away from the reader and walked to the small office behind the front counter.

Ben Hayes, the scruffy, thirtyish publisher, looked up before she knocked. He shoved thick chestnut hair out of his face. “Come in, Mel. Sorry I was out of town when y’all started

this. Did you find what you needed?”

“Not yet.”

“That’s too bad.” Frowning, he swiveled his chair from side to side. “Damned crazy goings-on, even for here.”

“You think the town has ‘crazy goings-on’?”

“Sure it does.” He grinned at her. “I’m never at a loss for something on the front page. I inherited the paper from my grandfather. He always said life might get boring here, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long.”

“I guess not. Do you have any microfilm or other records of stories earlier than 1973?”

His grin faded. “I wish I did. A big fire in seventy-two wiped out Pappaw’s archives. The town library has back issues, but they aren’t indexed.”

Damn
. “Can you think of anyone who has lived here long enough to remember something?”

“Not that I can think of, but Miss Hettie Telfair might know someone. She was away in the early seventies, but she pretty much lived here the rest of her life.” He rummaged in the papers on his desk and finally, triumphantly, extracted a Rolodex. “I can call her if you like.”

“Thanks, but I have her number.” Mel smiled at him. “You could help me with something else, though. I thought I’d try this place called The Bar.” The pizza had been good, and the online menu included some interesting salads and sandwiches. “Can you tell me how to get there?”

“That’s easy. Turn right out the front door, go two blocks, and turn right again on Calhoun. You’ll run out of pavement after about a block, but Calhoun keeps going. Follow it to the creek, and The Bar is there.”

“Sounds easy enough. Thanks.”

“Hey, before you go, how about a quote for local media?” In a wry voice, he said, “You know, the ones not hanging around the courthouse bugging the bejesus out of everybody.”

Nice of him not to call in the favor of putting his archives at the sheriff’s disposal.
“Okay. You can say the investigation is ongoing, and after encountering the man shot by officers last night, the sheriff’s office is considering the possibility of illegal drug use as a factor. At the moment, there are no new leads.”

“Got it. I’ll run the tip line number again, if you like.”

“Might as well.” Although that would, as usual, draw a great many dead ends to be slogged through. “See you.”

Mel headed out. She’d meant to visit Hettie soon anyway. This was a good excuse and wouldn’t make her feel guilty for not working on the case.

She walked past the Crystal Grotto, with its display of crystals, candles, and tarot cards in the window, and wondered how the hell this little town supported so many shops like that. When her cell buzzed, Mel tugged out her phone.

Stefan. She stilled. Drawing a breath to steady herself, she accepted the call. “Hi, Stefan.”
Good, casual tone
.

“Hey. When I stopped by the sheriff’s office, they told me you were at the
Oracle.
Did you find anything?”

“Unfortunately, no. But the publisher suggested I talk to Miss Hettie, see if she knows of anyone who might remember farther back than his records go.”

“I know Hettie. If you want someone to ride shotgun, I’m up for that.”

“Thanks. I’ll call you.” He could be helpful, and the idea of working on something with him held strong appeal.

“Where are you now?” he asked.

“I’m heading out to lunch.” She bit back the
Do you want to join me?
After last night’s awkward parting, she didn’t want to be the one to ask.

“Oh. Well, then, have a good one.”

“You, too.” Frowning, Mel tucked her phone away and took a hard look at the disappointment she was feeling. The old tug kept reasserting itself like the embers of a dying flame. Okay, maybe not dying. Maybe it was lingering, and being here was fanning it.

She had to admit the truth, at least to herself. She’d hoped he would invite her to lunch but he hadn’t, and that stung.

Stefan set his and Val’s iced teas down and took the chair across from her. “How was the big city?” he asked.

They’d chosen to eat on the deck at The Bar and enjoy the fall sunshine. The other tables were empty, so they had privacy for the conversation Val had said she wanted. At least until Griff and Marc Wagner arrived.

The breeze toyed with the ends of her tawny, shoulder-length hair. Although she smiled, her hazel eyes stayed solemn. “We had a wonderful time. Saw three shows and had drinks in the Marriott’s rooftop bar. Griffin sold more paintings last week than he did in all of last year, and one of the critics said his work combined the best of Maxfield Parrish and Andrew Wyeth.”

“That’s high praise, and richly deserved. I guess clearing his name was good for his career.”

“He certainly has more time for it.” Her smile died. “On the surface he seems fine. Happy, even. But I’m worried, Stefan.”

“I figured. You wouldn’t come to me on the sly otherwise. I probably can’t give you answers, but I’ll listen to anything. You okay with his knowing we talked?”

A brief smile flickered across her lips. “I figured you’d tell him when you thought the time was right, so that’s fine.”

She bit her lip for a moment before saying, “I think he’s getting precog flashes. He made several suggestions before we left and a couple of times in New York, things we should avoid, problems that might arise. When I asked him how he knew, he said it was ‘a hunch.’”

“Maybe it was.” Or maybe Griff’s powers were starting to come back. He’d defeated a ghoul in Wayfarer a couple of weeks ago, but none of them had any idea how he’d punched through its shields. Precognition didn’t require as much power as piercing a magic shield. Many otherwise Mundane people had some degree of magical foresight.

“He never got flashes that often before,” she said, “so maybe I’m clutching at straws.”

Stefan shook his head. “If you believed that, we wouldn’t be sitting here.”

“No. It’s…he gets so edgy when I mention it. Snappish. I don’t know if he thinks these ‘hunches’ might be precog and is afraid to believe it in case he’s wrong, or if he knows they aren’t, and he’s aggravated by having to say so.”

“Did you ask him that?”

She nodded. “He said, ‘It is what it is. If my powers come back, I’ll tell you.’”

“Okay. I’ll talk to him.” That was going to be one hell of a fun conversation.

“Thanks.” But her worried expression didn’t ease. The square-cut diamond on her left hand flashed in the sunlight as she ran her fingers up and down her sweating glass.

She and Griff were mind-bonded. Even though the loss of his magic meant they had to touch to activate the bond, she usually had a good idea what was going on with him. This uncertainty had to be doubly frustrating.

“What else?” Stefan asked. “Are you okay?”

“Thanks to Hettie. I don’t know how I would’ve pulled this wedding together without her. She did most of the work. Except for buying my dress, all I did was tell her what we wanted.”

“And write some checks.” He smiled.

“Not even that, much. Griffin’s parents want to give us the wedding as their gift, so they’re writing most of the checks.” Val hesitated, her hazel eyes troubled, then blurted, “They have a lot of money. I don’t want them to think I’m taking advantage.”

Stefan gripped her hand. “Look at me.” When she did, he said, “By helping Griff prove his innocence, you gave their son back to them. They would do anything for you. They pretty much told me so.”

“I know.” She shook her head, sighing. “But it feels odd. And there’s something else.” Staring into Stefan’s eyes, letting him see the fear in hers, she said, “Griffin’s dad found him a mage-crafted shotgun. One of his clients had it.”

Oh, shit
. A lethal strike from any sword, arrow, or other bladed weapon with magical energy flowing through it killed both a ghoul’s body and its energy, but the only firearms that could do that were mage-crafted ones. Because ghouls targeted mage gunsmiths, such weapons were rare. That was why mages generally used bladed weapons. A Mundane gun killed the ghoul’s body but let its magical energy survive to be absorbed by, and strengthen, the ghouls nearest to it.

Absorbed energy.
Could that be what these ghouls were working off of?

“Stefan?”

He looked up and found Val watching him. “Sorry. I bet I can guess what that means. Griff now intends to go into battle with your task force.”

Val nodded, and Stefan tightened his grip on her hand. Without magic to shield himself, Griff would be entirely vulnerable in a fight.

“I could refuse him,” she said, “and he would accept that, but it would eat at him. Even though he doesn’t say it, he still feels diminished by the loss of his powers. I think I’m going to have to let him take the risk.”

The Bar was dimly lit and quiet except for country music on the speakers. Normal country music, Mel noted. Nothing about ghosts or witches or tarot or visions that would rub her face in painful memories the way the music and decor at the Goddess’s Hearth had done. She’d eaten there because the motel clerk had recommended it, but the atmosphere hadn’t been for her. Although the roasted eggplant had been excellent.

The Bar’s unvarnished plank walls and the red-and-white-checked oilcloth on the tables gave the place a homey, scasual air. Two four-tops near the back were occupied by couples. Three businessmen sat at another four-top, hunched over sketches. The rich aroma of beef hung in the air, a welcome change from the sprouts and grains in the Goddess’s Hearth Café.

At least there weren’t any reporters in here. Maybe they were out chasing down leads on last night’s shooting.

Mel walked around the deserted bar to a pass-through window at its end with
ORDER HERE
above it. A burly, middle-aged African-American man took her order for chicken salad and directed her to the drink station by the wall. She filled her tea and carried it to a table. Sitting, she glanced out to the deck and froze.

Stefan? Holding hands with a pretty blonde?

All the breath whooshed out of Mel’s lungs, and she stared at the pair outside. The blonde wore an engagement ring. Was Stefan engaged to her? If so, what was up with that explosive almost-sex the other night?

But surely he wouldn’t have done that—or spent last evening at Cinda’s—if he were engaged. Maybe he and the worried-looking woman were only friends.

The front door opened. Mel glanced up at the tall, black-haired, blue-eyed hottie who walked inside. The guy filled out his faded jeans and chambray work shirt like a male model. She hastily looked down at her table.

The new arrival strode to the order window, but she didn’t notice what he asked for. Stefan and the blonde were still in earnest conversation but no longer holding hands. The woman looked distressed now.

The newcomer filled two glasses of water at the drink station and walked out to the deck, bumping the door open with his hip.

Stefan and his companion looked up. The blonde’s face lit up like a kid’s on Christmas morning. The dark-haired guy bent to kiss her before he sat beside her. His arm across the back of her chair marked them as a pair, as did the way she leaned into his side.

She was his fiancée, then, just a friend to Stefan. The relief that brought was so intense, it hurt. And it said a lot about those embers she’d thought of earlier. Not only did they still burn, but they’d singe her again if she didn’t get her head straight.

Mel wrenched her eyes back to her own table. His status was not her business, and her relief that he wasn’t engaged was foolish, considering the issues that would stand between them if they tried to get anything going again. Not that he showed any sign of wanting to, beyond caring for her as an old friend.

Except for those smoking-hot moments in the barn.

“Mel? I thought that was you.”

She glanced up into Marc Wagner’s face. His smile faded, and he asked, “Is something wrong?”

“No, I—nothing.” Mel blew out a breath. “I was thinking about these attacks,” she lied.

“I can see how that would be on your mind.” Marc shook his head. “I’m sure y’all will catch these guys soon. I’m meeting Stefan and some friends for lunch. Come join us.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“It’s not an intrusion. Val would probably like having another woman in the group.”

Val? The blonde?
Val and Griff
. The guy must be Griff. They were the bridal couple. “I couldn’t, really.”

“Sure, you can. I’m sure Stefan would’ve asked you if he’d known you were here.”

Smiling, Stefan walked up to the table. “I’m asking now. Join us, Mel.” In his hand, he held an empty cup. He must’ve come in for a refill.

Marc grinned. “I’ll tell Roscoe you’re on the deck.” He hurried toward the order window.