“When the fuck did you become a hunter?” Angelo suddenly exploded, his face flushing as anger overcame his features. “You’re supposed to be a graphic designer or a ghost hunter or some shit!”

  “Can’t I be all three?” Marty asked innocently with a shrug. “I’m a graphic designer by day, a ghost hunter on occasion and a monster hunter when Jonathon Moses needs me.”

  “When did that happen?” Darla asked. She looked a little disturbed by the revelation, but not angry like Angelo was. Actually, Angelo wasn’t angry, he was fuming.

  “And why did that happen?” Taliyah added.

  Marty ducked his head. “I just... I couldn’t stand by after that incident with the Fury. So many of my friends could have been hurt, and I was too weak, too ignorant about magic to help them. So, I decided to do something about it.”

  “By becoming a hunter?” Angelo continued, shaking his head. Taliyah was still staring at Marty like he’d just grown another eye.

  Marty shrugged. “Yes, and I’m also Lydia’s… well, bodyguard, I guess you could call it.”

  “I’m her bodyguard,” Angelo insisted.

  “Can’t she have two?” Marty asked.

  “No,” Angelo answered and gave him a glare.

  Marty ignored him and, instead, turned his attention back to Taliyah. “The guy who’s after Lydia seems to prefer to use magic as his weapon.”

  “And what the hell can you do about that?” Angelo demanded.

  Marty didn’t take his attention away from Taliyah. “I’m working with someone to try to project my abilities of dampening magic outside of myself, so I could theoretically shield someone else from magic, too—using my null abilities.”

  “So, you don’t want to off us, not-quite-human folks, right?” Darla checked and looked a little nervous.

  Marty appeared genuinely horrified at that. “No, of course not! I want to keep the people in Haven Hollow from getting hurt!”

  Darla considered that and then nodded slowly. “That’s good enough for me.”

  “It’s not good enough for me,” Taliyah snapped. For a faerie of Winter, her temper was scorching. “Explain what you mean about Indigo being a criminal.”

  “Um... so far as I can tell, she was wanted by other witches for some kind of dark magic violations,” Marty answered, mainly because I couldn’t. No, I felt like a huge toad had taken up tenancy in my throat and I could barely swallow. I wasn’t sure if that was Indie’s doing or just my own reaction to this tangled web.

  “What sort of dark magic violations?” Taliyah demanded.

  “Like seriously dark stuff, not the curses that Wanda and the other witches do,” Marty answered.

  “Explain,” Taliyah ordered.

  “Necromancy, and that sort of thing,” Marty responded. “Which is different than blood witches raising zombies, though I’m kind of fuzzy on the magical distinction between the two.”

  “So, Lydia is fused to the magic of a seriously disturbed witch?” Taliyah asked, as Marty nodded. “What’s to say that Lydia couldn’t also have been involved in these illegal proceedings?” Taliyah continued as she turned her cold gaze to me. “She still could be.”

  “Jesus,” Angelo muttered, shaking his head. “You could win the Olympics with that leap, Chief Morgan.”

  “I have to consider all angles,” Taliyah answered.

  For my own part, I could understand why her suspicion extended to me—it was only natural since Indie and I were sharing the same body—but she didn’t know that. No, as far as everyone was concerned, I’d simply absorbed Indie’s powers. I couldn’t seem to find the strength to defend myself though, so I was beyond relieved when Angelo carried that mantle for me.

  “I can tell you that Lydia absolutely had nothing to do with this,” he insisted. “At the time the deed with your deputy, Ivan and Florence was done, Lydia was screaming herself awake from a nightmare.”

  “A nightmare?” Taliyah repeated, spearing her narrowed gaze from him to me.

  Angelo nodded. “Indigo’s memories don’t seem to be a pleasant place to be. Not to mention the fact that Lydia would have had to gain about three hundred pounds and sprout claws to be responsible for what happened to Ivan and the deputy.”

  “That’s not to say—” Taliyah started.

  “Tally, does she really look like she can eviscerate a dragon shifter and upend a cop car?” Marty cut in.

  Taliyah gave me a frank appraisal, as if she was taking the question seriously. She frowned after a second and turned away, an arctic wind whipping through the room in time with her movements.

  “I want to find whatever or whoever did this,” she whispered, and her words somehow managed to be audible, despite the rush of her power through the room. It was almost as if the wind carried her words. She turned back to face me. “So, tell me what you know, Lydia.”

  I shrank in my seat, cowed by the sheer alien nature of her presence. Staring at her, I had the sense that behind the mask of a small-town cop lay something that could bury me under layers of ice, watch me turn blue, and not care about it in the least. The old stories, like the ones in the books at Occult Oddities, painted faeries as things that were completely separate from humanity. Modern fairy tales had scrubbed that understanding clean, making the fae seem like they were just like us, but it wasn’t true. Not when they were at their most elemental, anyway.

  I had to clear my throat before I could speak. “Yesterday I thought I saw Indie’s nieces in the Half-Moon Bar and Grill. Marty says they can’t be related to Indigo though, because they’re mundanes. Which obviously means they have no magic.” I shook my head. “But I swear to you, that Estelle and Lavinia Hallewell are in Haven Hollow, somehow posing as humans.”

  “How do you know that?” Taliyah asked.

  “Well, I don’t for sure. But I’m going on what I do know from Indie’s memories. The dark stuff Indigo was involved with had to do with draining magic from creatures.” Taliyah swallowed hard at that as Angelo swore. I ignored them both. “So, I figure it’s not out of the question that someone targeted Estelle and Lavinia and sucked the magic right out of them.”

  “But that doesn’t explain why they’re alive,” Marty added. “As far as we know, removing magic from supernatural creatures results in the death of said creatures.”

  I nodded and continued explaining. “From what I could see from Indigo’s memories, separating monsters from their magic does usually kill them, as Marty said.”

  “Right,” Taliyah nodded. “So?”

  “So, I think it’s possible that whoever was after Indie is coming here, to Haven Hollow, to do the same thing she was doing. And maybe they started with Ivan and Florence, I guess.”

  Taliyah’s face was still that unnerving, alien blankness as she listened to my explanation. A little animation crept back in when Maverick returned to the room and reported, “Wanda can’t go out in daylight thanks to the vampire ruse, but Betanya and Olga have agreed to take a look at the scene when you’re ready.”

  Taliyah nodded. “Good. I’ll call some more of our people to guard Ivan while he’s recovering in the ICU. Now, all of you out. I need to talk to Maverick, and I don’t need you listening in.”

  Marty gave me a shrug and a ‘what can you do’ look. He offered me a hand, but Angelo beat him to it, seizing my arm before Marty could take it. He gave Marty a look that dared him to argue. Marty didn’t, as easygoing as ever.

  “Let’s take a walk,” Angelo said, pulling me to my feet.

  We were out the door before I could even think to argue.

  “We need to talk,” he continued.

  “Probably the worst four words in the English language,” I said dryly.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lydia

  I told Angelo almost everything I knew about Indigo, which wasn’t much.

  For people fused at the soul, we didn’t know each other very well. And that wasn’t super surprising, considering it was easier to draw blood from a stone than it was to pry details from the reluctant witch. She remained silent during the explanation, stewing petulantly at the back of my mind. She wanted to clout me over the head for sharing her secrets, but there wasn’t much she could do to stop me.

  “And that’s all I know,” I said a few minutes later. We’d kept up a brisk walk, traversing the areas open to the public. Anyone who happened to hear a snippet of our conversation would probably have assumed I was talking about a convoluted fantasy novel, not my real life.

  Angelo’s eyes narrowed. “No, that’s not all you know.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” I asked, and fought to keep the guilt off my face. Because I was a liar. A dirty, dirty liar who was keeping a huge secret from him and from everyone else, with the exception of Marty.

  “Yes,” Angelo said simply. “You’ve been lying for a long time and I haven’t called you on it.”

  “What makes you think I’ve been lying?”

  “I’m a demon and I grew up around other demons and if there’s one thing demons do and do constantly, it’s not tell the truth.” He looked at me and cocked a severe brow. “I recognize the signs of a lie when I see them.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “From the moment we met.”

  Great, just great.

  He looked down at me and frowned. “I was trying to let you have your privacy, Lydia, but I can’t do that any longer. Now that one of my co-workers and friend was nearly killed, you need to tell me the rest of your story. All of it.”

  I stopped shy of the emergency department turnoff and veered off to feed a few dollar bills into a vending machine. I tended to snack when I was nervous or upset. This vending machine didn’t carry the brand of jelly beans I liked, so I made do with mini Oreos, trying to ignore the stare I could feel boring a hole into the back of my head.

  “I don’t know anything about Ivan and Florence,” I said at last, offering him a cookie.

  For once, he didn’t take advantage of the opportunity to be inappropriate. He didn’t try to get me to feed him the Oreo or offer to share it Lady and the Tramp style. That, more than anything, told me how seriously he was taking this whole lying thing. He folded his arms over his unfairly yummy chest and continued to glare at me.

  “Lydia, tell me.”

  “I don’t have anything to tell you,” I answered on a shrug. “Indigo’s magic and memories are spotty at best. She might know about the thing that attacked them or she might not.”

  “So, you think it’s just a coincidence that mundane doppelgangers of her nieces came to the Hollow shortly before the attack occurred?”

  “I don’t know what to think about that.”

  “You said Indigo is a felon. Her nieces could be following in her footsteps.”

  “But why attack Ivan or the deputy? And why kidnap Florence?”

  Angelo shrugged. “Ivan’s one of the physically strongest monsters in this Hollow.”

  “So?”

  “So, if they can wound him that badly, it sends a message.”

  I paused. Oh, so that was why he was angry. I hadn’t mentioned Indigo’s nieces to him—no, the first he’d heard of them was when I mentioned them to Taliyah just now. And Angelo also knew that Marty knew about the two women. I hadn’t thought to talk to Angelo about them at all, but I’d told Marty, and I was sure that had to sting. Right—this was probably a case of jealousy all bound up with anger and Angelo was looking for a target. So, he hadn’t somehow figured out that Indie was still kicking and within me.

  “Estelle and Lavinia aren’t involved with anything malicious or dark, Angelo.” Silently I added, Are they?

  No, Indie said, and her mental voice sounded weary. I didn’t let the girls know what was going on with Murrain or what I was up to. I was sure they’d be angry or ashamed of me. What was more, I thought I was keeping it from them for their own good.

  How’s that?

  I figured if they knew the truth, it would have just made them easier targets for the Masked Lords.

  Masked Lords? I repeated, pouncing on this new tidbit with the enthusiasm of a hungry cat. Who or what are the Masked Lords?

  Indie curled up in her corner and said no more. She was stewing, furious she’d let this information slip. Knowing her, the tipoff was probably obscure and nothing I could follow up on, but it was more than I’d had a few seconds ago.

  “How can you be sure?” Angelo asked, pulling my attention back to him and our conversation.

  “I can’t be totally sure, but I know that Indie loved her nieces. She practically raised them, from what I can tell. So, I don’t believe she’d willingly put them in that kind of danger. If the girls I saw really were Estelle and Lavinia, I think something odd is going on with them.”

  “As regards the fact that they have no magic?”

  I nodded. “But I don’t think they’re here as spies or something. From what I can tell, they don’t know who or what they are or were. It’s almost like their memories were wiped or something.”

  “They could be acting.”

  I threw my hands up in frustration. “Yes, they could be, but I don’t know why they would. I don’t know the whole story and I’m in no mood to make guesses that could be totally wrong. I’m tired, I’m upset, and my shop isn’t going to open on time.” I looked up at him and frowned. “So, do you want to keep pushing this? Because, at this rate, I’m going to have another panic attack and this time, I’ll consider it your fault and ask you to eat sprouts again.”

  Angelo looked a little bit sick just thinking about me having another panic attack, and I had to remind myself that he’d done me a big favor by taking the anxiety away. The fear had threatened to swallow my sanity whole, and he’d taken enough of it to keep me from losing my wits. The memories were still there, sure, but they didn’t hold the same kind of horror now. I knew I’d see them all again. Susan’s death. The gore, agony, and sacrifice, and the horrible truth about Indie. It would be hard to watch, but I could do so as an observer now, not as Indigo.

  “I’m sorry,” I said after a moment. “That was harsh.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  I started walking again. There should have been an exit in the ER. We could slip out and go back to Haven Hollow. I might stand a chance of opening the shop before noon if we left now. People glanced up at us as we passed and just as quickly looked away. I crossed my arms as we walked back into the lobby and I noticed how it was mostly empty this early. There were one or two people who needed stitches, a kid with a broken arm, someone with a bleeding nose, all par for the course.

  “Really, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you,” I said, offering him an olive branch.

  “How?”

  I shrugged. “What would you like, other than sex? I’m not willing to go that far.”

  Angelo made a thoughtful “hmm,” and stared at the carpet, totally entranced by the stain-concealing pattern of circles and stripes. He nodded a little.

  “A date,” he said finally as he looked at me again. “Dinner and a movie.”

  His request surprised me, but I nodded. “Okay.”

  He looked a little more chipper after that. If only more men were this uncomplicated. I knew what Angelo wanted from me—what he’d wanted from the moment we’d met. Sex. He hadn’t been shy about it. And the truth was that the idea thrilled me. I knew sex with him would be like nothing I’d ever experienced before. But it was more than that—somehow he’d also become my friend and he’d actually brought fun back into my life. And I missed fun. Rodney had been a millstone around my neck for years. Even before the divorce, he’d been temperamental and quick to lash out. Our arguments had never been physical, but the man certainly knew how to deliver a soul-crushing monologue if he felt the situation called for it. And in our marriage, it had called for it more often than not.

  The doors that led into the ER proper opened and a couple strolled out. The girl was a knockout in a royal blue sweater and skinny jeans. Both were splattered with little flecks of blood. The man she clung to had his arm in a sling and a large hand bandaged.

  Indie surged to the fore with so much intensity that it made me stagger. A wave of dizziness crashed over me and I had to lean into Angelo to keep from falling on my face. There was a second where my body didn’t feel like my own. I swore I could feel her in my fingers, my toes, and in the sick, churning pit of my stomach.

  Essie!

  My mouth actually formed the word without my permission. Then things snapped back into normalcy. I swayed once more. The receptionist was giving me a disdainful look, probably assuming I was drunk. I ignored her, focusing on the exchange between the pair.

  “You have to be more careful, Corny! That cut was bad! You could have died! Not to mention, you ruined my sweater!”

  The man laughed, and the sound raised the hairs on my neck. It wasn’t overtly menacing, but there was a dissonance to it that was just wrong. The Spidey sense that let me know when someone was suffering was going off. No, that wasn’t quite right. I sensed suffering, just not his suffering. Hers. She was suffering but, strangely, it was like she couldn’t tell she was. The panic was buried under a layer of candy-coated happiness that made my teeth ache. That couldn’t be right. How could she be panicking but not even know it?

  “I’m glad I rank between your makeup and your sweater, dear,” Corny said with another hearty laugh.

  Essie’s lip jutted in a pout. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

  The man swooped in and pressed a kiss to her pouting mouth. He was good-looking—overlong blonde hair, baby blues you could drown in, and the physique of a high school quarterback. Essie went up on tiptoe to prolong the kiss, but he pushed her back down with his one good arm.

  “Soon,” he said in a stage whisper. “When I can use both my hands.”

  “Promise?” she simpered. “You said we’d make it official, Corny. You said you were going to make it a night I’d never forget. And instead, you fumble the cutlery and bleed all over me.”

  “I’ll do it better next time,” he promised with a grin.