Kelly Gay - The Darkest Edge of Dawn

“With the cold bag, you have approximately three hours to get her to the morgue to spell his body before it begins to suffer damage. Too much damage, and I’m afraid no amount of healing will save him,” Liz said. “I’ll monitor the bag, and his temperature. Our biggest concern is the brain tissue.” She turned to the chief. “Give me a ride back?”

“Sure. And Madigan?” he said, standing. “Don’t piss her off. She might be our only hope of saving Aaron’s life.”

Yeah. That and finding Llyran and getting the life forces back, if they hadn’t been used already. If we found that ring in time, we might actually be able to bring Aaron back from the dead.

“That leaves one big obstacle,” Hank said. “We need to find our killer.”

“What about me?” Bryn asked in a small voice.

“What about you?” I said.

“I was at the warehouse. I was here when he died. I’m being used, and I don’t remember any of it. Maybe there’s a way to tap into what I’m forgetting to find Llyran? I … I need to make this right,” she said with a glassy, pained look. “Aaron’s dead because of me. I need to make this right.”

“Hypnosis might work,” Liz offered. “Doctor Berk is highly experienced. Bryn can come to the station with me and the chief. You guys go get your Master Crafter, and we’ll meet at the station.”

Are you sure? I asked Bryn with my gaze. She nodded, her chest rising and her conviction firm. “Okay. Hank, you’re with me. Bryn’s with the chief and Liz. Hopefully we’ll meet you back at the station with … What’s-her-face.”

Nuallan Gow.

No one in the ITF would’ve known she was our resident Master Crafter if not for Will sitting down with me the morning after and telling me everything. He’d been completely stunned by the ease with which she’d coerced him, by the fact that he’d done something with her that he’d never thought he’d do. But he’d been solely responsible for lying, living a secret life, and making that damn bet to begin with. He never should’ve done it in the first place. And once he’d come clean, starting the twelve-step addiction program for black crafters and pretty much straightening up his entire life, I’d actually considered a reconciliation. And then he’d turned around and made a deal with a Revenant. He hadn’t learned a thing.

Bringing up the past like this did nothing for my mood, and by the time Hank drove his car down Gow’s street, I was ready to blow a gasket.

“You sure she lives here?” Hank’s words brought me out of my thoughts as he parked against the curb and shut off the engine.

We looked out the window at the two-story home with landscaped yard, porch straight out of Southern Home Magazine, white Christmas lights, and a welcome wreath on the front door.

Buckhead was the playground for Atlanta’s elite. Extreme white collar all the way and not a place anyone would ever think a black crafter, much less a Master, would call home. But everyone had their secrets. Even in the swanky neighborhood of Buckhead.

“Yeah. She lives here with her two-point-five kids, Labrador retriever, and devoted husband.” While she had completely destroyed my life. She’d earned her title.

“Let me do the talking.” Hank got out of the car.

I followed him up the steps and waited as he rang the doorbell. A jingle proceeded the open door, and we were greeted with the Labrador—which had just been a guess on my part—and a slim, highly seductive-looking woman in a white cocktail dress and upswept brown hair streaked with gold tones.

The Bitch herself. Nuallan Gow.

Hurt and anger mushroomed in my gut like a cold burst of wind. My fist curled into a tight ball. She took one look at me and slammed the door.

I leaned forward and rang the bell again, holding it down. When that didn’t work, I started making a little tune with the doorbell. “Jingle Bells.” It was the holiday season, after all. I could do this all fucking night. And I was certain she didn’t want her husband coming to investigate.

No matter how hard we tried, Hank and I had been unable to pin the ghoul attack on her. Her followers were completely devoted, and the creature who carried out her orders to kill me had taken the fall completely and willingly.

There was a huge scandal when I’d accused her of being a black crafter, but she and her husband had the luxury of money and attorneys on their side, and no one believed an upstanding citizen like herself would ever do something so terrible. The ITF was clearly grasping at straws.

The click of her heels made me release the doorbell and stand back once more, linking my hands behind me, so I wouldn’t be tempted to punch her in the face when she answered.

The door opened and she stepped out onto the wide front porch, closing it quietly behind her. “I am having a dinner party, Detectives.”

I rolled my eyes as her perfume reached my nose, perfume that hid the stench of black crafting’s telltale scent of wet ashes. She had no aura whatsoever, which was no surprise. She kept a tight lock on her extracurricular activities and hid any and all signs of what she truly was.

Her dark, bewitching gaze fell on me, her lush red lips thinning as they dipped down. Her beauty, I liked to imagine, was a glamour spell, and in real life, when all the crafting was stripped away, she was a haggard old witch.

“We’re in need of your skills, Ms. Gow,” Hank said. “We’re hoping to save a life, a very good one.”

My hands twitched, but I kept them firmly locked. The struggle inside of me was so great that sweat broke out on the small of my back and my heart was pounding from the hurt of old memories, and the injustice that came with it. She never gave a damn about breaking up my family, changing the entire future for me and my kid, or the pain my child had gone through during the divorce. None of that mattered to her. She’d had her fun and then moved on, leaving me and my family to pick up the pieces. I wanted to stab her in the face, but since I couldn’t do that, I sent a silent plea to the Powers That Be that karma would come back a thousand-fold and bite Nuallan Gow in the ass.

“Charlie?” Hank asked, leaning close.

“Huh?”

Nuallan smirked, eyes traveling from my head to my toes and back again with an unimpressed expression. “Having trouble focusing, Detective? Thinking about the past, are we?”

I gaped and then snapped my lips closed and did a one-eighty, giving her my back and looking up at the hard face of my partner as he stepped in front of me. “I’m going to kill her now,” I whispered. “Please let me kill her.”

Hank grabbed my shoulders and turned me back around, saying over my shoulder, “You’re the only one with the knowledge to save this man’s body until we can return his soul to him. But we need to do it now.”

“Why should I help you?”

I cut off Hank’s reply. “Because you destroyed my marriage and broke my kid’s heart, you—” Stupid, dumbass skank. My heart hammered, pushing the blood around my body so fast it made me dizzy. I was trying really hard to stand there in front of her, but it wasn’t working. I couldn’t get ahold of my emotions.

“No, Detective, your husband did that.”

“And so did you!” I was going to hit her. I committed to it, took a step forward, but Hank wrapped his hand around my arm and pulled me back. “You played a part, and you hold some responsibility, too,” I practically growled. “And one day someone is going to rip your heart out and hurt the ones you love.”

She pursed her lips. “Perhaps. But not today.”

“Excuse us for one second,” Hank said, escorting me down the steps and to the curb.