life

  .

  “What’s wrong with trying to find my mother?” She watched the children playing in the fountain. Margot didn’t know how right

  she

  was

  .

  Edwin’s voice took on a surly tone. “It’s wrong when you’re seeking her so you can enact The Undoing.”

  Hearing him say those words aloud stung her, but she had earned this, hadn’t she? “I want to know her, and I want her in my life. I also found out why you never let me contact my mother, why you felt it was better to whisk me away and never

  look

  back

  .”

  “So, you know the

  truth

  ,

  then

  ?”

  “She wanted The Undoing for me. She didn’t want me to carry the burden of being a sin eater, and you robbed me of my chance to have that happen.”

  “This is not a career choice, Aria. You of all people should know that. This is what you are.

  Accept

  it

  .”

  “Don’t you want me to be happy? I’m tired of this life.” But she wasn’t tired of living. She just didn’t want to do it as a sin eater. It was already starting to take its toll

  on

  her

  .

  “I’ll call back later, when you’re less emotional.”

  “You didn’t answer me. Are you

  close

  by

  ?”

  He

  hung

  up

  .

  Aria slipped her phone back into her pocket and went to her Beetle. She hopped into the driver’s side seat, wondering about the coming ritual. Belagio’s request was odd, but if he was willing to pay her and lead her to her mother, a witch named Clare, then she could have the woman cast the spell that would erase the sin eater birthmark. Then, she would be free to live the life that her best friend said she deserved.

  With a long sigh, she shoved the key into the ignition and twisted her wrist to start the engine. As bouncing tunes dripped from her stereo’s speakers, she reversed the car and pulled out from the parking space.

  It can’t be as odd as it seems. Rich people often have unusual requests before

  they

  die

  …

  7

  Aria

  Aria felt the least prepared for this ritual .

  At 10:45 p.m., she stood outside the massive gates to the mansion with her Beetle’s headlights shining on the intricate iron gate. Although she kept telling herself this wasn’t going to be too different from her past rituals, she couldn’t bring herself to punch in the code just yet. Was Bartholomew Perkins dead yet? Was she expected to watch him take his last breath and then start the ritual? That thought made her feel sick to her stomach. However, Mr. Belagio promised a way to find her mother. She wasn’t going to lie to herself, while she wanted to reconnect with her mother and catch up on so many years lost, she also wanted The Undoing. She needed it. And only the witch who birthed her could perform the spell.

  The alarm on her phone chimed. She had exactly ten minutes to get into that house, perform the rite, and then get paid. She couldn’t see the house from where she stood, though she knew one loomed beyond the gates somewhere.

  Now or

  never

  ,

  Aria

  .

  She punched in the code. A number of beeps returned, then a loud click. A motor sounded just mere seconds before the gates started sliding open. Aria jumped back into her Beetle, and once the gates had opened wide enough, she drove past, following the extensive drive through thick woods. The moon occasionally poked out from behind the clouds that covered the late-night sky. Before long, the cluster of trees thinned, eventually giving way to a large, well-manicured lawn with ornate statues and lamp posts that lead to the circular drive in front of a late-century Victorian.

  Aria pulled up and parked under the carport. After grabbing her bag from the back seat, she climbed out and approached

  the

  door

  .

  Knock or ring the doorbell? Was there a protocol to visiting a millionaire’s mansion?

  She rolled her eyes, rang the doorbell, and then waited. After a few minutes, she pushed the button again. Still, no one came to

  the

  door

  .

  She was certain she had the correct address. Otherwise, the gate code wouldn’t have worked, and it was highly unlikely that more than one person thought up the same code within the same vicinity. Although there were times when Google Maps did her wrong and led her to a random street that she wasn’t even sure was part of Miracle Falls, she was sure that it had gotten the Perkins residence correct.

  She pulled out her phone to check the time. 11 p.m. on

  the

  dot

  .

  She rang the doorbell one last time. Still, no one answered, so she replied to the text from Belagio. All she got was complete silence.

  This is stupid.

  Aria knocked on the door. She tried the handle and it was unlocked. She held her breath and wondered if someone had opened it at the very moment she knocked.

  Shouldn’t there have been a butler in a suit answering the door? Did they expect her to just waltz in?

  Good

  God

  .

  She pushed on the door anyway, letting

  herself

  in

  .

  “Hello?” Her voice carried through the aged walls, bouncing back to her louder.

  Aria stepped farther into the foyer, looking into what seemed to be a sitting room on one side and a parlor on the other. “It’s Aria, the sin eater. I have an appointment to perform the Final Rite for Mr. Perkins.”

  This wasn’t right. This had so many wrongs that her instincts told her she should get out of there. But if she did that, then she might as well have said goodbye to finding her mother. She climbed the stairs, continuing to call out so no one would be taken by surprise with her presence. There were four doors that were closed to the hall from the stairs. However, once she made the first step away from the railing, her attention was caught by a stream of light from a fifth door, left

  slightly

  ajar

  .

  With a heavy sigh, she slowly shifted her way toward the door and knocked. “Hello? It’s Aria. Mr. Belagio asked me

  to

  come

  .”

  Maybe she had watched too many reality TV shows, but she thought the home of a wealthy man would be filled with people—maids, cooks, snooty butlers. However, if Perkins was dead from cancer, maybe Belagio only wanted her there tonight. When no one answered her, she pushed the door open a

  little

  more

  .

  For a moment, she swore that she felt someone’s presence behind her. She looked over her shoulder and saw nothing, though an odd breeze caressed her cheek. She then turned her attention back to the room, pressing her hand against the door to open it wider. Books littered the floor, pokers from a fireplace lay scattered. Then, black oxfords came into view. The shoes glistened with liquid. Aria pushed the door completely open and saw Bartholomew Perkins lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. A ceremonial cup sat to the right of his head, and a piece of bread rested on his chest. The old man’s eyes were glazed over and empty. His lips parted slightly as if making an expression of shock.

  Aria covered her mouth to hold back the scream that lodged in her throat. Her legs grew numb and she felt sick to her stomach. How twisted did someone have to be to desecrate a sin eating ritual by shedding blood?

  She finally broke away from the gruesome sight and rushed back into the hallway. She dropped her bag, filled with her supplies, then pulled out her phone. Holding back a sob and steadying the tremor in her hand, she

  dialed

  911

  .

  “California Highway Patrol,

  what’s

  —

  ”

  “Shit!” The tears flowed freely. She hung up. She had forgotten that emergency calls from cell phones went straight to the state’s highway patrol.

  Her heart beat like a drum in her chest as she stumbled downstairs and found a landline phone in the den. She picked up the sleek black phone and dialed again. Once she had an operator on the line, her breath quickened as she begged for help and explained what

  she

  saw

  .

  “Are you in a safe place?” the dispatcher asked. “Is anyone with you in the house?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Was she safe? And what was that presence she had felt right behind her, breathing down her neck? And there was not a housekeeper, pet, or family member in sight. “I don’t know. My car’s parked outside, should I wait there?”

  “Are you near a closet? Somewhere you can hide until the police get there?”

  Her gaze swept the large den area, decorated with antique style furniture, and settled on what looked like the door to a coat closet. She ran over and

  opened

  it

  .

  “Yes, I’m in a downstairs closet.” She swung her free arm out toward a few jackets and long coats hanging to ensure she was the only occupant. Satisfied, she shut the door and held onto the knob. She squeezed it so tightly that her

  hand

  hurt

  .

  Please, hurry up and

  get

  here

  .

  * * *

  Aria heard sirens blaring after a few minutes, although the agony of sitting in wait had churned every second into excruciating torture. Not only was her client lying upstairs with his throat slit, but there was nothing she could do to help his soul, and she didn’t understand why Belagio would do this to her. He coaxed her into accepting the job, promised to find her mother, only to have her show up and make it look like she killed Perkins in a bizarre ritual.

  An officer announced himself at the door, though she could hear other officers’ voices and the door being pushed open. Footsteps pounded on the foyer floor and some went upstairs while a couple headed in her direction. Her eyes bulged with fright when a loud rapping came from the other side of

  the

  door

  .

  “Ma’am? Are you still in here? It’s MFPD. You can open

  the

  door

  .”

  Her sweat coated the knob, and she had to give it a firm turn. She let out a relieved breath when she saw the detective in front of her. The tall man approached her. He had dark eyes and hair, and he dressed in the typical two-piece suit. His badge dangled from a beaded chain around his neck. He adjusted his shirt at the back of his pants and nodded

  at

  Aria

  .

  “You’re the one that called?” He approached her with slow steps.

  “Yes, I am,”

  Aria

  said

  .

  Two more cars screeched to a halt just outside. The cops who had gone upstairs now briskly came back down, talking into their radios.

  “I’m Detective Nicolas Rosito. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions before I head up there?”

  Aria shook

  her

  head

  .

  “Who are you to the victim?” he asked in a tone riddled with suspicion.

  Wow. Direct and straight to business. Aria drew in a deep breath before speaking. “I was hired to do a sin

  eating

  —

  ”

  Oh for the

  love

  of

  . . .

  The detective narrowed his eyes at her. “

  Go

  on

  .”

  She sighed. “I was hired to do a ritual for Mr. Perkins by a man who called himself Dominic Belagio.”

  “I see,” the detective said. “You’re a sin eater?”

  “Yes.”

  “Rosito,” an officer with boyish looks called the attention of the detective from the doorway.

  “What is it?” The detective’s gaze went from Aria to the officer.

  “You have to come see this.” He disappeared into the foyer

  once

  more

  .

  Rosito gestured toward Aria. “Wait

  right

  here

  .”

  Aria paced back and forth, tugging the hem of her leather jacket. Did they find the weapon? Or maybe some trace of Belagio? She hoped that Rosito would allow her to go home. She didn’t want to miss taking care of the kids or her paycheck since Belagio also robbed her of the money he had promised.

  God, what had she turned into? Thinking about money when an old man was upstairs lying dead. But this was just a job, like any other, and she had a right to be concerned about the fact that she was just bilked out of what

  was

  due

  .

  Within minutes, the detective stormed back into the sitting room and headed right for Aria. She gulped then yelped as he spun her around and forced her hands behind

  her

  back

  .

  “Wait…what’s

  going

  on

  ?”

  After reading Aria her Miranda Rights, he escorted her outside to a squad car. Aria hung her head as the coroner and forensics pulled up and headed past her. Rosito shoved her into the back of the car and gave instructions to the officer waiting in the

  driver

  seat

  .

  “I’ll see you down at the station, Aria.” Rosito slapped the top of the squad car and the engine started.

  “But it wasn’t me!” she screeched.

  The officer in the driver seat shook his head at her. She tried to get him to listen to her, but he ignored her pleas. She was as good as guilty in his eyes. The officer drove off, taking the turn around the circular drive harder than necessary, forcing Aria to bounce the side of her head off

  the

  door

  .

  Next time, Aria. When something seems too damn good to be true, listen to your instinct!

  8

  Aria

  Aria wondered who was on the other side of the one-way glass window studying her. Would they want to hear her story? Would they even care? She shifted in the metal folding chair and rested her hands on the table. The interrogation room was large, and the lights were slightly dimmed. She shivered when the AC system sent an icy blast of air through the vent just above her. She straightened her back when Rosito entered, trailed by a heavyset man with a receding hairline and yellow mustache .

  “Aria, I’m Detective Mitch Erickson.” His mustache twitched as he flashed her a smile. “I know it’s been a tough night.”

  Both detectives took their seats across from her. Rosito’s expression bordered on contempt. She felt that she would have a better chance with Erickson, and met his gaze, trying to force the words from her throat instead of choking

  on

  them

  .

  “Whoever killed Bartholomew Perkins may not even be someone with magical abilities. Please, don’t pin this on me because of who I am. I didn’t

  do

  this

  .”

  Erickson’s eyebrows shot up as he pulled out his notepad and began scribbling. “The way we found the body, it points to someone with your skills and abilities. You’re saying someone’s setting

  you

  up

  ?”

  She nodded. “A man named Dominic Belagio called me and asked me to be there at 11:00 p.m. He offered to pay me for a sin eating ritual for Mr. Perkins.”

  Rosito rubbed his chin as he studied her. “And that didn’t strike you

  as

  odd

  ?”

  “Well, it’s not odd for people to call me to perform the ritual,” she mumbled. Rosito’s tone sounded as if anyone who dared call upon her was crazy for

  doing

  so

  .

  Erickson jotted something down in his notepad and gave an encouraging nod. “I sort of get that. My uncle married into a witching family, and some of them still believe in the sin eaters.”

  She slouched in her seat, mostly because she was exhausted and the chair was making her legs go numb. “Belagio had also promised to help me find my birth mother. I knew it was too good to be true, but, I agreed to go anyway.”

  Rosito leaned in. “So far, we’re not seeing records or proof this Belagio man worked for Perkins—if he exists at all. In fact, Perkins wasn’t anywhere near dying.”

  Panic swelled up in Aria. A tight knot causing her stomach to ache felt like another blow. “I’m sorry that man is dead, but I’m telling you the truth. I—I don’t have a record, why would I do what you’re accusing

  me

  of

  ?”

  “What do you remember from the time you arrived?” Erickson asked.

  After she recounted arriving at the gate and letting herself in, all the way to her 911 call, she leaned forward, placing her head in her hands and holding back a sob. She had called Margot just before they brought her in to interrogation because she didn’t have anyone else. She didn’t dare call Edwin; all he’d do was tell her that she had gotten into trouble because of her obsession with The Undoing. She was comforted, at least, by the fact that she had Margot. Her friend assured her that she’d seek help, though the way things were going, the detectives probably wouldn’t even allow her to go to the bathroom.

  Rosito folded his hands as he stared at Aria. “Okay, let’s get to the point, Ms. Knight. Did you think you could make some quick cash pulling a heist at Perkins’s estate and it all just got out of hand? Is that it? I pulled up your address, and the area you live in—-well, I could understand why making money off a millionaire sounded attractive.”