Dante was at his desk, leaning forward, watching the laptop that Carson had set up. He glanced at me as I entered his office. “Come here. You aren’t going to believe this,” he said.

  I leaned over his shoulder. There, on the screen, was a scene right out of Poltergeist. The attic was hopping with activity. Several books were spinning in the air, a doll was screaming and waving her arms as a toy dinosaur attacked her. And all through the camera’s view, misty figures shimmered in and out.

  We watched silently, listening to the eerie screams, grunts, and whimpering that came through the audio. The sounds didn’t match the activity, and when I closed my eyes, I caught a disturbing flash of a man, grinning as he raised a scalpel over a woman tied down on a bed. I shook my head, not wanting to see what came next. It was bad enough, knowing what had happened to the victims.

  “What?” Dante asked.

  “I just caught a glimpse of what Longworld liked to do to his victims,” I said, shuddering.

  Dante sighed. “He was a blight on the world, and most of the Wolf Packs cringe when his name comes up. But still, most Packs ignore the mental health issues of their members, and excommunicate them rather than work to help them. A lot of shifters are veterans, and the things they see in war change them forever. That homeless encampment? The Soldiers of Misfortune? Bet you ten to one that at least a third of the members are shifters.”

  I did know that wolf shifters tended to be on the militaristic side, and they often volunteered for service. Dante wasn’t like that, but a lot of his Packmates were attracted to the discipline and hierarchy of the service.

  “What do you make of this?” I asked, nodding toward the screen. “It screams poltergeist, but the history of the house doesn’t support it.”

  “A thought occurred to me. I looked into the victims. Four of the victims were under fourteen years old, with the youngest being twelve.” Dante grimaced. “I can’t imagine a child enduring that, but it happens. Some predators…” He drifted off, biting his lip.

  “I know…I know,” I said. “So, what were you thinking?”

  “Look at the books, and the toys. What if one of the younger ghosts is doing that? It would make sense. We already know that the ghosts of children are often chaotic, because it’s harder for them to understand what’s happening.”

  I thought about it for a moment. “You could be right⁠—”

  Carson stuck his head in the door. “Good, the two of you are here together. Got a moment?”

  I nodded. “Come in. We’re speculating on the activity going on in Konstantine’s house.”

  “Put that on hold for a moment. So, Lazenti gave me the names of the five homeless people who vanished. They were from various encampments. Three were men, two were women, but all were in fairly good health, and none of them have any immediate family in the area. They’ve all been on the streets for at least five years.” He tossed a bunch of printouts on the desk. “One other common denominator is that they all worked in extremely physical jobs before they were fired or quit their last employment.”

  “Did you have a chance to take a deeper look into Give A Hand Up?” I asked.

  Carson shook his head. “That’s next. All five were involved with the group, though. In fact, their buddies on the streets said they treated it almost like you’d treat a church. One of them even said Amena—one of the women—was brainwashed by them. His word, not mine.”

  “Dig deeper into the group,” I said, staring at the pile of papers. They were all news articles about the organization, from what I could tell. “Is there a local office we can visit? Who are the reps for it? What are their financials…you know the drill.”

  Carson nodded, then joined me behind Dante’s chair, staring at the screen. “That’s fucking crazy,” he said.

  “Yeah, and I happened to catch a glimpse of the killer. He was about to perform some sort of surgery on one of his victims. We need the full background of the house, of Longworld, and of the victims.”

  “I’ll get on it,” Carson murmured, engrossed in what was happening in the attic. “Sophia can help me. By the way, has Orik said when he’s coming back to work?”

  “Next week, I think? Since Hilda’s mother is there to help with the twins,” Dante said. “Why?”

  “Because, there’s more going on in that house than a haunting,” Carson said. “The preliminary readings I got were sky high. Is there a cemetery nearby?”

  “Not the old Indian burial ground cliché?” I asked.

  “No, but there’s something more there, I’m telling you.” He rubbed his chin.

  “Then dive in. Meanwhile, I’m going to make an appointment with Philip Groveletter out at Windchime Magical Academy and ask him for anything he can dig up on…what was the girl’s name? Riana, that’s it—Longworld’s last victim who cursed him.”

  I shuddered, thinking about how terrified she must have been. The true monsters of this world hid beneath smiling façades and glittering cold eyes. And all of those men—for they were mostly men—learned how to lure in their victims. They turned them into possessions, into toys. I thought back to Jace, to that moment when Penn took over and saved me from allowing my demon to run amok. I knew that—in that moment—I never would have been able to rein her in again. And the part of me that craved vengeance applauded Riana for managing to cast a curse in her dying moments.

  I called Philip’s office and scheduled an appointment for nine am the next morning. Feeling drained from the day, I decided to head home early. I waved to the others and headed home.

  Penn had dinner ready to go when I got home. I stretched out on the sofa with Murdoch and Jangles while she bustled around in the kitchen. Usually, I sat with her, talking, but right now I needed to decompress. Penn understood, just like I could sense when she needed the same.

  “Jangles, what do I do?” I asked, scratching under her chin. “I don’t know what the hell to think about Konstantine. I’m so used to having no family that…what if I find out things I really don’t want to know? Sometimes it’s easier to stay in the dark.”

  As Penn called me to dinner, I told her that I was going to see Philip tomorrow. “I want to find out more about Riana. What kind of curses could she have used…things like that.”

  “Would you like me to go with you? I might be able to ask more pointed questions about magic that you might not think of,” Penn asked.

  “Sure,” I said. “That’s a good idea.”

  Penn ladled out a bowl of tomato soup for me, handing me the platter with several grilled cheese sandwiches on it. I accepted a sandwich, then sprinkle Parmesan over my soup.

  “So, what about this guy you met?” I asked. “Did you have time to call him today?”

  “No, not yet,” Penn said. “We’ll see. What about you though? I haven’t seen you go out on a date in months. Haven’t you met anybody that you’re remotely interested in?”

  I thought about it as the warmth of the soup trickled down my throat.

  The truth was, I was afraid I couldn’t trust myself. I had dated occasionally, but each time it felt like there was something roiling beneath the surface. And when I had sex, I felt like I couldn’t let myself lose control. If I did, would something horrible happen? It was easier to take care of my own needs rather than fear harming another. I’d never told Penn about my fears, even though we were best friends. Now, I turned to her.

  “Here’s the truth. I’ve never told you this before, because I didn’t want you worrying about me. I might talk to Seton about it, now that I’m more comfortable with him. Or, maybe, Devon, given he’s half demon himself.”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid I’ll lose control if I have sex with a human, or even a shifter. While a shifter might be able to handle my strength, no human could. And what if the arousal sends me over the edge? What if my demon comes out and I can’t control her?” I stared at my soup, feeling vaguely embarrassed.

  But Penn was Fae — at least, half Fae, and she wasn’t embarrassed about sex, or about nudity, or about any number of things.

  “What about when you masturbate? Do you feel like you’re going to lose control then?”

  I cleared my throat, shrugging. “Not entirely, though now and then I think I’ve been close. While I am very sexually aware of my body, I have the ability to sublimate my desire. Maybe I’m just suppressing it, and maybe it’s building up, but I can’t shake the feeling that I could be a danger to a lover.”

  “You really should ask Seton. This is one question that I can’t help you with. I am glad to know that you’ve actually thought about the subject. That you aren’t writing off any possibility.” She handed me another sandwich.

  “I’m not even sure if I want a partner. Well, I wouldn’t mind having a lover, but I’m not sure I’m geared toward romance. I enjoy my time with my friends, and I love living with you, but I don’t have to change myself. I don’t have to compromise, for the most part.”

  Penn laughed. “You had to compromise when I wanted to place pink doilies around the house. That was one argument I didn’t expect to win.”

  “What can I say? You didn’t bring a gazillion knickknacks into the house, and I can handle a few doilies. It makes you happy, so it makes me happy.” I grinned at her, then turned back to my soup. But she had spurred off my thoughts. I really did need to talk to Seton or Devon about my situation, if only to calm my fears.

  “Well, if you’re not looking for a relationship, and neither am I, we’re going to be just fine here together,” Penn said. “Come on, let’s go watch some stupid movie on TV.”

  We cleared the table and then wandered into the living room, curling up with the cats. Mr. Crumbles catcalled us from his cage, but as we turned on the TV and sank into an episode of Survive This, a competition show aimed at testing people in unusual circumstances, the evening fell away as the last glimmers of sunlight slowly vanished into the dusk.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Instead of going into the office, Penn and I went directly to Windchime Magical Academy. The school was located in East Bothell, off 57th Avenue SE. A huge thicket surrounded the school. Firefly Lane, the main drive, wound through trees and grassy meadows. The school offered boarding for students, and was a village within itself. The school buildings were built of red brick, parts of it weathered and old. Newer buildings had been added on since it first opened in 1935.

  I had first encountered the Academy some months back when we investigated the apparent suicide of the then-principal. Well, it appeared to be a suicide, until we dug deeper.

  Penn, on the other hand, had attended the Academy when she was young. Her mother had enrolled her when she was six, and she studied there until she was eighteen, back in 1976. The past few months she had been going to night classes, taking business courses so she could better run her online shop.

  By the time we arrived at eight-thirty, the campus was in full motion. Students of all ages headed toward their classes, crossing the square. A massive clocktower watched over the campus, striking chimes every hour.

  The Academy offered classes for students from kindergarten all the way up to 12th grade, preparing them for leading a magical life in a society that tended to fear magic. With two dorms, two giant classroom buildings, a recreation hall, and the main administrative-community building, Wind Chime Magical Academy was compact and complete within itself.

  We parked in a visitor parking slot, and took a winding sidewalk up to McCarver Hall. It was beautiful, I thought. Whoever the architect had been, he had managed to fit function and form together and the clock tower overseeing the campus was the cherry on top.

  Several students were sitting on the steps leading up to McCarver Hall, studying or talking. Still others were hurrying across the square toward one of the classroom buildings. There was a buzz in the air, a feeling of activity and excitement. A part of me envied the students here, because I had moved around so much with my mother that I’d probably attended almost every elementary and middle school when I was young. It wasn’t until Dante got me into high school that I was able to complete more than one grade in the same place. But I’d never felt part of the school community. Watching the students in their uniforms, talking and chatting as they went about their morning, made me nostalgic for a past I had never had.

  “Can you feel it?” Penn asked. “When you put so many witches in one area, regardless of their ages, the magic pops and crackles.”

  “I thought that was just the curiosity and intellect,” I said.

  “Oh, that’s part of it. But underlying everything, these students are all magical, and that energy permeates the very campus. I remember when I came here the first day. My mother had managed to raise enough money to enroll me in school, and while some of the kids made fun of me because I was part Fae, mostly they accepted me because I was one of their own — a witch like them. I felt safe here,” she said, her hand on the railing that separated two wide staircases leading up to the third floor. The administrative section occupied the top two floors, while a bookstore and cafeteria and a gift shop were among the other amenities on the bottom levels.

  “I do envy you that,” I said. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt safe in my entire life. Oh, it’s better, now that I’m an adult, but as a child, I constantly felt on edge. Most of the students shied away from me, because they knew I was part demon, and their parents didn’t want me influencing their kids. I had a few friends. My mother and I moved around enough that I couldn’t ever gain any sense of continuity.”

  As we pushed through the double glass doors, entering an equally busy hallway, the smell of ink and paper and coffee filled the air. We headed directly for the principal’s office. As we entered the waiting room, his secretary looked up and gave me a nod. Her name tag read Ms. Falcon, and she had waited on me before.

  “Ms. Sarasan, hello again.” She turned to Penn and gave her a nod. “I’m Ms. Falcon. I’m Principal Groveletter’s receptionist.”

  “How do you do,” Penn said, returning the nod. I had noticed that among witches, handshakes weren’t as common as among other folk.

  “Please, both of you take a seat in the waiting area. I’ll come get you when principal Groveletter is ready.” Ms. Falcon returned to her desk, sliding neatly into her seat. She picked up the receiver and pressed a button, saying something softly into what I assumed was an intercom.

  Penn and I took a seat over in the reception area, watching as several of the other administrative personnel busied themselves behind the counter. I wondered what they did — this wasn’t the admissions area, so they had to work for Groveletter personally.

  Less than five minutes later, the receptionist let us over to a door toward the back, opening it and announcing us before motioning us to enter. She closed it behind us.

  Philip Groveletter was about 5’10”, with short brown hair cut in a neat, wavy style. Last time I’d met him he’d been wearing a generic grey suit, but now he was decked out in a tailored navy suit, with a white shirt and a gold and red striped tie. He looked like a principal now, rather than an assistant.

  “Kyann, it’s good to see you again.” He stepped around his desk, his hand outstretched.

  I shook his hand, smiling. “And you too,” I said. “This is my friend, Penelope Fircrest. She was a student here some years back.”

  Penn smiled. “It’s good to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he said. “So, you’re an alumna?”

  “Yes, and now I’m a student again. I’ve been taking business classes here. But yes, I spent 18 years in the Academy, a long time ago.”

  “Please, take a seat. My receptionist said you wanted some information on a student who used to go here?”

  I sighed. “We’re investigating a haunted house, and the student in question was murdered in that house. Do you by any chance remember the Christopher Longworld case?”

  Philip frowned, leaning back in his chair and scratching his beard, which was new. “I don’t think I recall the name.”

  I consulted my notes. “Longworld was a serial killer. His thirteenth victim was a young girl who went here — she was 12 years old. Her name was Riana Marie Wildheart. From what I gather, he kidnapped her while she was on a field trip. Apparently, she had a lot of magical talent and she cursed him right before he killed her. We’re trying to find out what kind of curse she might have placed on him. It could make a difference in our investigation.”

  A horrified look crossed Philip’s face. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his desk. “I’ll check whether we have any records from that time. I think we do. They’re probably computerized by now. Hold on a moment.” He turned to his computer, and begin typing away.

  As we waited, the soft sound of the air conditioning filled the air. While he was researching, I pulled out my phone to check my messages. Penn sat quietly, staring out the window.

  After about 10 minutes, Philip looked up and muttered, “Yes!”

  “Did you find anything?” I said.

  “I did. For such a young age, Riana’s file was extensive. Let me see what I can tell you without breaking confidentiality.” He dove back into his research.

  Penn glanced at me, and stifled a yawn. I grinned at her, looking back at my text messages.

  Orik had sent me a message.

  kyann, i’m thinking of coming back to work early. i’ll spend a couple days at home, but i’m getting under ana’s feet and she’s getting on my nerves. she can help hilda better than i can. i’ll be back to work soon.

  I snorted, then showed Penn the text. She let out a little laugh.

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” I said. “His mother-in-law is a handful. She could give Frigga a run for her money. And nobody messes with the head of the Norse pantheon. People may think Odin’s in charge, but you have to know that Frigga is the one driving the battle.”

  Philip let out a soft laugh. “Norse women are nothing to be messed with, if that’s what you’re talking about.”