 
Ghost

Modern Pantheon book I

By Grayson Barrett

www.grayson-barrett.com

Published by Michael T Gravelle at Smashwords

Copyright © 2015 by Michael T. Gravelle

This eBook is licensed for personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

1 2

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

About Grayson

Other titles by Grayson Barrett

### Prologue

As he topped off his glass of top-shelf whiskey, Emmitt Cane heard a floorboard creak in the darkness behind him. With an exhausted sigh, he turned to look down the stairwell.

"Daniel?"

Emmitt's voice came out raspy in his whiskey soaked throat, and far harsher than he'd meant. But then why not get mad? Daniel, his fool of a brother, _knew_ his place in this family. He knew that when the boss goes upstairs, he's to just leave Emmitt be, and after a week as tiring as this one Emmitt figured he'd be up in his watchtower for a lot longer than usual.

For a moment, Emmitt thought he heard his brother whispering up at him from the darkness below. He couldn't make out any words, but could make out harsh syllables over the otherwise serene silence.

"God damn it, Daniel. Is that you?"

The disheartened man stared down for a few seconds longer, but the sounds faded away. _This is a new house,_ he reasoned. _It must just be settling on its frame_. He took a deep sip of the smooth whiskey, acutely aware of the clinking ice against the side of his glass.

_Probably just the wind,_ he figured, and didn't give it another thought as he slid the stopper back into the ornate flask.

As Emmitt turned away from the staircase, and with glossy eyes, he stared down over the expansive sodded yard that stretched out below. ' _Why now?_ '

Those two words had been running through his head all day. Of course Emmitt _wanted_ to be there for his father's final days, but the timing was so inconvenient. Cane Industries had just taken control of yet another once-major company, and the final assets were going to be signed over next week. There was still a lot of work left to finalize. Plus, it was nearing the end of the quarter, which would mean he'd have to recheck all of the board's figures. These tasks were important. Tasks he simply couldn't set aside, so why did his father have to die _now_?

When Emmitt designed his house five years back, the turret was an afterthought. A thing he'd added to give the house an old time, majestic feel. He didn't keep any lights up there. During the day, the eight, ceiling to floor windows let in all the light needed. At night, the security lights cast out a white glow upon the perfectly tended yard, and that shed enough residual light to let him see just fine. Besides, sight wasn't much of a necessity up there since there was nothing there except the small, round table that held the whiskey.

Had Emmitt chosen lakeside property as he initially wanted this building would likely have been one of the most expensive in the Midwest. Money wasn't the issue, but Emmitt simply couldn't find a lake secluded enough, even in the land with over ten thousand of them. Now, Emmitt was pleased with his choice, for there was no more solitary place than his watchtower. For the CEO of one of America's largest conglomerates, he couldn't hide from his work, but he could at least minimize the distractions.

The stair creaked again, unmistakably under the weight of someone coming up the steps. ' _I locked that door. I know I did,_ ' Emmitt thought, spinning around in annoyance, letting a few droplets of his drink slosh up onto his hand.

"Daniel, what the hell do you think–"

Emmitt stood, glaring at the darkness, but didn't see his brother, nor anyone else for that matter. If he'd heard it again, he'd call a repairman tomorrow. This was his sanctuary. With an angry exhale, the man decided to down the rest of his glass.

The moment he the cold glass touched his lips, however, the security light died. The luminous glow that sprawled across the lawn suddenly and abruptly ceased, leaving him in perfect darkness on the cloudy midnight.

A voice pulsed through the room. Though barely above a whisper, it rocked the house like it a strong gust of wind.

"You have no right."

The sound seemed to simply spill forth out of the many windows surrounding him. Emmitt Cane's jaw clenched as his perfectly organized thoughts fought with something else. Something distant, that he hadn't felt in years. Fear, perhaps?

_No,_ he told himself, holding the emotion back. _I know it won't hurt me._

"Gregory," he asked the darkness. "Who sent you?"

"You have no right," his wind-slashed voice slithered through the air, louder this time.

"Your daughter is not here," Emmitt explained. "Nor should you be."

"I know what you've done," the entity said, and for the first time Emmitt saw it.

He, or rather, it, appeared over his shoulder in the glass's reflection. The intruder's eyes burned with the essence of pure rage. Scraggly locks of hair clung to his greasy face.

Emmitt spun to face the entity. He found not a man, but a semi-tangible mist that inhaled warmth out of the tower around him. Emmitt took a small step back, holding his ground as the mist took the shape of a translucent man.

Within seconds, the ghost of Gregory Scythe hung in the air, his eyes glowing with contempt, and his toes grazing the floor.

"You are not welcome here," Emmitt tried to explain, surprised to hear a tremor in his voice. "You–"

The flask of whiskey flung off the small table and crashed into the side of Emmitt's head. Blood flowed across his tongue as a pain speared through his jaw. When he tried to spit out a chunk of something – a tooth, perhaps – he found his jaw wouldn't respond. There was so much pain. A lesser man would have been knocked out immediately, but years in the military allowed him to thrust the agony aside.

Instead of falling to his knees, Emmitt thrust his shoulder into one wall to keep his balance. Emmitt then saw himself in the glass. His jaw was definitely broken, hanging loosely down to one side. The ghost stood sullenly in the reflection, looking upon him with dark-ringed eyes. An insane glint reflected venomously off every one of those eight windows around the room. Each window revealed the same man, yet none in the same way. All eight glared at Emmitt. Several of them screamed, making a choir of nonsensical hatred, while others grinned, relishing the violence. All the while, the ghost itself simply hovered in the center, waiting for him die.

' _What will happen to Cane Industries without me?_ ' Emmitt Cane thought franticly, for there were no other Canes – he didn't count his idiot brother. _I've worked too hard for my life's work to fall_.

"You have no right," the ghost said, his voice seething with scorn.

_Without me, Cane Industries will die_.

The flask whipped toward his face again, but he saw it and ducked. Still, it pelted his eye hard enough to make a loud pop.

The flask wavered several feet in the air above him, readying for a final strike. Emmitt Cane knew he was going to die, alone in his tower of solitude.

Chapter 1

From the case files of Special Agent L. Garrison  
Supernatural Investigations Department:

Name: Thomas Amberose  
Occupation: Unemployed  
Age: 26  
Threat Level: Extreme

I initially listed Thomas' as a likely mage after the warehouse incident last year that resulted in the deaths of five individuals. After a thorough review of his background, I discovered his past contains a second incident that makes him stand out as an individual who likely possesses abilities of unknown "supernatural" nature.

Ten years ago, two individuals were found dead, their wounds were not consistent with any known type of weapon. This occurred at the residence of his father, Theodore, (then 41) who fled the country shortly thereafter taking Thomas with him. One year later Thomas returned to live with his uncle.

Other oddities surround Thomas Amberose. A review of his genetics reveals curiosities. Also, his job history is blank, but until the warehouse incident he had a steady stream of income from an off-shore account. I've seen Mr. Amberose use a cell phone in the past, but when I requested his phone be tracked, the phone companies all claim he doesn't have a phone plan.

Approach the suspect only under extreme caution.

"You think the world revolves around you, don't you?" the brunette said from behind her lofty desk.

"If the world revolved around me, wouldn't you be in _my_ office?" I replied.

"I think you still wouldn't know what to do with your life," Lara said.

I brushed my hands through my hair, sighing heavily as she clenched her jaw in her signature sign of repressed anger.

Lara Mercer, average height, thin, and pale, was my stepsister. Black, straight hair hung down to her shoulders, accentuating that paleness like the white tiles on a chessboard. In short, she looked and acted nothing like me. I already knew what she wanted. The same thing she always wanted. To discuss possibilities. Possible jobs. Possible contacts she could set me up with. Possible futures; that was the topic I found mostly likely for today.

"Sit," she pointed her pen to the office chair, and continued tapping.

I looked at the chair, but that was as close as I planned to go. "I already know what this is about, Lara, and I'm not interested."

The muscles of her jaw clenched hard as a street fighter's fist. "Tommy, I didn't call you here to argue."

Tommy? _Tommy?_ If there was one thing that got me on edge, it was that nickname, Tommy. Even when she first called me that back in high school, I'd already felt too old for it. I poured my annoyance into my tone as I said, "How about a truce. You don't give me any, 'you've got to do something with your life speech,' and I won't walk out the door."

"Agreed," she said.

I'd half spun around before I registered what she'd said and had to stop. "Really? Just like that?"

"I promise you I won't give you any speeches. Please, Tommy, sit."

"Fine."

Secretly enraged at myself for thoughtlessly agreeing, I slipped past her desk and took the seat beside hers as she opened the top drawer and slipped a paper onto the desk beside me.

"What the hell?" I said, looking at it.

"Interested?"

Across the top, the words, 'Application for Employment,' were more menacing than any speech she could muster.

"I don't need you to swoop in and save me," I said.

"You really are bigheaded, aren't you?" I said.

"Oh, that'll work – insult me while I'm angry." I stood and headed to the door, determined not to be halted. Not by anything.

"This isn't about you, Tommy." She said, her composure finally dropping. "I need help. Do you know how hard it is to find good help? Someone who isn't oblivious?" she tilted her head forward, looking at me like I was clearly missing the obvious.

My fingers wrapped around the doorknob, but I hesitated. I looked sideways at her, trying to think, was always hard to do around my infuriating sibling.

"My credibility is growing." Lara added. "I've been busy, Tommy. You know that. I'm not here to pester you. This deal will help both of us. The contract I want you to sign is just for one case. It's a fifty-fifty split, and if you don't like the job, fine. I'll stop pestering you. But you know what the Imperium is like. It's not as though they'd let me just hire some schmuck off the street, and there aren't any other mages willing to work as a Private Investigator. Hell, half of the Imperium is petitioning to shut me down. And the other half... Well, they're too uptight and pretentious to notice me."

My mind hovered back in time for a few seconds. The Imperium. Ominous name. They scared the hell out of me, until I grew up and joined their ranks. Then one day the fired me, and I've mostly avoid them since. Not because I fear them, but because the pompous airheads in charge like to pretend they're as the Magical Government. The Ministry of Magic. The Lawmakers of the Mystical. If I could replace the Imperium with something better, I wouldn't hesitate. I'm not saying I want to be some revolutionary or anything so dramatic, but I had no doubt that a competent government would improve a lot of lives.

A knock on the door disrupted my thoughts.

"You realize that hiring me will piss off a whole bunch of people, right?" I told her, before answering the door.

"Please," Lara waved a hand to brush away my objection. "I doubt anyone even remembers what happened to you last year."

I turned my attention back to the door, and the visitor behind it. Since my hand was still conveniently on the doorknob, I pulled the door open to see a man standing outside.

It was hard to tell under the flowing blond hair and fake tan, but I'd guess the man outside was few years younger than me. Early twenties, probably, though possibly late teens.

"Conroy Investigations?" The boy asked, staring at me professionally. I expected a surfer-dude accent, so when his tone was intense and businesslike, it stunned me into silence.

"Yes. Please, come in," Lara rescued, standing and offering an overconfident hand. Even though Lara and I rarely spoke nowadays, I knew she got pranksters regularly, despite her website having 'supernatural expert' written in the smallest size readable. A college kid in a suit probably set off some alarms.

Surfer-dude walked past with an empowered confidence. I wouldn't have been surprised if he once modeled for one of those men's-hairstyle books they give you at the salon. Pressed, perfectly tailored. Shiny, leather shoes. The sports jacket that fit him as though tailored for a modern-day Caesar. The top three buttons were unfastened and showed off a few inches of hairless chest.

"This is Mercer Investigations, and I am Lara Mercer. Welcome," my step-sister said.

"I apologize if I came at a bad time," he said, his voice even and smooth. Like silk made into sound. "If you wish, I can schedule an appointment and come at a later date."

She looked up at the clock on the wall, then quickly to me.

I figured that if surfer-dude left, Lara would continue to hound me. "Not at all, Mister..." I trailed off, inviting him to offer his name.

"Cane," he said.

"Mr. Cane. Have a seat." I said, gesturing to a chair. Then, I crossed the desk and sat down in the chair beside Lara's. If Lara wanted to hire me, I might as well start acting the part. "My name is Thomas Amberose. If you've come to hire a PI, you're in the right place."

"Good," Mr. Cane said. His professionalism, despite the dreamy get-up, surprised me. Acute eyes scanned the desk. Then, he nodded, as though pleased. I wasn't surprised. After all, Lara kept the place all right angles. A plane, functional lamp took up in one corner; her laptop nested in the opposite corner. Aside from those and my contract, the desk was otherwise clear.

"I have a case for you, if you're interested," Mr. Cane said.

"Tell us what you've got," Lara said.

"First, tell me what you know about the supernatural," Mr. Cane challenged.

"The two of us have knowledge of the most recent advancements in the field of the supernatural," Lara said impressively. Not only was it the truth, it was vague enough to avoid making her sound like... well, like a quack.

"And that entails?" Mr. Cane egged on.

"As I'm sure you're aware, many people report seeing ghosts, UFOs, and other mysterious things every year. A majority of those are either made up for attention or explained through perfectly natural medical conditions. Seizures, for example can cause hallucinations. However, it is the belief of my associate and I that there are some things that can't be explained by the modern understanding of physics." Again, I was impressed. Said with a straight face and everything. She must rehearse. "May I ask your interest in the supernatural, Mr. Cane?"

The boy sat casually, leaning one arm on the wooden armrest. He didn't look nervous; rather, his eyes had an amused glint. "I've done some research on ghosts. I want to know everything I can about them. I've already referenced several books, but I question their credibility. I was hoping you'd be able to point me to something that can help."

"I'm sorry, Mister Cane. We–"

"Call me Cameron," he interrupted, waving politely for her to continue.

Cameron Cane? I revoke my former speculation – with a name like that, he's nothing less than a Playgirl model.

"Cameron," Lara began again. "The supernatural is rarely a definite science. Literature on it is vague and varied because it's often difficult to pinpoint an exact cause," she lied. "We offer investigative service. If you offer us a case, we could potentially assist you. However, we're not an information service. Besides, real ghosts are... ahh... rare. There are cases of them in the past, but most are born of paranoia."

"Rare?" Cameron prodded. "But they do happen?"

"Well, sure you can go to an abandoned house with some high tech measuring equipment. Bring enough equipment, and eventually something's bound to get an abnormal reading. That doesn't mean it's a real ghost," she said. "The wind could blow a tree branch against the wall, making weird noises, or–" Lara stopped mid-sentence, realizing she may be scaring off a potential client. "What I'm trying to say, Mr. Cane, is that most of the time people mistake paranoia for ghosts. But ghosts do exist."

At that last statement, I had to keep my own face stoic. Ghosts exist? That's news to me.

Cameron Cane gave her another assessing stare. This man didn't know it, but the Imperium had laws answering his kinds of questions. Yet I don't obey these laws because the Government says so; the secrecy laws exist due to common sense. If everyone believed in Magic, the world could crumble into chaos.

Cameron paused to think for a moment before he reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a photo, put it onto the desk, and slid it across to us.

"The police shrugged it off as suicide," Cameron said. "They couldn't pin the murder on a specific person. It took place three stories up, and there are no signs of entry through the windows or door. No way in, and no way out, except the door that was chained from the inside."

I leaned in, my head uncomfortably close to Lara's as we both scanned the photo. The image was wide angled, like looking directly up at one of those half-sphere mirrors on a ceiling, and the effect intensified that of the ghost in the center of the photo.

The ghost, or whatever it was, stood with tense shoulders. His ragged and ripped clothes hung limply off him. The raging madman had more hair than face, and in typical ghost fashion, he glowed a whitish-blue, like wintery fog hovering above a lake.

Beside him, a man wearing flannel pajamas leaned against a window. A trim, army haircut sat atop a face that looked exhausted. A flask hovered a few feet away, in the same boxy style of bottle that my amaretto comes in. He cowered on one knee as he leaned against the window.

The octagonal room had massive windows instead of walls, but it was too dark to make out anything else. A staircase dropped into the floor along the right side of the room. On each of the eight windows, a dim reflection of the ghost hung lightly in the air.

"Emmitt Cane..." Lara said airily.

"Huh?" I said, completely taken by surprise.

She rolled her eyes at me, but before she could explain, Cameron jumped in. "It's your case, if you're interested." He smugly leaned back, casually on the armrest again. "I can show you the scene, if you want. I'll pay any fee, of course. Extra, if it'll put me higher on your priorities list."

"This is exactly the sort of thing we specialize in," I said with a smile as I offered my hand, which he shook gratefully. Lara just stared, as though waiting for a punch line.

"Great. I'd explain further, but I feel we would accomplish more if you just meet me at the manor tonight," said Cameron, showing a half-smile.

Lara stared at the two of us as we ironed out details, only jumping at issues of exact costs. I asked a few more questions about the ghost, but Cameron held off, insisting we wait until we were at the scene. He gave an address and directions. We shook hands once again, and he left.

I turned back to Lara and we stared at each other a long moment before I looked down at the contract of employment on the table.

"One condition," I said gravely.

"What's that?" She said, eying me suspiciously.

"Call me Thomas."

Chapter 2

"So who is this Emmitt Cane guy, anyway?" I asked after Cameron left.

"Don't you ever watch the news?"

"No TV, remember?" I said as I filled in the application.

"It's all anyone's been talking about. He's the CEO of Cane Industries. Or he was, until he died."

"The CEO of Cane Industries is a ghost?"

"No, idiot," she said. "The CEO is the victim."

"Cane Industries?"

She stared at me as if about to thwack me upside the head, so I said, "I live under a rock, remember?" It was true enough. I didn't have access to a lot of things nowadays. TV. Internet. Anything that required cash.

"Cane Industries is one of the fortune-five-hundred," she explained. "A conglomerate corporation that owns dozens of companies. Mostly, they focus on developing new medical technology, but they've got branches that specialize in computer systems, farming equipment and about a half-dozen other things. They've grown faster in the last decade than just about any other company in history. It's plastered them all over the news, which makes this case dangerous."

"Dangerous?" I said, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"I don't know if you were paying attention back there, but Cameron Cane is clearly hiding something."

"He seemed perfectly reasonable to me,"

"Really?" she said. "Because with Cane Industries behind him, you'd think he'd hire someone who's got a bit more experience."

I began filling out the last line of the application. "But your website says we're the supernatural experts."

"As if that matters," she said, waving my comment away. "Ten bucks says you'll just wind up the joke at some college frat party tonight."

"I'll take that bet," I said.

The two of us worked out random the details of the job, and without bickering conflicts for once.

When we finally got everything signed and filed away, I headed toward the door, where I hesitated awkwardly before leaving. I didn't know whether to wait for the bus inside, or out.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"No, I'm fine."

She kept staring, but I ignored her as I opened the door.

"Here," she flung me her car keys. Purely by reflex, I caught them, and tossed them back.

"I'll be fine," I stated firmly.

"I don't think busses go out to Stillwater."

"Cabs do."

"A cab could cost over a hundred. What happened to your car?"

More lectures. Great. "I sold it to make rent."

As I zipped up my leather jacket as she threw me the keys again. Like a dart, they hit me in the chest, bounced into my inner elbow, slid down a few more inches, hit a fold and planted themselves neatly in my pocket.

"Showoff," I said.

I needed a car. Also, I didn't want to argue any more. I hate arguing, so I gave up. "Thanks," I said, and left.

Lara's was a second floor office in a three-story building. I passed by the broken elevator and exited into the springtime, glad to finally have access to some wheels.

The excitement faded upon the sight of her pint-sized, economy style car. Built for affordability, it looked microscopic in the empty parking lot.

My feet squeezed under the steering wheel as I got in, and I had to part my knees awkwardly or risk flattening the pedals. Sighing, I reached down for the lever to shove the seat back, but all it did was click. I groaned – I'm not some kind of giant or anything. Sure, I was a few inches above average at six-two, but this car was absurd.

It started fine, at least. I adjusted the mirrors, catching a glimpse of myself as I did.

Boy, I sure didn't look like a guy who'd do well in a job interview. If I knew what I was getting into when I came here I'd... Well, I'd probably look the same. Typically, I kept my black hair a bit long and shaggy, with bangs that came just below dark eyebrows. A couple of weeks back I got it cut in an attempt to make myself look professional. With the job market as bad as it is, I figure every advantage helps. At the moment my bangs clung to my forehead, giving me that vintage nerd look. I ruffling them up, but they fell flat across my forehead again. With hair as fine as mine, it was impossible to style without product. But products cost money. Thus – every day was a bad hair day.

The passenger door opened, and a gun entered the car. It was pointed directly at me, and held by an elderly man who slipped into a similar discomfort in the seat beside me. "Drive."

With only enough time to briefly glance toward him, I didn't see enough to reveal anything useful. His bone-white hair had been slicked back and combed neatly. Aged eyes befitting of a kindly grandfather made me think him somewhere near retirement age.

I flung the car into reverse and bolted out of the parking space. As I put it into drive and sped into the empty road, my nervous mouth spoke of its own accord. "Usual fare is three bucks a mile – that okay with you. Seatbelt required, so buckle up."

He didn't respond. Even from my peripheral, I saw could see an excited glint in his eye.

"So, where to?" I asked the gun-toting grandpa.

"Just follow that car." He stared at me as he buckled up. At a time like this, you'd think he had all the power. While he had the gun, I had control of the car. If he shot me, I'd be sure my final act was to slam on the accelerator.

"Strange," he said with an enthusiastic tone after a moment or two. "You don't look as tough as I thought you would."

"Yeah, well I've kind of got this bad haircut. I told her only to take a bit off the top, but you know how it goes."

"I wonder, Mr. Amberose, why are you still in the Twin Cities."

I ignored the question. "Got her back though. No tip for her,"

He pointed to a black sedan in front of us. It was hardly going twenty. It matched perfectly with the identical sedan that filed in behind us.

"It doesn't look that bad though." I prattled on. "You know, with a bit of gel."

As we came near a stop sign, I took a closer look at him. His enthusiastic expressions were in deep contrast to rest of him. His skin was gray, as though the blood underneath stopped flowing years ago. He sat with a perfect stillness, and while not especially muscular, he had the lean look of a fitness nut. If the calloused fingers holding the gun were at all similar to the biceps he bore, than he could probably take me in an arm-wrestling match. If nothing else, I'd hate to face him in a thumb war. The suit he wore bulged along his torso and shoulders made me wonder if he wore an armored jacket of some kind underneath.

"I'm not here to kill you, I assure you," he said, his jovial tone softening his dark core. "If that were the case, I'd have just poisoned your sandwich last night."

The gun startled me, sure, but that was the first thing that actually scared me. As far as I remember, I had my curtains shut and ate at home, alone. He'd been watching me.

"Tell me your business in Saint Paul," he said.

"I live here. I grew up here. That enough?"

"Living here for a few years whilst in your teenaged years is hardly the same as growing up here."

"Oh yeah? And what if I told you I came back to woo my long lost, high-school sweetheart."

"I'd tell you that is bullshit, since I know that she now lives in Canada."

I felt my Adam's apple jiggle as I gave an unsure gulp. Either he made a lucky guess, or he researched me with extreme vigor, and I think I knew which it was.

"I'm in no mood to fight, Thomas. Please answer my questions and I will leave in peace." Grandpa said. "Oh, and take a right turn here, please."

The car in front of us turned, and I saw a third black car waiting at the four-way intersection, right in front of us. If I sped forward or took a left, he'd block me. Eyeing the plain, silver ring on my middle finger, I hesitated.

"My business? Well, as of about ten minutes ago, I'm a PI. You want an investigation? I'm your guy. But if you researched me that much, I think you probably know that I live here."

"Of course I know where you live, but considering recent events, I'd have figured you'd be the fleeing sort like your father was. You are not welcome in this town anymore, Mr. Amberose. You intrigue me, child, so I've tolerated you until now. Yet, considering your recent actions I simply feel I cannot trust you any longer. I am willing to offer you twenty-four hours to leave, but no more." He pulled an expensive stopwatch on a golden chain from his breast pocket. "Currently, it is twelve thirty-three. Let's keep it simple, shall we? Be gone by Noon, tomorrow. I do not care where you go to, but recommend you choose a place in which you can hide behind the protection of the Imperium."

I made the right turn into the right lane as the car ahead made a turn into the lane beside me. I was urged to continue in a cage of cars. Ahead, my lane meandered off onto the freeway.

"Look, I don't know who you are, nor do I care." I said. "If you threaten a member of the Imperium, they will retaliate." The steering wheel creaked under my shark-jawed grip as the ring on my hand shimmered in the sunlight, drawing in mystical energy.

"Yes, but I doubt they care much for you, Thomas. We both know they expelled you from the guardians."

I glanced back to him, and suddenly knew who this man was. One of the Venir. It had to be.

"Recognition," he said, amused. "You know who I am."

"Lance Ruben," I confirmed in a gruff voice.

"Now that you know who I am, you should also know that we Venir believe that your Imperium let you off easy. Our own system of laws, archaic as they may be, is followed religiously. You've killed seven of my people. Hide behind the Imperium all you want, but unless you leave, I will have you and six of yours. Considering your past, I find it reasonable to assume that you killed him. After all, you've gotten away with murder before "I'm already on the case. I'll find out who did and pass it on to you. "

"You got it wrong," I said

He ticked his tongue against his front teeth, shaking his head in warning. "I'm not often wrong, Mr. Amberose."

"I've already been given credit for six, but who's this mysterious seventh man?"

"Emmitt Cane, of course," he said.

I gulped and tried to think of what to say. Emmitt Cane? The same Emmitt Cane that Cameron asked me about?

"I didn't do it."

"Oh? In that case, stay as long as you wish," he added sarcastically.

"You want proof?" I tried to think of my alibi, but realized that I had no idea the exact day Emmitt Cane was even murdered.

"You'd better, or I will have you and that step-sister of yours killed." It wasn't an outraged remark. It was simply a warning, said as calmly as though he'd informed me of the time.

Lance held his gun closer for a second. Expensive cologne made my eyes water.

Then, his tone snapped back to that of a harmless, old gentleman. "There are very few Mages in the Twin Cities area, and as of yet, I've been unable to discern your whereabouts during the murder. If I get proof that you are involved in Emmitt's death, then I'll simply have to give an order and you will be gone."

The sick thing about this mess, I realized, was that Lance wasn't exaggerating. Threatening the Imperium is dangerous, but I wasn't exactly their most respected member. I'd have a few older members that care about my sudden disappearance, but the Guardians, or magical police officers, would be the ones to carry out the investigation. That meant Bree would be in charge. Lance could hand her a signed confession of my murder, but she'd misplace immediately out of spite towards me.

We took the third exit, just outside of the Downtown area. I had a suspicion of our destination. I suppose this is the grown up version of the, "I know where you live" threat, but at least it wasn't out of the way – that was about as much kindness as I'd get from Lance Ruben, leader of the Venir.

"Just so we're clear, Thomas, if you attempt anything resembling the warehouse incident last year, you will not live to regret it. The Venir demand vengeance, and the only reason I've held them back is because I feel you could be used to my advantage. Why kill what you can hire?"

I stopped the car along the partially empty street in front of my Triplex and put it in park so I could face Lance.

"Look," I said, meeting his eyes. "I don't know who you think I am, but I'll never be your lackey. I'm in this city because it is my home. There's no other reason. I'm sorry things went bad for your guys last year, but I had nothing to do with the deaths of your men. You've got me wrong, Lance."

"Call me Mr. Ruben, please, and no, Mr. Amberose. I do not 'have you wrong.' I know you, Mr. Amberose. I've looked into you. I know that your unwarranted curiosity led you to my warehouse. I know that same curiosity will keep you on this case until you find the killer, assuming it isn't you. Prove your innocence and maybe I'll have a place for you in my organization."

"Your small part of the organization," I retorted, mostly to remind him that the Venir are also just a segment of the Imperium, and therefore bound to follow the same laws as I am.

He continued without pause. "You, Thomas, are the obvious suspect. For that reason, I doubt there will be a need to kill you myself. A ghost killed Mr. Cane. I may not know much about magic, but it seems to me that ghosts shouldn't spontaneously appear without aid from a Mage. If you can prove to me that you are not the summoner, than by all means, stay where you 'grew up.'"

Lance opened the door and, with the gun pointed at me the entire time, got out of the car. "Noon tomorrow, Mr. Amberose. Good day."

He closed the door. I waited until he got into the double-parked car in the road beside me before I breathed again.

At that point I realized that my ringed hand felt like it had just been thrust into a bucket of ice. Apparently, I'd sent a wayward thought into my ring during the conversation, causing it to pull in heat energy. When Lance's car departed, I forced a calm through myself. The Venir Convoy of three Sedans drove off.

"Dissupo," I muttered. The power trapped in my ring flushed back into my hand as the energy shot back to Equilibrium. Then, I opened the car door and walked up toward the Triplex.

I lived in the right side of my Triplex. My elderly landlady lived in the left unit. I'm not sure how it happened, but somewhere along the line some other guy bought the middle unit, which he rented out to a middle-aged workingwoman. It was one of the few places left in the city that had a porch, but it wasn't a very nice one.

Or rather, my porch wasn't a very nice one. The other two had marvelous paint jobs and well kept, potted plants. My rent was low, and for good reason. This place wasn't quite at the bottom of the barrel, but was pretty far down. Mrs. Klein hadn't even bothered to replace the rusty pipes before I moved in, and instead insisted on just boarding off the basement.

"Thomas? Is that you, Thomas?"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Klein," I faked my best smile as I strode toward my door.

"You got rent yet?"

"It's not due for another week."

"Yeah, well you'd better not be late again this month. I've got a lot of offers that are several dollars better than yours, son. You going to have it on time?"

Probably not. Especially if Lance Ruben decides to use me for target practice.

"Of course I will, Mrs. Klein."

I headed to my front door, muttered a random phrase to open the locks, and walked inside before she invited herself over. Once inside, I chained the door shut and leaned against it, mentally exhausted.

My place was small, but that's okay because I live alone. It's at least a bit bigger than the studio apartment I almost got. The living room was tidy, except for the clutter of mail on the coffee table. Along one side of the unit was my bedroom. Along the other was a bathroom. The divider between living room and kitchen was tangible only in my mind. I avoided the temptation to collapse on the couch only because I knew I wouldn't want to get up again, even for coffee. Instead, I took my mug out of the cupboard, filled it with warm water, threw in a few spoonfuls of instant cappuccino, and nearly scalded my tongue upon taking my first sip.

Jerking in surprise, the nearly boiling liquid sloshed against my hand, which opened by reflex. The mug – my favorite mug – fell to the floor and promptly shattered.

I swore as someone banged on my door.

"Who is it?" I snapped angrily, bending down.

"By order by the Imperium, open the door."

Perfect. Just perfect. First the robbers come to threaten me. Now the Cops are here to do the same.

I bit my lip, but decided the coffee could wait. "You know, you could have just said it was you, Bree." I crossed the room again and opened the door a hair, leaving the chain attached. "I already know your occupation."

The strawberry blond stood on my porch, offering the kind of glare one typically reserves for misbehaving children. "Open the door."

An angry glare covered up her permanent look of worry. At one time, her face always held an enchanting, dimpled smile. Those days were long over. I'd probably never see that smile again.

I thought about her request it for a second, shut the door, released the chain, and opened up. She knew as well as I did that there'd be no way she could get inside if I didn't invite her in. The protective spells would see to that. I also knew that she'd arrest me if I open up, sooner or later. Eventually, I'd need groceries.

To my surprise she brought a guest. A man I'd hoped to never meet.

Just like patrol cops have partners, so do Imperium Guardians. The guy's name was Paul Ingram, and I didn't like him. They sent him to Minnesota after the former guy got kicked off the force. Being the former guy, I held a grudge. I knew my reasons were petty, but I didn't care. I deserved his job, and everyone with half a mind knew it.

What little I'd heard about Ingram matched up with his sleazy appearance. He stood shorter than average with a thin beard and short hair.

"A man is dead," Bree stated bluntly.

"So I'm told," I said.

"A ghost killed him," she said.

"Aww, gee. And without any other suspects, you figured I'm the guy who done him in."

"It's plausible," she said, still holding back that anger. "What do you know about summoning spirits?"

"Same as you do, Bree. It's not like both of us couldn't figure out half a dozen ways how the bad guy could have done it."

"Where were you three nights ago?" she asked me.

"Three nights ago?" I said, recalling it in my mind. "I was..." Today was Sunday. She was wondering about Thursday. It didn't take long for me to recall. "I was here. Alone. Wish I had a better alibi, but I don't."

In a former lifetime, when I was a guardian, she'd and I had been more than close. If that lifetime went on longer, then who knows? Maybe the ring I gave her would have a matching wedding band. Instead, it was flushed into the sewers for all I knew. The little mishap Lance mentioned, concerning a warehouse and five dead Venir ended our engagement.

"Did you kill Emmitt Cane?" Bree asked.

"No."

Ingram shuffled awkwardly at the tension, leaning on the small table. He knocked over a few books in the process.

"But you know who Emmitt Cane is," she said as Ingram picked up the books.

"Because Lance Ruben came to me with the same conclusion you did. You'd like him – he threatened to kill me."

Her eyes flickered, which I wouldn't have noticed had I not known her so well. Was it possible that there was still some part of her that cared about my wellbeing? Or was she just excited to hear I was in danger?

_This is Bree,_ I reassured myself. _She may not like you, but you can trust her._

Yeah, Right. Like I trusted her to take my side after I almost died in that warehouse.

"Did Lance Ruben break any conditions of our truce?" Bree asked.

"Kidnapped me, but let me go." I answered. "I don't think they're willing to try anything too obvious, and they didn't do anything I can prove beyond my word."

"You got away? Or did some kid step in and save you?" she asked, stoically.

We were no longer talking about Lance, or Emmitt Cane – this was all about the past. My jaw tightened as I held back the urge to grab her by the collar and throw her out the still open door. Instead, I took a slow breath.

"I told you – I was knocked unconscious when the warehouse imploded. I don't know anything about the child, and I can't change what happened. I should have listened to you, but I didn't, and people died because of it. But you have to believe me. I had nothing to do with the destruction of that warehouse."

Even through the thick sweater, I saw the tension build in her shoulders as her arms and hands went rigid. I hadn't seen Bree since the Guardians fired me last year, but her anger had far from dissipated. I thought I knew her entirely back then. Yet then, at my trial, I saw an expression of loathing I hadn't thought possible on her pretty face.

"As I said, I'm sorry. I wish there was some way to make it up to you."

Still silence.

I ignored her frosty mood, and took a dustpan from the cupboard below the sink. I went to work with the mug first, and didn't bother using my abilities to cool the cappuccino puddle. It had ample time to cool the old-fashioned way. She stood wordlessly.

Simply to break the silence I said, "The damn encounter with Mr. Ruben rattled me. I accidentally poured power into my ring, and it reacted with my cup."

"You lost control?" she asked.

I rolled my eyes. This was the last thing I needed. Another made up charge by the Guardians. "Two artifacts had a minor reaction."

If it was the ring that reacted, you'd have lost your hand. The water could have exploded in your face. You could have started a fire.

In my head I heard her accusations, but to my great surprise she didn't voice them. It was a pity; an argument, I could deal with. A disappointed stare would stay with me.

"I'll be looking into what happened to Emmitt Cane," Bree said. "If you are involved, I'll be back. If not, you have nothing to fear. Lie low for a few days, and don't leave town."

Then, she led the way out. Her jackass partner followed.

I was still on the ground, with my hand around the dustpan.

You hadn't seen her in a year, Thomas. Say something! Make her know you're sorry!

"Bree!" I called, standing abruptly. I let my instincts react before my doubting mind had a chance to suppress the urge. "You doing okay?"

She stopped on my porch, moments before she'd have shut my door. Then, without turning she said, "Go to hell,"

And slammed the door between us.

Smooth, Thomas. Smooth.

### Chapter 3

Too bad you can't magic yourself a better haircut, I found myself thinking as I fixed my hair a few hours later.

Actually, Maybe I could. I'd need to learn about hair, for one. As well as whatever it is beneath the scalp that makes it grow.

Then the fact hit me I was considering biological magic. Putting socks on a Jaguar is easier, and a lot less dangerous. It wasn't that I couldn't do it. I had every confidence in the fact that I could manipulate my scalp. But changes of that kind are often a one-way street. And if you get it wrong, you might not find a way back.

Biological magic, or Biomancy is possible, but it's kind of like tying a complex knot. If you put a loop where there should be a crossover, it could mess up the string. You can pull at one end and hope for the best, but that could also make it worse. The difference between a piece of thread and hair is that more you mess up Biological Magic, the more that knot turns into a noose. Therefore, I did what anyone else would do. I tried to make my hair presentable using the few things I owned. When I was done, I still didn't like it. Don't get me wrong – I looked presentable. It just made me feel like the office geek. After two weeks, I still wasn't used to it. I prefer a longer cut that doesn't make my face look so narrow.

_It's only hair_ , I told myself, insisting it's okay to leave it as it was. I spent another couple minute on it and decided to leave it at that.

Picking up my battered briefcase, I decided it was time to go. As always, I ensured my magical protections were online and active with a glance through my Wizard's Vision – they were. In my enhanced senses, my ring on my middle finger glowed brightly.

That left only one thing. My staff. Sadly, it'd have to stay here. It was unfortunate that I'd spent so much time making it, but had so few opportunities to use it. I finished it weeks before being sacked from the Guardians, but it still happened to be the one piece of equipment that I was truly proud of. Of all my magical foci, it alone contained spells of my own creation on it.

But alas, it wouldn't fit into the briefcase. In my experience, those who don't know I'm actually a mage would look strangely upon me for having it.

Finally! A real job. Something better than fast food, which even these days was something I could be happy about. They say a varied past is good for a résumé, but that isn't really the case where I'm concerned. I couldn't exactly put my former employment down for most companies. As for references – same story. And even if I did say I was a mage, the Imperium would just arrest me.

Maybe, I pondered, life would be easier for mages if they just came out to the world. Or maybe the world would end. With a shrug at the thought, I zipped up my leather jacket as I headed toward the minimobile.

I started off toward my first ever case.

And the calming drive was exactly what my mind needed to relax. By the time I arrived at the Cane Manor, the sunlight began ebbing beneath the horizon. Late March in Minnesota was nature's way of expressing boredom. The snow melted, but the trees were leafless. Tangled, gray branches covered the horizon, and there wasn't a bird in the sky.

The second half of the hour-long drive Cane Manor took me through barren woods. It was only forty degrees, but I kept the window cracked. Even the cold dry air felt better than the recycled stuff that'd been in my car all winter. I drove down the lonely road as the shadows grew increasingly longer. As I drove farther, the dead looking trees closed on the road, reaching their braches above me and blotting out the sky.

And then, Cane Manor came into view. I had to make sure my eyes were working properly, as I don't recall ever seeing a house quite so massive. Cameron commented that I'd know it when I saw it – he was right. I pulled the Minimobile onto the blacktop driveway and stopped at a small speaker beside the closed gate. From there, all I could do for the next few seconds was gawk.

"That you, Thomas?" Cameron's voice said through the speaker.

"Yeah."

"Nice place, huh?" Come on up. Park anywhere. The front gate ticked upward like an oversized clock.

Nice... This wasn't a nice place. Nice was a house in the suburbs, with a white picket fence. Nice was a twenty-third story condo with a view of the river. No, this place was... Well, it had a tower. An honest to god tower that lofted over the property like a shrine to some ancient god. Up there, I knew it'd have a perfect view of everything within its acres of domain; the stables and accompanying riding ground; the pond, and all the turtles that frequented the place; the road. The driveway which, by all rights, should have had its own road sign; the pool, and even the new cars, which I doubted I could afford to even look at.

The gate, however stuck out. As far as security goes, I was sure the victim could have afforded better. Only a thin, metal beam blocked the driveway. Even Lara's minimobile might beat it in a dual. The fence surrounding the property had a similar fragility, being only a pair of bars; one at shoulder height and another at waist height.

The long, straight driveway was wide enough for two cars. Eventually, it widened into a small parking lot, where I saw Cameron's Car; a high-end Mercedes parked in front of the three-car garage built directly into the house. I parked beside it and found Cameron Cane already waiting for me. Out in the muted sunlight, his wavy hair sparkled with exaggerated luminosity.

"Hey. Glad you made. Take off your shoes inside."

We walked along the front of the garages and across the round stones in the rock garden. Clearly, it'd have flowers blooming later in the year, but the ground was still thawing. The front door he led me through probably also cost thousands, since it was decorated with narrow windows of fogged glass.

The inside of the house loomed just as impressively as the outside. The entry hall could fit my entire apartment. I followed Cameron up a staircase into the warehouse of a living room. The ceiling arose at an angle parallel to the roof, giving space for a theatre sized TV and all its upgrades. I didn't see surround sound speakers anywhere, which meant they were probably built into the couch or had some similarly futuristic setup.

"Nice place, eh?" Cameron said.

"Uh, yeah," I said, wondering what Cameron's definition of Great was, since this was only nice.

"The murder happened up in the tower, three days ago. There was an investigation, but, as I already mentioned, everyone came to the same conclusion. Suicide. Didn't matter that it was caught on camera. Officially, the ghost was Emmitt's sick prank."

"I take it you're related to the victim?"

"Yeah, he's my uncle," Cameron said.

"You don't seem to think suicide is at all an option?"

"I grew up in the upper-middle class. Trust me – I know about depression and the symptoms leading up to suicide. Besides, he was too obsessed with his work to make time for suicide."

At that point, I decided to cast a small bit of magic on him. A test of sorts. Magic is a lot of things, but there's one overall rule that trumps all – everyone has complete control over their own being.

With a thought, I made a single spot on his forehead glow a bright yellow, which told me everything I needed.

I saw the dot on his skin. That means he believes in magic. If he didn't believe in magic, it wouldn't pass through the barrier of that skeptical belief. Magic doesn't exist, so how can it change the color of my skin? Even the most powerful spells can be instantly thwarted by a skeptic's non-belief, given that the spell is meant to affect him directly.

A mage also isn't affected by direct magic because unlike a skeptic, a Mage knows that the direct magic of others can't affect him. It won't work because I say it won't work. Just like with a skeptic's belief, his own belief in immunity blocks anything thrown at him.

Which is why I immediately knew Cameron Cane's stance on magic. For whatever reason, he believed magic exists, yet doesn't know he has the ability to block it. I let the dot disappear, all the while keeping Cameron oblivious to it.

"Uncle Emmitt lived in the Twin Cities." Cameron said. "He's spent most of his life working as CEO, alongside his father at Cane Industries. This is his getaway house." He talked as we walked, leading me to a door on the far side of the room. It led, predictably, to another staircase that spiraled up to the top of the tower.

"Did Mr. Cane have any enemies?"

"Lots." Cameron said. "Who wouldn't with his salary, but if I had to guess, I'd say it's someone in the family."

"Yeah?" I asked.

"A good place to start would be with James Freidman."

"Family?"

"My Cousin. Emmitt's brother," Cameron said.

"But he's not a Cane?"

"I hardly knew him," Cameron replied. "Neither did Emmitt – I think he may only be a half-brother."

"Okay." I said, wishing I'd brought a pocket notepad along. "Why look into him?"

"I think he's got a motive."

I nodded as I followed. We arrived up in the tower. It had already been cleaned out with the exception of a bloodstain that would only leave with the rest of the carpet. The room was a perfect octagon, just as the photograph depicted, and only about four paces from one side to the other. As I looked out the window, I witnessed the final ray of sunlight vanish under the horizon.

Looking down, I spotted a weedy pond, but for perhaps a mile up to that point was the open fields. In other words, the mage could have been anywhere.

"What kind of motive does James Friedman have?"

"We've kept it quiet, but their father is ill, terminally. For the last year or so, he's not really been himself. Fredrick Cane lives in Saint Paul with a live-in nurse, but he hasn't got long. Emmitt's brother, Daniel, told me the Emmitt and James argued the day before Emmitt died about their fathers' inheritance. In the case of their father's death, the inheritance is to be divided amongst his sons, Emmitt, Daniel, and James Freidman."

_James Freidman... Where have I heard that before?_ I pushed aside the thought for later.

"Not many people would murder their own brother."

"James isn't like most people. He's the black sheep in the bunch. He was cut off in his teens because he got sent to jail for stealing a car. Emmitt and James didn't make up until a few weeks ago, when James heard his dad was nearing the end."

"Follow the money," I summarized.

Cameron nodded. "One less child to inherit means his cut of the inheritance is half rather than a third."

I focused on the room itself, which had been completely emptied out. The ceiling was flat and white, with a small domed camera above. The carpet was an unremarkable beige.

"Why have a camera up here?"

"It's high def. The rounded lens gives it a view of the whole property. The driveway, the parking area, the grounds. We've got cameras hidden around the grounds, but only a few here and there. Except for behind the eight windowsills, it's got a full, three-sixty view of the house. That, and because Uncle Emmitt used to have meetings up here."

"Meetings?"

"Business meetings; you know, when you want to impress a client while keeping things casual." Cameron looked out the window for a moment, leaned back onto his heels, and turned back to me. "Honestly, most of the family doesn't know about this place. Our men and the cops studied the murder footage thoroughly, and they both found nothing. We have hidden mics up here, too. You'll hear the ghost, but nothing decipherable."

"You've got tapes?" I said, a thought striking me. "Can you check if any of the meetings up here are with a man named Lance Ruben?"

"Lance Ruben? Never heard of him, but I can check."

"You haven't gone through them all?" I said, surprised.

"Not my business," Cameron said. "Daniel Cane is the new owner. This property, and the videos are his now."

"I recommend you look through any videos pertaining to a man named Lance Ruben. If I could get a copy, it would help with the investigation."

He looked out the window, scanning the horizon as he spoke. "And how would you know that?"

"It's just a hunch."

"Hunches aren't usually vivid enough to contain actual names," Cameron offered me a suppressed smile as he spoke.

"You got a video of the murder?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"It's ready for you downstairs."

I looked the room, trying to visualize Emmitt Cane's corpse in my mind. There was Emmitt, lying just beside the open staircase, while the ghost stared down at him.

In my mind, I thought about the magic that would be involved. Honestly, there are a lot of spells that _could_ have done it, or more likely, a combination of a few. I knew only one absolute fact; it wasn't an actual spirit of a departed individual. Dead is dead. No exceptions.

I rubbed my eyes lightly as I activated a spell. It wasn't a required gesture, but it helped me focus.

The universe has an Equilibrium. _The_ Equilibrium. Capital E. Before you make any change to matter or energy, you first must fill it with your will. Trouble is, the universe is greedy, and will always want to take back its territory. No matter how strong your will is, the universe will always snap your magic back to Equilibrium. For objects such as my ring, or staff, it'd take a couple of weeks, so I continually renew them. Given a constant source of power, I suppose it'd be possible to keep a spell going indefinitely.

The vision simply allows me to see changes to the Equilibrium. Once activated, the telltale signs of magic appear.

I wasn't immediately sure I preformed the spell correctly. The room looked the same. I confirmed it worked by looking at my ring, which appeared to glow brightly against my skin. Then, I took a second look around, focusing on the spot where the man died. Nothing. Scanning the rest of the room, I also found nothing. Cameron stood silently at the wall, watching me look around. On the off chance that I missed something, I next looked out the window and along the grounds.

"The picture had a flask of whiskey. You know where that is?"

"Police have it with the rest of evidence. They tested it for fingerprints, but only found Emmitt's."

"Would it be possible to get it for me," I asked.

"I have pictures," he said. "And a flask from the same set."

"Err, that's not good enough," I said, knowing the magic would only be visible on the real flask, assuming it hadn't faded already.

"There's a lot about this case you're not telling me," Cameron stated without emotion.

"I'm just collecting the facts." I tried to sound professional, but I knew I came off as one of those seventies TV detectives. The kind played by a bad actor.

"Just the facts, huh? Yet you didn't ask me anything about possible entry points, or non-ghost related threats. You expect me to believe that you're willing to take it on face value that a ghost miraculously came to life and killed a man. Police didn't, so why should you?" Cameron was still giving a half-smirk. "It might mean you may be trying to scam me, but I don't get that from you. Rather, you think it's possible. You never asked me who had access to the photographs. The police assured me they were doctored, but you didn't seem to consider that. Strange, since it's the obvious conclusion."

"I'm being completely honest with you," I said.

"I'm not implying you aren't. However, you also, on a hunch, suspect some random guy is involved – Lance Ruben, was it? Still, I wonder if you can answer one simple question."

I stared at him for a moment, expecting the worst. "Okay."

"Is it possible to murder someone with Magic?"

I opened, and then closed my mouth. That question was illegal to answer, by the law of a government just waiting for me to mess up. If another witnessed Magic taking place, it could be explained to them vaguely, but I didn't know yet if Emmitt Cane's murder resulted from real magic or a fancy trick. Now that he mentioned it, suicide with a side of special effects seemed just as likely a suspect. And since I'd already stepped into the Guardians' crosshairs, I didn't want to offer them a reason to shoot.

"No," I lied.

I really need to learn how to do that better.

He offered me a sly grin, and I knew I'd lose the case. With a meek little shrug, I said, "I'll dig up what I can and let you know if I find anything."

Turning back to gaze out over the property, he said, "I get the impression that you already know what happened answers."

"I don't," I lied again.

Cameron wore a smirk that all but admitted that he'd seen through my lie. "I'll pay you to tell me, or I'll look elsewhere, but if you can't give me answers than I'm afraid our time together is done."

My stomach collapsed into itself at his ultimatum. Tell him details about the spell, or I'm off his case. It was a competition between money for next month's rent and angering the Imperium. In other words, I didn't have a choice.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too." he said, turning slowly toward me. Pulling a card out of his pocket, he handed it over. It had his name prominently displayed, along with the Cane Industries logo – three diamonds that made a C. "Call if you change your mind."

Awkwardly standing before him, the message was clear. I had no case, nor a reason to be here.

Fired before you could even witness the murder on the big screen. Good one, Thomas.

### Chapter 4

I called Lara the moment I was out of Cameron's earshot, but she didn't pick up the phone until I was walking out of the clean, white front door of Cane Manor. "Yeah?"

"I've got good news and bad news," I told her as she answered the phone. "Which do you want first?"

"Start with the good news."

"I've got a few leads. This case just got a lot more interesting. I found out that Lance Ruben is involved."

"Of the Venir?"

"Yeah. He knew the victim. Emmitt Cane worked for him, in fact. At least, Lance let it slip that he considered Emmitt to be one of _his_ men."

"You _talked_ to Lance Ruben? What were you thinking?"

I rolled my eyes, and knew she could hear my sigh of annoyance. "He cornered me and threatened to shoot me. He thought I summoned the ghost."

"That's the bad news?"

"Err, no. The bad news is I lost the case."

"Darn it, Thomas! You're fired."

"Can't – My employment ended with this contract, remember? Which reminds me; it wasn't a prank, so you owe me ten bucks."

"Thomas, you can be so–"

"Yeah, I get it," I interrupted before she could get out her jab. "But fired or not, Emmitt's murder has gone a bit beyond a simple case. The Guardians seem think I might have had a hand in it, too. If I can't prove I'm innocent, they'll probably arrest me. That is, unless Lance gets trigger-happy first. Which is why I'm calling – I need a hand."

"Fine." She wasn't happy, but she was family, and I knew she wouldn't turn me away. I got to the car and reached around in my pocket for keys.

"Before he dumped me, Cameron pointed me in the direction of a man named James Freidman. Cameron said something about inhe–"

A man made of a translucent light approached me suddenly as I stood in the driveway. Slick mats of tangled hair draped down his face, clinging like they'd been smeared in oil. His clenched fists held as many scars on his ragged face, which was to say a lot. His sunken eyes loomed, flowing with a burning anger.

Like a wildcat, I leapt aside, out of the ghost's reach. Like a klutz, I clunked into the side-view mirror, and nearly stumbled to the ground.

I held my hand forward, drawing energy into my ring. The man's face dimmed, as though the spotlight on him had power surges. A soundless word burst forth out of his lips. Then, he simply disappeared.

"Thomas? Thomas, are you there?" Lara asked through my phone, annoyed.

"Zounds. I just saw a–" I began calming myself with a deep breath. "–a ghost."

She responded with a skeptical silence.

"I, err, activated my vision a minute ago. There's something here, and I know, ghosts don't exist. Right?"

"You're sure you saw one?"

I got into the car, debating whether I should turn off my vision. I decided to keep it active. "I don't know what it was, but something just broke through the equilibrium."

As I turned on the engine, she said, "A ghost isn't out of the question. Well, a real ghost is, yes. But ghosts have appeared hundreds of times throughout history."

"They don't exactly follow the rules of magic, Lara."

Even through the phone, I could feel her superiority complex. She loved explaining things, especially to me. "Magic's main fuel is the beliefs of others, right? Well, typically you need a mage to focus that belief, but under the right circumstances a group of people could make a ghost."

"It's possible," I said. The driveway opened up wide enough to turn around without backing up, so I did.

"I've never heard of using a ghost as a weapon for murder, but think about it. Lots of people believe in ghosts, right?" Lara said. "Well, what if a mage tapped into that belief? Used it for fuel."

"It's not focused enough," I commented. "I suppose it's possible, but there's no how-to guide on ghosts. I mean, there are so many different kinds. Sad ones. Angry ones. Lonely ones. Ones that came from the devil and can possess people, and friendly ones that want to help people. That's a lot of contradiction. Spells have to be specific. I don't think even a group of mages that spent a lifetime trying could put a focus to a set of beliefs that broad. Maybe the ghost didn't do the murder – it's just there to throw us off. Oh, by the way, the ghost said something."

"What?"

"I opened my vision, not my ears."

"Amateur mistake," she scolded, but I could tell in her tone that she was joking. "So what's the plan?"

"I'm too far into this to back down. Lance and the Imperium saw to that. I'm thinking of coming home and looking for clues myself the old fashioned way."

"With a magnifying glass?" she asked.

"With a computer."

"I'm already at one."

Now that I was on the road, I didn't want to be talking on my cell phone. I hated people that did. "Oh, right. Well, look him up and let me know when I get there. See you in a bit."

"Wait, wait!" she said.

"What?"

"James has a cabin a few miles away. You ought to check there."

"Where is it?"

She gave me directions to a place not far from me.

"How'd you find that?

"Police Database. I just looked into James' file."

"I didn't know you could hack."

"I can't," she said. "Are you driving?"

"Yep."

"Sheesh, call me later. Bye."

I hung up and rolled my eyes. Police Database? And just how would she know anything about those? I closed the phone and slipped it into my lap. Then, the answer struck me. She probably just guessed the damn password. Lara Mercer – pioneer in the field of Luck.

I was bad at directions, and didn't know the area, which is why I decided to stop at the first parking lot to look for a map. It was a gas station on the crossroads of a highway. After parking the car, I searched the glove compartment for a map, but Lara apparently hadn't bought one. I realized where I parked and walked into the gas station.

"You sell maps?" I asked the cashier as I walked in.

It was a kid just out of high school behind the counter. Judging by the fact that his eyes were only half glazed over, I figured he'd just started his shift.

He pointed to a rack to the side of the counter. As I went to pay, I said, "Heard about the murder at the Cane estate?"

He nodded tiredly. "Heard it was suicide."

"Well," I leaned in. He tilted his head toward mine, as though to hear my secret. "Rumor is a ghost haunts that manor."

"Uh–" he said.

"I know it's probably just some made up story, but I'm a bit of a ghost fanatic myself. You ever see a ghost?"

The kid was looking at me like I was one of those nighttime crazies, or possibly a drunk. He answered, all the same. "They say there is a haunted house in few miles down, but I don't believe it."

"Where?"

"I don't know, man," he said. "It's just a rumor."

"Okay," I said, offering him money.

Believe it or not, I was investigating. That's why I didn't feel like a complete moron as I walked out. In the car I opened my new map and got a somewhat clear idea of where I had to go. Magic is powered by belief so maybe this ghost was a local legend. If that were the case, than I had a lead.

The ignition hummed to life as I set the map in the passenger seat, noting the gray car beside. A lone man taking a nap occupied the driver's seat, which was odd. I didn't recall seeing him there when I pulled in. Maybe it was just paranoia, but I flicked a gaze to its license plate as I left. The plate was an easy one to remember – ASH 124.

Lara's Minimobile made it to the cabin with only two wrong turns. Stupid car. Just to be sure I didn't draw attention to myself, I parked at the end of the road and walked up to his place, refreshing my Vision as I did so. It was an hour past dark now, and the woods near the lake were especially dense.

Every town had a poor side, and this was it. However, Lakeside property meant big bucks, and poor for this area, would be better explained by the term, 'less rich.' They were only two stories along this side of the lake, whereas the ones on the far side were three, sometimes with a connecting garage and at least one boat. As I drove down the perfectly paved road, I passed three houses before I came to James' place. Compared to the others, this was a tidy shack squeezed into a clearing. It was still two stories, but half of the second story was a deck, and it was so close to the lake that any basement would obviously be below the waterline.

A security light illuminated me dimly from two houses down. Slowly, cautiously, I approached James' place. This was weekend-cabin territory, and most people didn't stay as late as Sunday night, meaning the place would be nice and lonely.

Uninvited and unwanted, I realized I may be forced with the prospect of trespassing.

James Freidman is probably the murderer, Thomas. Get over it.

James Freidman... James Freidman... Where have I heard that name before? James... Freid–

He's a mage! The sudden memory hit me so hard that I was surprised I'd ever forgotten. A year ago, in my days as a guardian he posed as one of our biggest threats. As the apprentice to a battlemage, it made the Imperium cringe when he didn't try out for the Guardians. As far as I knew, he worked as needed for various factions of the supernatural world. A mercenary for hire.

The thought sent a new twang of fear through my thoughts, but I didn't stop. I kept carefully aware of everything, unable to see beyond the dark woods.

The sturdy wood of James' front door was at least a couple inches thick. The front wall had only one window, but the blinds were pulled firmly down. I slipped my hand around the doorknob, and found it locked, as I expected. I kept my hand on the doorknob as I unconsciously thumbed the ring on my middle finger, tuning my senses carefully for any traps as I did. Here I was, snooping around the house of a potentially dangerous mage, after all. A decent mage could equip a place with enough traps to take out a dozen men without harming the house, given enough time.

Bringing my exact desire to mind, I focused on my ring and the doorknob.

Although not my most powerful piece of equipment, the ring was durable and easy to hide. Given as a gift by Lucian Mercer, Lara's father and my latest mentor, the steel loop had the Mercer family seal engraved upon it. The near microscopic engraving of a fisted gauntlet possessed three Ruby shards, each empowered with my essence.

I looked around the dark wood one last time, reaffirming my choice to break in. Then, as I picked up a small, fallen branch, I also slipped off the ring and let my magic loose.

Holding the ring to the doorknob as the spell began, my hand suddenly slipped into a warm, intangible oven, a pleasant side effect of the simple spell. Meanwhile, an icy glaze covered the entirety of the metal doorknob as a simple transference of heat took place. From there, all it took was a gentle smack with the stick to shatter the frozen metal. Shards of brittle metal rattled against the ground, no louder than the breaking of a slender wine glass. With a nudge, the door opened.

The darkness inside hid everything. With only moonlight outside, the inside was a deep cave. My Mage's Vision offered no aid, but at least I couldn't see any wards.

Which meant there weren't any overt clues, either. I stepped inside, sliding my hand carefully along the wall for a switch. I found it, but it didn't work.

I honestly hadn't expected my day to end with a break-in. If I had, I'd have brought my flashlight. That is, assuming I hadn't gone crazy, which is the only reason I'd have planned for my day to end with a break-in. This morning I was just some guy looking for a job. Now I had two authority figures hanging over me. The guardians, demanding I stay out of the way, and Mr. Ruben demanded the opposite. Three, even, if you include the police.

Typical. The Imperium can't figure out how to play nicely with the Venir so they throw me in the crossfire of their argument. Again.

Sighing, there was only one way to get a good look at the place. I slipped on my ring, muttered a word, and winced. The ring drew heat from everything around, which it then converted into light. My hand went into an invisible fridge as a white glow illuminated the room.

Like the outside, the place was modest. Nothing you'd expect from an heir of Cane Industries. No big screen TV. No giant stereo, or surround sound speakers in the corners. In fact, it didn't have any electronics at all. The furniture looked new, but made with wooden arms and legs, while a giant bearskin rug covered wooden floor. The kind with a stuffed bear-face attached. Antlers hung on one wall. Some were mounted alone. Others were mounted with the bucks' heads still attached.

I took another step inside, fully crossing the threshold. That's when the door slammed. Whipping around, I grabbed for the handle, but stopped a couple inches away, realizing the half of it that I hadn't beaten off was cold enough to instantly freeze my hand. Instead, I turned back around.

A semi-tangible ghost stood rigid in the center of the room, with broad arms held tense at his side. He crouched in a bestial pose, enhanced by his hairy knuckles and feral face. The foundation of the entire house groaned with his rising anger, rumbling up through the floor.

Stumbling back toward the door, I smacked my elbow into the doorknob, which fell off in one piece. Sliding my hand into the doorknob's hole, I yanked, but the inch I got it to open slammed as the ghost bellowed. I didn't know what was louder, the creaking of the house's foundation, or the voice of the man twisted with a rage so honest it left no guess about his murderous motives.

"You have no right," he hoarsely bellowed.

On the wall far beside the fireplace, a rack of antlers glowed in my Vision. Seconds later, they unhinged themselves. Its shifting shadow enlarged on the back wall as the antlers shot toward me and my glowing ring. Pure reflex brought my arm up in front of my face.

The antlers slammed heavily into my leather jacket. A couple hard points pelted me – one in the shoulder itself, and the other numbing my arm as it speared into my triceps. Luckily, the jacket held up. The half of the rack I avoided dented into the door, making the crash of its impact bark against my eardrum.

The ghost, matted with grime and anger, bellowed before me as I heard something else move to my right.

Not bothering to look, I assumed it was harmful, so I threw myself across the room and over the couch facing the fireplace. I landed evenly on the cushions, but overestimated my leap. The resulting motion sent me rolling off the seat and onto the floor.

It's been awhile since I've had hands on work, and fear tainted the equations I needed to cast my spells.

Think, Thomas!

I pushed myself quickly to my feet, my mind entirely on my ring. The ghost was by the door, his face contorted in an expression beyond anger.

Reaching toward the ghost, I shouted, "Dissupo!"

At once, it felt like I was pushing my hand through icy water as the kinetic energy of the thrust redirected toward the ghost.

The ghost met my blow like I'd thrown a well-aimed water balloon.

"You have no right!" He shouted as the house groaned around him. The rug underneath me shifted, ripping my feet right out from under me. My shoulder crunched down onto the hard wood. Then, the fire poker shuffled beside me. In no mood for a sword fight against an unbeatable enemy, I threw myself over to the poker, locking both hands around the handle.

I yanked. The ghost flared his eyes.

The house rattled as though caught in a sudden windstorm, creaking under unseen pressure.

"No right!" the ghost howled again, gazing at the prod, which ripped out of my one hand. As a last, desperate attempt, I nestled the prod between my body and my numb arm. Across the creaking room, the antlers, still stuck in the door, began to shuffle as I steadied one foot on the floor.

As the antlers gave a massive heave toward me, the hinges broke off door. The Ghost's spell backfired, and the door flopped down.

I had an exit.

Like everything, Magic follows rules. Specifically, it follows the universe's rules. A mage can tell the universe to make the occasional exception to the laws of physics, but that can only go so far, and no matter what, the law of conservation trumps all. The simple fact is that if you throw around a bunch of heavy objects; you're going to need an equivalent amount of energy that comes from _somewhere_.

That's when I realized what powered the ghost. The groaning of the house wasn't a bonus perk for the spell – it was the source of it. It took the energy within the house itself and converted it into fuel, hastening the aging process. Best I could tell, the equivalent of years passed as the structure withered.

Thrusting the prod away from myself, I got up and turned toward the newly toppled door. Planting my weight, I made to leap over the couch, but the floor become too weak to support my weight. Instead of leaping, my legs fell through, leaving me balancing on the house's foundation.

The ghost turned his see-through head in my direction as his hair fluttered up in some malevolent ghost-wind. The poker turned away and prodded the fire pit, which erupted into a majestic, blue flame.

"She is mine!" he howled, as flames grew and lashed across the floor. They turned orange as they did, igniting the couch and flashing up my arm.

Another rule of magic – it can't affect living things directly. We can thank our soul for that. This includes magical flames, such as the ones that disappeared as fast as I noticed them. The magical flames that erupted against the curtains beside me, however, spread like they were soaked in kerosene. And while the source flames weren't real, physics took over for anything they touched.

Put simply, the house ignited.

As did the couch, which also didn't have a soul to ward of foreign magic. Fire is pesky that way. All it takes is a single spark to set the world ablaze.

Hovering in the center of the room, the ghost winced, as he grinned at me. The fire may have destroyed the house, and his source of power, but it did nothing to dampen his insane smile. His translucent skin melted away. His hair melted against his face, and with one final wheeze, the ghost said, "You'll get what you deserve, boy."

With that, the fireplace exploded outward, with blue flames lashing across the room.

"Damn it, old man!" I finally yanked one knee free of the fragile floor. Then, glad I had a flame resistant, leather jacket I slammed both of my elbows down onto the lightly burning sofa. As I hoped, my weight and the sofa's combined was too much. The four wooden legs pelted straight through the floor like wooden daggers, and shortly after, the couch belly flopped downward.

Silvery blood ran down the ghost's front now, drenching his body, yet he still managed to scream in outrage.

Fire isn't what usually kills people in this situation – smoke is often more deadly. As I tried to take a panicked breath, my throat and lungs closed. What little light my ring gave off became useless within seconds. The brittle, dry walls cracked and splintered as the flames spread. Forcing myself to react, rather than think, I stomped my foot onto the fallen, half-buried sofa and lunched myself blindly at the door. Bracing myself for the landing, I hit the floor, which had somehow tilted.

"Damn it, house – You should be dead!"

While I still had my forward momentum from the leap, I threw down my shoulder and head, turning what would be a face plant into a graceless roll. Before I could figure out which way was down, the house simply flung me onto the grass outside.

What I'd actually landed on, I saw, was the door, which had fallen off its hinges and onto antlers. The whole thing a teeter-totter. I scooted away from the flames, glad to be alive.

Inside, fire and smoke swirled up the walls, while the front of the house was, for the moment, relatively clear. The lake behind it beamed brightly, mirroring the scene with an eerie luminescence.

Then, I simply sprinted away.

Or tried to. Only a few steps later did I stop to heave blackened sap from my throat. The few breaths of torched air were all it took to make me wheeze. Forcing myself into exhaustion wouldn't be of any use, so I trotted to the nearest tree, several feet away and looked first at the burning ruins behind me, and then at the rest of the area.

The air was dry, which only aided the fire. This time of year wasn't known for forest fires, but with the trees being naked of leaves, I knew it was a risk. Only one other cabin that had signs of life, but they didn't seem to notice. I had my cell phone, but to call the cops was as good admitting guilt without a reason to be there, and I didn't suppose any officer would accept, "I swear, it was a ghost," as a decent excuse.

I only allowed myself a few more seconds to calm my nerves, before starting down toward the only cabin on the road that had any lights on. It was two houses down, and may have been a nightlight, but it was my only chance.

I already committed multiple crimes today. What's one more? It didn't take long to find a fist-sized rock. After testing its weight, I chucked it up, where it shattered the first pane of glass on the dual-paned windows. I sped up as I continued toward my car, relieved as several more lights in the house turned on. Their front door opened as the minimobile's engine flared to life, but as I hoped, their attention was far from me. The man, wearing only pajama bottoms, ran out a second later directly away from me, toward the flaming cabin with a phone at his ear.

It wasn't until half a mile later that I turned on my headlights, exhausted, and numb from shoulder to elbow on my right arm.

_You made it, Thomas,_ I told myself without getting much relief.

I started up the engine. On the way out, I passed a few fire trucks. By the time I was home, I must have ground my teeth flat.

### Chapter 5

Upon arriving at home, the first thing I noticed as I shut off the car was a lone figure rocking gently on the wooden armchair. Lit by my connected neighbor's dirty security light and undisturbed by the late hour, he seemed to be watching carelessly as I approached.

I stared back, fidgeting with my ring. A half dozen spells came to mind, just in case, but I knew I'd probably not use them. I'd broken enough laws tonight. The last thing I needed to do was to break the one of the Imperium Laws and reveal my use of magic.

"Down, Tiger. I come in peace." Cameron Cane gave a subtle smirk. "Rough night?"

"You could say that."

"Have a seat. Let's talk."

"Love to, but I have a bedtime to adhere to. Oh, and you fired me last time we spoke, so..." I trailed off the sentence and shrugged.

"It'll only take a minute."

"I get cranky after eleven, and it's almost midnight." I didn't slow on my way to the door.

"I told you to drop the case, and my cousins' hunting lodge burns down about an hour after you left my place."

"Not my problem," I opened the screen door and pushed my key into the door.

"It is if the guy I hired to follow you reports your whereabouts to the police."

There's something about doorknobs today. The second I touch one, everything goes to hell.

"But if you're tired I can–" He started to get up

I turned to him and said, "Why?"

"Why'd I have you followed?" He sat back down, leaning back. "Because there are a lot of players in this game and you're one of them. You confirmed that once when you mentioned Lance Ruben, and again tonight at the lodge you burned."

"I didn't–" I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling myself waver on my feet. When I opened them again, I sat down in the chair beside him. "I meant to just have a look around. I'm not as involved as you might think. Lance and I... Well, we have a past, I guess. I suppose you could say he hired me for the same case. I don't know if you know anything about the guy, but you should know that he's dangerous. If you have a chance to meet him, don't."

"And your past. It's connected to Emmitt's death?"

"No," I said firmly. "I don't know Lance's part in this. He seems to think I had a hand in it."

"But you don't?"

"Would I have investigated James' place if I had?"

"Touché. So what did you find tonight?"

"I found James' place booby-trapped," I considered telling him about the ghost, but tired or not, my mind wasn't that foggy. I couldn't tell him _that_ any more than I could tell him of my own powers. Damn laws. "Personally, I think you're right about James being the killer."

"Mr. Ruben hired you," he said, rocking gently. "Just like that."

"More or less."

"I lied about him, you know. I've known all along who the guy is – he's quite the genius, you know. Emmitt Cane attributes billions to that guy. Why would he take an interest in you?"

"I, err, did a few jobs for him in the past." I lied, trying to brush the topic aside. "Lance wants to know who killed Emmitt Cane as much as you do."

Cameron stopped rocking, but he kept his calm smirk. "I thought I was your first case."

I opened my mouth, but nothing good could come out of it.

"Or was that employment contract on the desk for someone else?"

I just shook my head in defeat. Cameron reached into his jacket. "Here." He handed over a manila envelope. "Today's pay and an invitation to Cane Industries' quarterly dinner. Boring. Full of reporters and rich folk. But everyone involved in Emmitt's life will be there. Both family and business. If Emmitt's killer is someone he knows, he'll be there."

Cameron stood up and started down toward his Mercedes, parallel parked just in front of Lara's minimobile. With elegance, I stammered, "Hey, err... you mean I'm, err..."

"Yes, you're re-hired."

"But I've done nothing but lie to you."

"And held back the few truths you do know, but at least I can tell when you're doing it." With a satisfied half-nod, he added, "As I said, there are a lot of players in this game. This way, I at least know you're on my team." He walked to his car, spinning his keys carelessly around his finger.

"Oh, and Thomas – you had another tail tonight."

"ASH license plate?" I said, holding onto the little shred of credibility I had. He flicked his finger toward me. _You got it._

### Chapter 6

From the case files of Special Agent L. Garrison  
Supernatural Investigations Department:

Five confirmed deaths occurred in what has been dubbed the "warehouse incident."

An expert analysis of the captured video clearly shows the warehouse imploding from all places simultaneously and a study of the wreckage confirms it. Steel beams were twisted and wrenched, but all debris was contained within the building's lot. It is my personal belief that explosives were not the cause of the implosion, nor were any other understood forces.

Due to the location of the warehouse, no eyewitnesses came forward, but I know one exists. Six seconds prior to the implosion, an unidentified male was thrown through the wall of a warehouse and into the nearby street before fleeing north.

Let me make one thing clear; prior to the event the warehouse was in perfect condition. It passed all OSHA safety inspections, and had no history of any kind of damage. Those walls were made of concrete. Throwing a man against would break the man. Nonetheless, he crashed through it without so much as a broken bone from the looks of it.

As for the identity of survivor - other than his brief appearance on the video, we can't even confirm anyone was in there. Aside from the lone, closed-circuit hidden camera that depicted the incident, all other video evidence within a three block radius went missing.

The next morning I woke up with a hiss of pain as I rolled onto a bruise the size of my fist. My entire underarm was three shades darker than the rest of my skin. I hadn't gotten around to taking that shower last night. Nor undressing. The smell of burnt wood emanated in every direction.

I figured that the first step in preparing for tonight's dinner party was a nice, extra long, extra hot shower. As chance would have it, I'd have a visitor in five minutes, so it was only natural that was in the shower within two.

My plumbing and I have a long-standing tradition, in which I spend several minutes messing with the dials because, of course, if you go a millimeter too far to the left, magma spews forth, while a millimeter to the right will send out a glacier. A tapping echoed through my house upon that final tap, right when I'd finally made the water tolerable. The source: my front door.

The bathroom was connected to the living room, so I reached past the curtain to open the door and shout, "Who is it?"

"Me. Lara. Can I come in?"

"Ah. Damn, it," I said quietly to myself. "Lost my sheep," I said to the front door, throwing my will into the words.

"What?" she asked.

"Come on in – I'll be out in a second," I yelled throughout the bathroom door.

As quickly as I could, I scrubbed the soot and dirt from my hair and skin.

I heard Lara come in. Through the door, she called, "I looked into the stuff you wanted. Found a few things, too."

"Yeah? Tell me about it in a minute."

I quickly finished, and stepped out. There on the ground was the yesterday's clothes; my chimneysweepers' garb. The leather jacket was gray with the mess, and since putting it on would require me to take another shower, I was in a tight spot. I looked at the towel on the rack and wrapped it around my torso.

I moved into the Mercers' basement when I was only sixteen, and she moved out within a few months. Our step-sibling status allowed us to awkwardly bypass certain boundaries. Still, the plan was to just shoot into the bedroom.

Pushing open the door, I avoided eye contact as I crossed quickly to the other side of the room, and squeezed into my room. "I have a few things you should know, too. Cameron met me here yesterday. He rehired me."

"Rehired?" she said as I slid into my bedroom.

"Yeah."

Some of the myths about Magic are true, to an extent. Mages vary from using lots of gibberish words, to none at all. A spell can be programmed into an object and activated by a trigger, such as a word. While triggers are useful in some instances, they are limited. For one, all magic will eventually be overcome by the Equilibrium, meaning I have to continually reprogram anything I enchant. Also, a programmed spell doesn't have the luxury of customization on the fly. If you program your spell to affect a five by five foot area, that's all it'll ever be able to do, ever, whereas a spell made on the fly will be as customizable and complex as your mind allows. However when those issues aren't a deal-breaker, it's the easiest kind of magic you could ever hope to perform.

It also means there is the need for mumbling in archaic terms. Latin is a dead language, which makes it a frequent flier in the magical realm, but a trigger can be anything. Sure, you _could_ set the spell's code word to be "fire," or even 'blazing inferno," but if you're talking to someone and the topic comes up, you might accidentally blow up your house. That's usually a bitch to explain to cops and insurance companies. That is, assuming the Imperium doesn't kill you for breaking their secrecy laws.

As for my protection ward's trigger words I set around the apartment. I couldn't figure out a good phrase to use when, when Presto – Little Bo Peep came to mind.

"You free this evening?" I asked Lara from the cracked open bedroom door. "He gave me and 'plus one' an invitation to some fancy get together atop of the Cane Industries Skyscraper. We both figure the bad guy's going to be there. Want to come?"

"You know Thomas, usually the clothes come off after the date," she said, bemused.

"Yeah, yeah, you want to come or not?" I said, opening my dresser and grabbing the first set of clothes I could find. From the living room came the sound of fluttering paper as she examined the invitation. "It says here you'll need a tuxedo."

Pulling a gray buttoned-up shirt over my head, I pushed the door open and re-entered the living room, this time decently attired in Jeans and a black Polo. "Cameron's note says he'll reimburse me for any rental. By the way, a lot happened since I talked to you last night. I saw the ghost again last night."

I took a minute or two to tell her everything I could remember at James' cabin. I tucked in my shirt at least. Half of it, anyway. Standing at the counter, she appeared nothing like the way I looked and felt. Whereas my eyes were still red with morning grogginess, hers were alert and aware. She had her hair styled, her makeup perfectly applied, her hands manicured, and women-only-know what else done. All she lacked was a dress, and she'd be ready to go. She was always like that, even back on the Mercer Farm – ready for the day before I'd gotten up. I ended my story by telling her, "So, what did you find?"

"Several things. For one, Emmitt Cane wasn't the ghost's first victim."

"Oh?" I plopped heavily onto the faded blue lay-z-boy in front of the coffee table.

"He's the third. Kind of. His name is Gregory Scythe. According to the newspaper, and he died in twenty years ago from a stab wound." She picked up a manila envelope from the counter and handed it over. As I pulled out a few pictures, she continued. "It took me awhile to get this, but it all makes sense. It was on some guy's forum posting, but there were some old police records on it and a snippet in the local newspaper."

"A forum? As in some random guy on the internet?"

"Is that the ghost you saw?" she asked, ignoring my own question.

I looked down at the first picture, which was a police mug shot. "Umm, not really. Similar. The ghost I saw had a similar, all over the place hairstyle, but the face was a lot... I don't know, a lot meaner."

"Makes sense."

I flipped to the next piece of paper, a newspaper clipping headlined, 'Man Dead: Mysterious Circumstances.' Underneath it was a separate story from a different paper entitled, 'ghost seen at Square Lake."

"We both know that a ghost doesn't exist," she said.

"Well, yeah," I agreed. My training in magic was pretty solid, but ghosts were one thing I'd never recalled.

"Which means that the spirit of Gregory Scythe isn't to blame. A ghost could, however, exist if enough people share a strong enough belief. True, it probably wouldn't do anything other than exist, but the power is there."

I saw what she was getting at, but skepticism prevented me from taking it all to heart.

"So you're saying that a lot of people just believed in him, and that just magiced him up?"

"It's a bit of a stretch, but it's happened before throughout history. Look. There's a double murder at the Scythe residence. It's a classic, real life tragedy. Betty Scythe and John Allworth fall in love and sneak away for a few days to some cabin in the woods. Gregory, the girl's evil father, finds out about it and instantly hates the guy. He drives up, bursts into the cabin and the two fight it out. The Internet and the newspapers say the two wrestled for a while, until Gregory pulled a knife out and stabbed the kid. Then, they both fell over the balcony and died."

"Okay..."

"A year later, the same cabin was bought by a young couple. Unmarried. The guy's doing a bit of housework and slips. Fell off a balcony and broke his neck. At least, that's what the newspaper said. The forum, however, disagrees and said he was stabbed first, presumably by the ghost of Gregory Scythe."

"Right." I said. "So what exactly do you think brought up the ghost?"

"Suppose it became a local legend. Locals tell the story around campfires. No one admits it, but they all believe the place is haunted. Suddenly you've got a dozen or more people pumping it full of their beliefs, and therefore their willpower, into this ghost."

A lot of people assume you have to be of some special bloodline to cast magic. To be touched by the gods or some nonsense like that. Truth is, anyone can become a mage. Anyone. Thus, the reason for all the secrecy. It's the Imperium's first commandment; Thou shall not tell others they can cast magic. That's not the way they word the law, but by my reckoning, the Imperium and the wordage used in the King James Version are a perfect match for one another.

"I'm not saying the ghost of Gregory Scythe pushed anyone off the ledge, but everyone else is. Chances are that the second guy that moved in just lost his footing and broke his neck, but people in town would start to talk. If enough people believe it, the ghost will exist. You get a dozen or more people powering this thing, and the Equilibrium isn't strong enough to stand up to all of their beliefs.

"Then, some day a bold kid goes up to the abandoned Scythe house and peeks inside, expecting to see something. Think about it; that's the exact same thing a mage does to cast. He's believes he'll see the ghost, which puts a precise focus to the community's shared beliefs. Once the kid sees it, he believes without doubt that the place is haunted. He spreads the belief around– tells all his buds. Of course, the kid only tells people that'll believe him, in fear of sounding crazy. You know, people he trusts, or people who've already expressed their beliefs in ghosts. Pretty soon you've got twenty people, all believing a ghost is there. Half of them may have seen or heard it themselves. Remember, I'm not saying Gregory Scythe came back as a ghost. I'm saying that everyone's belief that Gregory Scythe came back as a ghost created an image of him."

"Hmm... When I mentioned ghosts at the gas station the other day, the teenager behind the counter mentioned he'd seen one. It must be the Scythe guy."

"Yeah, and there's another thing. This Gregory Scythe has a history of violence. And with a name like Scythe? Who wouldn't think he'd want to come back from the beyond and get vengeance? You said he had a similar hairstyle, right? But a different, angrier face?"

"Yeah."

"People remember the guy's hair and his anger. Therefore, those are the two features that come across most prominently in the ghost's face. A small army of believers powers him. All a–"

"Hold on. I see where you're going with this," I interrupted quickly. "The ghost has power, but no direction. It exists. Period. But there's no reason or place for it to exist unless someone is actively thinking about it. All a mage would have to do is take all that pent up magic and give it focus. Hell, there are millions of people that believe in ghosts. That alone is too general to work with, but it could possibly be more fuel for the ghost."

"Right."

"But..." I continued to think on how this specific spell could be pulled off. "But why would James program a spell to burn down his apartment."

"Yeah. That is kind of stupid," she said, narrowing her brows. Then, her face brightened. "What if he didn't mean for it to happen. Technically, he doesn't really control the ghost. The collection of beliefs would be the driving force for the spell. I think the ghost's motives were simply to kill you, by any means necessary."

"But the ghost is just a spell," I said skeptically. "A spell isn't alive. It can't make decisions."

"It's a Sentient Spell," she explained. "These things have been known to exist. It can't make choices on its own, true, but it can do actions that clearly would accomplish their reason for existing. Last night, the ghost simply wanted to kill you, right? It figured the best way to carry out that action was to burn the place down. It didn't choose to burn the place down. It simply acted within the reason for its existence – to kill. The spell realized that fire was the best way to do that."

"Okay..." I said, unsure. Coming from just about anyone else I wouldn't have believed them, but Lara knew more about the nature of magic than most others in the Imperium. "That means that the spell has a lot of restrictions."

"Right. I looked more into ghosts and I found–"

"Looked into? As in researched? We're talking about people – I doubt those thirty or more people researched ghosts. They thought 'scary spirit thing' and left it at that."

She glared at me for the interruption as she explained, "I read movie summaries. Blare Witch Project. The Shining. Ghostbusters. These are typical places people learn about ghosts. If you had a TV, you'd know what I'm talking about."

"Ahh. Good point. You were saying?"

"Well, there are a bunch of things we have to consider. One, I've never heard of a ghost that came out during the day."

"True, I guess."

"Let's see. Poltergeists are almost as popular as ghosts. They're invisible spirits that throw things around. I think the mage would want to bring some of those beliefs into the mix because, obviously, the ghost itself can't hurt anybody. However, there would be other ways to empower the ghost."

"Such as?"

"Well, if I were to summon the ghost, I'd program a few things around the room to react to its presence. Add onto the spell without increasing its difficulty or the willpower required."

I thought about the house last night. There were dozens of potential weapons the ghost could have employed, but it only moved a few things. The door, which slammed shut; the levitating antlers, and the poker. Also, there was the self-igniting fireplace, but I doubted James programmed that one beforehand. Someone in the mix of beliefs must be a pyromaniac.

"There's another thing about the ghost," she continued. "It probably didn't target Emmitt Cane directly."

"Right," I understood. "Magic can't affect anyone without his or her permission, so it could have attacked say, a guy over there. Or, since this is Gregory Scythe, that guy over there who, by the way, is sleeping with your daughter. It'd be easy for the summoner to program that into the ghost's head."

"Err, not necessarily," Lara said. "They could have gotten Emmitt's permission to target him, which is doubtful. Or, they could have led him to the false assumption that magic can affect him."

"Right," I said. "And third – this is kind of obvious, but there is a mage needed to focus the beliefs. Likely he's someone who has a lot of experience in magic. Also, it's probably someone local to the area. After all, they had to have found out about the ghost, and learned how to perfect the spell to the point of turning it into a deadly weapon."

I frowned as I thought of the possibilities. "There aren't many people like that in the area. No wonder everyone's pointing at me."

"There are only three groups that could pull this off."

"The Imperium," I said. "But they're not around." Because she hadn't lost faith in them as I had, I didn't add that I felt this was exactly the sort of sneaky weapon the council would employ. "The Guardians. And James Freidman."

"We can eliminate us, obviously," Lara said crossing to the couch and sitting on the side nearest to my chair. "Bree's a master illusionist. That'd mean she'd be able to make it appear better than anyone–"

"It's not her," I interrupted with certainty. "She's a guardian, but I trust her. She's too... I don't know. Good. She works with a guy I don't know, but he's fairly new to town. Doesn't fit our profile, and he does he have a motive."

"Bree's always seemed like she's had a few loose wires to me. I mean, she tried to get you arrested for that warehouse thing."

"Yeah," I said. "But she never lied. I've never seen her do anything illegal. Hell, she's a good Christian girl."

"Who also once joined a cult," Lara said.

"It wasn't Bree," I said. "Drop it."

"Fine. I still think it's James Freidman, anyway," she said, but then closed her eyes and shook her head. "But what about the Venir? How's Lance involved?"

"Hmm... I think James Freidman has some kind of relationship with the Venir. I'm not sure what that is, though," I said.

Lara scanned my face as she said, "If the rumors about the Venir coming from a foreign dimension are true, they could have offered Emmitt the kind of knowledge that would help Cane Industries."

She didn't take her eyes off me, and I knew why. She was right, but I'd had a long-standing agreement with the Imperium that I wouldn't tell anyone what I knew about the Venir. Having been a former Guardian stationed in this area, I was one of the few Guardians they told outright that the Venir had access to advanced technology. I tried, and probably failed to keep my face stoic.

"Because if it were true," she continued, "I'd suggest there was some kind of tradeoff. Lance gets money, and Cane Industries gets new technology. That would at least explain Lance's interest in all this."

"And someone's tailing me, by the way." I said. "There's some guy with an A S H license plate I saw awhile back. I figure it's probably one of Lance's men. The Guardians don't have the resources, and Cam, who also had me tailed, was the one that confirmed it. Haven't seen anyone since last night, but I've no reason to suspect anything changed."

"Two tails? You're a popular guy lately?"

"I should start an act. Thomas' comical adventures as a PI."

"So far you're not doing too badly. You've already found one homicidal maniac.

"Yeah, but he wasn't real. So what's our next move?" I asked.

"Cameron and I both suspect James Freidman. Basically, I plan to find him, beat a confession out of him, turn him into the Guardians, and collect my winnings, or at least this year's get out of jail free card. He's perfect for the murder – motive is clear. With Daddy Cane on his deathbed, he probably wants a bigger share of the fortune Dad will leave behind. One less brother means a bigger share of the inheritance goes to him. Cam told me James was arguing with Emmitt the night before. Plus, my break-in last night proved that James knows how to summon the ghost. I'm not even planning on going to that Dinner if I can solve this before then."

"Probability is on your side," she said, a look of exaggerated desperation on her face. "But what if it's not him?"

"It is," I got up and started for the coat rack by the door.

"Probability is on your side, but it's not a hundred percent," she said with a sense of urgency.

I studied her for a second and said, "You just want to put on a dress and schmooze with the rich folk."

"Open bar," she beamed. "I take my bonuses where I can get them. Besides, we deserve to go and have some fun."

I grinned at her, and shook my head, amused. "I probably won't have time to get the Tuxedo."

"I'll just guess the size and pick it up," she smiled deviously. To Lara, the word guess meant 'use my magic to get you the best darn tuxedo in the place.'

"You have my permission," I said, knowing that in order to _guess_ my size, I'd have to allow her magic to affect me. "But that'll take you an hour."

Her smile faded. "I've gotten better in the last ten years. It'll take five minutes."

I shrugged apologetically as I stepped toward the door.

"Try to make back by five," she said.

### Chapter 7

As it turned out, James Freidman lived in the good side of town. He wasn't listed in the phone book, but a quick call to Cameron let me know exactly where he lived, which was some high-rise condo overlooking the Mississippi River in the heart of downtown Minneapolis. The short drive took almost forty-five minutes because of rush-hour traffic, and parking took me another half hour. By the end of the drive, I reaffirmed my belief that one-ways mixed with inner city driving were about as appealing as a cheap tequila and ex-lax cocktail. The closest I could park was five city blocks away, which was probably just as well, since it gave me ample time to cool down before I got to the building.

The outside of the high-rise condominium wasn't especially ornate, though it was fairly clean. In general, all parts of the Twin Cities are ugly this time of year. Throughout the entire winter, snowplows drop sand and salt across every road to melt the snow and give the ice friction. The salt washes away. The sand, however, builds up, mixes with the scattered bits of snow alongside the curbs, and in general gives the entire city a grimy sort of cover. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the roads and sidewalks of this building, on the other hand, were free of that particular menace.

Entering through the front door, the lobby shared the same sort of cleanliness as the outside. While the maroon carpet was a bit dated, and the overall layout had a sort of seventies feel to it, as a whole the place came off as friendly and secure in an otherwise bustling city.

However, that safety comes at a cost. That cost, being a professional-looking security guard, who eyed me like I was some sort of unsavory, private detective wannabee the moment I pushed open the door. I reminded myself an old lesson; often, all it takes is a confident demeanor to get through these situations. Without giving him a glance, I stepped proudly forward, but this guy apparently took his job too seriously. He held out a hand and said, "Guest's need to sign at the front."

"I'll just be here a minute."

He didn't budge. Nor did his impatient stare.

"Alright," I turned to the desk and recalled James' room number. According to Cameron, James had a job with irregular hours. He wasn't specific about James' occupation, and if I had to guess, I think it was because Cameron didn't actually know.

"You're visiting Mr. Freidman?" the guard asked.

I nodded, trying to look casual.

"Mr. Freidman doesn't want me to let visitors up there."

"Sir, it's important."

He eyed me for a few seconds, and I tried my best to look like a decent guy. I had a slightly more honest face than the usual Joe. Or, at least, I had in the past, back before my life had taken a downward turn toward unemployment.

The security guard simply sighed and said, "If you want, I can let you call him."

"Thank you, sir," I said, hiding the fact that I was annoyed by this unexpected hitch in my plan. I'd been hoping to tromp my way up to his room to beat down the door. Calling ahead would surely diminish the drama. Yet still, I didn't have much of a choice.

I listened for four rings before he picked up.

"Yeah, what?" he said pointedly.

"Is this James Freidman?"

"Who's this?" He had a thug accent – nothing I could place for certain, except that he sounded like he'd fit right in with the old time mafia.

"I have a few questions to ask you regarding Emmitt Cane. Let me up."

"You a cop?" he said, faster this time.

"My name is Thomas Amberose."

"You that guy," he said with thuglike splendor. "The one Lance hired. Sure. Thirteenth floor."

"Thanks."

Lance hired me? Wow. That was news to me. I gave the phone back to the guard, who traded a few words with it before allowing me past him. One fake signature and a couple minutes later, I stood before James' door.

A slight beat of anxious excitement fell into my step. Even as a guardian, I'd never been given the chance to apprehend a murderer.

The moment I approached his door, it opened to reveal the man who matched the voice perfectly.

Bearing the size and stature of a silverback gorilla, James Freidman's boxy figure fit in the tall, rectangular frame of the door perfectly. Bulky muscles surrounded his sides neckless head. Wearing a pressed pair of jeans and a beer-stained, sleeveless T, the extent all his days at the gym were clear. The man was short for the devil – only an inch or two taller than me.

It didn't take long to notice that today wasn't one of his better days. Untended whiskers poked out the sides of his head. While his goatee appeared perfectly trimmed and cared for, the weeds around it weren't. He'd recently fancied himself the hobo look, or his life recently fell to pieces; judging from the mixed scent of alcohol emitting from him, I had a guess as to which.

"The hell you want?" he said, his eyes simultaneously unfocused and aggressive.

I briefly forgot why I came. Then, I remembered that it entailed threatening him into a confession, so I considered a new reason for coming. Finally, I recalled that I had magic on my side. Perhaps that fact made me react a bit too rebelliously.

"You kill Emmitt Cane?"

He may have had oodles of muscle in his figure, but I didn't get the impression that his brain was as fit, especially now.

"No," he said, surprising me with his spectacular answer. "Anything else?" he said, in my stammered silence.

"Where were you the night he died?"

He shook his head, which was actually quite a feat considering it was surrounded on either side by a thick mound of bulk. He turned and shuffled back inside, kicking a pair of elephantine shoes away from the door. I took that as a, 'come on in,' and followed.

"I didn't do it."

"Can you prove it?" I asked.

"Cops can." He took a large swallow before continuing. "They locked me into detox and arrested me for," he looked up and squinted as if to remember, "being drunk and disorderly. That enough for you?"

"Drunk and disorderly..." I looked around the room, not yet convinced. Sure, it was the perfect alibi, assuming it checked out with the police. However, this whole situation seemed a bit too perfectly theatrical.

The gargantuan heaved himself down onto the leather sofa, reaching for the nearest beer can as he did. Shaking it, he set it down, annoyed before doing it to the one next to it. It sloshed slightly, so he downed the contents.

"Can't cast when drunk," he added.

I tried to make my stare more intense, hoping to convey a demand for a better explanation. Apparently it worked.

"Yeah, I'm a mage. Legal and documented member of the Imperium." He slapped his beer down, missing the coaster by mere millimeters. "I knew you'd be here eventually. Rather than fight it, I figured I'd just get it all out there so you can eliminate me as a suspect. Yes – I know how to summon the ghost. Yes, I argued with Emmitt Cane a day before the murder. No, I didn't do it."

"Alright. Any idea who did?"

"Not a goddamned clue."

"Tell me about Emmitt. Were you close?" I asked.

"He was my step-brother, but you know that. Nah, hardly knew the guy. I stole a car when I was nineteen. His dad cut me off after that. I spent a few years in jail, and when I got out, Emmitt introduced me to Lance. I've been working for him ever since. Emmitt's eight years older than I am, and went to all those preppy schools as a kid. Barely saw him growing up. Now that dad is sick, we needed to decide how to split up his assets."

"That's not easy," I commented

He grunted amusement. "It is where I was concerned. Thirty grand. Pocket change for the CEO of Cane Industries. He donated more to charity last month. Nah, I'm not after the old man's money. I always knew what I'd get in the end. I'm lucky to get a penny, since I'm the first wife's kid. Still, thirty grand's a nice bonus. It was nice enough to make me shout out a bit when he threatens to take it away."

"Shout out?"

"Yeah. Yell. Hint at a threat of something more. Add mean phrases. Or Else. You'd better. You'll regret it if you don't. That sort of thing. The thirty grand is what we argued about, but I didn't kill my brother."

"Usually when people threaten, they follow through," I said.

"Yeah, and I did. Emmitt's got top of the line security equipment, but that don't mean shit against a mage. Take a look into the Cane Industries parking garage at around ten-o-clock, day before the murder. I crushed his car to juice. Next day I activated the sprinklers in his office. Seemed fair, 'cause he cut me out of the will, but all I did was, you know, prank shit. Stuff that cost him time, money, and embarrassment. It's on camera, but he couldn't go to cops. Imperium doesn't give a shit about what I cast so long as no one sees, so I gets away with it. As far as the inheritance goes, I'd look to the other brother. He's the one that profits most. Daniel gets everything, and from what I hear, a job as interim CEO until the Board finds a permanent guy."

I nodded, thinking. "And you still get nothing?"

"Nah. I get my thirty grand."

"Because Emmitt died?" I asked, unable to hide my surprise.

"No. Because the old man's will says I only get my thirty grand if I divorce my wife before he kicks it. Kelly Freidman ran off last Wednesday. Only trace I found of her was a divorce certificate. Signed and dated. Offered me everything except the contents of her personal bank account."

Interesting. Emmitt died on Thursday, meaning Kelly Freidman ran off a day prior. I made a note to myself, thinking that may be somehow significant.

"Your wife ran?" I asked. "Just like that?"

James nodded.

"Why?"

"Don't know. We had our problems, but things were going well."

"Did you look for her?"

He made a drawn out, psh sound. "That bitch wanted to get gone, she could be anywhere. Lance got a few people looking around, but no one with a genuine interest. I'd sooner find the Virgin Mary, so I didn't waste my time."

"So what did you do?"

"Same thing I did after my first wife left me. I found a bar, a bottle of whiskey and a bunch of punks willing to offer me a good fight." With a sleazy grin, and accompanying nod he said, "After I did that, it took five cops to hold me down."

I kept staring, trying not to reveal any fear or encouragement on my face. I realized that the man's angry expression was glued on, rather than one he'd brought out to scare me. Even in the comfort of his own home, belly full of beer, he looked enraged.

Ms. Freidman ran away. In my book, that made her as likely a suspect as anyone.

Even as the rookie-gumshoe I was, I still knew that the person who runs is often the guilty one.

I took a quick scan of the room, not expecting to find any obvious clues, but searching nonetheless. I wasn't a huge fan of TV, but that didn't stop me from being envious of the five-foot wide wonder mounted to the wall. The half-dozen devices beneath it made it all the better. Along the wall sat a door to a balcony, which had a superb view of the river. His apartment was high enough to block out the majority of the bustling.

Yet I got an odd sort of Zen about the place. The living room had a yin-yang clash of order and chaos. On one hand, I noted that everything was alphabetized – the two bookcases, and the Blu-Ray collection. The entertainment center looked fit to model for a magazine. The chaos factor came from the half-crushed beer cans thrown about. One even dripped down onto the white, leather sofa. It made me wonder how big of a pain he was on his wife, who'd probably cleaned up after him.

"You think your wife is capable of summoning the ghost?"

"Kelly?" he said, glaring aggressively. "Not a chance."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "I kept my spells a secret for years, but eventually she found my stuff and figured out I'm a Mage. I gave her the basic run-around – it's in my bloodline. Made it more believable, since my brothers can cast."

Typical Imperium Protocol: if you _are_ discovered doing magic, the first thing you're to let slip is that it's a divine inheritance, available only to worthy bloodlines and passed on from parents to child. There was enough fiction out there to support the 'fact,' and most people don't question it. While not a perfect defense, it's often all that's needed to prevent a questioner from blooming into a full-fledged mage. There were people who lived their entire lives in the presence of Mages, oblivious to the fact that they could easily join them.

If I told someone that they could perform magic, than they could too, assuming they accept my word as a divine truth. It's one thing for someone to claim to believe in magic, but even people who've had multiple viewings often have a flicker of doubt. Plus, believing in magic and believing you, personally, are able to bend all the nicely laid out rules of the universe – those are two completely different things.

"Your brothers cast?" I asked, deciding to ignore the fact that he seemed to forget they didn't share blood.

"Why you think I told you to check out Daniel?" the man said. "So far as I know, there's only you, my family, and the Guardians that can cast around here."

"Did Daniel and Emmitt get along? What can you tell me about their relationship?"

"Same thing you could tell me. Nothin.' Daniel was like Emmitt growing up. The Canes shipped him off to those private academies the day he learned to talk. He came back for a few weeks here and there. The two of them always seemed to get along well enough, but I think Emmitt was the Alpha of the two. Personally, I always thought there was something missing in Ol' Danny."

"Something missing?"

"Daniel must have failed a half-dozen classes until his parents got him a personal tutor. Mom says he got unique needs. I say he's a moron."

I nodded, my opinions on the case suddenly shifting. I'd have to check on his facts, but if James spoke the truth, then I'd come to accuse the wrong man. James' means was gone, assuming he actually had drunk himself into detox. The motive lessened, since the electronics in this room alone cost more than thirty grand. I didn't get the impression he'd risk his standing with the Imperium over this.

And opportunity? Well, he still had the ability to kill Emmitt, I supposed. _If_ James could summon the ghost, it wouldn't really matter where he happened to be at the time of the casting. Jail is as good a place as any for a spell like that, especially if he faked his condition.

Still, I found myself in support of the 'James is innocent' notion. He's a monster of a man, but even monsters grieve sometimes. More importantly, he'd given me two more possible suspects. Daniel, who got everything in the inheritance, and a temporary job as a CEO. And Mr. Freidman's wife, Kelly Freidman, who ran.

"Any other questions, Mister Investigator?" James asked.

I pressed my lips together, glad I'd gotten this far with him. "The ghost – you said know how to summon it."

"Yeah. I got a lake house up by Square Lake. Gregory Scythe," He said proudly as I forced my face stone still. Apparently he hadn't been contacted yet. "The ghost is an urban legend. Back in the seventies, some guy caught his daughter sleeping around. Goes on a rampage. Legend goes, their tempers fly and they kill each other. Boyfriend stabs the father, who chokes the kid to death.

"Anyway, some unmarried couple buys the place a few years later. The day they move in, the new owner dies. The guy probably fell off a railing or something. I don't know the truth. Doesn't matter. What does matter is that people believed the old bastard haunts the place and killed from beyond the grave, so that's the story."

"Everybody believes in the ghost, so all it needs is a reason to exist. The people do the heavy lifting. All I need to do is tell the ghost what to do. Mostly, I use it to protect my cabin from intruders, but I never used it to kill nobody. Funny thing about the ghost – the locals got it all wrong. The old bastard took a knife to the gut, but he's still alive. He's in the slammer for murder. That's how I came across the myth. Greg – that's his name – he read about his ghosts killing people in the newspaper. Laughs every time he reads it. Probably still has a copy of the paper pinned up in his cell.

"Anyway, I taught the trick to Emmitt Cane a few years back – hell, maybe he botched the spell. It goes after guys, so if a girl was over when he summoned it, it could have done him in. Emmitt never could cast as good as me."

I shook my head and said, "Emmitt didn't have any visitors."

He shrugged massively and said, "Well, not my problem how he died. I'm sure you'll figure things out. We done here?"

"One more thing. Where does Lance Ruben fit into this?"

At that, James bit his lip. "He don't."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah," he said bluntly.

Most people wouldn't consider pressing him further, but my instincts told me there had to be something more he wasn't explaining. "But you know who Lance Ruben is?"

"I do jobs for him. You know – bodyguard work."

Among other, less tasteful things, I presumed. "And Mr. Ruben's connection to Emmitt Cane?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He said with childlike defiance. "It's not relevant to the case."

I found it useful when I just gave him that determined stare last time. I met his eyes and stared hard.

Success! Eventually, he tilted his head from side to side, annoyed. "They got some kind of deal. Lance offers Emmitt services from time to time, and the Canes pay a bundle of cash. Nothing illegal, but..." he lifted his hands, palm up. I knew what he meant and believed him.

The Venir could easily piss off the rest of the Imperium while following their every law. One of the Imperium's Ten Commands was to report any extra-dimensional activity. Another Command is to make every attempt to prevent knowledge about magic from spreading. There was a thin line between those two laws, in which Lance could potentially offer information he'd learned in another dimension without actually telling anyone where it came from. While perfectly legal, the Imperium hates him for it.

Plus, it explains how Cane Industries might have grown so fast in the past decade, despite heavy competition.

I got up to leave.

"If Lance wanted Emmitt Cane dead, he'd disappear. No body. No evidence. And for god sakes, the killing wouldn't show up on camera. Whoever did this was an amateur. Got themselves caught using a weapon not many know how to use. I'm surprised the killer's still alive."

I had to admit – James had a point. I never did suspect him, but I knew he was somehow tangled up in the murder. As Lara would put it, Mr. Ruben's probability as suspect dropped.

As I turned, I realized that this would be a good time to give him a card with my name and number on it. "If you remember anything else, let me know." I really had to get some of those made. "Thanks for your help."

"Yeah, see you around."

### Chapter 8

When I got back to my Triplex, Lara had a perfectly tailored Tuxedo. I didn't have much clothes, but what I did have hardly fit into my small closet, and she clearly didn't want to tempt fate by squeezing in one more, so it was draped over the back of chair. She, meanwhile, was sitting with arms and legs crossed impatiently on the couch.

"Hi," I said, walking in, taking off my jacket and crossing to the Tux. "Looks good."

"How'd things go with James?"

"Okay, I guess. I don't think he did it."

"Hmm..."

"His motive is kind of weak. He was only the step child of, err–." I realized I didn't remember Daddy Cane's name. "Daddy Cane. James was never entitled to any the inheritance, and knew it for years. Also, I haven't checked on this, but James said he spent the night in jail for being drunk and disorderly."

"Solid alibi, if it checks out," she said.

"Yeah." I grabbed the tux and looked it over. "Have any trouble getting this?"

"Got it first try," she said.

I nodded and went to the bedroom room to change.

The few times I've tried at probability magic were about as big of letdowns as they come.

Essentially she took all variables of a given situation into account, determined the chances that she'll get the result she wants, and casts a spell to change probability. Although this sounds simple, extraneous variables can change everything. To get the tuxedo, she likely asked the shopkeeper how many tuxedos he had, how many sizes there were, and who knows what else. Upon finding out the probability that a guess would turn out correct, such as twenty-three-thousand-seven-hundred to one ratio, she just believes that she'll guess that lucky number. Presto. I've got a well-fitting tux.

If it sounds farfetched, it's because it is. Plus, it seems to go against the rules of just about every other type of magic out there. Personally, study the hell out of something like fire, and use that knowledge to blow my problems up.

"Have you talked to Cameron lately?" she called from the living room as I looked questionably at my cumber-bun.

"Not since last night. Why?"

"I get a strange feeling about him."

"Why's that?"

"It just seems that he's... I don't know. I get the impression that he's luring you around."

The tux fit me like it was tailored to me. I walked out to find her leaning against the back of the couch in the center of the room and actually looked at her for the first time since I arrived. Her already small stature looked minuscule in the fancy dress.

"Luring me around?"

She shrugged. "I find it odd. Of all the PIs in the city, he hires _us_ , and only minutes before Lance Ruben and the Guardians come to you with the same case. You have to admit the chances of that happening are low."

"You're just obsessed with your probability magic. Cameron's helped me a lot, and he's worried about his family. He probably went to us because we're the only investigators out there that advertise our supernatural knowledge."

"No, Tommy, we're not. Besides, probability is everything," she said as I walked past her to the bathroom for some hair gel. "I think he's hiding something from you."

"The only one hiding anything is us. By law, I can't tell him half the things I learned."

"Fine," she said, defiantly.

I didn't encourage her with a retort.

Behind her shell of aggression, I knew Lara was simply a young woman lacking confidence. She'd spent her life succeeding in everything except her goals. Before retirement, her father was Chief Guardian. Before him, her uncle filled the spot. I figure to deal with her shortcomings, she confronts everyone around her, desperate to prove they're wrong and she's right.

_Wow,_ I thought as I glanced in the mirror. In this tuxedo, my haircut actually works for me. Slipping a small bit of product into my hand, I adjusted my bangs. "You look great, by the way," I said.

"Thanks" she said, as I wondered why her tone was so snide. "The shopkeeper gave it to me, courtesy of Cameron."

"Yeah? Well, it's very nice." I said, picking up the comb. "Except, don't you think it's a bit showy?"

"Showy?" she groaned as I glanced at her. The navy dress draped over one shoulder, leaving the other one generously bare. It didn't even come close to her knees, and it hugged her sides far tighter than else anything I'd ever seen her in. If she weren't my sister, I'd describe it as sexy. "We'll be trying to keep a low profile," I reminded.

"That's why I didn't get the red one," she walked away, back into the living room. "What do you want me to look like? Mary Poppins?"

"No, it's– It's just really hot for some dinner party."

"Hot?" she said, like it were a contemptuous insult. "We're going to see a bunch of rich people, who jump at any chance to show themselves off. It'd stand out more with an ugly dress, Tommy, so just leave it be."

I'd rarely ever seen her out of blue jeans and a tank top, growing up as teens in the country. Considering that her family adopted me as a teen, and that we'd only ever seen one another a few weeks out of the year, I really hadn't ever spent all that much time with her outside of the family gatherings. This side of Lara just wasn't one I'd ever seen before, so I shrugged and left the bathroom.

"Okay. I'm ready when you are." I threw her the keys to her car as she led the way out. "So what's the next move?"

I followed in her flowery-scented wake as she said, "This is your case. You tell me."

"Hmm..." I pondered it as I crossed to the passenger side. "For now, I'm going to assume it wasn't James. Luckily, he led me to a couple of new suspects."

"Oh?" she turned on the car.

"Starting with Daniel Cane."

"The other brother?"

"He's got a good motive – assuming he gets away with the murder, he'd get the whole of the Cane family fortune and a spot as interim CEO."

"You think it's him?"

"Maybe. But he's not my first suspect."

"Who is?"

"James' wife, Kelly Freidman. James told me that his wife eventually caught him casting. He used the ol,' it's in my bloodline spiel. Says she bought it, but you never know."

"You think it's her," she reiterated.

"Kelly Freidman – yeah. Emmitt gave James an ultimatum; dump your wife, or get written out of the will. I think that means Emmitt hates Kelly. Then, the day before the murder, Kelly ran off. Obviously, something happened between Kelly and Emmitt. I don't know what it was, but I can venture a guess."

"You think she killed him and ran." she nodded. "Any idea where she is?"

"None. James said no one would ever find her."

"Got it," she said. "So we ask around about Kelly, trying to be discrete."

"That's my plan."

### Chapter 9

From the case files of Special Agent L. Garrison  
Supernatural Investigations Department:

Name: Lance Ruben  
Occupation: Investor/Trader/Entrepreneur/Gambler  
Threat Level: High

Mr. Ruben came up as a person of interest during my investigation of the Warehouse incident, which occurred in a warehouse owned by a subsidiary of a company funded by a company that he owns. He keeps his financial situation purposely obscure and hard to follow.

Mr. Ruben resides at a penthouse in Saint Paul. Roughly four-hundred people live in that complex, but there's still a lot I don't know about it. For one, all residents speak a foreign language I can't recognize, and while I have no proof to back this claim, the resident's confrontational demeanor gave me the impression they were involved in organized crime.

He (or rather, various organizations he owns and operates) also donated billions of dollars to the Cane Industries research and development department. Specifically, he's interested in something called "Project Zeus" although I have yet to get a straight answer from Cane Industries R&D as to what that project actually entails.

As it turns out, police reports confirmed James's story. We spent a few hours at Lara's office, where I jumped at the chance to use free Internet. When the afternoon began turning toward evening, we decided to leave.

The drive only lasted about thirty minutes, which was about thirty minutes shorter than when _I_ drove to the Minneapolis earlier that day. The Cane Industries Headquarters shot up high above the Mississippi, not quite lost in the forest of slightly shorter buildings. I presumed Lara knew her way, because she just drove right there, down one ways and through traffic as though she learned how to drive in downtown. If it were me, I'd be a whirlwind of curse-words.

Eventually, we'd driven into the Cane Industries Headquarter's underground lot, and stopped in front of the Valet, who'd taken the car form us. Lara and I cautiously walked inside.

"Ever been to something like this?" I asked as we headed to the elevator, simply to break the silence.

"I've had a lot of cases, but never something that led me to a party like this." She slipped her keys into her small, navy handbag that matched her dress. Another maroon-vested man awaited us at the elevator. When we stepped in, Lara said, "Upper Ballroom, please."

"Invitation?"

She had it ready and in hand. He gazed at it and nodded before giving it back.

He turned a key on the panel and pressed the button for us, which was always my favorite part of an elevator ride.

"Tommy?"

"Yes?" I looked at her as she brushed back a lock of hair.

I still hadn't gotten used to seeing her in the silky dress. With the light shade of lipstick and dark eyeliner, she seemed a lot different.

"You, ah..." she began, looking up at me carefully. "You be careful tonight."

I cocked up my eyebrow to her, but left it at that. The elevator doors opened a few seconds later and we stepped out together, scanning the room in a nervous wonder.

In Minneapolis, I doubted there was a single building that was simply a blocky square, and the Cane Industries Headquarters was no exception. The uppermost floor was a massive pyramid, cut in half from corner to opposite corner.

From an internal standpoint, the entire room was a right triangle. The ceiling sloped inward until it reached a point in the center of the hypotenuse. We were in the indoor triangle, while a massive, open balcony comprised the other half of the structure. The central wall had a movie-theater sized LCD screen, currently flashing the blue and white Cane Industries Logo. As for the room itself, it was the kind of place I'd have imagined Frank Sinatra performing. The white stage along the central wall circled around a short podium. The angled ceiling above reflected every light in its glossy, windowed surface.

But the most intimidating factor in all of this was definitely the people. I was dead wrong about Lara's dress. 'Sexy' as I initially found it, it was actually among the tamest of them in the mix. Most of them were clearly custom made, sparkling like daylight and fitting to their bodies like they were painted on. The woman nearest us wore a burgundy dress, slit to show off her side almost to her hip.

"Wow." Lara said beside me, echoing my feelings.

"You made it," Cameron said over the polite murmurs of the crowd, somehow popping up from the nearest table of hors d'oeuvres. "Good."

"Nice party," I told him.

"Yeah? Well this side of my family is a pretty tame bunch," he smirked slightly, as though telling me some subtle joke. "I see you got the formal ware without problem."

"You may take that out of the bill," Lara said quickly.

"Nah, don't worry about it. It's a bonus," he said, walking us inside. Cautiously, Lara slipped her hand into my elbow as we walked deeper into the formal chaos.

"You think anyone will be suspicious that a couple of P.I.s are here?" I muttered quietly to him.

"Only if you tell them what you are. Even the Canes don't know most the people around here. If anyone asks, just be vague and say you've got an interest in investing in Cane Industries, but I doubt anyone will. The only reason the turnout is so good is because everyone's looking to snoop around for information on Emmitt's death, anyway. Usually, we only get the board and their families to come. So, you met with James?"

"Yeah." I said, shaking my head. "He's not the guy. At least, that's what I think. He's not directly related to Daddy Cane – never was. He gets nothing out of the murder."

"Yeah?"

Lara spoke up before I could elaborate. "Excuse me Mr. Cane, but I have–"

"Cameron," he corrected her with a pleasant smile.

"Cameron. I have a question that I just feel I must ask," Lara asked briskly.

"Go ahead."

"What is your interest in this case?" she asked in the tone of an accusation.

"My interest? I thought that was obvious," he said.

"Still, I want to know."

"My uncle was murdered, and the police aren't helping," Cameron said.

"And from the sound of it you're hardly in contact with the people involved of the case. You didn't know that James was adopted."

He stopped walking and faced her. "You know, Lara, the tone of your voice makes think I'm a suspect."

I'd already been fired once, and wouldn't let it to happen again. I choose to jump in. "I'm sorry, Cameron. That's not what we believe."

A subtle smile appeared. "It's okay. I pay you to investigate, and you're just looking from every angle. You're right. I hardly know the rest of the Canes, but Emmitt and I have a history. To elaborate, I can tell you that my grandfather is the brother of Fredrick Cane, the victim's father. Which means that Fredrick is my great uncle, and his kids, Emmitt included, are my second cousins. Honestly, I doubt James and Daniel even know who I am, but Emmitt helped me out of a few years ago."

Swirling his Champaign as we walked, he leaned close. "Whereas this side of the family has enough money to make wallpaper made of nothing but Ben Franklins, my other side didn't have it as well. As a freshman in high school, my dad got caught embezzling and spent the next five years in the Federal Penitentiary. That's why I know Uncle Emmitt, as I erroneously call him. He reached out to me and let me live in the Cane Manor with him until I was eighteen. He paid for private boarding schools, clothes, food, everything. We hardly share blood, but he is my family, and after the kindness he offered me, the very least I can do is uncover the truth behind his murder. So, that is why I came to you."

The two of us just stood there for a second, while Cameron waited for her to respond.

She nodded a skeptic's nod.

"So, you don't think James is the one," Cameron said, gracefully changing the topic.

"I checked with his alibi before I came, and it checks out." Lara said. "He spent the night in jail after starting a fight in a bar. He did mention a suspect, though. Kelly Freidman. Ever heard of her?"

"His wife?" Cameron said, peering around the crowd, as though searching for her. "Why her?"

"Because she ran, and because I think she had a reason to hate him. James gets thirty grand, but only if he divorces her. Meanwhile, Kelly ran off the day before the murder. If I had to guess, I'd say she was in it only for the money. When she found out James wasn't getting anything, she killed Emmitt and ran."

"I hate to throw a wrench into your plans, but she didn't run very far. She's here. I saw her earlier – red dress. Attractive, but plain. Hard to miss. I only met her once, and only for a minute, but she seemed the type." Cameron said. "That's her, over there."

I glanced over towards the podium, where a woman in a dull, red dress gripped tightly onto another man's sleeve with dirt-stained nails. Whereas everyone else in the majestic crowd seemed eager to show off their best attire, she appeared to have begrudgingly dragged her only, barely suitable dress from the closet. "That's Daniel she's with – the other brother."

Digging tighter into Daniel's arm, Kelly yanked Daniel around, spinning him as a strict disciplinarian would a worried child. He pulled nervously away, stepping away as she frantically persisted toward him.

Ten feet away from them, a man in a large tux spoke into his collar. I caught Daniel offering a worried shake of his head toward the guard, but a pair of burly men shoved rudely through the crowd, toward the feud.

"Looks serious," Lara said. "You thi–"

"Goddamn it, Thomas!" Bree said, completely rebelling against the timid atmosphere of the otherwise quiet room. Her tall heels clicked angrily toward me. Paul Ingram, the replacement me, tried to keep up as she raged. The caveman in me couldn't help but notice that Bree looked simply spectacular in her dress. It was a lot simpler than most, and far less showy. Sure, the sleeves were long and loose. The skirt draped down past her knees, making it the longest dress in the place. Bree always had a bit of a seventies flare about her. She stood out like an acoustic guitarist at an electronica concert, but _I_ liked it.

But despite her attire, she may as well have been an advertisement for a dominant, law-enforcement agency anyway. The velvet material was cop-uniform blue. Her strawberry blonde flowed behind her as she walked, which showed off the soft, yet currently angry jaw line. "I told you to stay out of this."

Lara and Cameron shuffled back in unison, leaving me to face her alone. "Did you? I must have ignored that. I'll let you know if I find anything."

"Your mere presence here is enough to arrest you. If you had any brainpower at all you would have–"

"Already told you, Bree." I stepped closer, showing off what I hoped was an equally angry face. "When I find out the truth, I'll let you in on it. Hell, I'll even give you credit. How does that sound?"

"This is a private party. How'd you even get in here?" she demanded.

"He's here by my invitation," Cameron said.

"And who the hell are you?" She turned to him.

Cameron met her gaze and withstood it without so much as a twitch. Summing her up, his mouth gave a half smile a polite nod.

"Thomas, go home. Now," Bree said.

"I haven't even had a glass of wine yet."

Her eyes flared at me, as anger poured out of them. "You know what? Grab him," Bree said to Ingram. "Thomas, you're under arrest."

My companions reacted simultaneously. Cameron stepped in front of Ingram. Lara, in a flare of navy brilliance stepped between Bree in I. Staring at Bree over Lara's head, I saw my step-sister jab her finger into Bree's chest "Listen, bitch. We're here for the same reason you are, and we haven't broken any laws. Get over it."

Bree bit her lip, suffocating in frustration. Ingram stood before Cameron, rubbing his hands together nervously as Cameron calmly said, "she's got a point."

With a face as red as her hair, Bree spun and walked away.

The moment they were out of earshot, I exhaled. "Great – the last people I wanted to see. How the hell did _they_ get in here?"

"Laws? Arrest?" Cameron shrugged. "You sure you don't have something you're not telling me about this case?"

I just stared dumbly for a second, but Lara fumed toward him instead. "Mind your own business."

He kept a smile off his lips, but his eyes glinted in amusement. "But needless to say, I think it's clear that I'm not the only person interested in my uncle's death."

Lara didn't answer, and I didn't dare answer for her when she was this annoyed, so I shifted my attention back to Kelly Freidman. She was in the same place, glaring up to the stage. Daniel, however, was not. It only took me a second to find him behind the podium, the focal point of the room.

"Your lady-friend seems to be leaving," Cameron said, nodding at the opposite side of the room. I glanced over, and Cameron was right. Bree was right next to the emergency exit on the far side of the room. She stopped, just outside it, however.

"Ladies and gentleme–," the nervous voice of Daniel Cane pounded through a loudspeaker. A squeal of feedback cut off the end of the phrase, and continued as he tapped the mic a few times.

Something about the area made my instincts buzz. Maybe it was just the dim lighting and an atmosphere that I was unaccustomed to, but something here was emanating power. It grazed my skin, like vapor in a sauna, except with an ominous chill. I glanced at Kelly Freidman hoping it was my imagination bringing about the unsafe dread as I activated my Vision. Thankfully, it had no obvious effect.

"Guests, welcome. I'd like to, ahh, thank all of, um, you for coming. This of course is the Cane Industries bi-annual ceremony." I felt empathetic pain for the guy as I continued scanning the crowd. His words squirmed out through is lips as awkwardly as his over-gelled hairstyle. "We run this for our investors and, umm, all of you who helped Cane Industries have another record-breaking year on so many levels. Fi-Fiscally, we've, grown a full thirteen percent in the past twelve months, and, none of this could have been possible without the aid of people like you. Yet as you all know, this is offset by a tragedy. But through this, err, tragedy we wish to introduce a..."

A muffled pop sent a tangible wave of power through me. Enough so that I could feel the effects ripple through all my senses, even those that weren't magically in-tune. Pure energy reverberated through my body like I was inside a massive subwoofer.

But worse than that was the light that accompanied the waves of power. Completely dominating my vision, its massive intensity dried my eyes. As quickly as I could muster, I deactivated my vision, but the abrupt surprise was enough to keep me staring at nothing but the after-glow, blinking. Cursing silently for not having a decent weapon, I felt my ring grow cool around my finger. Lara gripped my elbow tightly as I blinked away the spears in my eyes.

"What's wrong?" Lara asked. "You okay?" It took me a second, but I still heard Daniel's nervous stammers in the background.

"You didn't feel that?" I half-shouted, wondering why Lara wasn't panicking. "Don't activate your vision!"

Being able to attune your senses to magic is a nifty trick, and extremely useful once you learn how to do it. Some mages, even the best of them, never master the exact methods, and I've only touched upon the talent. However, there's a definite downside to using the Vision. It's not seeing Magic so much as it's blocking out the Equilibrium, like looking at a single star, rather than the night sky it resides in. The equilibrium keeps things in balance, and prevents one star from glowing too brightly.

To summarize, I opened up a hole in my defense, and someone poked it.

I thought I'd gone blind. The only thing I could see, or couldn't see, was darkness. It took me a second to be able to focus on a few flickers of candlelight. That's when I realized that someone cut electricity to the building. But soon, even the dim candles flickered out as the magic blew past them like a gust of wind.

"What's going on?" I asked Lara. "See anything?"

"What am I looking for?" Cameron asked. "Never mind. Found it. There's a ghost."

"Ghost? Same one that killed Gregory?" I asked.

"Large and hairy?" he asked.

"Same one," I said.

Nearby, someone gasped. A second later, someone let out a muffled scream, as though they didn't quite know what it was they were seeing. Still blinking, I focused on a luminous glow behind the fading red circle in my vision.

The ghost was back, and this time the killer was getting cocky.

"Thomas, do something!" Lara said.

"Like what?"

"Work together?" she suggested. "Summon it ourselves and overpower the caster?"

"The only way we could overpower him is to pump more juice into the spell than the bad guy. That ghost only appears with the intent to kill, so best we could do is change the target." I told her, quickly.

The ghost hung silently, his head a few feet higher than the rest of the crowd. One silvery hand was upraised and shaking, straining in effort. Near Daniel, several objects lifted from the two nearest hors d'oeuvres tables – a couple of butter knives, a two pronged fondue fork, and the heavy pot of chocolate that simmered on the edge of a boil.

"Lara!" I said. "What's the name of the Gregory's daughter?"

"Bett– Thomas, no!"

"Hey asshole!" I pointed at the ghost as I stepped forward, mentally opening myself up to the ghost as I empowered my words. "You've got the wrong guy. I'm the one sleeping with Betty!"

The ghost stopped hovering toward Daniel, who stood hunched behind the podium. Slowly, menacingly, he turned its intense stare to rest squarely on me. Baring his teeth in a feral snarl, the ghost speared directly through the parting crowd, whipping toward me. His groan, full of both anguish and murderous intent, chilled the room as he reared toward me.

The fondue pot, too far from me to make a difference, simply dropped. Searing chocolate sprayed across the rest of the treats, ruining most while making others even more delightful. Someone howled in pain as the hot liquid splattered across them.

By now, an aisle parted as people shoved their way frightfully out of the maddened ghost's path. Bringing to mind my most practiced spells, I empowered my ring and focused the energy within.

"Ventus Pulsis!"

A wide wall of particles hardened into a crystalline barrier, which blasted directly into the ghost. His mats of hair flourished up behind him, but it didn't even slow his approach. Instead, he made a fist with one hand and twisted.

I bit down in pain as my finger popped like chicken bone under a hammer.

I tried to redirect it by ordering it to attack me – not that guy standing right here, but _me._ While this allowed me to pour a lot of my own will into the ghost, thus taking control, it also opened me up to a direct assault, which he exploited through my ring on my hand. Grasping my pounding hand against my chest, I mentally revoked permission.

"It's her!" Lara said, sprinting past the ghost and toward the door.

"Huh," I said, stepping forward. I followed her gaze to see Kelly Freidman hurrying away. A piercing, monotone alarm should have sounded as she burst through the emergency exit, but since there was no power, there was no alarm.

But before I got further, the ghost stopped right in front of me. He had his mouth open in a vengeful wale, casting echoes through the dark chamber. My panicking mind tried to calm down enough to consider my options. Squeezing my eyes shut and thoroughly regretting my plan, I charged forward toward the exit on a crash course that took me directly through the ghost's chest.

Death itself made contact with my skin. My every nerve prickled. My skin seemed to want to curl into itself. But other than that I got through just fine. Gregory Scythe's terrifying bellow momentarily died.

But just as Lara got to the exit, Bree caught her in a sidelong tackle, throwing them both over the chocolate-covered hors d'oeuvres table.

"Thomas, stop!" Bree shouted, shoving Lara away as she pulled a slender wand from her purse.

"Go!" Lara shouted, throwing her small body into Bree's arm. Bree gripped Lara by the hair along the side of her head as I passed, and twisted her body in a way that thrust Lara to the ground, but I didn't have time to see if Lara recovered.

"Go!" Cameron also shouted, heading to Lara's side. To my enormous surprise, he ripped Bree's wand from her hand the moment he got there, whipping it over the crowd and across the room. "Find Kelly!"

Then, I spotted Ingram, pushing two women out of his way. My brain decided to stay and make sure any innocents didn't get caught in the crossfire. My instincts, meanwhile, were afraid of Ingram. Instincts took over, and I bolted toward the emergency exit, after Kelly Freidman.

With an afterthought, I touched my ring to the door's handle when I got to it and said 'three seconds,' in Latin as I thought of a spell that would make the handle red hot. Then, I flung myself out the door.

The ballroom was a vision of perfection. However, the staircase was a drab example of mediocrity and gray dullness. If it weren't for one entire wall being a slightly reflective window, it'd be completely unremarkable. The emergency stairwell was a square, spiraling staircase that led all the way to ground level.

I stopped only to look down the center of the staircase, which dropped nearly endlessly.

Someone only a foot behind me howled painfully into my ears, "You have no right!"

I jumped like a kid in a haunted house. The ghost of Gregory Scythe wafted through the door, still snarling in anger. However, one advantage to such a dull room was a complete lack of ammunition to throw at me.

I started sprinting down the staircase, trying my best to ignore the pulsing pain in my finger.

Kelly Freidman's footsteps echoed up from a couple floors down. Her heels clicked in a stead, high beat. Running down after her, trying to ignore the frustrating pain of my finger, I shouted, "Kelly, stop!"

She slammed her weight into the floor below us, but it was locked. As I rounded down the first of several stairs, noting a big, number fifty-three as I went.

Rather than following directly, the ghost hovered down the hole in the center of the stairs, pointing at me as I ran. A floor later, the clicking stopped, but a second later a softer shuffle of bare feet against concrete replaced it. A floor and a half later, I saw discarded high-heels.

Then, back at the top, something outside the door pounded against the searing handle, but halted before going on. I grinned at my moment of success.

"Stay away from me," Kelly shouted up the staircase.

Back at the top, the door squealed loudly, then tumbled inside. If he kicked it in, he did it like a pro, because I heard the door crack against the railing above. Then, it clattered up and over the railing, where it dropped like an anvil down the square center of the staircase. With a hefty swish, the door slid down through the ghost without him even noticing.

"Mr. Amberose! Under Imperium Law I order you to surrender!" Ingram stared down over the railing, holding a slender rod in one hand.

"You have no right!" Gregory shouted.

I only glanced between floors, but as I did a line of white-hot fire speared toward me in a line. It wasn't as fast as a bullet, however, and I was well past it before it hit the ground and hissed into concrete floor behind me. However, when I reached the staircase below, I saw it already began melting through and had to dodge as bubbling drop of melted building.

"No right!" The ghost howled in its berserk rampage.

"Oh, get over it!" I shouted back.

Ingram added his rhythm of stomps to the mix.

Forty... As I ran, I couldn't help but regret that I didn't have the money for a membership to a gym.

Thirty... Time had worn me down months ago, and my lungs sent chilled needles through my windpipe to let me know it. The worst part was that Kelly didn't seem to be slowing. Nor was Ingram, or the ghost, who howled his signature phrase again a couple more times. I knew I couldn't keep it up, but forced myself not to stop.

Twenty...

Maybe I was dizzy from twirling around each and every floor while a ghost hovered beside me. Maybe it was the fact that my muscles felt like rapidly evaporating whipping cream, but I fell down and rolled to the nineteenth stairwell, and spent the next two stairwells nursing a battered elbow. Worst, I wasn't any closer to Kelly than I started.

Ten... By this time, all three of us were beginning to slow. My legs ached, protesting with each new staircase. I hated each new step, but knew I couldn't stop. I knew I had to outrun the Guardians. Ingram already showed me that failure would be fatal.

Five. Four. Three.

Finally, at the second floor, Kelly shoved a door open below and sprinted through it, holding her own side. My knees and ankles had knives in them, and my vision blurred, both form exertion, and from rounding so many corners. With my chest nearing its breaking point, I held my right, non-damaged hand forward and shoved the door open after her, finding my path leading to an open hallway.

Minnesota was cold in the winter. In order to combat this cold, there's an entire skyway system that connects most buildings in downtown Minneapolis. In some ways, the skyways are like city streets; fast food chains, flower shops, cafes and convenience stores are on just about every corner – the difference between Minneapolis and, say New York, is that here they're one floor up. At night, however, the entire system shuts down. Some routes are still open, but all are deserted aside from the occasional cops on patrol. Kelly Freidman was in a full-out, wheezing down the center of the wide, glass-sided tunnel over an empty road.

"Kelly, sto-aye!" I said, yelping at the sight of my twisted middle finger. It leaned sideways at a thirty-degree angle.

She stopped at the end of the hallway and turned back. "I'm not Kelly – leave me alone!"

The ghost flowed past me and between the two of us, his scorn gleaming on his bluish face. The panes of glass began to vibrate as I felt another deadly chill come about. "You..."

A second later, the door opened again. Ingram stepped out.

"...Have..."

For such a small man, Ingram was certainly menacing. He held his focus wand at his side as he stepped forward in his rumpled tuxedo. His eyes twitched angrily as he shouted, "Thomas Amberose! Surrender your focuses and stop running, or I _will_ kill you."

"Listen to him, Thomas!" Bree warned from Ingram's side. It took me a moment to realize she'd taken the elevator and beaten us down.

"...No..." the ghost continued.

Around him, the glass vibrated dangerously. His locks of transparent hair flowed behind him as though in some kind of menacing hurricane. His very essence was–

"Dissupo!" Ingram said with a flick of his wand.

The ghost faded anticlimactically.

My footsteps slowed as my lungs heaved a final breath before giving out. I looked back for only a second, and knew that there was no way he'd miss. By the time I turned back toward Kelly she was gone.

I'd been a Guardian for three years. I knew that he was serious in his death threats. Maybe I could dodge him going down a circular staircase, but not in a confining hallway. The bastard probably wouldn't lose sleep over it, either.

I'd just have to explain the truth. I wasn't guilty, and the proof made that obvious. Turning around and holding my hands up harmlessly, I said, "Fine. You got me."

### Chapter 10

Ingram walked slowly toward me, his weapon held toward my chest. "Your Foci. I want them."

I gritted my teeth, because I knew what was coming. Mages tended to make notes of the foci of others. It's good to know what someone can use as a weapon. Since I worked with Bree in the past, I was certain they'd know all of mine. "And your staff – where is it?"

"About the ring," I said, avoiding the sight of my crooked finger. "I'll offer an oath of truth, or disenchant it. But as you can see, I don't really–"

"Not good enough. Give me the ring." I stared at his gray eyes as he licked his lips.

Clenching my teeth, I readied the power in my ring and focused the chill in my finger. The cold made it numb, and as I cupped my hand around the ring I noticed an unintentional side effect; the heated ring became slightly bigger and more malleable. Still, it felt like I'd exposed my finger to the tracks beneath a roaring train. Determined as I was to hold any pain back, a heinous groan still escaped my lips as I ripped it off my finger.

Every frantic beat of my heart pulsed through my hand. Blood beat in my finger like my own, internal hammer. In the same motion as taking it off, I just chucked it aside, hoping it'd land in some cranny for him to scope out later. He didn't even bother to look as he grabbed me harshly by the elbow and ushered me forward.

Bree took the other side, covered lightly with streaks of chocolate, and a slender aluminum wand in hand.

"Bree, you saw me up there," I said. "I didn't do it."

Judging from the ice in her stare, I figured she wasn't convinced.

"And Ms. Mercer?" Ingram asked.

"Got away," Bree said, her lip raised in distaste.

"But she's innoc–"

"Quiet!" she said, striding quickly over. "Let's go."

Ingram grabbed my arm and shoved me back toward the building where it all began. Although I expected to go back toward the door, Bree started down the right hallway, so I figured there was an elevator to the underground parking garage nearby. It wasn't long before we were in that elevator.

The second the doors closed on the three of us Ingram said, "This man has friends in high places. They could free him if we let them."

She stared at me and bit her lip. "I know."

"Maybe I'll get off easy and they'll make me quit my job again," I added. It was totally worth Ingram's punch to the ribs.

"He was resisting arrest," Ingram said. "We could still kill him."

Bree met his eyes, as though considering.

The Bree I used to know would _never_ consider any kind of murderous action. Before, the thought of being arrested brought about fear, but it was an uncertain type of fear. A fear of the unexpected, for I knew the Imperium wouldn't kill me. They'd take away my magic, maybe. Or, at worst they'd exile me from America and Europe, but not kill me. But when Bree looked at me with eyes I no longer recognized, I wondered how much, if any, of the old Bree was left.

"Seriously," I argued, "I know you're mad at me for what happened to your brother, but the Bree I used to know would never even consider doing what he's suggesting."

The elevator doors opened, but not one of us moved for several seconds. Then, she shoved me forward and said, "We're going to get the judges to declare his sentence."

Bree passed me then, as Ingram jabbed me with his thin, foot long wand. To hide it, he took of his jacket and held it over the weapon.

This isn't the end, Thomas – Think! You can get out of this.

"Bree, I'll give you my oath."

"Oaths can be deceiving. Especially if you had time to prepare."

"Which you did," Ingram said behind me through his thin mustache.

Oaths were the simplest spells of all – essentially, they were a spoken or written agreement between two people. But like a polygraph, it's only accurate most of the time. In general, they always work the same. The person giving the Oath says that if he speaks a lie, he gives the interrogator the ability to bypass all magical defenses and directly influence his or her mind and body with magic.

"Besides," Bree said with all the rage of a bear. "I know they don't work on you."

My fists clenched involuntarily, sending another spike of pain down my finger. During my trial after the warehouse incident, I'd given oath after oath, and I always gave the same answers – the truthful answers. Honestly, I didn't clearly remember a span of roughly twenty minutes. Not many believe this, since amnesia was about as rare in magical circles as in everyone else's.' However, that's the story.

I happened to know that Bree drove the kind of large SUV that entirely contradicts her liberal characteristics, so I assumed the four-door car we came to was Ingram's.

I saw Bree actually smirk for the first time in a year as she said, "You know the drill. I'll be in here."

"Ahh... My favorite part of getting arrested," I said, throwing as much sarcasm into my voice as possible.

She didn't respond as she walked around to the driver's side of the car and got inside.

Boy did I hate getting captured by the Guardians. Not only were they good at falsely accusing people of crimes, but they were also good at detaining them. My least favorite part of detainment was checking for Foci.

A focus could be anything. Wands, Staves and Rods, were the best for combat, since they had an obvious direction made into them. Point and shoot. If security is around, however, something like a staff can be pretty hard to justify. Jewelry was the second most common because it's small, durable, often made of a single element, and doesn't make you stand out in a crowd. However, you can program magic into anything. A shirt button, perhaps, or even fabric; if it was never alive, it was fair game.

I pulled off my tux jacket, mentally promising Cameron I'd pay back every cent to the renter. Then came my shirt. With a cautious glance around the empty parking lot, I did the rest until I was cold and naked. Apparently, they'd expected to make an arrest since they parked on the lowest level, away from all other cars. "I hope you've got a spare suit in the car."

He shook his head just enough to answer as he opened the back door for me. As I turned to get in, he gripped my bad finger. Pure reaction thrust my elbow back into his stomach, but he was expecting it. He put more pressure onto my hand as he kneed me in my already bruised ribs. Finally, he shoved me headfirst into the back seat, and although I tried to throw my arms in front of me to cushion my fall, the part that slapped onto the leather seat first was my face. I yanked, but my wrists were bound by a pair of handcuffs.

"Watch your fingers," Ingram said with a smile as I struggled to turn onto my side and sit up. The door slammed just as I got my foot inside, and he jumped into the passenger seat up front. Ten seconds later, Bree had the car in motion.

"Don't use your magic," Bree warned as she pulled back. "The cuffs will just get tighter. Wouldn't want a pair of broken wrists, would you?"

At this late hour, the parking lot was mostly empty. Sadly, I didn't have the fortune of a manned pay station. Not that it would help, since they'd probably just magic up some way out of any trouble. The back windows were fairly dark, so it was unlikely that anyone would see me in anything less than sunlight anyway. That put my chances of being rescued by a passing stranger down to a very low percentage.

I ran through my limited options. Above all, there was one I had to avoid at all costs – I could _not_ under any circumstances, stay in their detainment. The Imperium is corrupt. The Judges of the Imperium don't like me. And worst of all, they already had me pinned as the bad guy. The friends they mentioned only had so much sway, which they'd exerted during the warehouse incident. They both seemed convinced I was the bad guy, which meant that the evidence wouldn't save me. Therefore, I _had_ to escape.

I realized Lara was still out there. She'd never had the aptitude of a battlemage, but she was one of the smartest people I knew. Maybe there was a chance she'd solve this thing before they kill me. Or maybe she'd have a tricky way to get me out.

Or maybe she was elsewhere, panicking as she tried to think of her options. Smart could only get you so far if you can't apply your knowledge in a pinch. I decided that no matter what, I needed more time.

A naked backside feels extremely strange on leather. Especially when you've built up a sweat by running down fifty plus floors. "You never answered my question yesterday, Bree. How have you been?"

"Be quiet," Ingram said.

"You really can hold a grudge, can't you?"

What I needed was some way to get out of this car. As I felt the leather, I knew it simply wouldn't do. Animal hide wasn't as immune to magic as an animal would be, but it was resistant.

I pored through the few spells I knew by rote. At best, I could start the leather on fire. Not very helpful when there's nothing between it and your bare ass. Then, I felt a cold bit of metal. I nearly broke into a smile as I realized it was the seatbelt hook.

I remembered Bree's warning about the cuffs. Apparently, they'd clamp at the first sign of magic. I ground my teeth as I tried to think of a way around it and realized something important. Handcuffs lack both brains and the senses required to detect magic. Sure, if my magic brushed up directly to the magic in the cuffs they'd react, but it was simply impossible to make them detect magic elsewhere.

Ingram stared at me, careful to keep his gaze well above the belly button while he kept his focus rod aimed at my chest. What I needed was a distraction. Even if I could make the seatbelt hook into a focus, it wouldn't do me any good with the magical equivalent of a flame-spraying gun aimed at my chest. I needed a distraction big enough to focus Ingram's attention away from me for just a second.

"You know, this leather feels weird on my ass," I shuffled a bit to the side to clarify my point, listening to the squishy, squeaking sounds. Ingram rolled his eyes, and I grabbing the metal head of the seatbelt as he did.

They didn't notice. Good. "I didn't summon the ghost, Bree. I swear it on my magic."

"Good for you," she said.

I had an idea. A horrible, destined to fail idea.

I ran it through my mind, trying not to focus on how insane it happened to be. So it might kill me, but what else is new? And even if I did survive, it was all but proving to them that I was guilty. It was insane beyond reason, and even if it distracted them enough for me to make a daring escape, I'd only be throwing myself into more imminent danger.

But then again, I'm probably going to die if I just sit here.

We were nearing the bridge over the Mississippi River, which would lead to the highway. If I were to have any chance of escape, I would have to free myself while still in this city. Preferably, before I even got to Bree's house. So, I stared into the road ahead as I focused my mind.

I thought about the ghost, and about Gregory Scythe. I envisioned his scraggly locks of grungy hair, and rage that accompanied his every essence. I thought about his insane desire to protect his daughter, and hatred that surely filled his soul. I took a moment to simply let that image solidify in my mind's eye. Then, keeping that all in my mind I willed myself to entirely believe my next thought.

Gregory Scythe is just outside of this car.

I felt the spell work immediately as the air in the car dropped several degrees. A fine mist simply appeared to obscure the street, blocking out even the nearby streetlights. Bree straightened her back, but Ingram was facing me, oblivious to what was in front of us.

Yes – it worked. His mystical glow illuminated the fog like a second moon, even through the dark fog. The problem was, I hadn't accounted for all the extra power. Apparently, the new witnesses gave extra fuel for the spell. The dozen or more new believers equated to a lot of spiritual spinach.

Staring ghostly eyes forward, they locked murderously with mine as the bumper of a nearby car launched toward us and pounded into our car's windshield.

Ingram flinched and stared forward as I focused my entire brain on the metal seatbelt. Thankfully, it was of one of the alloys I knew. Pushing physics aside, I grabbed the plastic end of the hook as I touched the metal to the cuffs. Throwing more magic into the seatbelt hook than ever before, making it colder than anything I ever had, I refocused the temperature to approach absolute zero.

This time, a plastic jug holding a gallon of milk simply flung out of the mist. It came from who-knows-where and simply exploded across the windshield, covering it in blinding, white cream. Bree squealed on the breaks as I felt condensation freeze the bands around my wrist.

I ground my teeth against the jolts of pain. It felt like I'd thrown my wrists over an open flame. Knowing I'd held the metals together for long enough, I yanked my arms apart. Like they were made of brittle taffy, the cold metal chain shattered apart at the center link. I grabbed Ingram's thin wand before anything else. The second I shoved it away from my face, it sprayed another bout of flame, melting a hole in the glass behind me.

"Stren–" he began, but I grabbed his nose and twisted, three stooges style. It's hard to finish a verbal spell when someone's gotcher schnoz. Besides, Streinuus is Quazi-Latin for activate. Since I still had the bands of the enchanted cuffs on my wrists, they could probably still clamp like the jaws of a snapping turtle and end my plight for freedom before I was out of the car.

The car jerked madly as something hit it near the rear end. Our vehicle slid diagonally to the side, and for a few seconds it wobbled as though entertaining the thought of flipping onto its top. Without my seatbelt, I was thrown onto my side, where I landed on what felt like a white-hot poker.

It's strange – when things get cold beyond the point of human tolerance, touching them feels more like a burn than anything else. Howling in sudden pain, I realized I was sitting on the car's frozen buckle.

Even in my bout of panic, it only took a stray thought to revert it back to normal temperature now that it was a focus, but I doubted I'd be able to sit for a week, assuming I live through this.

Just as I recovered composure, the car shuffled in the opposite direction as Bree struggled for control. I slammed against the back of Bree's seat in my struggle to prevent myself from face planting down behind the driver's seat.

Ingram turned back to me, so I used the one advantage I had – I lifted my legs and thrust my heel toward his face. He put up his hands and blocked it, but my second kick knocked into his temple, and he spun woozily before slumping against the dashboard. His weapon fell somewhere between the seats. I knew I wouldn't get a better chance, so I tried the unlocked door, cursing as I realized the child protection lock was on and keeping me in.

"Damn it, Thomas! The hell do you think you're doing!" Bree shouted as a hefty rock sprang off the windshield, leaving a spider web of blinding cracks.

"Kelly Freidman summoned the ghost – not me. The ghost exists because a bunch of people believes it does. Google a man named Gregory Scythe, and you'll see. Let me go and I'll prove I'm innocent."

"You'll die out there alone!" Bree said, glancing out at the maddened ghost.

"I didn't think you'd care about that," I shouted as I grabbed the focused seatbelt hook.

I didn't know that many spells on the fly, but a blast of force was one of them. With my ring I could have done it the first try, but with two quick blasts I blew the door of the car cleanly off its hinges. It flew without grace into a lamppost and crumbled to the ground loudly. "Stop the car, Bree!"

I sat up and met her eyes in the rear-view mirror. She looked terrified, but not for her own life. If I had to, I'd jump out of the moving car, and she knew it. It was, after all, a fate better than a trial with the Imperium.

Ingram pushed himself slowly up, and my time was up. With an effort not to look down at the road as it sped by I readied my legs to spring out.

Before I could, Bree slammed on the breaks, launching Ingram into the dashboard again.

I didn't take time to regain my composure. The last thing I heard before stepping barefoot and bare-assed onto the sandy pavement was Bree swearing at me.

Overall, it was my best escape ever. I still had the ghost charging after me, and there was no doubt that the flame-throwing pyromaniac would join the fray in a heartbeat, but I was alive. Oh, and I was still naked, but you just have to deal with life one problem at a time.

### Chapter 11

Ingram got right out after me. Maybe I convinced Bree not to kill me, but her blood-lusting partner tasted my blood and wanted more. The street was relatively narrow, and since it was not business hours, the right lane allowed parking. I ducked between two cars as I ordered the ghost to depart.

Yet the mist still remained, as did the shimmering man several yards away. The ghost was staring at me the whole time as the fog thickened around the cluster of buildings. Even as I demanded him to leave, nothing happened, which meant that either that ghost had another mage there to focus him, or he'd become a completely sentient, self focused spell. If it was self-focused, I was in a lot of trouble.

There were other ways to rid myself of it – I could doom Ingram by turning it against him, for example. Sure, he deserved it more than I did, but I doubt the council would take kindly to me killing one of their members on my quest to prove my innocence. Especially if I kill him using the same spell that killed Emmitt Cane.

Oh, I also have these morals holding me back.

It probably wouldn't work anyway since this ghost would go after the man he thought to be sleeping with his daughter. I was naked. Paul Ingram wasn't. If you were a homicidal ghost looking to kill a womanizer, what would you think? I kept my head down as Ingram ignored the ghost and hurried forward.

I looked around for something – anything – that I could grab and turn into a focus. However, there wasn't anything around. I was limited to the materials I knew extremely well. As far as the buckle went, I got extremely lucky until I stepped out of the car, but I wouldn't find any metal in arms reach. I could find a stray pebble, perhaps, but I didn't have a clue as to how to determine the elements within it, let alone imbue them with magic.

The car I hid beside rocked, and on mostly instinct I stepped between it and the one behind it. It was fortunate that I did, since it let me see the nearest lamppost rip itself out of the ground. Sparks sprayed from the disconnecting wires inside the post. With an adrenaline-fueled thrill, I spun to the opposite side of the car as the lamp whisked down like a giant's pickaxe on the spot I'd been moments before.

A second set of tires then squealed to a stop directly beside me. At first I thought it was to avoid hitting the ghost right in front of the car, but as the door flung open I saw Lara. "Get in!"

Her car, and the relative safety if offered, was only three steps away. I bolted toward it, but my foot flattened down on jagged rock on the second step. With my balance unstable, I was barely able to throw my upper body across the seat. I yanked my legs inside as Lara slammed the pedal, and the sudden burst of speed slammed the car door shut.

"How'd you find me?" I said, adjusting myself into a sitting position.

"Are you kidding?" she said, as I looked back.

I suppose I did leave a trail of crumbs. A car door. A puddle of milk. A streetlamp, and of course, a ghost. My relief at the rescue faded when I saw the ghost hovering back there.

"I think it's sentient," I told her. "I can't unsummon it."

"Great." she said. "And you're naked with a girl. The worst possible conditions for bringing about the ghost of Gregory Scythe."

"Could be worse. At least you're not naked," I said, holding my hand toward the ghost and willing the magic within him to die.

"You're not helping," she hissed as she drove on, turning abruptly onto a bridge. "Hold the wheel." Her lips were muttering at a hare's pace, and I realized she was casting something.

This time, the ghost attacked Lara's minimobile directly, pounding a heavy force onto the rear of the car. The ghost then hovered up beside us as a metal signpost ripped free of a barrier along the side of the bridge. Lara's gaze locked onto the signpost as the sharp end turned toward me.

I tried to do something, but with no focus, the only thing I could do was gawk. The ghost, whose smile revealed complete insanity, clawed toward the hovering street-sign. The metal speared into the window, passed inches from my head and out of the back seat window on the far side as the ghost moaned in rage outside the door.

"Good job!" I said, knowing that Lara's spell had simply changed its trajectory in much the same way she'd done this morning when she threw her keys into my pocket.

"I can't keep doing this!" Lara said with a terror-stricken voice.

The mist following the car loosened up a bit.

I gritted my teeth and shouted, "Just drive."

We were only halfway across the bridge, and I saw my only chance. Pressing my hand against the window, there was only one thing I could think of to do. I threw my willpower into the air outside – specifically, the hydrogen and oxygen. Grabbing the seatbelt buckle, I focused that, putting an energy conversion spell that focused on temperature. Then, with my eyes locked onto the ghost I said the words I choose to activate the spell.

"Freeze, jackass."

Within seconds, the seatbelt hook became fiery hot. Feeling a sudden blur as I used most of my mental reserves, I couldn't help but grin upon seeing my success. Outside, the water particles in the air around the ghost became tiny chunks of sleet. His anger-contorted face fell, literally, as his body became solid and gained weight. Starting in the center, the mist surrounding the ghost condensed into frost, which then fell into the Mississippi River below.

I sighed in relief.

For the next mile after the river, I searched behind us, scanning the cityscape for signs of the ghost as we drove. A sentient being, like anything else, can only do things in which it knows how. It seems strange to think of losing a ghost by driving quickly, but as we sped over the bridge and left, the spontaneous fog disappeared.

Satisfied to a point, I cooled the seatbelt.

Maybe Gregory Scythe was gone for good. Maybe not, but so long as I closed my mind off to it, it couldn't track me, and within a matter of minutes we were safe. Relatively.

### Chapter 12

"Do all the parties you go to end up being so much fun?" Lara asked, her relief exaggerated in her voice.

Considering that several different points of my body were throbbing, I wasn't in the mood for our typical banter. My finger was bent, throbbing even more with every heartbeat. I hadn't noticed this through the adrenaline, but when I ripped apart the handcuffs, frozen crumbs of metal glued themselves onto my back, just above the tailbone. The handcuff links still on my wrist were warm by now, but rubbed uneasily against the frost burns they created during my escape. And to top it all off, I couldn't rest any weight on my right butt cheek. Every time the car jerked, I had to tense up or let my frost burn touch the seat.

"You okay?" I asked her when I fixed myself into a somewhat comfortable position.

"Yeah," she said. "Not much happened in the ballroom after you left. Bree shoved me away and ran off after you, and we took an elevator down the parking garage."

"We?" I asked.

"Close call out there." Cameron Cane's voice said.

"You!" I said with such surprise that I nearly beat my head against the ceiling of the minimobile.

"Something wrong?" he asked, relaxed in back seat as he handed his tux jacket up to me. I grabbed it and put it over my lap. I figured he'd kept his head down during the chase and I hadn't even noticed him. "Err, sorry. Didn't see you back there. Thanks."

"So where are we going?" Cameron asked.

"I, err..." I stared ahead as we drove. "No idea."

Knowing Lara, I was surprised she had him tag along, especially since there were spells flinging around now. I guess that means we can't keep the secret of magic's existence from him any longer.

"Those people?" Cameron said. "Are they some kind of law enforcement?"

Seeing our unwillingness to respond, Cameron went on. "No matter, but I presume you don't want them to find you."

Finally, something I could answer. But then again, I was an outlaw anyway. Why not tell Cameron everything?

Because, Thomas, you're still innocent. All you need to do is prove it.

"I think its best we avoid them, yeah," I said.

"They know where we live, so we'd better not go there," Lara said.

"Take a right up here." Cameron said.

"Got someplace in mind?"

"Cane Manor – it's a bit of a drive, but I figure you don't mind. It'll be safe."

"The site of the murder? Are you crazy?" Lara asked.

Cameron gave a half-smirk as he watched the road. "It'll be the last place they look. Besides, I've got a key."

"Good idea, but it won't work," I said. "You were seen with us – chances are, they'll figure out who you are and look into you, next. They'll find us."

"Besides, Thomas saw the ghost there twice already." Lara said. "It's growing more powerful. Anywhere near its home is probably dangerous."

"Hmm..." he said, leaning back. "In that case, I recommend the Children of Faith Church." I cocked an eyebrow at him, and he went on. "It's a few miles away from the manor."

"A church?" Lara asked.

"It's holy ground," he answered. "Sanctuary. Besides, this one closes down at night, and I know the priest. We might have to break in, but I don't think he would mind, considering the circumstances."

"I'd rather take my chances elsewhere." Lara said skeptically. "I'm thinking we hit up a store and buy him some new clothes. From there, we improvise."

"What if they tracked your car?" I said to Lara.

She glared at the road in annoyance. Making a focus is easy. Tracking that magic is just as easy for a mage with more than a passing interest in magic. It would be very simple for them to slip some of their magic onto Lara's car. Considering that both Bree and Ingram were right outside my house the previous afternoon, not twenty yards away from the minimobile, I figured that ditching the car should be our new first move.

Cameron took charge by saying, "Then you'll drive to the church, and I'll take your car to the Manor. They already know I'm involved, but I'll throw them off the trail if I can."

"Honestly, Cameron, I think you should stay away from them for a few days," I said.

"They're dangerous people," Lara agreed, getting onto the highway.

"In that case I'll leave your car at the Manor, and I'll take one of mine back to meet you."

"Meet us?" Lara scowled. "What part of stay away didn't you hear?"

He spoke calmly back to her, ignoring her annoyance. "Like it or not, Ms. Mercer, I've got a part in this ordeal. My presence would be an asset in solving the case."

"Your presence?" she stared darts into the rearview mirror.

"My knowledge of the suspects has been crucial up to this point. All you've got to do is find Kelly Freidman and see this through to the end. If these people are as dangerous as you say, than another ally is far more beneficial to you than throwing me to the curb. Especially an ally who is financially fit and willing to use whatever resources at his disposal to help."

Lara flushed with anger. "Look, Cane – this whole case – the ghost, the Imperium – it's got nothing to do with you. You stumbled into something big and you're treating it like it's just another perk of being rich. You have no reason to come with us, and I don't care about the money. I'm dropping you as a–"

"Lara, please!" I shouted into the mix. "He's not out to get us. Besides, he's right. At the moment, we're out of options."

I could actually hear her teeth grinding together as she drove. I stared at her uneasily. Sure, she was calm and composed when doing things such as research, but there was a reason she'd failed the Guardian field test three times.

Waiting a moment for her to calm down, I leaned back gingerly in the seat and added, "We'll go to the church, and figure out our next move there."

She stared forward, and it was a wonder that her mood didn't bring out another bout of icy fog.

### Chapter 13

From: L.Garrison@FBI-SI.com  
To: Special Agent John Jonas  
Subject: Emmitt Cane Murder Investigation.

John

Given Mr. Amberose's history that strongly implies he is a mage, I started my investigation with him. However, surveillance shows that he was eating alone in his house during the time of the murder.

There is something it did pick up, however. Surveillance outside of Mr. Amberose's house placed Thomas Amberose and Lance Ruben together in a car a few hours ago. Mr. Ruben sat in his passenger seat armed with a pistol while the two had a conversation.

My recommendation is to continue this investigation, but turning to Lance Ruben as the main suspect of interest. To summarize last month's report, Lance has earned billions in marginally legal, impossible to trace methods. His recent dealings with Mr. Amberose imply a connection to the "alleged" supernatural community. I can't say with certainty that Mr. Ruben was behind Emmitt Cane's murder, but I am have no doubt that he has some involvement the events leading to his death.

That was the last we spoke to one another for the rest of the drive. The church was just far enough away from the suburbs to make streetlights scarce. Wasting no time, Lara and I got out of the car the moment it stopped; the only delay was when she grabbed a white box from the glove compartment. She handed the keys roughly to Cameron, and started toward the door.

I was about to get out, but took a long, embarrassed look around. I'm _not_ getting out of a church parking lot in the nude unless I was dead sure Lara and I were the only ones there.

"You going to be okay?" Cameron said as he got back in behind the wheel.

"We'll be fine," I assured him.

He nodded. Satisfied by the fact that I was alone, I got out, holding the jacket close.

The church itself was deserted as Cameron said it would be. The lights behind stained glass were, and the double doors were locked. It wasn't a large building, but the sizable parking lot made me think the place had a lot of traffic during the day. The door of the church was glass, and had a push pedal inside that allowed an easy way out, but no way in while locked.

"Hold on." She held her hand in front of the door as her forehead strained. When she pulled back her hand a few seconds later, nothing happened. Putting her hand forward again, she bit her lip as she thought. It was only forty degrees out here, and Cam's jacket size was a bit smaller than mine, meaning the neck didn't completely close around my waist. Obviously, I didn't wear it like a normal jacket, deciding instead to keep my lower half covered, but the whole ordeal was making me extremely chilly.

"You remember the equation to calculate inertia?" she asked.

I did, and let her know.

"Thought so," she said, and on her next try, the push-pedal plunged in towards us and the door nudged out. With magic so intertwined with belief, the equation wasn't her setback. Rather, it was her doubt. By reassuring the fact that she was using the right equations, she had no problems. It would have been easy for me to do it for her if I had a piece of steel, but didn't want to incur her anger.

She held the door open for me, and we walked in silently as Cameron returned to the car and drove off. I'd never felt more alienated. Here we were, breaking into a church. Lara in her spectacular, navy dress and me holding a jacket over my cold genitals. Although I was raised Christian, my relationship with God in the past ten years or so has been a bit distant. Yet Cameron was right; a church really was the best way to avoid a ghost. He didn't know it, but sacred ground of any religion is so full of beliefs that it causes the Equilibrium to solidify. While a church as small as this one would have minimal impact on magic, a place like the Saint Paul Cathedral, for example, could block magic entirely. Those natural defenses mixed with the Christian beliefs of Sanctuary means a double-protection against Gregory Scythe.

The church itself had a small lobby preceding the actual place of warship. A small, marble bowl for holy water was built into the wall on either side. Feeling like a heathen about to walk into a den of lions, I hesitated in the entrance. Lara, on the other hand, looked indifferent as she walked over to the nearest table unceremoniously pulled off the tablecloth off. "Here."

I looked at it like it was on fire. "I can't wear that."

"Why not?"

"It has a cross embroidered on it." I flicked my eyes down to it.

She looked, but shrugged. "You're not a religious man."

"That doesn't mean I'm going to desecrate one of His tablecloths."

"Fine," she looked quickly around, noticed an open door to an office along the side of the lobby, crossed the room, and came back with a robe made for someone twice my width. Hoping I wasn't going to hell for this, I threw it on.

Then I realized just how much exhaustion had overtaken me. I saw the nearest bench along one wall and promptly sprawled down on my stomach, ready to collapse.

Lara stood beside me, leaning against a nearby table. "You alright?"

In response, I heaved air out of my squished nostrils.

"Yeah, that's how I feel, too," she said, and sat by my head at the end of the bench. Gently, she set her fingers on the back of my damaged hand. "May I see?"

I offered it, limply. "You know any first–"

She took it in a two handed grip and heaved. This time my lack of preparation had me twitching in pain, and my voice went unnaturally high.

"–aid," I finished. Then, I stared wearily at my hand. Once the queasiness passed I realized I could move it again, and that it wasn't bent. Not even a little!

"Yep." She answered. "Where are you hurt?"

She had the box she'd taken from the car on the lap of her wrinkled dress, which smelled like chocolate for some reason. The smooth fabric shone even in the near blackness of the church. Neither of us even looked for light switches, since neither of us wanted to draw the cops' attention. Assuming we hadn't tripped some silent alarm, we were safe.

Relatively.

I offered my wrist, and she rummaged into the box. "So what was with that argument back in the car?" I asked to take my mind off the stings I knew would come.

"I just don't trust Cameron," she answered, putting a cotton ball against the top of the small bottle of disinfectant and flipping it, wetting the ball. "Besides. I just don't like his idea."

"He's been helping us from the beginning. What's not to trust? Besides, he had a good point. Everyone believes a church is a sanctuary."

"I don't doubt that he wants to know the truth about what happened to Emmitt, but I get the feeling he knows more than he's letting on, and that he's..." She trailed off with a sigh. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just tired. I guess it was a good idea to come here. It's just that churches always make me feel strange. Like I'm being watched, you know? I've never put much thought into religion and God. I haven't prayed in years," she said to me timidly. Then in an informative tone, she said, "This'll hurt." She dabbed my wrist with an alcohol drenched cotton ball. While it stung, I found it easy to ignore after what she did to my finger. "This is my first time in church since Uncle Geoff's funeral. You probably hardly remember that."

I recalled the time as I closed my eyes. I was only sixteen when I'd first been taken in as her father's apprentice. I remember the funeral especially well. The sting wasn't dying down, so I just talked to keep my mind occupied. "No, I remember. I remember because your Uncle Geoff looked a lot like my dad. Scared the hell out of me."

"But your father isn't dead."

"Oh yeah?" I said, surprising myself with all the sarcasm in my tone.

"He escaped the Imperium's capture. You know that."

Even with closed eyes, I could still feel her glare. "Maybe Dad isn't dead, but we know the Guardians aren't above lying. And the truth is I was a sixteen-year-old kid who knew nothing about how the world works. I've always figured they were all just too afraid to tell me."

"The Imperium isn't that bad." Lara said. "Besides, even if the other Guardians held back, _my_ dad would have told you."

"Dad had a lot of enemies." I closed my eyes again and tried to keep myself comfortable on the wooden bench as she grabbed at my other wrist. Pushing the still attached cuff off the burn, she dabbed at the injury as I went on. "He ran out on more than just the Guardians."

She stopped dabbing at my wrist, but kept her cold hand on mine when I stopped speaking. A small, hidden part of me that held back details about my life for years urged me to finally tell Lara about my life prior to living on the farm with her. To tell her about the several months with Dad while we spent on the run, when I'd rarely had the luxury of staying in the same bed two nights in a row, and the months after that living in Brazil. My mind flickered to the horrid gang of people, if you could call them that, who'd finally captured him.

But the rest of me pushed the thought aside in an instant. Lara was a lot of things, but sympathetic she was not. Still, simply dropping the subject seemed rude. "I don't know – I always figured Dad would contact me if he were still alive. That he'd let me know he's okay, at least. It's been about ten years, and I haven't heard anything from him."

The silence between us remained for a few minutes, and I could tell Lara felt tense, always wanting to know more. Then, she rummaged through the first aid kit again, folded two bandages into long, thin strips and pressed them firmly to the burned insides of each wrist, pushing them underneath the cuffs.

What business was it of hers to press into my past? I let my eyes close, feeling a peaceful calm enter my body as sleep drew near. If I had the energy to be annoyed, I'd have shown it.

"Thomas?" she said after a minute, while I was stuck in a bleary haze.

"Mmm?"

"I'm sorry for how bad I treated you. You know, back when you moved in with us."

An apology? From Lara? That's a first.

A familiar childishness arose within me, like it did whenever she was near, but I stopped myself from acting on it. Maybe it was because we were in a church, or maybe because she'd just saved me from certain death and imprisonment, but I decided to be forthcoming.

"We were young," I said through closed eyes. "And it couldn't have been easy for you, either."

"But I'm not the same person anymore."

"Neither am I – thank God for that," I said, feeling instantly like a fool for my choice of words while in a church. "Can you imagine me in my Goth outfit, nowadays? Goths and Preps just aren't meant to live under the same roof. Ugh, those memories of how I dressed still make me shiver in horror."

She held an uneasy silence beside me, but didn't reply.

"So," I said, realizing we'd possibly be here for a long time. This was the most rapport we'd had in years, so I decided to shift the focus onto her. "Why become a PI?"

She snorted. "Dumb idea, I know."

"No," I said. "You're good at it."

She was silent for another moment. I could see she was making the same choice I was a second ago, and asking herself if she should entertain my pry. "Dad tried to train me to be a battlemage, you know. When he decided I wasn't cut out for it, he took you on as his apprentice instead. After I failed the field exam, I guess this was just my stupid way of trying to show him I could follow in his footsteps. It's the only cop-like thing I knew I could do."

"Oh," I said awkwardly, since I didn't know how else to respond. I'd always known there was tension between her and her dad. Yet I never stopped to realize she'd devoted years of her life to a dead-end profession to try to prove her worth. I fidgeted at the thought.

A minute or two later, a headlight's glow streamed in through the front doors and windows, making colored patterns on the wall through the stained glass.

Considering that Lara didn't approve of Cameron, I decided to jump up before her. I got up and let him in when he approached.

"Here," he said, handing me a set of clothing on his way inside. "Don't know if it'll fit, but it's better than, err, that. It's some of Emmitt's old clothes."

I thanked him, grabbed the medical kit from Lara, and walked off to the restroom. The lights came on automatically, as blinding as a police's searchlight. It took me a few seconds to blink through it, and was glad there were no windows.

I threw off the robe, carefully hanging it over the end of the stall door as I pulled on Emmitt's old garments. I couldn't help but wonder if I was committing another sin, wearing the clothes of a dead man – this must be that "strange feeling" Lara mentioned earlier.

Before I dressed, I looked ruefully in the mirror at the wound on my butt and had to hold back another sigh of pain. I suspected I'd have a welt, but this... I'd be lucky to sit down for a month. I'd put more power into the seatbelt hook than I thought I'd ever have to, and the half-moon shaped spot proved that I needed to be more careful. A pure white and heavily painful rash was beginning to poke out on the skin where it made direct contact with the cold metal.

I knew what I had to do, and took no enjoyment doing it. One suppressed scream of agony later, a burn-cream smeared Band-Aid was firmly in place. I then donned on the ill-fitting outfit. The khaki pants were a bit too short and wide, but they covered my ankles. A belt held them up. The pressed, button-up shirt barely covered my entire midriff. The sleeves fell a bit short, and the shoulders a bit too broad, but they looked pretty slick when rolled up. Overall, I looked like a fairly normal person again.

The only thing missing were my foci. Clothes or not, I still felt naked without them.

There were so many different plastics that I never learned anything about. Several mages learned how to imbue cotton, but even plants bore some resistance toward magic. Not enough to prevent a focus from being made, but enough to make the enchantments wear off within days, rather than weeks. Sadly, even the button on the pants was of an unfamiliar metal, so there was nothing I could imbue by memory alone. I took a final look at myself, ran a wet hand through my hair, which got stylishly ruffled in the fray, and walked back into the dark church.

I couldn't be sure, but I thought Lara was asleep. She was sitting at the bench with her head on the nearby table, cradled in her arms. I'd seen her sleep that way in the past. She joked once, saying it was the thing she learned how to do best in college. After sitting for hours every day at a desk listening to a boring lectures, I couldn't blame her. Cameron, however, wasn't in the lobby. I stared down into the church sanctuary and spotted him just in front of the altar, his head bowed and hands folded.

I hadn't planned to go further than the lobby. I've already pressed my luck, but I ought to at least thank Cameron. Shifting uncomfortably, I decided to go over and join him.

"I used to come here twice a week," he said, as I was halfway down the aisle. His voice was hardly above a whisper, but in the serene silence he may as well been shouting. "I considered Father Conwell as my closed friend."

"Twice?"

"Once on Sunday, of course. But again on Tuesday, where Father Conwell would read the scripture with me and answer any of my questions. My father was jailed. Mother wasn't around, and I rebelled against the world. Everyone said I needed a therapist, but Emmitt refused to get me one. Instead, he sent me here. At first everyone thought that Uncle Emmitt was cheeping out. Didn't want to pay a shrink."

"Is that what he did?"

Cameron smirked to himself and nodded. "Yes, but I'm thankful for it. I wouldn't have suggested coming here unless I was absolutely sure it would be within his wishes. He glanced up at the crucifix. "Are you a religious man, Thomas?"

"I looked through the Bible a few times." I said, coming up beside him. "It's never been my calling. I take it you are?"

He gave a small nod as he said, "After what happened to my dad, I was lost. Alone. But Tuesday evenings with Father Conwell brought me meaning. We don't live just to live. There has to be more. Evolution teaches us that the sole point of our existence is to pass along our genes, but the theory says nothing of morals. When I was at my lowest, at a point where I thought nothing in the world mattered, Father Conwell showed me otherwise. Do you believe in destiny, Thomas?"

"No," I said without thinking – I didn't need to. Not about this issue.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Having a destiny implies that we have a course that's already locked in for us. Like we're going down a path surrounded by impassible walls. It implies we don't have a choice in our actions. However, it's our choices that make us into the people we are. Our choices are what have an impact on the world."

He nodded, listening to what I said and processing it before responding. "Adam and Eve each ate a piece of fruit from the tree of knowledge. Before then, one could argue, that they had two and only two choices – obey God, or not. After that first bite, the knowledge they gained allowed them to look at the consequences of their actions. It forced them to make their own choices. One way to interpret this story is that by taking a bite of that apple, they'd given birth to their soul."

I tilted my head, not because it was a new take on the story I hadn't heard, but because it was essentially the version of the story I was taught.

The Imperium tells us that free will is the driving force behind magic, and for once I agree with them. A strong belief can cause magic to manifest. This is because when we pour our belief into something, we're pouring our free will into it as well. While the Equilibrium bats down all beliefs except the most specific ones, it is still those beliefs that enact magical changes.

"The existence of the soul is the one part of the Bible Father and I argued about," Cameron said.

"You don't believe in the soul?"

"I believe that I was born with a purpose. That the universe has some plan for me."

"And what is that plan?"

"Currently?" Cameron smirked to himself. "To discover what this plan is. I've lived an unlikely life, Thomas. I was born in the slums, but every year I go on, I get more and more. I never asked to meet Emmitt Cane – resented it, even, because it meant separating myself from my father. I never asked for my job at Cane Industries, but now people look at me with a fearful contempt. Every action I make leads me, in the end, to some greater purpose. The closer I come to whatever that purpose is, the more convinced I am that I am here for a specific reason."

"So quit."

He turned to face me.

"Quit your job. Take a vacation. Do something for yourself. Luck can be deceiving. Sometimes you get what you work for. Sometimes you don't – either way, you're the one that, in the end, controls your actions."

He looked back at the cross, silently.

"I'm not saying you should do these things, but the point is, you can. Some people do have a purpose, but no one is born with one. Find your own purpose. Don't have someone else choose it for you."

"Maybe you can, but not me," he said with a gentle smile. "I've always known I'm here for a reason."

He bowed his head again and closed his eyes. Religion and politics have a tendency to pull people apart. I'd just met Cameron, and already felt the beginning of a friendship, and didn't want to ruin it.

I considered joining him in prayer, but a mixture of emotions stopped me. Instead, I patted him lightly on the shoulder. "I'll be in the lobby."

### Chapter 14

With only a few hours of sleep, we left at around four in the morning, fleeing before any early risers came to find us. With the minimobile at the Cane Manor, we couldn't go back there, so we ended up finding a coffee shop in the suburbs that had early hours. Lara and Cameron finally found something they had in common – a caffeine addiction.

"So what's the plan for today?" Lara asked as she sat down.

I may not be an addict, but the coffee was still liquid greatness at my level of exhaustion. Unlike Cameron and I, who each had a cup of basic, black coffee, she had her own concoction. In Lara's college years she worked part time at a coffee shop, which is why she actually knew what everything on the menu was. Her drink, which consisted of roughly twenty-three syllables, required preparation. She sat with us, but between sleepy nods, she kept staring at the front counter where they played around with the high-tech coffee maker and various bottles of syrup.

"I got Kelly's number, but her phone is off." Cameron told us when we sat. "If she's smart, she got rid of it, but it's worth trying throughout the day. Otherwise, the only thing I've got is Daniel's address, but I doubt he'll be there. He lives an hour away from downtown, so he probably spent the night in Minneapolis. I know he often did."

"We might as well start there," I said.

"You start there. I can't go with you," Cameron said. "Now that Emmitt's gone, I've got business at Cane Industries. The board's been in an uproar since Emmitt's death trying to find an interim CEO."

"Do you think Daniel will be the new guy?"

"No. The Board will want a strong leader. Someone who can run a company. Daniel nearly fainted at the prospect of delivering a speech."

"Okay," I said as Lara took another desperate look toward the counter.

"I've been meaning to ask you, Thomas." Cameron asked. "Do you think Kelly's the killer?"

I had a few answers prepared for him. Being a fugitive gave me a bit of freedom. At least I didn't have to worry about pissing off the Guardians; I'd already covered that. Still, I couldn't tell Cameron the truth, so I decided that the best way was to rummage through my bag of lies and see came out. "Magic isn't accessible to everyone. It is possible that Kelly is one of the chosen few that has the ability to summon spirits from those departed. If you know anything about her bloodline, I may be able to do some research to see if she's got the gift. However, there are a few ways to summon spirits, even for those without an affinity for magic."

"And those are?"

I shrugged, thinking up more bullshit. "Magical artifacts. Ancient rituals. I can't say for sure, but I'm pretty sure she summoned the ghost last night. She ran when it appeared, suggesting guilt. She also ran the night of the murder. She had close access James Freidman, the spell's inventor. Plus, Emmitt was threatening to take away thirty grand from her and her husband. That's motive and means – the only thing missing is a confession."

The teenaged girl behind the counter came around to set Lara's drink in front of her, at last. Lara dove into it.

"You're sure she was the one that summoned it?" Cameron asked. "I didn't see her do anything."

"Depending on how she did it she might not need to gesture or say anything," I said. This was especially true with a spell as potent as this one, as I proved when I summoned it in the car.

"But last night you said the ghost was sentient. And speaking of that, did it seem to you guys that the ghost got more powerful as the night went on?"

I shrugged, noncommittally. Lara furrowed her brow, thinking.

"Maybe this ghost has his own vendetta." Cameron said. "Is it possible it went after Daniel all by itself?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so. Once summoned, the ghost could go overboard and hurt others in its attempt to kill its victim, but it can't summon itself. Only a mage can do that."

I could see a touch of annoyance grow on Lara's face, suggesting that I might be revealing too much to him, so she interrupted. "Since we don't know where Kelly is, I think our next move should be talking to Daniel. You can get us in contact?"

"It will take time. I wasn't on speaking terms with any of the rest of the family. Emmitt didn't exactly parade me around."

"Does he live here?" she asked.

"No, Daniel lives in some secluded lake house up north. He's currently staying at the Hotel Minneapolis."

"That's all I need to know," she said. "I want to talk with him as soon as possible – preferably before he leaves for the office."

"Dressed like that?" he said, looking down at her wrinkled dress. "Lovely as it is, I could buy you an outfit along the way that is a bit more professional."

She clenched her jaw in anger before saying, "All I need from you is a ride."

"Here," he threw her the keys, a small smile on his lips. "I'll take a cab back to the Manor and make a few calls to see if I can track down Kelly."

"Thank you," she said, getting up and handing the keys to me. "Let's get going."

She strode out quickly, drink still in hand. I hesitated as Cameron stared at her quickly departing back, smirking lightly.

"Sorry if she comes off rude," I said.

"Is she single?" Cameron asked.

"Don't go there," I warned, but grinned nonetheless at the thought of them hooking up. "Also, a word of advice – don't spread around that you know anything about magic."

"In my world, if you do that, people will think you're ready to move to the institution. I'm just curious. Why all the secrecy?"

I answered with a rehearsed lie. "Because people don't like what they don't understand. And they don't like the thought that there's something bigger and more powerful than themselves out there. Trust me, it's better for everyone if no one knows about my world. I lost my phone, so call Lara if you find anything."

"Good luck, Thomas," he said earnestly.

I nodded to him, and as I followed Lara out to the car I realized that I had grossly misjudged Cameron in so many ways when we'd first met. For one, I realized that he was definitely older than the teenager I initially thought he might be. Initially, I saw a young-spirited innocence, but now I saw in him the sort of calm that came with confidence and knowledge. Lara was right – he is the kind of guy that knows more than he typically lets on. It doesn't make him devious. Rather, it makes me glad that Cameron Cane was on our side. I stepped out of the coffee shop, prepared for the new day.

### Chapter 15

Without Cameron, Lara was free to chastise me for being so open with him as I drove. Yet she didn't function nearly as well as most did without sleep, so I hardly understood her mumbles. Luckily, that didn't last long, because she quickly switched her focus to guessing the room number of Daniel's apartment. As I drove, she continually researched the hotel, tapping the touch screen of her phone until she came up with all her answers.

Before setting off, I rummaged through the dashboard where I found a bunch of papers bound by a paperclip. It may not be as prestigious as a ring, but I at least knew the elemental makeup of steel. A magical paperclip is better than no magic at all, so it would simply have to do. Lara and I traded seats for the second half of the journey, giving me time to throw every one of the few spells I could do from rote memory into the metal.

Last night I'd been stripped both mentally and physically. Now, I was back. Even if all I had was a paperclip ring, it was all I needed.

An hour or so after we left the coffee shop we arrived back in the metropolitan downtown, inside one of the state's grandest hotels. I stood beside Lara, knocking on the door to room number 713. Sadly, knocking happened to be the only way to determine if she guessed the right room. I had that honor.

Several seconds went by. I didn't want to be creepy, since the door had a peephole, but I put my ear close for a few seconds to listen and heard a shower stop. About a minute later, Daniel opened the door wearing a ruffled suit. It wasn't the same one from yesterday, and his hair was still wet. Scrambling to open the door, his anxious face turned fearful at the sight of us. "Err, sorry, sir. And madam, but, err, do I know you?"

"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Ca–"

His face nearly split apart with the smile that appeared. "You're that guy! That guy that distracted the ghost!" He stepped out quickly and grasped my hand, shaking it firmly. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"You're welcome," I said, trying my best to hide my blush. Jerking back just as quickly, the jittery man said, "But, um, why are you here?"

"My name is Thomas Amberose. This is my associate, Lara Mercer. I'm trying to find out the truth behind the death of your brother." I smiled politely and offered my hand.

Of the three brothers, Emmitt was a militant businessman, and James was the criminal. That meant the only one left was the odd duck – Daniel. He filled the entire room with jitters every time he moved, and while the other brothers dressed to impress or show off their bulk, Daniel would benefit a lot from a personal shopper. The basic brown suit he wore had dark oval patches on the elbows, while the knees had newer gray ones. I doubted the style ever worked.

"Who are you working for?"

Suspicious little thing, I thought as I looked at him. "We're investigating the murder at the request of Cameron Cane."

"Who?"

"Cameron Cane?" I said, surprised the name didn't immediately register, until I recalled Cameron's elaborate explanation of how they're exactly connected. While he calls him Uncle, it's a bit more distance. "Your, err, relative?"

"Oh, right. I remember now. Come on in." He sat down on the couch across from us. "I apologize, Mister Amberose, but I don't have much time. Today's a busy day for Cane Industries. We have a lot of changes coming in the near future, but I can spare a few minutes for you."

There was a reason these suites cost bundles of cash per night. The maroon carpet was soft enough to encase one's foot in bliss. Windows lined the largest wall, partially blocked by silky smooth curtains. The room even boasted a hot tub on a raised platform, not far from a chandelier that looked more delicate than an icicle. He closed the door behind us and motioned us to the sofa.

I smiled, and decided to start with an easy question. "You were Emmitt's brother?"

"That's right," he had a mousy, high-pitched voice that didn't hide any wavers.

"You knew him well?"

"We were close, yes. Saw him a few times a week."

Typically, I try to keep my questions vague and open-ended. He didn't seem to be the talkative sort, so I had to lead the conversation.

"What do you think happened?"

He shook his head. "I don't know."

_Wow..._ I thought, at a loss for words. _Helpful._

Lara took over by saying, "Someone tried to kill you yesterday. Who."

"I, ah, don't know," Daniel grabbed a throw pillow and twirled the corners nervously. "People enjoy my company most of the time. I don't have any enemies."

Lara and I exchanged passive looks that covered up our annoyance. "Okay," she said. "What about Kelly? What's the history between you two?"

"Kelly? Kelly who?"

"Kelly Freidman," Lara snapped.

"What about her?" he said, his face innocently blank.

"Does she have a grudge against you?"

"Oh, I don't know. I..." His face turned scarlet, almost matching the maroon pillow. "Maybe."

Definitely not the CEO type. Boy, was I glad I didn't have stock in Cane Industries.

"Maybe?" Lara demanded.

He shrugged, but didn't elaborate.

I sighed and told him, "We saw you arguing with her."

"You saw that? How?" he turned the pillow in his lap. "We weren't anywhere that we could have been seen. Is there a tape, or, err..."

"Tape?" I said. "No, we saw you at the dinner last night."

He crunched up his eyebrows, which rose a second later with comprehension. "Oh, that wasn't Kelly. That was Katherine."

My mind hit a brick wall. Lara jumped in again. "Who is Katherine?"

"Oh, her. She's... she's nobody. Nobody special, anyway."

Both of us took a moment to just sit and stare at him as he nervously pulled at the pillow's lacy edges. Then, I said, "Mr. Cane, we're looking into your brother's death. We want to know who did it, and I'm certain that you would like to know as well. If you tell us anything that you know, we'll have a much easier time with that."

"Unless you've got something to hide." Lara said, upbeat. "If so, than by all means, incriminate yourself by keeping silent."

"Me? You think I killed my brother?" he looked up at us. "Well, of course I didn't do that."

"I don't think you did," I said. I guess this means I'm the good cop.

"Where were you the night of the murder?" Lara demanded.

"Me? I was at Emmitt's manor, but I didn't do it. I don't know how to summon a ghost."

"You were at the Manor?" I asked.

"Yes. We were determining what was going to happen in the future. You know, in the case of our father's death." He dropped his gaze nervously. Although we both waited for a story, it simply didn't come.

"And..." Lara said.

"And what? There's not much more to it."

"Can you go through what happened?" I said, slightly annoyed.

"Oh, okay," he said setting the pillow aside and rubbed his hands together. "I wasn't actually there in the room. I was downstairs in the study. Emmitt goes up to the tower whenever he needs a break. I don't know exactly what he was doing, but that's not unusual. My shows were on, so I watched them while I waited. When he didn't come down for a long time, I tried to go up to check on him, but the chain on the door blocked me. He didn't come when I called, so I waited a few hours, yelled up to him again, and still heard nothing. Then, the next morning, I called the cops. That's when they... they found him."

I nodded. "You didn't hear anything?"

"I... err," he looked down nervously, "I had the TV kind of loud."

"You were all alone," Lara said with a flat voice.

"Yes, in a different part of the house."

"Did anyone else come to visit that night?"

"No, it was just the two of us there. I got there in the evening, and we hardly got any work done."

"Do you know _anything_ about the murders?" Lara spat with a hint of accusation. He opened his mouth, but closed it as he turned that same shade of red as before.

This time, I cut her off. "You do know about Magic, right?"

"Yeeees," he said, elongating the word nervously.

"You know how to summon the ghost?"

"James is the one that discovered the spell, so it was probably him," he said, looking down.

"Probably?"

"I don't know. He was arrested the night of the murder, and he was really angry about..." He opened his mouth, but closed it as he looked away from us.

"About what?" Lara hissed. I held up my hand in front of her, theatrically urging her to calm down.

"Well, about James's wife, I guess. She disappeared the very same day." He grabbed the pillow again, and started pulling at it with renewed nervousness. He didn't, however, speak.

"I talked to James, and he didn't know why Kelly left him." I said. "Do you?"

"No...?" He elongated the word and spoke it a question.

"Daniel, please." I said soothingly, like the good cop I was.

"Well... Yes. I found something out about Kelly."

"Go on,"

"It was an accident, really. I wasn't looking for anything. One day I saw Kelly at a restaurant, but she wasn't with James."

"Wasn't with James? Was she alone?"

"No. She was with a man. It looked like a date to me, and she even kissed him right on the mouth, but she swore it was just a business meeting. Emmitt didn't believe it when I told him, but he still made a few phone calls."

"To whom?" I asked.

"I don't know for sure, but think it was one of Lance Ruben's men. Emmitt said he wanted a tail put on Kelly."

"Do you know anything about the relationship between Lance Ruben and Emmitt Cane?" I asked.

"A little. Lance was a business associate."

"Business associate? Like a customer?"

"No, Mr. Ruben is not a customer. I don't do much of the business end of things; I've never had a mind for numbers, and Emmitt always thought I wasn't very good with people in a business setting.

"So what does Mr. Ruben do for you?"

"For a long time Lance Ruben gave us stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Technology, mostly. I don't know where he got it, but it was really advanced. He stopped about a year ago, but I think that's because they made some new deal."

"New deal?"

"Emmitt went to talk to Lance about a year ago, and when he came back, he knew how to use magic. He didn't have a chance to get very good at it, but he was getting a lot better."

Lara and I looked at each other. Teaching someone how to use Magic was a fairly simple undertaking if they can get around to believing it. However, I doubted the Imperium would allow such a thing. Since the Guardians kept a close watch on Venir activities, there wasn't a chance they'd get away with it behind the Imperium's back. Besides, the Venir didn't actually know how to use magic, although he did have connections in the mage community. Whatever this deal was, Lance wanted it badly. Badly enough to upset the Imperium.

"So why would Lance put a tail on Kelly?"

"Because he thought Kelly was having an affair."

"Was she?"

Daniel's face reddened again, and if he said no another time, I'd let Lara be the full-tilt bad cop. Lucky for him, he said, "I think so."

"You think Kelly was cheating on James."

"Lance's man tracked him to a cabin, out in the woods. Kelly Freidman took the man to the cabin she and James own by Square Lake."

"So what did Emmitt do when he found out about this?" I asked.

"Well, he did a few things. The first thing Emmitt did was to convince his dad to change the will, so that James only gets his money if he divorces Kelly."

"Why not just tell James that his wife is cheating?"

"I wanted to, but Emmitt and James don't get along. They only got to speaking again recently, and Emmitt didn't want to risk making James angry. He tried to make it look like Dad changed the will, but I think James saw through it. I said I'd tell James what I knew, but Emmitt told me James wouldn't believe me, and I guess Emmitt is probably right. So he decided it best to end it indirectly, so he changed the will."

"Changed the will?" I repeated for clarity. "To say that James only gets his money if he divorces his wife, Kelly."

"That's right," Daniel said.

"Then what?"

"Then..." Daniel said, looking down again. "Nothing. That's it."

I'm not a good liar, but next to Daniel, my lies were like those of a professional scam artist.

"No, it's not." Lara leaned toward him.

"Yes it is, now I'm a very busy man, so please leave."

"You said Emmitt _first_ tried to convince James to leave, which implies something else happened. What aren't you telling us?"

"Nothing, now please, go!"

I breathed in deeply as Lara said, "Daniel, do you know anything about the Imperium? They're not very forgiving. If they find out you're involved in this, they could put you on trial. They could sentence you to death."

"Look," I said, "it's obvious to us that you're not the bad guy here, but we don't have any proof."

He kept his head down, and by the way he fidgeted, I wouldn't have been surprised if he broke into tears. Finally, Daniel caved. "James said he didn't care about the money, which made Emmitt really, really mad. However, Emmitt got furious when James started using magic to make his life hard. James used magic to bust up his car, and then set off a bunch of fire alarms. Since he used magic, Emmitt couldn't go to the police. He was furious – he even talked about killing Kelly."

"Talked about? Did he follow through on the threats?" Lara demanded.

"I... No, I can't tell you. I can't–"

Lara leaned forward again and howled, "Daniel, you–"

"Alright! Emmitt told me he tried. He said he knew a spell that would take care of Kelly. You know, for good. I don't know if he actually went through with it. Emmitt was a good man. He didn't want to kill her. I'm sure of it. I think he just wanted to scare her."

"Kelly is dead?" I asked.

"I... I don't know. Katherine said she talked to her, so I guess she might not be."

"Katherine?"

"The woman yelling at me last night. Katherine is Kelly's sister."

"What did she want?"

"She wanted to know where Kelly was. I told her I didn't know, but she looked angry. Then, when the ghost came, I guess she got scared and ran. Katherine demanded I let her talk to Emmitt, which I thought was really weird, because everyone knows that Emmitt is dead."

"She didn't know?"

"I guess not. It was the second page in paper, but maybe she didn't read it."

"We'd like to talk to Katherine. Can you tell us where to find her?"

"Yeah, she works in a place up in North Branch that sells flowers." Lara had a notepad in her hand faster than I could tell him to 'hold on.' He gave an address, and a quick set of directions. "It's the first right – you can't miss it. I hope you don't think Emmitt's a bad man for what he might have done to Kelly."

"I'm sure he was a great man," I told him.

"Please, if you find out who did it, can you please tell me?"

"Of course, Mr. Cane." I said.

### Chapter 16

Daniel quietly shut the door behind us, leaving us free in the hall. Lara and I didn't speak until we were on the elevator and the doors were closed.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"It's looking more and more like James's wife Kelly all the time," I said, only partially sure.

"There's still no proof that she knows magic," Lara said

"There's no proof that she doesn't. Anyone can use it, and she's seen the ghost firsthand. Maybe she's one of the lucky few that figured out the rules on her own."

"Unlikely. The probability of that happening is very low," Lara said.

"Yeah, but there's also the chance that James taught her a thing or two," I said.

"And risk execution?" she said.

Having met James, I wouldn't put it past him. But I didn't want to argue with Lara so I instead said, "Probably not, I suppose."

"I'm not saying it couldn't have been her," Lara said. "I just think we don't have the whole story yet."

"Which means," I said as the elevator beeped, and opened into the lobby, "that next step is finding Kelly, who's been missing since the day of the murder."

"What about her sister," Lara said. "Err, what's-her-name."

"Katherine," I clarified with a sleepy nod. "You think she knows something?"

"Maybe she can help us find Kelly."

"I doubt it," I said. "Not if she was trying to get that information out of Daniel herself. Not to mention, I chased her fifty floors down a stairwell with my angry face on."

"True," she commented, tiredly. "But I've got no better ideas and we know where she is."

I shrugged in agreement as I said, "You know how to get to the address Daniel gave us?"

"Yeah, I passed by it a few times before, and I've always wanted to check it out," she said. "I guess now is my chance."

I followed her out, scratching my head at why she'd want to go to Katherine's place until I remembered he offered us her work address, which was a massive flower shop.

The two of us walked to the car and got in.

"There's something Cameron said earlier that got me to thinking," Lara said.

"What's that?"

She put in the key, but faced me without turning on the car. "Last night, as more people saw the ghost, it got more powerful."

"Yeah," I said.

She waved her hand, palm up as if to express that I'd missed something obvious.

"Lara, I'm too tired for games. What is it?"

"More people believe in this ghost, so it gets more powerful," she said, as if that explained it all.

"Yeah, I get that."

She shook her head. "I'm explaining this all wrong. You summoned the ghost last night - how did you do that?"

"Simple," I said. "People already believe that it exists; I just had to focus all the beliefs by giving the ghost a specific place to be."

"Okay," she said. "But why does the ghost already exist?"

"Because people believe in it."

"And since belief powers magic, that means the ghost is a spell," she said.

"Obviously, but¬-" All at once, the pieces fell into place, and I stopped in disbelief.

"Just because the people casting the spell aren't mages, doesn't mean their beliefs don't hold power," she added. "Its believers are casting a combined spell."

I thought about it, but it didn't make sense. Magic follows a specific set of rules. In that sense, it's no different from physics. One major rule that every mage learns early is if two mages try to combine a spell, it will simply fail. A combined spell working is about as foreign a concept to me as rubber that conducts electricity. The universe simply doesn't work that way.

"That's impossible," I said. "Isn't it?"

"There's no other explanation," she said smugly.

"But if two or more mages ever try to cast a spell together, it fails. It's one of the basic laws of magic."

"Apparently not," she said.

"But that's-" I said, trying to make sense of it.

"Weird," she finished for me, as she turned on the car.

_I could get used to a car like this_ , I thought as I got into the back of the Mercedes and let the seat encase me.

I still didn't know what to think about the ghost being a combined spell. I'd have to file away that information for later.

Soft seats, Quiet Engine; it's so much better than being toted along in her pint-sized minimobile.

"We're there."

"Huh?" I said, gazing around.

She opened her door and got out, leaving me in a sticky haze. I rubbed my eyes a few times as I looked around. The parking lot was gone, replaced by – wait, had I fallen asleep? But I was looking forward to the ride!

I shoved the door open and tried to make out like I knew what was going on as I stood up in a completely different parking lot.

"You've got a line of..." she said rubbing one side of her own mouth before giving a quick point at mine.

Blinking, I wiped my hands quickly across my face, feeling a wet spot by my mouth. _Smooth, Thomas..._

I looked around and tried to catch my bearings. Apparently, my exhaustion was more gargantuan than I thought. The city was gone – hidden behind some hill in the distance. A greenhouse the size of a couple of barns sat not far away. A strip mall sat across the street, but the rest of the land was a blocked off swamp.

"Err, thanks," I said as I fell in beside her and walked toward the glass building. Through the tinted glass, I saw enough flora to fill my apartment fifty times over.

On my way through the front doors, I shook my sleepy head as I noticed something that perked me up immediately. "I don't think we're the only ones looking for Katherine."

"Hmm?" Lara said without slowing.

"I've seen that car before. The ASH license plate?" I said. "Over there,"

I nodded my head toward the car, but I didn't look. Casually, I walked inside. Only when I had a pane of tinted glass between us did I chance a look his way. Although obscured slightly, I noted a fairly nondescript man yelling animatedly into a cell phone.

"He doesn't look happy," I said.

"Who do you think he is?" Lara asked, peering at the nearest plan and shooting subtle glances toward Ash.

"He's been following me since I first met Cameron at the manor. Never saw him leave the car, though. I think he's one of Lance's men – Cam told me about him, too."

"Cam? What, are you two best buds now?"

I rolled my eyes silently as I walked in and glanced around, keeping especially watchful for the employees. A couple of middle-aged ladies who looked nothing like Katherine were by the register, chatting without enthusiasm in the lull between customers. Other than that, the place was empty, for the most part. The plants made seeing the place difficult, so I couldn't make out more than a couple customers, and didn't see any other employees.

"He's coming inside," Lara said.

I walked over to a row of ferns and waited behind it, thinking. "Why would he follow us inside?"

She shrugged, but then met my gaze with concern. "You think he wants to meet us?"

I stepped behind the ferns. "You look for Katherine – she might recognize me. I'll try and make a friend."

She nodded and walked deeper into the greenhouse. Behind the leafy cover of several racks of ferns, I stared toward the door. Sure enough, Ash stepped in a minute later and gazed around skittishly. He wore a jacket, which seemed ordinary enough. What caught my eye, however, was the way he kept his hand hidden in the breast pocket. Determined, he strode inside. The man looked around, but didn't meet my gaze through the shrubbery.

The fern rack stretched only a couple table-lengths long. We'd taken the most obvious path, leading deeper into the greenhouse. He inadvertently began following our tracks. From what I could tell, he hadn't noticed us.

Would he recognize me, I wondered? He'd followed me for a long time, but most of that time was at night and from a distance, or while I was in my car. I turned my back partially away from him, facing the wall of ferns as he approached.

I became acutely observant of the paperclip focus wound around my middle finger, and the fact that I hadn't even tested it yet. What was I thinking? What if I messed up the equations?

But my worry was for naught; Ash didn't even glance my way as he passed within three feet of me, heading deeper into the greenhouse. I took the chance to step out behind him, and still within arm's length said, "Looking for somebody?"

Ash spun, whipping his hand around and toward me. The paranoia that took root in me was all that saved my neck. The blade he sliced through the air cut where my throat had been only a second before. Lucky for me, this man was far from a trained professional – the way he took a wide, careless swing was as clumsy as if done by a fifth-grader.

By reaction, equations of pressure and wind came instantly to the forefront of my mind as I thrust my hand toward Ash's shoulder. "Ventus Pulsis!"

Simultaneously, Lara shouted, "Levitas!" from deeper in the foliage.

The force of my blast hit his shoulder like a wrecking ball. Ash spun, nearly lost his footing, and turned back toward me with renewed vigor. The thin knife gleamed under the light of the sun shining through the windowed roof.

It wasn't supposed to be like this! I wanted to talk to the guy, not dual him to the death. I could blast him again, this time putting oomph into it, but then what? I'm no murderer. Nor was I naive enough to think that a full-out brawl with lethal weapons would end with in a mere knockout. And what if the cops came? I had to see this through to the end – not get arrested and probably assassinated in my cell.

"Thomas!" Lara said, chucking an empty ceramic pot at Ash's back as she stepped into view. She didn't take even half a second to aim, or even to open her eyes. Nevertheless, it shattered against the back of Ash's neck, and he stumbled forward.

Ash stumbled toward me, and I slapped my fingers around his wrist. Then, I thrust my knee into his gut, or tried to, anyway. My knee hit his upper thigh, which felt a lot like a concrete slab.

Judging from biceps alone, I couldn't take him in a fight, especially since his hand had the knife. Thinking quickly, I focused my thoughts on the knife, hoping it was one of the metals I knew. I threw my willpower into the blade as he twisted his hand down and around, leaving me completely open for his next strike.

Sometimes, you fight to the end. This wasn't one of those times – I already assessed that Ash was stronger than me. Trained fighter or not, he could take me down. That's why I stepped quickly sidestepped behind the rack of ferns and upended the entire thing onto him.

Ash barked out a grunt of rage. Not pain, I noted, as he flung the rack aside with one hand like the cheap shelving it was. I lifted my hand, calling power into my ring.

This is it, Thomas. It's him or you – make the decision.

I hesitated for just a second, standing with my palm held toward his chest, when I heard a firecracker and the sound of shattering glass.

"Stop fighting!" a woman screamed with a shaking voice. In the movies, all guns sound like cannons. The gun that the woman held was small, and the sound matched. Still, I didn't like the way she held the weapon unsteadily in both of her hands, aimed at the pair of us.

All three of us simply stopped dead as glass shards sprinkled down onto Ash and me. One hand was already raised toward Ash, so I carefully raised the other like a surrendering prisoner.

The gunslinger looked immediately familiar – she was Katherine, the woman from last night. The woman we'd come to question. A green bandana covered most of her curly hair, matching with the green apron donned by all the employees. Her eyes were lined with stress, but her mouth was rigid and pressed together with fearful determination.

At the register up front, one of the elderly women went perfectly still. The other also raised her hands in surrender.

That's the way we stood for ten long seconds, Katherine with her gun, and us with our statue impersonations. Since no one else volunteered, I spoke up first. "Katherine?"

She responded by jerking the gun toward me. "Who are you?"

I straightened my back involuntarily. "Thomas Amberose – Private Investigator. I'd give you my card, but I'm kind of afraid to move."

The humor of the situation struck me, and I smiled wide.

Humor? Get a hold of yourself, Thomas. This case is driving you crazy.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"To solve the murder of Emmitt Cane. At the moment, however, I think you should worry more about what _he_ wants." I gestured my finger toward Ash.

She turned the gun back to him. "What do you want?"

"Erm–" Ash began.

"Katherine, is it?" I chimed in, seeing the man's reluctance to do or say anything. The gun jerked back to me, and I had to suppress the urge to squirm. Believe it or not, I've never had the deadly, black eye of a gun looking at me before. "We – Me and my associate Lara Mercer over there – promise to protect you, but please, lower the gun."

"What about him?" I sighed as the gun aimed back at Ash.

Lara glared over at Ash and said, "Drop the knife and go."

Drop the knife? No, I put my magic into that!

"No, keep the–" I said rapidly, but cut myself short and scowled.

Holding his hands up, Ash didn't let the blade fall as he backed slowly away. Not turning around, he left as wordlessly as he had come.

Lara walked cautiously toward Katherine, who slowly brought the gun to her side. I went to the window immediately to ensure that he actually left.

"Who are you people?" Katherine asked as I watched him go.

"Like Amberose said, I'm Lara Mercer of Mercer Investigations. We need to go. Now. It's not safe. Do you mind coming with us?"

"Okay," she said, her voice breathy. But as I turned back around, I could easily make out the exact second the color returned to her face. Her shoulders became rigidly tense and her hand tightened around to the gun. "No – what do you people want with me? You're the one who–"

Lara cut her off and pointed to the door Ash left from. "That man came to kill you."

"We can protect you," I pleaded. "Please."

"You were at the party last night. Why should I trust you?" Katherine said.

"The truth is, I thought you were involved in a recent murder. There was a gh– a _thing_ that killed Emmitt Cane." I said, stopping myself before admitting it was a ghost. As far as I knew, Katherine was entirely removed from the magical world, which meant she'd likely think I'm crazy if she heard the truth. "I think that your sister is somehow involved in the murder. If she is, she could be in a lot of danger."

"A thing?" she said, questioningly. The gun dropped a few inches. Instead of aiming at my chest, it was at my hips. Great. "What kind of thing killed Emmitt Cane?" she demanded.

"I..."

"Tell me," Katherine demanded, her gun rising to my chest again as she looked at me with renewed fear.

"A ghost," I admitted finally.

The terrified woman didn't react. "If you find her, than what?"

"If she's in danger, we'll protect her," I said. _And if she's the killer, well, that's a different story._

She stood there for another few seconds. A worried glance at Lara revealed Katherine's unease, for she hadn't moved an inch since she'd first raised her hands. Was she seriously considering using her gun, I wondered. "Look, if you want us to leave, we can. I promise you, though, that we're on your side."

"Follow my car," Katherine said finally, lowering the gun to her side and walking toward the front entrance.

The two women were still staring, white-faced from the register. I thought Katherine was just going to leave until she stopped in the doorway, turned around and blushed sweetly at one of the elderly women. Still holding the gun she made what might have been an innocent, palms-out gesture had she been unarmed. "Sorry for the trouble, Mrs. Trundle. I'm going to need the rest of the day off."

Mrs. Trundle's mouth moved, but no word came. Apparently, she wasn't used to seeing guns in the workplace.

"Sorry," Katherine said. Then she led the way out.

A second later, Lara and I hurried after her. She got into her car, we got into ours, and we both drove out of the parking lot.

Katherine's anxiety was reflected in her driving; she wasn't using blinkers, and often meandered over the lines. She took a random turn here and there as we followed, and neither Lara nor I could tell whether she had a destination in mind until she pulled into the parking lot of a coffee shop only a few miles down the road. Turning in to the first open space, we parked beside her, but she was already rushing inside.

"Public place," Lara said. "Smart girl."

She was already sitting at a table in the center of the room as we walked in. Glancing back and forth to her and the counter, I hesitated. I never just waltzed into a place without ordering something. It's rude. Lara saw my hesitation, rolled her eyes, and pulled me forward.

The pastel brown room had a few other couples chatting, while others used laptops. We were definitely not alone. The table was only wide enough for one, but I pulled a chair over from the next table and squeezed in next to Lara.

"What, exactly are you two after?" Katherine started us off.

"Exactly what we told you before," Lara said. "To find out the truth behind the murder of Emmitt Cane."

"I didn't have anything to do with that," Katherine said firmly.

Lara's jaw was actually clenching as she spoke. "We know, but we think that Kelly Freidman does. She's been missing, and we would like to know where she is."

"Why? And who killed Emmitt Cane?" she asked.

"We're not sure," I answered. "But whoever killed Emmitt is still out there. He's probably the same one who sent the ghost after Daniel last night."

"I thought that might have been you," she accused, a glint of fear in her eye.

"Is this before or after the ghost tried to kill Thomas?" Lara hissed with venom.

The two women's stares could have broken glass, so I figured now would be a good time to step in. "Do you know where Kelly is?"

Katherine's flaming eyes turned to me, but the look faded into dismay. "No. She... no."

Lara leaned forward and harshly said, "If you have any–"

I held a 'stop right there' hand in front of Lara. "Please, Katherine." I interrupted my step sister. Then, softly and with a consoling tone, I added, "We're trying to help."

Katherine looked back and forth, but when her eyes settled on me, I could see her lips twitch in fear and sadness. "I didn't even know that Emmitt Cane had died until Daniel told me last night. I can't see how Kelly is involved in any of this," she said, shaking her head in denial and clearly on the verge of tears.

I took a breath and decided to shift the conversation back a few steps. "Katherine, you didn't seem surprised to hear a ghost killed Emmitt. Why is that?"

Katherine gazed timidly at me. "I..." she paused, unsettled by the conversation. "I didn't believe it actually existed until I saw it for myself. I thought Kelly was just being crazy or something. She told me someone sent a ghost to kill her. I've been thinking this whole thing is a trick of some kind, right? A joke?"

Beside me, Lara gave a sigh of annoyed disapproval. I knew it was just the stress and lack of sleep getting to her. I was sure Lara honestly wanted to help. Lara, however, was never good under pressure, and _never_ one with an abundance of tact.

"I'll let you come to your own conclusions, but let's just assume the ghost is real. This ghost can't act alone, however. It can only appear when called upon. It's only a tool. A weapon. This means that a ghost wasn't after Daniel last night, but a person. Do you know anyone that would want to hurt your sister?"

Katherine shook her head, but looked wearily down into her lap. I hoped to give her a few seconds to think, but Lara was impatient. "Come on. There has to be someone."

Katherine looked rattled, and I knew Lara's abrupt tone didn't help.

"You can tell us," Lara said, as calmly as an cobra about to strike.

All the rapport I built up with Katherine had vanished, and once again she was on the defensive. I knew what I had to do, and didn't like it one bit. Turning to Lara, even putting my hand on her bare shoulder – she still wore last night's dress – I said, "Lara, do you mind getting us some coffee, please?"

Her muscles beneath my hand tightened as she turned slowly toward me. Then back to Katherine who was red in the face again. I thought she was about to explode. To lash out at me. Instead, she forced out one word. "Cream?"

"Yes, please."

"Nothing for me," Katherine said.

Through clenched teeth and badly hidden rage, she said, "Fine."

The two of us sat as Lara got up and headed to the counter.

"Sorry about that," I explained. "Lara means well. She's just..." I trailed off, unable to find a suitable word.

"...passionate." Katherine finished.

"Yeah. Under a lot of stress. Anyway, it would really help us out a lot if you could steer us in the right direction. Do you know anyone that would want to hurt Kelly?"

"I do." Katherine took a deep breath to collect her thoughts. "Kelly was having an affair on her husband. A few days ago she called me and told me that her husband's brother, Daniel Cane, saw her with her boyfriend in a restaurant. That was..." she put her head down. "That was the last time we spoke, in person."

"In person?"

"She also told me she was going to the cops. That her boyfriend had been murdered, and she planned to turn Emmitt Cane in. She seemed scared, though, and told me she sent me a letter, and that I'm not to open it unless I didn't hear back from her."

"Did it arrive?" I asked.

She nodded. "It didn't make sense."

"Neither do ghosts," I said with a friendly shrug.

"She said in her letter that... That Emmitt Cane can..."

"Cast spells? Perform Magic?"

That took her by surprise. Her mouth stopped working for a few seconds. "Well, yeah."

"It's true. Go on."

"She said that she meant to run off with Jackson – that's the boyfriend she was having the affair with. I don't know his full name. But that Emmitt Cane... um... it's really weird talking about this. The letter said Emmitt Cane killed Jackson."

Her voice cracked as she grew more and more upset, so I helped her along by saying. "Did Kelly's letter say how?"

"It said that when the two of them were, um, together, and that a..." she paused, "a..."

"A ghost?"

She gazed up at me. "Yeah. A ghost killed him."

So the ghost killed her lover. The legend of Gregory Scythe goes that he's out to protect his daughter's honor. It made me wonder if Jackson was the intended target, or if Emmitt sent it after Kelly only to have it kill her guy instead. Either way, if Kelly didn't have a motive for killing Emmitt before, she certainly did now. Not that I'd say that to her sister.

Lara came back and set down a cup of tan liquid in front of me. "Does Kelly have a safe house? A phone number? Any way we could contact her?"

Katherine shook her head. "Her phone's been off for days. Sorry, but I don't know."

I nodded, but I still didn't know how this all connected. "Unless there's anything else you can think of that may help me, I guess that's all. You're sure you don't know where your sister may be hiding?"

"No, I don't," she said firmly. "What about me? What happens now? Why was that guy even after me?"

_Good question,_ I thought. As far as I currently knew, Katherine was innocent of this whole thing. She had a sister who went missing. So what? Why send a hit man after Katherine over that? Had I simply not asked the right question?

Lara pulled a card out of her purse and set it on the table. "The best way to stay safe is to avoid your house and work. Skip town for a few days. We'll call you when it's over."

"What?" Katherine said, fear in her eyes.

I shrugged. "I hate to say it, but Lara's right. I still don't know why they're after you, but that's probably the best way."

"And avoid using your credit card. They'll track that. Take out your cell phone battery, too."

"What?" Katherine said, her jaw dropping slightly. "Who are these people? Can't I stay with you?"

"We're going after the bad guy. You'd be safer on your own." Then, I offered my hand, and the friendliest smile I had in me. "Thank you for the help," I concluded, lamely.

### Chapter 17

From the case files of Special Agent L. Garrison  
Supernatural Investigations Department:

Organization: (Name Unknown)

Do I believe there's an organization out there that employs, or even governs the supernatural?

To answer this question, let me tell you two facts.

1: First and foremost, the self-burning book cabinets. In the past decade alone, SI attempted to seize the possessions of three different suspected mages, and in all three cases, a fire broke out the moment someone entered the home. On the second incident, the suspected mage didn't even know we were ransacking his house.

2: Every magical incident in recent history has had all evidence removed or destroyed within hours of its occurrence. The warehouse incident was no exception; an ATM camera and two neighboring warehouse's security camera were wiped.

Were something of similar nature to happen in isolation, I'd have my doubts. However, organized cover-ups such as these are common whenever the supernatural is involved.

"Avoid using cards and cell phones?" I said, getting into the driver's seat of Cameron Cane's Mercedes. "What, you think the NSA summoned the ghost?" I mocked.

"It's for her own protection," Lara snapped, forcefully buckling her seatbelt.

"She was scared out of her mind," I said.

"Two of the three most likely suspects are the Venir and the Imperium. Both could hack into whatever they want."

_The Imperium?_ I stopped myself from voicing my objections, because she was on edge enough. Sure, I don't trust the Imperium, but I know they'd tackle the issue of a rogue mage head on. If they knew Emmitt Cane was an unregistered mage, they'd attack him with authority, not stealth. However, since the last thing Lara and I needed was another spat I kept my mouth shut.

She did the same, except with a lot more emotion. As I started up the engine, she sat in the passenger seat, icing up the windows around her with her frosty poise.

"So, I'm out of ideas. You got any?"

She clenched and unclenched her jaw as we drove.

"Okay. Why don't we stop for new clothes, now that stores are open? Get you out of that dress?"

No response, except that iceberg shoulder.

"Look, I'm sorry I blocked you out of the conversation." I said. "I just wanted to–"

"It's not that," she snapped.

"Okay?" I said, trying to think quickly through the past few minutes and coming up with squat. "What's on your mind?"

"It's the assassin, or whoever he is."

"Ash?" I said.

She stared sideways at me as we drove toward Wal-Mart, so I elaborated.

"The word is spelled out on his license plate, so it's what I've been calling him. It's as good a name as any.

"Okay, sure. Ash. I tried to stop him."

"It all worked out in the end." I said.

"Only because Katherine was competent enough to know bring a gun. No, I mean that I tried to stop him, but failed." She swallowed heavily as we drove on. "I had my spell ready. My focus prepared. But when it came down to it; nothing. Not even a spark."

"Don't worry about that. I mean, I've cast a record number of botched spells on this case, too. Haven't yet done a thing to the ghost. It's not easy, casting on the spot."

"You stopped it in its tracks on the bridge," she said.

"A temporary setback," I said. "It'll be back."

"But I've been practicing this all my life," Lara said brashly. "At a range, or in my basement I can cast perfectly. But the moment I need it, the math just doesn't add up. I forget a part of the spell, or get something wrong, or panic. The worst part is, the second the action's over, I know exactly how I goofed up, but by then it's too late – I've completely failed."

"Hey, you still hit him with the potted plant. That nearly knocked the guy out. The probability of hitting him like that was remarkably low."

She glared ferociously.

"That was a spell, right?"

She looked away, and my stomach knotted.

Damn. The one time she doesn't manipulate probability just happened to be the time she got genuinely lucky.

"That wouldn't exactly be probability magic. That throw was a hell of a lot easier than, say, throwing a set of keys into your pocket from ten feet away. It was a simple quadratic formula, which I can bring to mind instantly. I do Calculus in my dreams, Thomas, yet I didn't even think to use that spell. Instead I tried to cast some stupid lightning spell, which could have hit you, which is another thing I didn't realize."

"Lots of things could have gone wrong back there, but they didn't." I said. "You'll get it next time."

The silence hung there, full of uncertainty.

After a while, Lara said, "I tested to become a Guardian. Thrice. Failed, all three times. Same flippin' reason, all three times. Couldn't perform under pressure."

"Being a Guardian is overrated," I said. "Trust me, I'd know."

"Dad made it perfectly clear that I'm to carry on the family legacy," she said, her nose furrowed in anger. "My dad was Chief Guardian. So was my uncle before him and my Grandpa before him. The Mercers have been guardians dating back five centuries. What am I supposed to do? Just give that up? You know what Dad would think of me if I did."

I rolled my eyes at the thought of Lucian Mercer. "You dad is–" I stopped myself short. Instead of calling him a hard-ass, I instead said, "Your dad has rigid expectations. Not everyone has a quick mind like he does. Still, you're the smartest person I know."

She exhaled in disbelief.

"There aren't many who brave probability magic. Look how it's helped you in the PI biz."

"My PI job. Right. There's nothing I do here you haven't already done better, and this is only your second day. I've been at this for over a year and you're out-shining me. I thought this would give me some firsthand experience on the field, since the Guardians haven't offered me any. Honestly, if we get out of this alive, I might just give it all up before I go deeper in debt." Then, with a scornful tone, she added, "Join the council or something."

"Actually," I said carefully, knowing full well this conversation could turn bad, "That sounds like a good idea to me."

"I wasn't being serious," she snapped.

Everything I knew about Lara was telling me to drop the subject. She didn't open up to me very often. If I said the wrong thing, I'd probably happen upon one of her many insecurities. However, this wasn't the first time I'd seen her held back by her father's expectations. It hurt to see her continually try to follow the man down a path she didn't belong.

_She told you recently that she isn't the same person she used to be,_ I thought. _Maybe this is the opportunity to stop the endless squabbles._

"You were right about your name. There's a lot of history behind it. That doesn't mean it binds you to the Guardians," I said. "With your dad's name, you have a huge advantage over anyone else in the Imperium."

"Dad made it perfectly clear that I'm forbidden to join them," she said, angrily away from me.

"It might take a few years, but he'd be very proud of you if you're successful," I said.

"Thomas, I had this thought before. Dad told me I'm _not_ to join the council or the Judges."

"Then become a Technomancer. Stick to your strengths, rather than force your weaknesses. Hell, with his reputation and your smarts, you could be Emperor in thirty years."

"Drop it," she snarled, keeping her back to me as she stared out the window.

_Yep, she certainly changed,_ I thought sarcastically. _She snapped back three sentences in rather than two. Way to be supportive, Thomas._

We pulled into a Wal-Mart on a tense note. Still angry, both at her and at myself for deciding to open up to her, I thought best to discuss the case as I got out of the car. "What's our next move?"

Her manner went immediately professional, as did mine. "Well, I have a few ideas on how to take down the ghost, but first I think we need to find Kelly Freidman."

"Okay, how?" I asked.

"You think she might have found out how to cast? Got revenge on Emmitt herself for killing her boyfriend, Jackson?"

"That's one angle," I said. "And since Kelly is James' wife, it's possible that James taught her some magic. If she knew the basics, it wouldn't be hard for her to figure out that she can summon the ghost." I flung out my ideas, mostly at random. "Kelly learns she can cast. On an unrelated note, Daniel finds out about the affair and tells Emmitt. Emmitt summons the ghost and kills Kelly's boyfriend. Maybe Kelly wanted revenge, so she sent the ghost back after him,"

_No, Thomas. That's not it._ I couldn't finger exactly why, but somehow I knew I that was wrong.

"It makes sense." Lara said. "Plus, her affair was discovered by Daniel, so she'd want to kill him, too."

"But then there's this Ash guy," I said. "Why would anyone want to kill Kelly's sister? Katherine didn't know anything."

"Well, Katherine obviously knows something incriminating." Lara said. "Or could find it out easily. The only thing Katherine told us that we didn't know was that Jackson was the original victim of the ghost."

"Great, but I think we already know who summoned it that time."

"Emmitt Cane," she said. We approached the store's double doors, which opened neatly for us. Stepping past the greeter, we headed toward the clothes department.

"I think we're still missing something." I said. "It doesn't make sense to send an assassin after Katherine."

"Plus," Lara said, "there are two names that haven't come up yet."

"Whose?" I asked.

"Cameron."

"What about him?" I glowered.

"He's some distant relative who just comes out of nowhere. He's got a connection to Emmitt, and only Emmitt. Did you catch that Daniel hardly could place Cameron him when you dropped his name? No one else we've met has any idea who the guy is, which means that nothing he says can be proven one way or another. Plus, I just know he's going to somehow come out ahead in all of this."

"I've spent more time with him than you have. I trust Cameron Cane."

"Trust has nothing to do with it. Cameron is hiding something. Plus, with a family like the Canes, they've probably got their own guys looking into it."

"Yeah, but we're the only mages. Besides, I don't get a killer vibe from the guy."

"Then you must be blind," she said.

I shook my head, heavily annoyed. "Who's the other guy you were about to mention?"

"Lance Ruben."

"You think he's a suspect?"

"He's not the killer, but he and the Canes are connected. Emmitt's big brother, James, is tight with him, and Emmitt himself had some shady deal going on with him. They're definitely connected.

"Maybe Lance sent Ash to beat some answers out of Katherine." A small surge of anger arose within me upon realizing the tactic.

She bit her lip in thought as we approached a rack of solid colored blouses. "Hmm. No." I saw a glimmer of insight appear in her eye. "Ash! He's the key to all of this."

"Huh?"

"So, Ash started trailing you at the beginning of all this, right?" Lara said as she browsed the rack of gray and black tops.

"Trailing?" I said, holding back an amused smile at her choice of words. "Umm, yeah."

"Frankly, everyone had a motive to keep an eye on you two days ago, so I didn't think much of him. Honestly, I figured he was working for Lance, and that he just wasn't important."

"Okay," I said, not entirely sure where she was going with this.

"But now, he went after Katherine," she said, rushing her speech with excitement. "With a knife, which implies an intent to kill her. Ash was sent to silence her."

"Okay," I said.

"Don't you see, Thomas? There's only one reason he'd want to silence a witness."

Then, I realized it. "You think he's taking orders from the killer."

"Exactly," she said, pleased, holding up a conservatively cut blouse.

"So if we track down this Ash guy, we've got a direct connection to the killer."

Smiling, Lara grabbed a black top and a gray pair of pants as we spoke. "And since we already know his license plate numbers, I only need a few minutes on a computer and he's as good as found." She spun happily, heading toward the changing room.

"Hey, you mind lending me your phone?"

She stopped and glared. "Why?"

I met her eyes without flinching, which honestly is a lot more impressive than it sounds. "I want to make a call."

"Not Cameron, I hope," she said with narrowed eyes.

"He said he'd look for Kelly. Maybe he found out where she is."

"Fine, just be careful. I don't trust him," she said, taking it out of her small handbag and tossing it over.

"Fine."

I opened the phone and scrolled down to Cameron Cane in her contacts as she headed to the change room. My thumb hovered over the call button for a second before noticing the name right above his on the list, Brianna Porter.

_This whole business is dangerous,_ I found myself thinking. The deeper into this case we get, the more determined my enemy. What if Lara gets hurt? What if she freezes up, like she did in the greenhouse? Like she does every time she got in a stressful situation?

Glancing sideways at the store exit, my mind deviously drifted.

Don't even think about leaving her here, Thomas. You need her.

But what if she got hurt?

She'd never forgive you if you left.

But I'd never forgive myself if she got hurt because of me. Besides, the time of going around and nicely asking questions was over. Whoever summoned this ghost had us in their crosshairs. A hit man had already been sent for Katherine. If things got violent, Lara would be of little consequence to the killer.

Ash proved I was close, and Ash was on his way back to the true perpetrator – a full-fledged mage. The killer wanted blood, and though I love Lara like a sister, I know she's no fighter. Even if she did realize the scope of the situation, she'd give her own life before taking another's. I knew this, just as I knew she'd just get in my way.

Plus, I had another idea of how I could track Ash. A borderline suicidal idea, perhaps, but one that would close the case. That's what matters most. I just needed to get a bit more information. My foot stepped decisively toward the store's exit as I selected Bree's number.

I'm done playing nice with everyone. I need to find the killer, and I need to do it before he finds me.

I hit dial. The phone only rang once.

"Who is this?" a woman's voice said in my ear.

"The guy you're looking for."

"God Damn it, Thomas. You've got a lot of balls calling me."

"How's the search going, Bree?"

"Give yourself up, Thomas. Maybe the Council will spare you."

"Oh, they'll definitely spare me once I prove I'm not the killer," I said.

"Oh yeah? And who is?" Bree asked scornfully.

"I've got a lead, but I need your help."

"The only thing you'll get from me is–"

I put the mouthpiece right in front of my mouth and cut her off in a shout, "Where can I find Lance Ruben?"

The line went silent for several seconds. I thought she may have hung up, when she said, "What happened when Lance's men captured you last year?"

I rushed out the exit, into the parking lot. "That doesn't matter, Bree. Look, I've got–"

"You want to find Lance Ruben. I'm a guardian. Of course I know where he is. I'll give you his location, but it comes with a price. What happened in that warehouse?"

She had me trapped. Hell – I knew the truth would piss her off more than any lie I could concoct. But we were engaged for six months. She knew me, and would see through anything except the absolute truth. Sure, I've debated telling her in the past, but she'd never buy it. The love we shared once was solid. I haven't trusted anyone like her since. Aside from my father, I never trusted anyone as much as I used to trust her, Lara included.

"Off the record. The full truth," she demanded.

"I... I don't know all the answers you're looking for."

"Then I don't know where Lance is."

I swallowed a dry mouth as I got into the car.

"Your brother was working for the Venir," I said, my dismay pouring into the words. I felt horrible even saying it. The memory of his body crashing into the concrete wall burned in my memory. He pleaded with me, moments before his spark of life vanished. Pleaded with me not to tell her this very thing.

Her brother would want a killer brought to justice. Besides, he betrayed you. You don't owe him anything.

"Your brother was taking bribes," I said finally. "Reporting our actions to the Lance."

More silence.

I continued. "You already knew that I suspected your brother from the beginning, but the Imperium told me to stay out of it. I didn't find out we had a spy among the Venir until later. Until your brother was dead." I said, my mouth arid.

Bree already knew the beginning. She knew that I promised her that I wouldn't follow her brother, but I did anyway. How much harm could come from a quick look into his life?

A lot, as it turns out. If only I listened to her, her brother would still be alive. Shame erupted like a flame inside of me every time I remembered that broken promise. "It started when your brother left, and I... I followed him to the warehouse."

The phone's silence urged me on while demanding that I hang up. I shook my head and turned on the car.

"Did you kill him?" she asked.

Why did this have to happen via the phone? Bree deserves better than this.

I sighed, closing my eyes at the disturbing memory. I'd often made a point not to think on what happened. When I tried to respond, my throat tightened. It did every time I thought about the experience.

"Damn it, Thomas. We've been through this," she said as I hesitated. "You walked out of the warehouse. You weren't unconscious. How did you survive while he died?"

"I don't know," I said. "There are a lot of things about that day I hardly remember, but only one thing I'm sure about. I didn't kill anyone that day."

"Who else was there?"

"Five nameless thugs," I said. "They were the ones who found me snooping around. They held me for a week in some industrial sized fridge. The thing I remember most is the cold. Numbing cold. I couldn't move my arms. Legs. Couldn't think. I-"

"Who else was there?" she repeated.

"For the first few days, just me, the five Venir, and that kid," I told her, my voice suddenly seething with a growing anger. "Lance's men found me sneaking around outside, and took me in with a passing kid. They bound me to a chair, and him to a metal table. They threatened to kill me, and made me watch as they tortured the kid. They cut out his eyes, and then his tongue. They smashed his hands and feet. God, he couldn't have been older than twelve or thirteen. We were there for... I didn't know how long. It felt like weeks, but it ended up being only three days. The kid couldn't talk, and I had no idea who he was.

"I thought they killed him, but then they came and tortured him again. I don't know why they did it, or why they made me watch. And wasn't until minutes before it happened when your brother showed up. I don't know how, but when he arrived, the kid somehow changed. His hands got better, and he–" I swallowed, reigning in my anger. "The child killed them. Everyone. Ripped apart the warehouse and ripped apart the people. I tried to tell him to spare your brother but the kid was so full of rage."

I took a breath, and pushed the memory to the back of my mind where it belonged. "The last thing I remember is the kid turning back to me, his eyes bleeding and blank. He reached out a hand and... and then I remember being in a police interrogation room. I know the story makes no sense. I know that kids can't cast, but I swear, Bree that I'm telling you the truth. The building had fallen down around me. The people in it were dead, and I didn't have a scratch on me, but that's how it happened."

I tried to read into the silence on the phone. What was she feeling? Rage? Sadness? Relief? Skepticism?

"Look," I said, "I wish I had a better explanation, but I don't. The kid hadn't even reached the age of reason, but even so, he was the most powerful mage I'd ever seen. I've considered every possibility. They didn't drug me, or mess with my mind. Maybe this kid destroyed the warehouse. Maybe not, but whoever destroyed the place had a hell of a lot more power than I'll ever have. I don't know if the kid survived. I don't know if he acted alone. I'm not even sure he did it. The only thing I remember is relief that I survived."

A flicker of static crossed the line. I waited for her response - any response, even if she'd just hung up on me. I knew that she'd never believe it, but it was the whole, horrible truth.

"Lance Ruben has an upscale nightclub in Maplewood. The Divination. He owns the place and uses it as a base of operations by day. And Thomas? This conversation never happened."

I heard a click, and the line went dead.

Sliding the phone angrily into my pocket, I looked back toward the store as I put the car into drive, leaving my sister behind. Even the smooth drive ahead did not lighten my dark mood.

### Chapter 18

There are three things in the world that I know I can count on. My focus ring is one of them. Since that was lying in some cranny up in a random skyway above the streets of Minneapolis, it wasn't much help.

My wards ranked as number two on the list. That is, the series of protective spells I'd put around my triplex apartment.

Attacking a mage on his home turf is essentially the equivalent of suicide – breaking into that same mage's home isn't much easier. At least, not without him or her sending a cascade of pre-programmed spells your way.

Burning a mage's house down, however, works like a charm.

I rounded the corner of the block and fell into a stunned daze. Smoke wafted heavily into the air, visible from a mile away like a menacing black tower. It couldn't be my house, I figured. I pulled in behind one of the two fire engines parked across the street. Stepping out of the car, my paperclip focus wrapped tightly around my finger, I strode toward the police barrier. The whole neighborhood had gathered around. A few even parted as I strode on through. Some I recognized. Others recognized the grim expression on my face and stepped aside.

The bastard burned down my house.

"Sir," I distantly heard a fit man in a blue-black outfit call out to me as I stepped past the barrier. "Sir, get behind the barrier."

When he put his hand on my bicep, I shrugged him off as I looked at the still smoldering ruins.

Empty windows hung on the fragile, front wall. Through the black void of smoke, I saw a few burning shingles. That was all that remained of the roof. The two units connected to mine were completely indistinguishable now from the wreckage of my own place. Only yesterday they'd been three, entirely distinct places. Each porch had its own separate railings around it – mine with its faded paint and disrepair, my landlady's with her perfectly garnished metal ones, and the woman in the middle with her picket fence-like designs. Now, they were the same.

Ruins.

The musky smell of burnt wood was laced with a tangy chemical smell. I stared, my mind in a daze.

"I live here," I said.

"You do?" the man, who I recognized as a cop through my hazy disbelief, said. "Which unit?"

"One on the right."

His grip tightened. "Fire started there. It started fast. Come with me. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

I brought a spell to mind. Taking off my ring and holding it firmly in my hand, I felt it immediately tug toward the ruins. Magnetism wasn't my specialty, but I've pulled this off hundreds of times on a smaller scale. Increasing the pull between my ring and the target inside, I felt my hand budge toward the ruins. Glowering at the wreckage, I rethought my approach.

I wasn't sure if I pulled my arm out of the cops grip, or if he let me go. Frankly, in my angered state of mind, it didn't matter. I slipped the paperclip ring off my middle finger and set it against the side of the truck opposite the house. Then, I increased the power of the spell up by a hundred or times.

The paperclip dented perhaps a quarter of an inch into the side of the truck, but from the side of the wrecked house; _my_ wrecked house, a thin staff of wood emerged. Flinging out of the wreckage, the staff speared into the door on the opposite side. Blackened ash and drywall sprayed over the narrow lawn, and even out to the cracked sidewalk as the staff pummeled through the blackened wall. The bulk of my house collapsed outward with a reverberating crack.

The cop beside me forgot what he was doing and ducked in surprise, hiding his head behind his arm. I canceled the spell between my ring and the staff. After letting the paperclip ring drop gently into my hand, I strode around the truck to collect my mage's staff.

_This_ was the third thing I could count on. While it had charred wood on the outside, the inside it was pure steel. The focus was layered with over a dozen different spells, and as in tune with me as a sharpshooter is to his favorite rifle. The wood quivered beneath my palm, waiting. Yearning to find the man who encased it in the inferno.

"Sir!" the cop regained his nerve as swiftly as he lost it and turned toward me. I was done playing by Imperium rules – hell; I was done play by anyone's rules. I'd been framed. Stripped. Made to run like a doe from a tornado. And that was the stuff I could deal with.

But this...

My house may have been a rundown shack in the beaten-down side of town, but damn-it, it was _my_ rundown shack, and they had no right to burn it down. And what of the neighbors? What of Ms. Klein? Was she still alive? They had no right at all.

And not only my house, but my laptop, which contained a small library of research. My spellbooks. My notes. The only picture I had of my real mother. Everything. Gone. Burned to the ground.

With a gentle flick of my staff, the cop stumbled away as he made a step in my direction. Having what I needed, I didn't linger. Without a word, I strode past the barrier in the same way I came. The crowd parted as I walked.

I noticed that I'd never shut the car door, let alone taken out the keys to Cameron's Mercedes. Setting my staff, my only remaining possession, into the passenger seat, I slammed the door closed and drove off.

Chapter 19

The Divination was a smallish building just off the highway. Located deep in suburb-land, the building was on the intersection of two highways. Located on a street with half a dozen chain restaurants, the nightclub would hardly have stood out if not for the luminous sign that stood slightly taller than the others. A mall wasn't far away either. Since I'd been expecting a secluded, low-end nightclub, it surprised me somewhat when I saw just how modern it was. But then, a place like this would rarely set off anyone's alarms, whereas a stereotypical, secluded mob-hangout would.

I pulled into the mostly empty parking lot, still fuming over my house, when I noted that the other cars in the lot tended to be black sedans with tinted windows.

Except one; a familiar gray car that stood out from the others. I parked beside it and got out of my car, squinting toward the plate. The letters ASH stood out immediately.

The part of me that still had some manner of grace stumbled. Ash was here? Was he working for Lance? Was he here under the orders of the killer?

Good. It's about time he answers for what he's done.

I'd seen him first at the parking lot of the gas station, when he tailed me to James' cabin, before I'd even realized this whole thing would blow up into a gargantuan mess. While I'd suspected and assumed he'd tried to follow me since, all he could really report is my whereabouts. Unless he was a top-notch shadow, he couldn't report my actual actions. I'd gone to James's place, and then the dinner party, where I assumed he'd lost me. Then, I hadn't reconnected with him until he went after Katherine.

But why would the killer send Ash after Katherine?

Katherine was hardly connected to any of this. She was seemingly ignorant concerning the magical world. Her own sister told her about a ghost, yet Katherine hadn't believed her, so why would anyone want to target her?

_I'm looking at this from the wrong angle,_ I told myself. Instead of focusing on what she doesn't know, I thought about what she _does_ know. If I found something potentially incriminating to someone, I'd find my clue.

The only thing I had going for me was that Katherine didn't know much. She knew a ghost was summoned. She knew it killed Kelly Freidman' boyfriend. She knew that Kelly Freidman went to the police for help.

So why would Lance send Ash to kill Katherine? And on that note, what would Katherine even tell the police? It's not like they'd act on a ghost story. There was only one thing that makes sense in all this; Lance has no reason to go after Katherine. Which means Ash is not actually working for Lance. Or rather, he's not working _only_ for Lance.

More clues were around, I was sure, but I hadn't yet caught them. I simply _knew_ that I'd missed something relevant. What that could be, I had no idea.

The sun continued its slow climb up the horizon, converting the sky quickly into an uneasy, dull gray. Staring again at the glass door of Lance Ruben's nightclub, my anticipation peaked. My skin tingled, and my every instinct told me that Lance was _not_ a good guy to get involved with. The smart thing to do would have been to run away. To just pick a random state and flee. Yet I also knew that if Lance held the final pieces of this messed up puzzle, it'd all be worth it. I tried to put extra oomph in to the way I held my staff as I took my first step into the club's entryway.

It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust from going to bright, morning sunlight to a dusky bar, but when they did, I stood before a giant wearing a suit.

"The hell you doing here," the guard said as his stony hand clasped tightly around my collar. Even before I had the double door shut, he yanked me inside and shoved my back firmly against the closed door of the set. His impossibly tight grip had my weight partway off the ground.

I stared into his face, which looked as rough as his greeting. Short hair. Newly trimmed goatee. Built like an Ox. It took me a moment to recognize him, but I stopped wriggling immediately when I saw the face of James Freidman.

I'd last seen James in his high-rise condo, when he'd been grieving beneath a thick layer of bear-scented sweat. Yet it seems he went through the stages of depression in the wrong order. He started out depressed, but became the embodiment of anger.

"Mr. Freidman, restrain yourself," a high-pitched, polite voice chimed from an elderly gentleman.

"This asshole killed my wife," he growled, his hot breath on my face.

My body tensed with surprised fear, but I peered over to find Lance Ruben standing in a bar. "If he is indeed responsible for your wife's disappearance, than I shall give you a quiet room to do with him as you please. However, I doubt Mr. Amberose would have come to me willingly were that the case. Isn't that right, Mr. Amberose?"

Although James' beefy grip slackened, his anger was by no means forgotten.

The Divination was clearly designed to be a dance club, but it still had a warehouse feel to it. The central dance area stretched two floors high, with a U-shaped catwalk running along either side and above the door. The room sported a deep red color scheme that wasn't especially warm or welcoming to me. Mounted lights were all over the ceiling or mounted onto the sides of the upper balconies.

Yet all the people populated a separate sitting area with a bar to the direct right of the door. From my vantage, it seemed to be the only section that didn't have a clear view of the stage and dance floor. Long and slender, the room housed a bar at the far end, and an aisle surrounded on either side by booths. Being pre-party time, the empty nightclub had only Lance and his men, who sat doing, well, whatever it is guys like them do in their spare time.

My back was still toward the door, I could make out Lance and his dozen or so men behind him, including the haughty features of Ash. Only about half of them had guns in hand. Ash, thankfully, had only his knife.

"That is no way to treat our guest, Mr. Freidman. Release him, please."

James Freidman's eyes, which never left my own, seemed to give out a final puff of anger. After one more pouty shove against the wall he let me go, but he obeyed and took a small step back.

I turned to Lance, who looked into the nearest, tall-backed booth as he flicked his fingers in a 'shoo' gesture. A thin, sweating man in a suit scurried out of the booth and fluttered past me, out the door.

"Welcome, Thomas, to the Divination," Lance waved his hand with a flamboyant elegance toward the other recently vacated seat.

Behind Lance, the six gunmen sat down. The seventh, Ash, took another second to put away his knife. I could simply see the anxiety pooling behind his eyes. Attack? Or wait? I met his stare as my fingers grew tense on my staff, and could see in his eyes as much fear in him as I felt in myself.

"Come on inside!" Lance said. "Welcome. I presume you have information pertinent to keeping yourself alive?"

With my staff planted firmly in front of me, I met his eyes. "I've scrounged up a few things, but they'll cost you."

"Cost me? Oh my. I believe we already have a deal in place."

"Yeah, about that," I said, walking toward him. He sat in the booth nearest the bar, all the way at the end of the aisle. It was the only seat that wasn't alongside a window. Forcing my anxiety out of consciousness, I thrust back my shoulders headed to meet him in the plush, leather seat across from him. After transferring my staff into my other hand, I sat. The butt of the staff was still on the ground as I held it carefully in place. The whole while, James followed hardly a foot behind. "Your deal doesn't work for me. Too one sided."

He inhaled with a dramatic pained look. "I'm sorry, Mr. Amberose, but I believe I was perfectly clear as to what I require from you, and what you will get in return."

"Meaning I'm to find the killer, or die," I clarified boldly.

Lance gave a hint of a smile.

"Fine," I said as I made to get back up. "Then you'll just have to take your chances on your own."

James Freidman stepped haughtily in front of me the moment I was on my feet, actually pounding one fist into his other palm.

"Sit down, Mr. Amberose," Lance stated. "Or you will be dead before you get halfway to the door."

Lance Ruben leaned forward, his gray eyes glinting playfully as he looked me up and down. I didn't know much about upper-class fashion, but I wouldn't doubt that his emerald colored, velour suit alone was perhaps as expensive as this entire establishment. His combed back, bone-white hair stayed plastered firmly in place by about a pint of product, and he tapped his fingers on the smooth wooden table.

"You know what I don't understand, Lance?" I turned and leaned on my staff. "Why would you just come and threaten me? Not really your style, is it? Not when you can shoot me in the back and be done with it. No, instead you decided to threaten me. Find the truth or die. Kinda weird, isn't it? Especially since you knew I had nothing to do with Emmitt Cane's death." I faked a show of enthusiasm on my face, adding, "Or maybe you had another motive."

I sat down then, holding back the flinch of pain as I plopped down on my scarring ass. "It wasn't a threat at all. It was a cry for help."

"Very good, Mr. Amberose. Taking you on was always a risk, since I never quite knew your level of competence, but it seems you've passed one of my tests. Your lateness prevents me from giving you a good grade perhaps, but you passed."

Ash shifted behind James and leaned against the side of the side of the backrests just across from me. His knife was still in his hand. The whole time, he didn't take his eyes off me. I didn't like the way his eyes darted to and fro faster than a child in a haunted house. Nor did I like the snarl just touching his lips.

"Well, I've got good news. I know who did it, or at least have enough evidence for your guys to figure it out yourself. Thing is, it cost me a lot to come by."

"I heard," Lance said with a wave of his hand. "That dreadful business in the Cane Ballroom. So, who was this mysterious killer?"

"I have several leads that you'll make more sense of than me, but first, there are a few things that don't add up. For instance, you made a deal with Emmitt a few months back. What was it?"

"That deal concerns me and the deceased. It sounds like you came here prematurely, Mr. Amberose."

"As I said, I've got information that'll lead you to the killer," I said. "You want the killer. I want my name cleared with the Guardians. It'll take you one phone call to get them off my back."

"Ugh," he groaned with a grandfatherly smile. "Phones. Always hated them. You know, I'm touched that you've come to me with your problems. I really am. But make no mistake. Just because you passed my first test doesn't mean I'm your friend. Our old deal is still in place. You are on your own. Or rather, you will be on your own once you tell me what you know."

Standing menacingly beside me, James still had one fist balled into the other. The meaning was clear. If I don't tell him, I'll be stuck in another industrial fridge. This time, it'll be me they'll torture instead of some innocent kid.

"Fine. You want the killer?" I asked, eyes locking onto Lance. With my free hand, I pointed a finger at Ash. "Ask that guy."

I didn't actually know exactly what I was expecting from that. What I got was total chaos.

Ash darted directly for me, the blade rushing straight for my throat. My mind reacted as quickly as any reflex, and with half a thought, I messed with the magnetic fields in my staff and his knife. The blade still bore the energy from when I enchanted it in the greenhouse, so instead of stabbing me, the switchblade made a ninety-degree turn on its way toward my face.

There's a downside to reflexes, however. Had I put some thought into the spell, I probably wouldn't have flung his knife directly toward Lance. Ash, with his white-knuckled grip, went along for the clumsy ride.

James reacted just as quickly. One gloved hand jerked out, clenching Ash's wrist. As he held out the other hand it became encased with a wispy, dark mist. His fingers closed, and the knife, still in Ash's hand, simply stopped moving. Without making actual contact to the knife, James twisted his gloved hand; the thin blade speared harmlessly downward, where it sank entirely into the solid, oak table. Only the handle remained visible.

Ash didn't delay. In fact, he seemed to expect trouble. Rather than go for the knife, he miraculously twisted his arm out of James' grasp. I could see the fear on his face before he turned around and sprinted for the door.

But as Ash turned his back, it sounded as though TNT exploded. The back wall, as well as two men slightly in front of Ash, became ensnared with an oval haze of blood.

That's the thing about big guns – you'd expect the target to fly in the direction of the bullet, but that's not always true. When you've got five pounds of guts flying out your front, the momentum blasts you backwards using the same mechanics as a rocket.

Fearfully, I looked back at Lance, where I saw a massive pistol in his grasp. Predictably, he aimed it at me next. And that's how we stood for about a thousand years as I wondered what kind of afterlife I'd have.

"Well. That's unfortunate," Lance said, sitting up straighter to gaze down at Ash, who lay motionless on the ground. Then, keeping with the upbeat tone, he asked, "I don't suppose you have any other leads, now that he's dead."

I don't know what scared me more. The fact that Ash had just died not ten feet away from me, or the way Lance shrugged it off with nothing more than an annoyed sigh.

"Err, I–"

"Keep in mind, Mr. Amberose, that I already have one body to clean up, so another would not be much of an inconvenience."

Tell him what he needs to know, Thomas. Then maybe, just maybe, he'll let you go.

_No!_ I reminded myself. _Tell him everything, and he'll just kill you. I'm not getting out of here unless he needs me alive._ The realization filled me with the kind of dread that straightened my backbone.

"Does the 'tell me or die' trick ever get old, Lance?" Mouth said before Mind could wrestle it down. "It does from this side of the table."

"Careful, Thomas," Lance warned. Angry air hissed out of James's nostrils as he stood uncomfortably close.

I looked to Lance, glanced quickly down at the bloody floor, and back to him.

"That man was tailing me." I said, nodding down to Ash. "I presume under your orders."

"True enough," he said. "Gordy was always a bit impulsive, but in that case he was working under my orders."

"Did you also condone the death of an innocent woman?"

He stared at me. "No."

"Funny," I said, flicking a finger toward the blade in the table. "We caught him with that knife in his hand and a determined stride toward her back."

"Toward whose back?"

"Sorry, Lance. I tell you that and I may as well just tell you everything."

James stared down at me, his eyes suddenly alight with a fearful wonder. "Was it Kelly?"

His face transformed at the mention of his wife. With her in mind, the gangster snarl permanently plastered on his face looked soft. Loving, even.

"No," I said.

"Do you know where my Kelly is?" James asked, his lip quivering in anxiety.

"James, please. We're talking." Lance said with a dismissive wave.

I could all but see the steam charge out of James' nose again, but the guy kept a steady face as he refolded his arms.

"Nah, I think we're done here," that stubborn side of me said as I stood up quickly. "I gave you someone with answers, and you killed him. My side of the deal is fulfilled."

"And you think I'm just going to let you walk out of here?" Lance said. "Mr. Cane's murderer is still out there. Why would I let you go?"

"Because," I said. "Your guys aren't turning anything up. If you want to find your killer's identity, I've got to keep digging."

Lance sat back, resting smugly against the cushion. The gun still aimed menacingly at my chest. It took all the courage I had to turn around.

"Just one more inquiry, Mr. Amberose." Lance said, out of nowhere.

"I'm done with your questions," I said, taking the first step toward the door.

"Where would you be had I not coerced you into working this case?"

James hulked in front of me, barricading my path. I looked over my shoulder and said, "In my house, which wouldn't be burned down."

"You claim to choose the path of Acedia," he said with a skeptical stare. "Yet I suppose you also claim to be the sort of man who prides himself on his high moral stature. You know what I think, Thomas?"

I stared, biting my tongue.

"I think you would be standing right where you are now, still wrapped up in the middle of it all. Diligence is what drove you to investigate that warehouse last year, against Bree's wishes. It is also what compelled you to face me alone, rather than get others involved. In you, I see potential, Mr. Amberose. Potential that, once unlocked, could make you one of the greatest men of our age. It is a sin to let your talents go to waste."

I turned back to James, who didn't budge.

"Show me your worth, Mr. Amberose. Prove your path will lead you away from acedia, and perhaps I will one day find use of you."

Without turning, I said, "I'll never work for you."

"We'll see," he said, flicking his fingers with the hand that didn't hold the gun toward my back. James stepped to one side.

With a deep breath, I stepped over Ash's corpse. Then took another toward the door. My chest pounded in fear. It took considerable effort not to stumble on my way out, but with my breath held in my lungs all the while.

Chapter 20

"Thomas, hold up," James said in the parking lot, as I made it to my car. Out in the open sunlight, his bald head had a shine to it. He had muscles, and a long tattoo of a two snakelike dragons running down his arms. Their bodies, one red and the other blue, intertwined like DNA and traveled his arm until they disappeared underneath his black gloves. James's bald head, muscles, tattoos, and amazing action figure grimace would make him the perfect professional wrestler. All he'd need is a pair of tights.

I foresaw two versions of what happened inside, in the two seconds after I left. One involved James walking out on Lance. This was unlikely, considering what I knew about Lance, so I figured it was the other. I ignored James as I got into the Mercedes, tossing my staff into the passenger seat.

As I turned the key, James shattered the passenger window with his meaty elbow and opened the locked door from the inside, and got in.

_Cameron is going to kill me,_ I thought.

Something told me that Lance Ruben shouldn't be the one to find Kelly. The obvious reason being that he'd probably torture and kill her if he so much as suspected her to be guilty. Or worse, he'd force her and James through couples's therapy before hiring her. That's the last thing this world needed – a husband-and-wife pair of mage assassins loyal to Lance Ruben. No, if this were to end well, I'd have to team up with James to find her.

"You know anything about my wife?" James said, his polite voice a front for his anger.

"What's it to you?"

"Hell, Thomas, I love her enough to walk out on Lance. Do me a favor and spill."

"Sorry," I put the car into reverse and jerked it back out of its parking space. My whole life I'd driven junkers, so the quick burst of acceleration nearly had me back into another car. "Lies will get you nowhere."

"Yeah, fine. I'm here on Lance's orders. Doesn't change shit. I want to know where my wife is."

"So do I." I sped off, not really caring that I was pissing off the next best thing to Hercules.

"I love her, and I know what you're about to say. I know she was cheating on me."

My nerves were shaking me again, but I was able to look confident enough. "Look, James. You want the truth? The truth is that your wife is the only person I've come across that has a motive against Emmitt. Let me break it down for you. Kelly was sleeping around. Daniel found out and told Emmitt. Emmitt tried to use the ghost to kill her, but since Gregory Scythe goes after guys, it killed her boyfriend instead. She was pissed, so she killed Emmitt and ran. You want proof?"

The black gloves on his fist tightened, making a stretchy clacking sound. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Katherine. Daniel. Others. The information is good."

"No," he hissed, along with an unintelligible combination of insults in a short breath. "Nah, that's impossible. Kelly don't know shit about magic. I didn't let her."

"You know, James, the more you lock your stuff away from her, the more she'd try to get into it," I said in annoyed, childlike tones.

"Nah, you're wrong. She knew I was a mage, but didn't know shit herself. I'd have known if she got into my stuff."

"Kept close tabs on her, did you? You keep a focus on her? Wedding ring, maybe?"

He kept his mouth shut and shook his head. I could feel the anger in him ready to erupt.

"It might not be the case," I said. "Help me find her. Help me prove otherwise."

Snarling angrily, he reached for the door handle. I wasn't sure if his hands were too big to fit into the handle, or if he'd forgotten to unlock it. This car locked all by itself when it started driving, and he couldn't get it open.

"Maybe it was her. Maybe it wasn't. Either way, your wife is in this as deep as I am. Let's work together on this. Do you think Lance will let Kelly live if he finds her?"

Suddenly, everything was spinning as he backhanded me with his ten-pound ham of a fist. There was a black and firefly colored haze that encased my vision, and an accompanying rattling sound. Swimming through the daze, I wondered if it were my imagination, or if my jaw seemed a bit looser than usual. When I came to, the car door was open.

"Wait!" I said, calling out the half-open window. "James, stop! Help me on this!"

The hulk hesitated, his shoulder mounting in anger.

I actually thought he might reconsider. I was about to step outside, until a moment later when he pounded one fist into his open palm. The glass on the driver's side window sprayed inwards against my cheek. He did it again, breaking both of the back windows with a single blow. And another that blasted the windshield, spreading a spidery set of cracks across the front of the car without actually breaking out the glass. Overcome entirely with rage, stomped his bull legs off to the parking lot, got into his own car, and sped out onto the road.

### Chapter 21

Speeding off into an illegal U-turn, I managed to keep James in sight before he turned down some random road. Making a quick retreat to the highway, he ignored a couple of stop signs, leaving me no choice to do the same.

Leave it be, Thomas. Just hide out for a few days. Wait until the killer is caught. Then, come back and say, 'told you so."

A few pieces of my car's windshield wavered dangerously in the frame as I followed him through the intersection. Driving with equal parts anger and determination, breaking the laws of traffic like some hooligan, I kept pace with him. The blasting wind through the broken windows cooled my sweat, making me feel like an icicle, but I forced myself to drive.

Tracking spells were easy, in theory. I always failed at them, but other mages don't. Could James be following her? Was my wedding ring theory true?

And what if he did find Kelly. Best case, they'd run off together and have their happy ending while the Guardians gave me the blame. Worst case, she'd thrown it off in a ditch somewhere, and he'd never find her. Thus, blame falls, once again, on me.

_So what?_ I asked myself _. Do nothing?_

James turned into the exit only lane and approached the off ramp at dangerous speeds. So did the car behind me, I noted. Blasting down toward him, glad my car was the equivalent of an Olympic-runner, I listened to the nearly silent engine as I stomped the pedal. My phone started to ring at that moment, which was hardly a fact worth noticing since there was no way I'd rummage through my pocket, let alone talk.

The off ramp led to another highway. The black SUV followed. Was it a Cop? Why does that car look familiar?

We drove northbound on I-35E. I was familiar with the area, and as we drove, the area became even more familiar. The suspicion in me grew as I followed him down an exit I'd taken only yesterday. The suspicion grew into suspense as he took a few well-known side streets.

"The hell is going on!" I said, when his car popped up the curve and through the yellow warning tape around the property.

James Freidman slid to a stop, right atop of my triplex's small lawn.

I stopped behind him and quickly got out, toting my staff.

He'd come to my house. Why the hell would he come to _my_ house? The smoldering mess was deserted now, and none of this made sense to me.

James stomped heavily out of his car, slamming his door hard enough to crack the windowpane. Then, with one hand held forward toward the wreckage, a golden glint sprang through the ash. Using the same spell I'd used only hours before, and from the very same wreckage, he pulled a glinting ring into his gloved hand.

Then, James Freidman turned to me, murder in his eyes. "You..."

I tilted my staff toward him. "I had nothing to do with–"

"You killed my wife," he said, his voice feral. Closing one fist tightly, he pounded his enchanted glove into his palm. I felt a concussive energy slam directly into my chest.

While direct, force-to-body contact was lessened by my natural defenses against magic, that hardly helps when a blow like his pounds into you. Sure, my defenses prevented him from rattling my insides. It didn't, however, do much to stop the incoming force a millimeter away from my skin. I'm immune to a direct blast of force in the same way that I'm immune to a smack from a baseball bat – that is to say, it slammed me off my feet.

My back hit the sandy pavement and emptied my lungs of air. When I scurried around to my hands and knees, I wheezed, "Wait!"

A new voice entered the mix. A woman's. "James Freidman! Get on the ground, now! By order of the Imperium, I place you both under arrest."

I grasped for my fallen staff, but I didn't notice that James wasn't going for the magical assault any longer. He'd rushed bodily toward me, making me the inept matador to his bovine charge. While my hand locked onto my staff, his grasped me by the muscle in my upper shoulder. With a grip that could crush a solid block of wood, he lifted me limply into the air. I tried to take my staff along, but he slammed his foot down on it.

A thin strand of darkness sprayed past me. I flinched at its sudden appearance, but gawked when it hurled by me and slam directly into James' stomach. But for as menacing as the dark orb appeared, the enraged giant didn't slow when it hit.

His grip on my shoulder tightened. My neck and armed screamed with pain. Electrical jolts ran down my arm as he clasped a nerve. I thought that in any second, he'd rip me apart. Instead, he simply shoved me aside.

I stumbled limply, getting my feet beneath me, but my balance fell too far in front of me to regain my footing without falling. Relatively painlessly, I rolled onto my lawn, arising awkwardly after a few seconds to turn toward James.

He was there, staring toward the Black SUV that followed us. Not twenty feet away, stood Bree Porter. She held her slender pen of a wand held before her as it vibrated with power. "Get on the ground," she screamed at him. "Now!"

I could see the humanity leaving James' mad face. Would a man like James surrender? Of course not. With his enchanted gloves clenching around marble fists, he was going to go after her. He was going to kill her. Then he was going to kill me.

James took a step toward her, and I noted his foot left the top of my staff. I considered using that to my advantage, but realized I was still in his peripheral vision. Any spell I could cast would be obvious. Besides, even if I did get through James, I still looked guilty as hell now that he'd torn Kelly's wedding ring from the wreckage of my house, which would mean I'd have to get away from Bree all over again.

That is, assuming the Imperium hadn't warranted me dangerous enough to kill on sight.

"By order of the Imperium, surrender!" Bree shouted as James took another trollish step.

Getting wobbly knees beneath me, I knew my only chance of survival was to get the hell out. To run and not look back.

But how would I be able to live after letting Bree take a metaphorical bullet for me? She was perhaps the best illusionist that had ever lived, but her magic was all about avoiding fights, not participating in them.

Thomas, run!

Torn, I took a step back as my eyes flashed upon my staff once again. My mind wavered back to the small-time criminals Bree and I'd stopped. I remembered the kid who'd stumbled upon the rules of magic. I thought of the all-night stakeouts we'd once spent, and the conversations we'd shared.

Run!

Logic aside, I knew there fleeing wasn't an option.

My mind focused on the staff as I sprang into action. The wooden shaft was twenty feet away, well out of reach. However, when I bend down, imagining it at my side, I could feel it in my hand. The utterly complex spell involved had already been taken care of, programmed into the staff itself. When I lifted the imaginary staff, the real one at the curb rose as well. That one was only an arm's length from James's back.

Grasping the invisible pole in both hands, I gave my staff a hefty swing, low through the air. I aimed for his knee. It cracked against his lower thigh. I grunted, both in effort and dismay.

James hardly winced. Spreading his fingers, he shoved the air in front of him forward. Bree flung forcefully backwards, onto her back.

Hardly a moment later, he spun around as I heaved my staffs – both imaginary the real one mirroring it – into another, hefty downward swing.

James reached up and simply caught it. The imaginary one I grasped halted as well. He didn't stop there, however. Before I had a chance to think, he used his entire weight to simply shove the staff forward and up.

I realized I should have ended my spell as my imaginary staff suddenly pounded heavily against my ribcage. Dull pain encased my chest as I flew backwards, through a charred section of the porch. The wood chipped and splintered, ripping at my pants and back.

And there I lay, in the wreckage of my porch. My ankle wrenched horribly to one side as I toppled backwards, and my arm lashed out to grasp at a grainy slab of wood. Dozens of tiny pains spiked into my fingers and palm.

All I could do was lie there and listen as another of Bree's spells snap-crackled through the air. I was in no condition to fight. My hand hurt. So did my ass. My head was dazed, both from pain and exertion. The battle may have well been miles away. When I looked, my short sleeve was covered in blood and tattered near the elbow.

Get ahold of yourself, Thomas.

Bree yelped, and some of the haze over my head lifted. Fighting my way forward, and using my non-slivered hand to shove myself onto my knees, I witnessed James and Bree locked in an unevenly matched struggle. James had one of her slender elbows in his hands, while he simply crushed her wand in his other.

"Hey!" I said, my voice coming out in a harsh rasp. I fought back a cough as I held my ringed hand forward.

Bree heaved her arm away from him, but it was as hopeless as fighting against gravity. James stood back, lifting one fist. I recalled what he'd done to each of the windows of Cameron's car, and terror struck me upon realizing he could smash in Bree's head just about as easily.

I imagined an imaginary staff in my hand again, but this time its end was aiming at him. Focusing on the heat of my body to power the spell, I shouted, "Ventus Pulsis!"

The sound of a sonic boom reverberated through the street. Grass ripped out of the ground as my spell hit his and bounced downward. James Freidman, however, merely stumbled to the side. Fighting him was like fighting a bull with nothing but my fists.

He let go of Bree and turned his angry brow toward me. I saw his fingers clench in annoyance. I watched as one fist formed, and as the other hand opened to catch it. He was all prepared to give me a potentially lethal blow. I watched as–

### Chapter 22

I awoke with a dry mouth as a distant male voice was speaking, "–know this guy's got friends on the council. He'll just get off again."

Shit. Am I dead?

"The system isn't perfect, but Thomas deserves a trial. If he's found guilty, they'll kill him anyway, so what do you care?"

Bree? Was that her voice? Am I haunting her?

Of course it isn't Bree. She wouldn't defend you.

"That maniac is unstable," the guy said. "The Imperium refuses to believe it, but you _know_ him. You _know_ he's dangerous. We'll tell the judges that Thomas died of the injuries James gave him."

"And what then? Go arrest James? He's innocent too."

"Perhaps of that crime, but not of many others," the man replied.

"James is not a murderer. He proved that. We'll worry about James later. Keeping tabs on Thomas is my job. Meeting Mr. Cane is yours. You have somewhere to be, Ingram."

There was a pause, and a shuffling of feet followed by the slam of a door.

I had no idea where I was. Darkness consumed my vision. Or maybe my eyes were just closed. I wasn't entirely sure. Upon feeling the horrendous pains throughout my body, I at least concluded I was alive. Somehow. Even the simple act of opening my eyes took effort. I tried to look around, but felt a cloth around my head. Great. They blindfolded me. I could feel it pressed against my face, snugger on the right side than on the left.

Slipping back into a groggy sleep, I tried to focus my thoughts, but my mind kept spinning.

Think, Thomas. What are your options?

I took a breath, feeling a dull pain in my chest, and buried my head deeper into whatever it was touching. A pillow? Can't be – I don't sleep on my stomach. Besides, I wouldn't sleep in a place like this.

Take a moment to think through your thoughts. You're fine, Thomas.

Rolling over, I grunted as I put weight onto bound hands, and grunted even louder as I rolled over and put weight on my scarred ass.

Then, to my glorious surprise, the blindfold had miraculously vanished. No, that's not right – I'd had my face against the pillow the whole time.

Think through your thoughts? Does that phrase even make sense? I'm definitely out of this fight.

I lifted my head slightly and gazed around at my surroundings. A dim beam of pale, orange light came from a small window near the ceiling. It was the kind of light that came from an old streetlight. The air smelled damp and slightly of paint. A well-used easel contained a canvas of a partially finished forest scene decorated one corner. I was on a hard bed, but whose?

I remembered James' maddened face and grimaced at the memory. Wondering how beat up I'd gotten, I felt around for any new injuries.

My bottom. Nothing new there. There was a numb spot on my face. Whether it was an inch or a foot wide, I couldn't tell. My shoulder was numb, and it felt like I had bulge in my head the size of something big. Clearly, I wasn't thinking clearly, or my thoughts would be more... clear. I hoped that didn't mean I'd lost my ability to cast. Yet even if I could think clearly I doubted that Bree would have given me enough freedom to make a focus for my magic.

I was fairly certain I wasn't wearing a polyester bathrobe when I'd been fighting James, but that's what I was wearing now. Polyester mixed well with lots of materials and that made it nearly impossible to figure its exact composition. I doubted there was ever a mage that could make a focus out of this stuff. The texture of the robe seemed so... so... clear? No, that word can't fit.

My mind shot back to the easel and the hint of dried paint that still lingered in the air, and I bit my lip in frustration. This was Bree's house. It had to be. What other painter would want me tied up?

Shit. I've been arrested. Again.

A new light hit the wall near the staircase for a moment, allowing me to see feet coming down the musky stairs.

"You awake?" Bree asked.

My head pounded stronger than any hangover I'd ever had. "That depends. Am I tied up in your basement?"

She stared at me like the idiot I was.

"Then I guess I'm awake."

"Good," she said. "The judge will be here tomorrow. They'll hold a trial here, and determine your fate."

"So, am I still the number one suspect?"

She didn't respond verbally. I suspected a death glare was coming my way.

"I take it you didn't find Kelly Freidman."

She closed her mouth and glared.

I sat up, which took awhile. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, careful to keep my weight on my undamaged side. The mattress wasn't on a frame or a mattress pad, so they didn't have far to drop. Bree didn't take chances, and a bed frame of any kind was a potential focus for a mage. I knew how to enchant most woods and metals.

"Thomas, if you admit to it, they may go easy on you," she said.

"If I admit to it, they'll kill me outright," I scowled, trying to wipe my sleepy face, but instead just pulled at my bindings. "Besides, I didn't do it."

"Kelly Freidman did," she said shortly.

"Yeah. I don't know, maybe."

Suddenly, she had me by the collar and was lifting my face toward hers. "You think I'm an idiot, Thomas?"

Tasting iron as blood ran across the edge of my tongue, I looked helplessly up at her and shouted incoherent words.

"We've been monitoring James Freidman for months," she yelled.

"Get off!"

"I know exactly where she was that night," she shoved my back down into the hard mattress. "She was in James' apartment packing her suitcase because she knew you'd be after her. You have no alibi, and you were seen taking a package from Lance the day before the murder. That's motive, means, and opportunity. So try that again – did you kill Emmitt Cane?"

"Package?" I said, recoiling as she gave another fierce pull at my collar. "From Lan– hold on, that never happened! Who told–"

And then it hit me. Dim wits didn't stop it from hitting me like a freight train. I stopped struggling and just stared up at her. "It wasn't me – it was..." I took a gamble and looked up at her. "It wasn't Kelly, either, but I know who killed Emmitt Cane."

She tightened her grip on my collar. "There was another murder – Jackson Something, or maybe Something Jackson. I don't know his full name, but it was the man that Kelly Freidman was sleeping around with," I said, my eyes fiercely determined. Her own eyes looked outranged, but she didn't stop me. "Heard of him? Well, a ghost killed him the other day. He died first, before it went after Emmitt. Kelly told her sister, Katherine. Katherine told me. I also heard that Kelly went to the police, but why go to the police about a matter concerning Magic?"

Bree stared down, a snarl still on her lips.

"Kelly Freidman didn't go to the police about Jackson's murder. She went to you guys! The Guardians of the Imperium!" I said urgently up at her, struggling at the ropes around my wrists. I didn't care if she noticed. "Let me guess. You missed out on the whole damned thing. Meanwhile, Kelly Freidman is telling your partner, Paul everything he needs to know about summoning the ghost. Kelly Freidman didn't realize it, but she wasn't giving him a ghost story. She was giving him a weapon. The Paul killed her to simplify things. Then, he used the knowledge to summon a ghost to kill Emmitt Cane. Who else was there the night of Daniel's speech? Who else _knew_ you would have your vision open?"

With narrowed eyes, she shook her head slowly.

"Up in Cameron's ballroom," I shouted up at her. "He realized I was digging too deep, so he planned to frame me a second time. I threw a wrench in his plans when I diverted the ghost to myself, but you didn't see that, because standard operating procedure is for one mage to have the vision activated. The battlemage keeps his vision off, just in case someone does a blast like the one that stunned the two of us. And later in the car, I summoned the ghost to attack me in hopes that I'd break free and run. I thought the ghost was sentient, but the moment I got out of the killer's sight it stopped following me. I did the work for Paul by summoning it – all he had to do was keep on pumping power into it after I was done, in hopes that the ghost would finish me off. I mean, he got out and fought side by side with the damned thing. I should have realized who it was right there. He wasn't afraid of the ghost attacking him, because he knew the ghost would go after me. If the ghost killed me, good! Everything wraps up perfectly for him – I take the blame, and get executed by a botched spell."

"You think the killer was–" she began.

"Yes. Paul Ingram killed Emmitt Cane." I wasn't sure if it was a shift in the air, or the shifting pressure that tipped me off, but the back of my danger sense erupted. Yet at that very moment, I somehow felt an overwhelming surge of power pass through the room. The air became cold and dry, and the already cool basement dropped several degrees. The sudden changes made my head spin. "Shit – that's probably a code phrase."

She turned around, sensing the spells as well.

Gripping me tightly by the shoulder, she yanked me hard to my feet. Wearing nothing but a loosely tied robe, I dreaded the thought of another scandalous fight like the one from the night before. At least this time I had an ally. Hopefully.

I heard the Ghost of Gregory Scythe before I saw him. An inhuman roar of rage in its purest form rattled the foundation of the house. Howling like a rabid wolf upon a wounded rabbit, the spirit appeared with an insane grin.

"Untie me," I pleaded, turning around.

She took out a knife and cut the ropes. "You're in no condition to cast. Stay behind me."

"I'm fine," I said, my determination acting as strongly as any drug. I stepped toward the only exit – the stairs leading up.

"You'll just get in the way." she said, stepping in front of me. Then, she pulled out a pair of semi-transparent pistols. One colored light blue, the other of a rosy pink; both were only about the size of a peashooter.

However, the moment she set foot on the staircase, an erupting flame replaced the bitter chill. It started in several places simultaneously – the mattress, the easel, the full length of the wooden staircase, and even the concrete walls were suddenly laced by inferno. Anything flammable was now licked by fire. Born of magic, the flames didn't appear in an explosion so much as a sudden uproar.

And with them came a geyser of heat. Bree stumbled backwards into me. Her hands rose up to her face, more out of fear and surprise than actual pain. By reaction alone, I grasped her arm and pulled her into the direct center of the room, mere feet from the ghost.

"Where's my staff?" I demanded.

She ignored the question, rounding on the ghost and holding up both guns in front of her like some sort of action star. Thin spurts of water expunged out of their tips. As the water passed through its iridescent skin, the ghost let out another howl. This time, his inner-wolf screamed in agony. "Upstairs. Bedroom. My closet."

We were once engaged, so I could picture its location with perfect recollection. It'd been a year, but I remembered the house's layout well, which made locking onto it exceptionally simple. Focusing on the making a clone of my staff, I opened my vision.

And suddenly, it hung a few feet to my right, made of pure, silvery metal. It quivered, waiting for me to grab it.

The staff itself was upstairs. What I was seeing was the mass of the metal core. It took hours of preparation to program the spell. There were only a few mages throughout history that mastered the trick, but it was worth it. It was the spell I considered to be _my_ spell. Holding the cloned staff was the same as like holding the staff itself, and all the spells it contained. Gripping the cold, invisible surface, I swerved it around a bit to test out its mobility.

Upstairs, the staff, arose and moved in the same manner, and got caught on something. Probably clothes, since that's what tends to build up in a bedroom closet. Great. I've got my weapon, but it's stuck pointing to the sky.

The ghost rippled to oblivion, still howling as the spurts of water ripped holes through him. The flames around the room, meanwhile, still were building momentum as I looked at Bree's desperate face. Even a few seconds in, her precious possessions were charring as quickly as mine had. I spun desperately toward the staircase, only to find a fiery mess.

I shouted over the crackling of flame "What's in the squirt guns?" I yelled, stepping to her side as the ceiling above heaved out a massive groan.

"Holy water," she answered my question.

"What the hell for?"

"The ghost, dumbass.

"Right." I said, impressed at the simple ingenuity of it. Holy water is a widely used repellent of the supernatural. Even people who don't believe in the supernatural would likely believe in the protection granted by holy water. "So now do you think I'm innocent?"

"You activated Ingram's spell," she answered, her back pressing against mine as the flames closed in. "You're still a killer if we die."

The ghost, now invisible, let out another anger filled howl.

A crash from upstairs rattled the ceiling enough to topple the burning wooden staircase, which was our only exit.

"You think you can throw up a shield?" I asked.

"What are you–"

Another earsplitting crack cut her off. Being in a mage's stronghold, I had no way of knowing just how many booby-traps Ingram set up. An adequate mage – take me, for example – could level a house within seconds if given enough time to prepare. I needed to act _now_.

You're only one man, Thomas! You can't fight this much fire.

Maybe it was a desperate last effort. Maybe this little quest was going to be my last. But damn it – if I'm going to die, I'm going to do everything possible before my final breath. I did a rough calculation for my equations.

I could feel my ethereal staff grow warm through my sweaty, gloved hands – ah-ha! That's why my hands felt so weird.

"Ventus Pulsis!" I said. A minuscule break in the heat formed. The ceiling rattled, but nothing else happened.

Magic, like everything else, is bound to the laws of Conservation of Energy. In other words, if you want to move something, you need some source of energy to power it up. Lucky for me, I had no reason to hold back. Also luckily, I just happen to specialize in deals with converting heat energy into various other kinds of energy.

But to blow up a house? You're way out of your league, Thomas. Accept it – you've lost.

Stretching my aching mind and shoving down the fear that invaded the equations, I repeated, "Ventus Pulsis!"

The spell had no effect. Hot, chalky dust flowed down my windpipe as smoke completely permeated the air in the room. A wave of hot energy encased one side of my face, and even as I ripped away, I could feel my skin tighten. The ghost let out a low cackle. My mind blurred, but I could still make out his oily hair and grimy features when he appeared before me.

"Ventus Pulsis!"

Nope. Failed again, Thomas.

A roar of bellowing thunder reverberated through the room as the ceiling threatened to cave in. If the smoke didn't block my vision, the prickling pain in my eyes certainly did. By now, I wouldn't be surprised I'd be permanently blind. I took another heavy breath. The smoke entered my throat and dulled my mind like a dozen shots of vodka.

I blocked out everything else and ignored the heat as it wrapped around me seeping into the robe and through my thin hair.

Bree fell to one knee. Her hand clung desperately to my arm as the ceiling above us cracked a third time. It wouldn't be long now. The equations weren't coming. Try as I might, I simply couldn't think.

Suddenly, my mind was somewhere else entirely. I was back in South America, looking down to where my father lay before me. His shirt was dyed by blood as a massive beast stood over him. I wondered distantly why Dad wasn't in the house with me. My father will save me, won't he? Like he tried to back in the warehouse? My father is invincible. He could get me out of here, right?

The memory of my youth drifted away as another memory came to mind. This time, I stood facing Lucian and Lara Mercer. I remembered the relief at being given a new home. A new family.

I struggled to regain my focus. To come back to the chaotic present.

Exhaustion overtook my balance, and I dropped to one knee with my palm on the ground. Where was Lara, anyway? Was she still in the middle of this mess? Was she still searching for the true killer? Or had Ingram trapped her, like he'd trapped me?

I was suddenly eighteen again, working for the Guardians. I looked down at my talisman, a symbol as well known in the magical world as a police badge was in America. No, it wasn't just a symbol. That talisman was the one artifact that proved my worth. Despite everything I'd gone through, I could still accomplish my goals. No matter what trials I had, I could always remember how I'd overcome all my setbacks and become a guardian.

"Thomas..." I heard a gentle voice say. "Get up."

This time, it wasn't a memory that came to mind through the hazy smoke. It was the clear voice of Cameron Cane. I looked up, my racing mind somehow expected to see him standing in the flames.

Instead, I locked eyes on a four-foot tall child with no eyes. The same child as the one tortured in Lance's warehouse. The flames encased the child's body without harming him as blood trickled out his empty eye sockets.

"Now is not your time," Cameron's voice said, although the kid's lips didn't move.

The smoke. The flames. They still surrounded me. The inky soot of the room encased me entirely, as thick as death. The grim reaper's shroud had enclosed around me, yet the calming sight pushed down the fear. I didn't know why the child came to mind, but I knew he spoke the truth.

I'd trained my entire life to become a guardian, not so I could fight for the Imperium but so that I could help people. I lost the talisman, but the skills I learned would remain forever. I could – no, I _would_ get us out of this.

The vision of the child faded back to reality. The white spots in my vision got smaller as I gripped the ethereal staff beside me. I cleared my mind of everything but the equations and my desired purpose, and whispered, "Ventus Pulsis."

Light encased my vision. Real, pure moonlight. I felt my staff I held shoot upwards with the rest of the house. I imagined that the sound of being nuked was about on par with the explosion that surrounded me. The change in pressure that occurred as the spell converted all the heat in the room into one giant blast took me off my feet, flipped me over, and dropped me down onto my back. But the sight that met me next was of purest relief. It was like seeing a blue sky after a yearlong thunderstorm.

It was the sight of life, when only a moment ago you knew you were going to die. I looked up at the starry sky and watching as shards of charred wood continued to fly up.

Then, seconds later, they began plunking down like raindrops.

The heat of the fire supplied everything I needed. The blast of wind into the heavens momentarily expelled all oxygen from the room, but resulted in a pleasant breeze upon the both of us as we lay there, alive.

I'd done the impossible. I defied gravity.

But gravity decided to strike back. The wreckage reversed its direction. A three-foot long, pointed stud that launched straight up spun and fell back down, right toward me. My relief converted to amused terror. Here I'd pulled off the most spectacular spell I'd ever done – possibly the biggest anyone had ever done, only for this. The makeshift spear hissed down toward me and I couldn't do a damned thing. I just lay there with a suicide grin on my face until it pounded into an invisible wall a few feet above me.

The wooden beam splintered into several pieces and simply hung above me for a second or two. When the pieces flopped down sideways, they hung suspended for another second. Then, they dropped harmlessly on top of me.

Bree moaned beside me.

The room looked like a burned junkyard, with the exception of the one, small hole in the center where we were.

Turning my head, an action that shot a new series of aches down my neck and back, I saw the less fortunate of the two of us – Bree.

She wasn't bleeding, but that was about the only relief. I ignored my own numerous aches as I pushed myself up and toward her. Pounds of ash poured off me as I moved.

Lying face up, Bree's typically strawberry blonde hair held about as much ash as a dirty fireplace. Her skin was dyed like a thundercloud, and to my horror, she hadn't quite made it into Amberose Crater.

Charred planks of wood and soot buried both of her legs and one arm, making it impossible to determine how badly she'd been wounded. Hell, maybe she was bleeding, but for all the grime I'd never know. The only sure thing was her next destination; a hospital.

"Bree!"

Somehow, that year long bitterness we shared didn't matter. The only thing I saw was my fiancée. I slumped down beside her mouth to listen for breath.

"Go. Find Ingram," she wheezed.

I ignored her. "You okay? How bad is it?"

"I'll be..." She looked down at herself and screeching out a grunt of pain; the sound made my own chest jerk in empathy. "Just go."

A large plank of wood had nestled itself tightly against her shoulder, digging against her skin. I grabbed it and shoved it away, but as I did a large slab of sheetrock higher up the crater wall began to slide toward her. Shoving myself hard against it, I knocked it aside so it slid harmlessly down past her.

"Go!" she screamed at me.

"I'm not leaving you."

"You're impossible," she sighed, weakly. "Ingram is meeting with the new CEO tonight. I don't know his angle, but I know that innocent lives are in danger."

Scanning the rubble and trying to assess any danger spots, I snarled, "I'm not–"

"Damn it Thomas! For once in your life, you have to listen to me! People could die!"

I gripped a large plank and started to pull it off of her, but hesitated.

She'd been right a year ago. She told me to leave Lance Ruben alone. She made me promise I wouldn't follow her brother, who we both suspected worked with Lance. I promised I wouldn't, but I followed him anyway, where I was unlucky enough to find exactly what I was looking for.

And her brother and four others died because I didn't listen to her.

"Go," she said, putting her hand in mine. She had a set of keys in it.

I knew I'd hate myself if I got up and left, just as I knew that Bree would hate me if I didn't. I looked down at her, wondering how I could consider running when she lay there, half dead. I continued pulling at the plank, but she let out a cry.

"Damn you, Thomas – if you kill me..." she trailed off, breathing careful, shallow breaths. "Go. Save them."

I sat there for a second, half in shock. "I'm sorry."

She closed her eyes for a moment, and let her head rest on the floor behind her.

Soot and ash rolled off my robe as I arose. Hating every step I took out of the smoking crater, I climbed up to the suburbia outside. A crowd had gathered, and in the distance I heard a fire truck siren. Good – at least they'd find her quickly. I considered running for Bree's car, but took a second or two to think.

As I did, one of the neighbors helped me out to the lawn.

"There's else someone down there!" I shouted to everyone, joining the crowd. The neighbors started a chorus of gossip upon the sight of me. The only thing the robe had going on for me was that it seemed casual. I figured if anyone asked, I'd say I'm her brother, or boyfriend, or something. A fire engine was already nearing the scene.

Picking a key at random, I quickly focused the tip. Then, with a breath to calm my nerves, I magnetized it to my staff. It wasn't meant to pull the staff to me. Instead, when I held the other, non-magical keys above the focused one, the pull the objects created pointed me in the right direction. It wasn't the best compass I'd ever made, but the key dangled toward the street.

Perfect – my staff was right at the curb, waiting for me. And lucky for me, it seemed completely unharmed. A bit blackened around the edges, perhaps, but the petrified wood was as firm as ever.

I continued forward, toward Bree's black SUV. Only seconds later, I drove off, determined to stop Ingram.

### Chapter 23

From the personal log of Special Agent L. Garrison  
Supernatural Investigations Department:

After presenting my evidence to my department head, Special Agent John Jonas, he completely disregarded the evidence. Furthermore, he threatened to fire me if I didn't drop the investigation into Lance Ruben. As requested, I dropped the official investigation, but am keeping this log to record my findings.

My current theory is that Lance hired a mage hit man named Paul Ingram (Unemployed. Recently moved in from Vermont. No cell phone.) who is working with the ghost. Now, possibly at Mr. Ruben's request, though just as likely due to a personal vendetta, Paul Ingram is trying to kill Mr. Amberose.

Mr. Ingram first came to my attention yesterday, when he drove up to Mr. Amberose's house. He returned to Mr. Amberose's residence today. On the second visit, he stayed parked in front of Mr. Amberose's house for fifteen seconds before a fire erupted inside. Then, Paul Ingram drove off. Looking back at the Cane Industries bi-annual banquet footage, Mr. Ingram also attended the Cane Industries bi-annual banquet where the ghost appeared and attacked Mr. Amberose.

I could make out the Minneapolis Cityscape for miles before I'd arrived, illuminated by hundreds random lights. My target, the Cane Industries skyscraper, loomed only slightly higher than other buildings. The building, wider than most, peaked above the rest of the buildings. Luckily, it was late enough in the evening for me to get to where I needed without incident. The clock read after midnight when I turned down the ramp to the underground parking beneath the building.

The first thing I did upon parking the SUV was to rummage through the rear of the SUV on the off-chance that Bree had a random bag of clothes in my size. She didn't, so I'd just have to go in, alone wearing nothing but a bathrobe. I was ready for battle, minus a proper outfit.

The parking lot was mostly empty, except for a few random cars scattered around the spaces nearest to the elevator or staircase. No one was around, so I stepped barefoot onto the slick floor of the underground parking lot, and hurried out to the elevator.

I stepped into the small room immediately as the door opened. Whereas before I'd taken the elevator in the lobby, which I think must have been typically reserved as the service elevator, I was now in a smaller elevator that only brought me up to the lobby or skyway level. I sighed at the thought of getting in, but hit the second floor button.

A few moments later, the doors opened into a wide, carpeted hallway. I realized this was the same elevator I'd ridden earlier to get to the parking level, when Ingram and Bree captured me. The skyway stretched out before me, while I could go either left or right into the Cane Industries' lobby.

Dead ahead of me, I noted the spot I'd lost Katherine during my chase. I bumped my staff onto the ground and rewrote physics. A small chunk of round metal clambered out of a crack and along the thinly carpeted floor before attaching itself to my staff. I slipped it back onto my finger, feeling slightly less empty. Then, I turned and headed toward the side of the balcony.

The building's outer walls were made entirely of blue-tinted glass. The front lobby of Cane Industries took up a majority of the bottom floor. I noticed a security checkpoint in front of the four elevators and a pair of security guards. One looked up at me, while the other casually read a newspaper. I winced a simple realization – in order to talk to Cameron Cane, I'd have to get to his office. I couldn't call him, since I'd left my stolen phone in my other pair of stolen pants, which were probably incinerated in Bree's fire. In other words, this had to be done the old fashioned way.

Paul Ingram was here, too. Possibly, he was here now. I needed to get up there.

One of the security guards got slowly up, and started heading casually in my direction. The escalators were shut down at this time of night. With an embarrassed look down at myself, I decided to simply try the honest approach. I hurried toward the escalators. The rebel I was, I headed down the upwards one, where I called across wide, empty room. "Excuse me!"

The man stopped in the lobby as I approached. Limping slightly on my ankle as I went down the stairs in my bare feet, I had to grip the rubbery railing for support. He was a young, man who wore a blue-black uniform similar to that of cops, but not exact, meaning they were simply building security. "Sir, I need to talk with a man named Cameron Cane, right away."

The guard looked hardly out of his teens, and bore the honed body of an athlete. With the University so close, I figured this was his night job while he went to classes by day. "You want to speak to Mr. Cane?" he repeated skeptically raising his eyebrows.

"It's important," I assured him.

"I bet it is," he said, his hands resting dangerously close to the mace at his belt.

"Look." I said. "I've got reason to believe his life is in danger. Page him – tell him a man named Thomas Amberose is here to see him. He'll let me up."

"What do I look like?" he asked, as he began walking again. He was obviously holding back a chuckle as he wondered if I were drunk, or simply crazy. "A secretary?"

Still a bit drowsy from my intense day, I rested most of my weight on my staff and met his eyes. "There have already been two attempts at the lives of members of the Cane family. One was successful. Cameron hired me to protect him, and that's exactly what I plan to do."

"Same story here, pal," he said, his tone calming as though he were talking to a child, or maybe a drunkard. "If I see anyone suspicious come this way, I'll be sure to kick him out, too."

"I know what this looks like," I said, holding my free hand up. "Just hold on and we'll–"

Then, I saw a man who seemed straight out of a horror movie standing in the glass behind the security guard. This man's short hair was greasy and tangled. Although clearly Caucasian, he had enough grease on his skin to hide that fact. He only had one eyebrow, but the worst part was that a bathrobe that went just a few inches below his knees. It was held shut by nothing but a thin strap. Barefoot, and holding a walking stick as tall as he was, the man was truly a monster.

This man, I noted regretfully, was me. Or my reflection, to be exact. His grotesquely grimy face looked back at me from the clean window. It was no wonder they'd mistake me for a threat. Hell, if I saw me, I'd arrest me without a second thought.

"Changed my mind," I said, my hand still held toward him as I took a step back. "My car is parked underground. I'm sure you guys don't want any trouble, so I'll just see myself out."

The leading guard rested his hand on his belt, thinking it through for a second. I backed away toward the escalator as he looked questioningly toward the other guard. Before they had a chance to question my motives otherwise, I backed myself into the stairwell.

_Great,_ I thought _. I've come this far, only to be stopped by college-boy._

At least he didn't follow me. He said a brief word into the radio clipped to his belt, but left it at that.

I needed a new plan, which came to me very easily. I simply headed to the same stairwell I'd taken earlier. The one I'd chased Katherine down.

It fit my needs perfectly, for it reached all the way to the top floor. Sure, it was locked, but I'd already seen that the far side of the door had a push bar. I hurried up the blocked of stairwell, getting jitters at the thought of duking it out with Ingram.

My enthusiasm faded the moment I realized what I had to do. I stepped into the drab, gray staircase and peered up the center. It stretched all the way to the top. Fifty-eight floors of torturous stairs. It wasn't enough to get caught in two separate fires. It wasn't enough to lose my house to a blaze of its own. It wasn't enough to get slugged by the world's most hideously muscled battle-mage. No, this day had to end with torture via stairs. Perfect.

Putting my good foot forward, I began the first step up the long, horrible journey.

At floor fifteen, my lungs burned. At floor thirty, my knees felt like gel. By forty-five, my chest began open rebellion. The blood cells that ran through them were each armed with torches and pitchforks. Still, I pushed myself onward, determined to get to the top as soon as possible.

On forty-six, I took a brief, two minute break. It didn't help, so I kept going.

The uppermost floor was the Cane Ballroom, which I figured to be empty. If I were a big, bad CEO of a massive corporation, where would my office be? The highest place possible, obviously.

Therefore, I went to the one right below it. Floor fifty-seven.

Wiping a bit of sweat off my forehead, I massaged my thighs and shins for another few seconds filling my hand with inky soot as I did. I was exhausted, but at least my journey was near its end.

I figured there might be alarms, so I muttered a quick spell to deactivate electronics around the door. Then, with the jitters back in my stomach, I cloned my staff, making one appear behind the door, and pulled. The push-bar compressed and it opened. I'd hoped I'd be able to meet Ingram's target – Daniel, probably – alone in his office. Bree said Ingram and the guys in charge of Cane Industries would be here. After taking all those stairs, she'd better be right. It wasn't unusual for the Imperium to act by night, as not to draw attention.

Before waltzing in, I peered through the crack in the door and felt immediately surprised at how nice the place appeared. Thick, gray carpet bathed the ground on the wide-open hallways. Upon taking my first step inside, my bare foot was bathed in its satisfying plush. I almost felt bad that the soot from my feet were soiling it. The walls of the hallway in front of me were sunlit-cloud gray. I found it a bit strange how they seemed to just end where the elevators were. But after a moment of thought, I realized it was probably to give more space for the offices. With the walls of Cane Headquarters being nothing but glass, an office with a wall-window would be the next best thing to a job in the clouds.

Farther down, the hallway parted in the middle of the building – I couldn't be sure from my single viewpoint, but it seemed the building, or this part of it anyway, was broken up in a giant cross shape. I'd come out at the bottom of this cross, with the hallway shooting directly forward. Between this wall and the far one, a perpendicular hallway cut through. In the center of the cross, walls expanded out diagonally to make a large, diamond shaped sitting room.

"I, err..." a chatty, nervous voice stammered. "Are you sure that I... err..."

I pulled my head back in and listened from behind the door, leaving it open just a crack.

Cameron's calm voice cut the man off, "You okay?"

"Oh, fine. Fine," the other, who I figured to be the always-nervous Daniel Cane, said. "It's just that... Oh, never mind."

"It's okay." Cameron said. "We're family. What's on your mind?"

The nervous man said, "It's just that I didn't like it when I thought this would be a lot of bureaucratic stuff, but and now there's this whole magery business, too. This was the kind of stuff Emmitt used to handle."

"Don't worry," Cameron said. "I've got your back."

"Yes, yes. I know."

Firstly, I sighed in relief at hearing Cameron's voice. It implied he was still alive, which was the whole point in my visit in the first place.

Secondly: Magery business? Interesting. So does this mean that Ingram had come and gone already? Had he spoken with them civilly? Or had Cameron caught on and taken out Ingram for me?

Right. Like something that convenient would happen on the same day that I'd burned off an eyebrow.

But then, I pondered, why was Cameron alive? From what I could tell, Ingram was after Cane blood. A one-on-one meeting was simply a perfect opportunity to get it. Assuming he didn't tell the Imperium about this meeting, he could have killed them both and simply left a free man.

Well, Cameron is alive. Mission accomplished, I guess. I debated leaving, but couldn't bring myself to just go. There was something more going on.

Maybe it wasn't Ingram that had come. Lara, maybe?

Of course! If anyone was smart enough to determine the identity of the killer, it was Lara. She might have even pieced it together before I did, and just waltzed in to tell Cameron the truth.

Excited at thought of seeing her jolted me into action – I pulled the staff and the door opened. "Cameron?"

As I walked down the hallway, Cameron walked into the seating area. His eyes widened slightly. For a moment I thought I saw a flicker of fear, but it passed quickly. "Thomas?"

"Y–you? I–" Daniel stammered.

"I thought you were caught by the Guardians." Cameron said timidly. "You're okay?"

"I'm great," I said, walking closer.

"You escaped?" he said, as he motioned me inside. Cameron wore a suit that completely clashed with Daniel's tan one. Cameron's was black, with a maroon shirt underneath. He didn't wear a tie or an undershirt, yet what would be casual was a sort of powerfully arrogant on him. His face was unreadable underneath his wavy hair, but still, it was somehow different than when we'd first met. The only way I can think to describe him is that he looked older. More mature, somehow.

"You could say that," I replied. "Bree realized I wasn't the right guy."

"Daniel, go into my office and get Thomas a set of my clothes." He said, before turning to me. "You want something to drink?"

Silence filled the hallway as I approached. I was still panting from the stairs, so Cameron motioned toward the couch the moment I crossed into the diamond lobby.

"I'd kill for some water," I said honestly. "Where's Lara?"

He gave a small shrug. "Haven't seen her."

The excitement dropped, leaving unease in its place. "Sorry about sneaking around. I deactivated the alarms because I thought you might be in danger. With so much going on, I didn't want to draw much attention. Plus, you know," I gestured down to myself.

"Don't worry about it." He held out a hand to the couch in the middle of the sitting area. I walked deeper into the room, my sense of dread growing with each step.

White leather couches sat in an octagonal shape. Two sides were open to allow people to walk in and sit. The rebellion running up and down my legs was still in full swing, but out of politeness I decided not to sit. I was, after all, the next best thing to a chimney with all the ash on me.

There was a small bar along one wall, and Cameron went there, pulled out a whiskey glass, and put bottled water into it. He filled it up with his back to me.

Tentatively, I asked, "Did you speak to the Guardians?"

"Paul Ingram was here a few minutes ago."

"What happened?" I asked.

"We had a short chat," he said idly. "He had a few questions to ask me. Why?"

"He, err..." _Careful, Thomas._ My instincts had undergone strict training in the past few days from all my near-death encounters. Now, the warnings screamed at full volume. The plump, leather couch looked heavenly, but I didn't give myself the luxury. "I learned a few things."

Cameron nodded as he approached, handing me the water. I shifted my staff to my empty hand and took the glass with my ringed hand. I examined the transparent liquid, trying my best not to look skeptical. The water looked clear and unfogged. I tried to throw a wave of my power into the water, but it failed.

"This distilled?"

He nodded over a sip of a drink he'd prepared for himself – a high-end whiskey, from the looks of it.

In order to affect something, you have to know, among other things, its chemical structure. Water's chemical compound, as every schoolboy knows, contains two hydrogen molecules and one oxygen. In spell-work there was marginal room for error for most things, especially when you expect impurities. Yet since I couldn't throw even a bit of magic into this cup, I knew right away that the compound could be anything except H2O. In other words, it was drugged. "Did I come up?" he asked.

"He told me that he caught you."

"And?"

He shrugged without comment.

"Sorry I had to break in," I said. "But I found out that the killer is Paul Ingram. He's the one who summoned the ghost."

"Ingram," he said, looking into his glass and swirling the contents. The ice tinkled against the side as he did. "You're sure?"

"Daniel caught Kelly Freidman cheating on her husband, James. Emmitt used what little magic he knew to kill her, but failed. Kelly Freidman ran to the Guardians. She told Ingram that a ghost attacked, and he was able to recreate the spell. He used it to kill Emmitt Cane."

"So it was Ingram?" he said, skeptically. "Why?"

"Ingram had opportunity at every crime scene. He knew the spell when no one else did. When we were at the dinner, Ingram summoned the ghost to kill Daniel because I was there. He hoped to accuse me, but you saw I practically jumped in front of the bullet to save him. When we ran, I thought the ghost was sentient, remember? It wasn't – Ingram kept it focused on me when I told it to go away."

"But why kill Emmitt?"

That was the one answer I didn't have. I pushed my mind hard to find the answer.

It _had_ to be Ingram. He was the only one that made any sort of sense. But as far as I could tell, Ingram and Emmitt never even spoke. Ingram never met any of the Canes before tonight. Why would Ingram risk everything to kill Emmitt?

Because the Imperium probably wanted Emmitt Cane dead anyway? Because they knew Emmitt was an unregistered caster, perhaps?

Nope. They'd go in by official means at even a suspicion. Maybe the Imperium found out Emmitt was working with the Venir?

Nope. Not that either, for the same reason. The Imperium wouldn't go behind Bree's back.

Then, a horrifying thought, born of paranoia flashed to mind. What if this was all just to pin something on me? Take out one unregistered caster, and pin the blame on an untrustworthy, ex-guardian, battle-mage like me. Plus, it fits in excellently with the Imperium's style.

"And the wedding ring?" Cameron added.

"Wedding ring?"

"Kelly's ring was found in the ruins of your house. Police overlooked it, but James Freidman's found it."

"Err," I thought quickly. "So what? Ingram was in my house a few days ago. Hell – the guy knocked over a few of my books. He probably did it for a chance to slip the ring under my couch or something when I wasn't paying attention. Besides, I was the one that told James to track her ring in the first place. Why would I do that if I knew it would point to me?"

"I've seen you summon the ghost with my own eyes, Thomas. Forgive my paranoia, but I'd feel a lot more at ease if you drop your staff and ring."

"Cameron, I'm not the one on trial," The words bit out of my mouth with more malice than I'd ever thought could come from my lips. I tilted my staff forward. "You want answers, I'll give them. But if you think I'm a murderer, you're wrong."

Reaching coolly into the inside of his jacket, he pulled a small pistol and aimed toward me. "Sorry, Thomas, but I don't feel like taking chances. If I see a ghost or anything weird, I'll shoot."

The two of us stood, completely still. He with his arm cocked at his side and me with my staff held in front of me. Dropping the glass, I held out my free hand in an innocent gesture, drawing power into my ring. "You want proof? Take a look at Bree Porter. It's probably already on the news. I just blew her roof sky high because Ingram set a trap for us. The only way I got out was to make my own exit. Bree will tell you everything. Just get to her before Ingram does."

A door down one hallway opened, and a quick glance showed what I expected. The suit Daniel had looked my size, more or less, but happened to be worn by a cop-faced security guard. His boxy chin alone could probably knock me out, but if I had to guess, he'd do all his damage with the gun in his hand.

Emotions of all kind came to me in a rush. I'd come here to save a life. Now, even my client turned on me. I thought of my house, now a charred ruin. Everything I owned was gone burned up in that fire. Every part of my ill-clad body hurt in multiple ways. I was low on sleep, and even if I did get out of this mess, chances were good I'd go to jail, of one kind or another.

Fine. You want a fight? What more have I got to lose?

"Thomas, I trust you." Cameron said calmly. "I really do. And if you're telling me the truth, we'll catch this guy. But if you're not, then you're a threat to both me and to Cane Industries."

The anger swelled up inside me. The whole time I tried to follow everyone's rules. The whole time, I've tried to help these people. Now, they'd deemed me an outlaw. Maybe it's time I start acting the part. "Tell me where Ingram is and let me go. Otherwise..."

I tilted my staff forward another few inches. Down the left hallway, I saw Daniel peeking his balding head out of a doorway, shaking visibly as he bit his lip.

Another security guard came down the right hallway and stopped ten feet to Cameron's side. The other, who stood at my left, took slow, careful steps toward my back.

I leapt to the side, muttering a spell. The power in my ring expanded outwards with an audible hiss.

Electricity magic wasn't my specialty, but I make a point to learn a few simple spells for all occasions. Besides, simple doesn't necessarily mean weak. A bash on the head hurts, even when coming from a caveman's club.

I pumped the room with energy, and every light simply died when an EMP pulse flared into them.

Suddenly blind, like everyone else, I refocused attention to my staff. Willing the mass in the core to move toward the other guard, I twisted the one I held, and its clone did the same. When it nudged against something close to the ground, I yanked the staff forward and up, throwing all my weight on it.

A few feet away, the clone staff caught the guard's ankle and swooped upwards, knocking him harshly onto his side.

Throwing myself forward, I swung the staff horizontally and refocused its clone to the other guards' approximate location. I may have been across the room, but I still felt the staff thunk into him. The meaty crunch preceded an even louder thud.

Two down. One to go.

"Cameron, you really don't want to mess with a mage."

Just in case, I shuffled quickly after I said that, but he didn't shoot.

Draped in total darkness, I listened for his movements. Just to throw him off, I shifted my spirit staff and swung. Across the room, the bottles of liquor shattered, spraying various alcohols across the room.

I didn't hear him. The darkness was thick in the pungent air. No longer caring much how exactly I'd get out of this, I quickened my pace toward the door as I felt my shoulder nudge his elbow.

We both spun, simultaneously panicked. My mind entirely on his gun, I thrust the real staff jauntily at him and grasped toward him as I drew power into my ring.

Finally, something had gone my way. As my hand grew cold, my ring flooded the room with golden light. I saw my own hand clutched tightly around his wrist. The gun faced directly away from me. Somehow, my staff strike had spun him around without actually hurting him. Cameron's back was against the wall, and I held the shaft horizontal across his throat with one hand.

Realizing defeat, he took his finger off the trigger and let me take it away without a fight. I slipped it into the oversized pocket of my robe.

"Where is Ingram," I said, my face menacingly close to his.

He swallowed. I felt his Adam's apple push gently on the staff as he did.

"I don't know," he said coolly. "Thomas, if you're behind this, you'll have the entirety of Cane Industries ready to take you down."

"Bring it," I hissed into his face. I'd only knocked over the first guard, and he was getting back up. I spun Cameron, holding him in front of me.

"But if you're not..." Cameron continued. "I can tell you that Emmitt Cane never was the intended target. The killer sent the ghost after Lance Ruben."

The guard kept his gun half raised, but didn't dare point it at his boss's boss. I could see the terrified way his eye twinkled at the sight of my luminous ring.

Gritting my teeth, I decided to end this now, before more goons showed up. Who knows how many more Daniel could have running? I drew in more power to my ring, simultaneously clamping my eyes shut.

My arm went numb to the elbow as my very bones seemed to freeze, but it was worth it. I closed my eyes just as the equivalent of a flash grenade blazed from my ring. I spun as the light faded and dashed toward the exit. I didn't know where I'd go from there, but at least I was away from the guns.

I stepped through the door and sprinted down the stairs. Rushing only a few floors down, I knew my legs weren't up for another fifty floors. I briefly wished a spell for flying existed, or one for turning the stairs into a giant fun slide. I went out and took the elevator. Sure, it was a risk, but I somehow didn't think Cameron thought of me as the enemy. It's not a bet I'd usually take, but at the moment my health couldn't take it.

The elevator arrived without incident. Wiping the tension out of my face as the elevator descended, I watched the number lower with an uneasy anticipation. The back of the elevator was glass and the ground grew larger and larger as I descended back into the city. In my reflection, I could see my ugly self shudder with exhilaration. That wasn't the first time people had chased after me, yet I've never been so utterly alone before. The emptiness made the ride unbearable, and I realized I'd just end up at the security checkpoint.

I quickly slapped the three button, as that was the lowest floor other than the lobby. With any luck, it'd be unguarded.

You're fine, Thomas. Get your mind back to the present.

Lance was the target? How would Cameron know that? Could his message have been some kind of lie? A trick to throw me off, or worse – lure me into a trap?

No, I figured. He was telling the truth. If I were the killer, I'd know who my intended victim was. Cameron probably realized that the information he offered wouldn't backfire on him if I were the killer, and would only aid me if I weren't.

The elevator door opened to a deserted third floor. From there, I begrudgingly took the staircase to B1. Within minutes, I scurried back to the garage to Bree's black SUV. It was unguarded, just the way I left it. Perfect.

I hurried inside the SUV and drove.

Damn! Why hadn't you taken his phone? You could be talking to Lara. Hell, Cam might even have Lance on his speed dial.

Rushing out the exit, I shook my head. I should have at least taken his cash. As much as I'd hate to stoop that low, I'd hate to have to do this in nothing but a battered robe.

Accelerating out of the city, I picked my destination. Lance Ruben's nightclub, the Divination. I didn't want to go there now any more than I wanted to go the first time, but at the very least, Lance deserved a warning. Traffic was light, and the night was clear. The moon peaked ominously overhead.

The end of this was near.

As I drove, I thought about what Cameron told me. It took me a minute or two to realize it, but if he was telling the truth, than everything finally made sense. Every last bit of information found its rightful place. Emmitt. Lance. Kelly. Ingram. They all had their place, and now I could see it.

I realized Lance hired James for security. Possibly, that included a few protection spells. It'd take a fair amount of deception and manipulation, but I'm sure Lance could arrange for a spell to protect him at the cost of another. That unlucky man was CEO, Emmitt Cane.

It made sense now. Lance knew the truth right off the bat. That explains why he'd recruit my help. It explained why he wouldn't go to the Guardians. I was his Hail Mary. His last and only resource.

Maybe it was Karma. Maybe it was Coincidence. But when Emmitt Cane used the ghost and took the life of Jackson, he set off a chain of events that would lead Ingram to attempt a murder on Lance. I didn't know why Ingram wanted Lance dead, but I knew that's how it happened. That murder would fail, killing Emmitt Cane instead.

Perhaps, I considered, Ingram worked for the Imperium. Perhaps he was under some delusion that this self-imposed mission would advance his lagging career. Either way, the Imperium in charge had only one choice. They'd say Ingram was working of his own accord, for his own selfish reasons. Once I had proof, they'd make Ingram the scapegoat.

Finally, the Imperium's corruption works in my favor.

Unless, I speculated, Ingram pulls off the killing. An organization without a head is a lot less of a threat, and no one likes the Venir. Lance arrived on Earth from a foreign dimension a decade ago. No one knows exactly how Lance became so rich and powerful, but he's already one of the riches people in the state. Maybe I'm blowing this out of proportion. Maybe I'm just being paranoid, but if I were Ingram, I'd figure the only chance I have is to ensure the death of Lance Ruben. With all the focus on the remains of the Venir, it'd make enough of a mess to throw the Imperium into a frenzy that would last just long enough for him to flee the country.

I drove finally hopeful that I might finally have a future.

_What a day_ , I thought as the robe shuffled uncomfortably high. It seems as though the world was running some cosmic joke in which it is determined to see me in go around, doing battle in nothing but a robe.

A smile flicked to my face as I realized the reason.

I came dressed in the style of a true wizard.

### Chapter 24

The Divination had a "Closed" sign on the doors. That alone would have made me realize that something was up, since it was a _night_ club. However, before I even parked I noticed there were a total of three cars in the parking lot. Aside from that, the place was exactly as I'd left it. I parked and headed toward the door.

The place was emptier now that it was when I'd first arrived, but if Lance wasn't here, I'd be sure to knock skulls around until I found him. Gripping my staff tightly in my right hand, I got back onto my sore legs and walked forward.

It was locked, predictably, but they couldn't expect that to keep me out. With a swift pound of my staff on the pavement, the glass sprayed outward.

This is it, Thomas. Ingram is here. The killer is here.

My unease at that thought startled me like a speed bump in the path. I'd been a guardian, sure, but I'd never killed anyone. For the most part, I'd dealt with pesky teenagers who stumble upon the laws of magic. The worst fighting I'd ever seen was during my training. Sure, I had enough pent up emotion to lash at Ingram, but even that wasn't enough to make me want to be a killer.

But I couldn't run away, either. Running now would leave everyone in danger. After Lance, Ingram would go to the hospital to take out Bree. Then, depending on how much she'd learned, he might go after Lara, or Cameron. I couldn't let that happen. No, it had to end now.

I swallowed painfully, grimacing as I my feet crunched onto the fallen shards of glass.

The lights were out, possibly by Ingram's version of the same EMP spell I'd used earlier. The wood on my staff had a comfortable familiarity to it, but against the Pyromancer that Ingram seemed to be, it may not be the most useful tool. I became acutely aware of the weight of the gun I'd taken from Cameron in my pocket. Before stepping into the inner, entryway door, I pulled it out.

The door opened silently. The smell of bleach, blood, and just a hint of booze filled the stuffy air. I slid quietly in the second set of doors. The room was ominously massive around me.

The dance floor was large and empty. From the looks of it, the balcony was as well. The wide, dark balcony wrapped around the entire room, offering dozens of potential viewpoints. The darkness around me was so thick that I feared taking even a single step.

With my staff held before me, and my intuition screaming, I held my head low and tried to walk quietly along the wall.

Earlier, Lance had been in an offshoot just to the right of the door. A kind of "bar-within-a-bar." I headed there, both because I knew it, and because I'd be better hidden with fewer bad angles.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw that no one was behind the alcohol-slicked bar, nor was anyone in any of the tables that were visible.

That didn't mean much. Every table had six-foot tall barriers for backrests, offering somewhat secluded seating. This bar had more barriers to my line-of-sight than a corn-maze. The room itself, however, was fairly narrow. I stepped slowly down the central aisle toward the bar. Ingram could be anywhere. And most likely, he was alone.

My feet were ready to leap at the first hint of danger. I activated my vision to no affect. If he'd rigged the place up to explode, as he'd done to Bree's house, the place would be positively glowing, but he hadn't. There was nothing there.

Or almost nothing.

I realized that my initial gaze wasn't entirely accurate. I couldn't point to it exactly, but an invisible, intangible power wove through the air. It was only as noticeable as a gentle wind before a storm. Not quite there, but possessing a dominant presence you simply can't deny.

A small noise came from one of the walled-in booths, and I ducked, turning toward it with my staff in hand. It sounded like a heel stepping on the floor. Sliding silently toward the booth, I kept close to the wall as I looked around, frantically trying to see everything around me at the same time.

Then, with my staff in one hand and the gun in the other, I peered quickly around the wall where I saw Lance Ruben sitting alone in one of the booths with his hands under the table. His mouth had a thick band of cloth wrapped around it, and he looked up at me. Lance wasn't afraid – on the contrary, he seemed just a tiny bit annoyed.

That's when I made my biggest mistake – I leaned my staff against the table, turned toward Lance and pulled off his gag.

"Thomas, you're an idiot," Lance explained to me.

"Don't move," Ingram ordered, standing up from his barely passable hiding spot in the final booth, nearest the bar. With his focus rod aimed directly at me, I didn't have a chance at turning toward him and shooting him.

"Mr. Amberose," Lance said with a pained smile. His bone-white hair was frazzled, but nothing in his calm, powerful demeanor changed since I'd last seen him. "How nice of you to stop by."

"Yeah, it's been awhile," I said, fully aware of the weapon he held at my back. "Just thought I'd come by. Check in. Let you know that I knew who killed Emmitt."

"Ah, yes. I figured as such," Lance said. "So what now?"

Feeling naked and vulnerable, wearing nothing but my polyester robe, I tossed Cameron's gun onto the table and turned my head toward Ingram, who held up his thin whip of a wand.

"Nuh-uh. Pick up the gun," Ingram ordered to me.

I hesitated.

"I'll make you a deal," Ingram offered. "I swear to you by the use of my magic that if you kill Lance and leave without retaliation against me, that I'll not come after you for twenty-four hours."

I hesitated, realizing the implications of what he'd said. Words such as those, when spoken by a mage, have a certain power to them. If I agreed to what he said, he'd be bound to an Oath.

An Oath between two mages is something of everlasting power, so long as both mages understand it in the same way. In other words, he _had_ to let me leave if I killed Lance, or he'd never cast a spell again. Honestly, it was kind of a stupid move, since Oaths are highly illegal without authorization by the Council, but apparently Ingram didn't follow their laws as closely as I do. Furthermore, if I agreed and somehow tricked him into attacking me, he'd never cast again.

But as far as Oaths went, this one was pretty solid. In order to activate it, I'd have to kill Lance, which wasn't on my list of tasks for the day. I bit down hard as I thought of my options.

"And if I just walk out of here?"

"I'll kill you before you reach the door. Burn down the place and still see Lance dead."

"Why kill him? I mean, sure, he's a bit of an asshole – no offense," I nodded to Lance. "But why?"

"Does it matter?" Ingram said. I scowled, hoping he'd give away his plan. He was a bad guy, after all, with a goatee and everything. Isn't bragging about their plans what they do?

I cautiously turned my head back to Lance as I got some stupid idea. It probably wouldn't work. But then, I didn't think summoning the ghost would have worked after the party. The way I saw it, I couldn't kill Lance. If I did the Imperium would find me and kill me. I might survive the night, but not the year. Instead, I brought the equations I needed to mind as I asked, "Why not just kill him yourself?"

"Cameras," he said dully. "I deactivated the one that can see me, but not the one that can see you two. Now, I'm going to count to five. When I get to–"

"For the record," I interrupted. "You're going down regardless. Let me guess. The Imperium put you up to this. They wanted Lance dead, but they wanted deniability, so you used the ghost."

"Exactly. They say pride is a sin, but honestly I feel it was a rather well put together plan. Don't you?"

"Nah," I said. "Someone will figure out you did it, and when they do, you'll take all the blame. Lance's replacement will kill you, or the Imperium will turn you over to him. You'll be just a rogue mage, regardless of whether you did it under their orders or not."

"The Imperium is good to their own, Thomas," he said.

"Yeah, like they were good to me." I said with a forced chuckle. "I tried to take the initiative once. We all know Lance is corrupt to the core – do you know what the Imperium did to me when I tried to prove it?"

Ingram snarled, "Does it matter? Kill him."

"I'll tell you what they did. They fired me. You know, I was wrong about you," I said. "This whole time I figured I was working against some Bond-style mastermind who had it all planned out from the beginning. You know Bree hates me, so you planted the wedding ring in my apartment. You wanted her to find it and assumed she'd just blame me. Trouble is, Bree may hate me, but I'm no killer, and she knows that. She didn't even bother searching my place for the ring. And you couldn't do it, obviously, because you planted it in the first place. Sorry, bud, but your plan sucks."

"I admit, I read Bree wrong," Ingram said. "But when I have photographic evidence, it won't matter. Five," he began the countdown.

"Except then I came snooping around. At the banquet, I took an interest in Katherine. You knew that if I spoke to her, it'd only be a matter of time before I started looking for Kelly, who you'd already disposed of. You panicked, and changed your plans mid-stride. You blinded Bree and summoned the ghost. Bree figured I went after Daniel – a theory you backed up, am I right?"

I spoke every word, hoping my speech wouldn't end with an explosive grand finale. Yet it needed to be said, for Lance's benefit as well as for mine. He needed the truth for the slim chance we both survived the encounter.

"Four–" Ingram continued.

I interrupted him again. "Tell me, did you burn down my house?"

He snarled slightly. "Bree refused to check it for evidence, clinging onto the possibility that you were innocent. If she had, she'd have found Kelly's wedding ring. I needed to give her an excuse."

"Thomas, if you're working an angle, then get to it already," Lance said.

"Here's my deal, Bub," I said, trying to sound fierce in my robe. "Get the hell out of here. Bree already knows it's you, thanks to your booby trap. She survived, by the way, and she's one tough lady. I'm sure she'll pull through and squeal to the council. Probably already has. Get out of here now, and no one dies."

"I prefer my idea," he said, flicking his wand toward my chest. "Don't be a fool, Thomas. I'm giving you the opportunity to survive! Three."

"You think the Imperium will believe this?" I flicked my hand up to gesture to the unknown camera.

"Actually, Thomas, I figure I'll just give it to the cops," Lance explained. "You're out of my hair away either way." With a ring on every other finger and the metal rod aimed at my back, I knew Ingram would kill me straight up if I tried to run. And even if I could run, a sound from outside gave me a start – police sirens were exiting the highway. They grew louder, as if on his cue to Ingram's words. Through the tinted windows, I saw a flicker of blue and red lights. "Either way, you're screwed. Damned if you do – shot in the back if you don't," Ingram finished.

I swore at the table and grabbed the gun. A life behind bars, or a life lasting a few more seconds. Which would be better?

I looked at Lance carefully. He stared timidly back at me. He may have his hands bound, but I was the one who was trapped. Swallowing, I made my decision as I put my finger on the trigger.

"Last words?" Ingram said to Lance, unable to hide the giddiness in his tone.

Lance looked at me unconcerned. I half expected him to beg. To plea for his life, yet he didn't. Whoever Lance Ruben was – whatever he'd been through, it had simply taken all fear of death out of him. He stared heartlessly, lowering his eyebrows in a baleful resentment. I gave him a few seconds, taking a careful aim with a two-handed grip.

Outside, a muffled but discernible voice made its way through the walls. "Thomas Amberose, we know you're in there. Come out with your hands up."

Some say there isn't absolute good or absolute evil in the world. Do I agree? It honestly doesn't matter. In a time like this, faced with the choice of death or life, it simply didn't occur to me to do anything else. I made my choice as I pulled the trigger.

### Chapter 25

The bullet approached, ripping through the air. However, when it got about halfway to him, it rebounded against a thin, invisible shaft of metal. My _real_ staff, which leaned against the table several feet away, jerked.

Lucky for Lance, the clone I created between us could block metal just as easily as the real thing. I was betting on the fact that Ingram had his vision off in fear that I'd blind him, and it paid off.

Despite the block, the bullet ricocheted into Lance's shoulder with a hollow splat.

I didn't wait for Ingram to notice. Using the moment of distraction, I magnetized my ring to my staff, and my weapon flew toward me. I wound toward Ingram. The staff reached my grasping hands. As I spun, I willed the ethereal clone to fade, bringing the full weight of the staff back where it belonged. My weapon knocked his elbow, as a blast erupted from its tip. Fire sprayed, but launched into the ceiling, raining sparks down the aisle.

Still holding my own gun, I took aim, but I pulled it quickly up as Lance sprang off his feet beside me. Lance speared himself directly into Ingram, even with his hands bound behind his back.

The brief tackle was enough to save my life. I hadn't noticed that Ingram's rings were glowing. When Lance's shoulders jabbed into the man's chest, a gust of hot flame sprayed inches from my shoulder.

Ingram recovered almost immediately, knocking Lance away with a flourish of his wand. Blue flame erupted from the tip of his wand. Ingram's blast sent the elderly man flying down the aisle, where he bashed heavily against the bar. Lance's shoulders slid across the slick countertop, and his forward momentum made him slide up and over. He landed on the opposite side, out of my sight.

Spinning back toward me, Ingram sent the same sort of flame my way, which I was able to duck under. It reverberated against the wall behind me.

The fear inside me erupted. The metal hilt of my gun felt foreign in my palm, but with actions guided entirely by fear, I pointed the barrel and shot three times.

Ingram bounded into one booth, hiding between the barrier of the seats. The only thing I was sure I hit was a bottle of liquor.

Out of sight now, I heard his high voice bellow through the empty room, over the screams of police sirens. "Gregory Scythe, I summon thee! Kill this man."

My robe fluttered out in front of me as I readied myself for the paranormal attack.

The ghost of Gregory Scythe appeared in the center of the room. His ruffled hair clung to his sunken, blotchy face. He gazed dully at me, defiant, and with all the grace of a vulture.

"Give it up, Ingram," I said as I focused my thoughts toward the ghost. _Ingram's the one you want. Go after him!_

The rules of war quickly changed. This was no longer about flinging flame and force about. This was about willpower. Who wanted the ghost more? And after everything Ingram had put me through, death by his own spell seemed like a perfect fit to me. I had no doubt in me. True, I didn't want to kill Ingram, but so long as Gregory Scythe was here, someone was bound do die. I sure as hell wouldn't let that someone be me.

He may have been hiding in one of the booths, but it still felt to me like a battle between two cowboy gunslingers, standing face to face. I was simply the less cowardly of the two.

The ghost he summoned looked from me to Ingram, but his gaze was disheartened and distracted. All of his trademark anger was gone now, as though the ghost were merely tired. The once madman's snarl was now merely a sedated glare. The ethereal blue sheen appeared dull and grainy. It was like watching a rerun through an old television. Somehow, the ghost had been defeated. Whereas in the past I could always see through the ghost, now I could hardly even see him.

Ingram winced as the ghost turned, but the blow was merely to his ego. If the ghost had been powerful, I'd have won that fight.

The room was suddenly encased in a full, white light. The police had arrived, and with each new car came a new spotlight. The sudden brightness was disorienting, and for a brief moment, all I could do was put up my hand before my eyes.

Ingram, however, was still hidden in his booth, below the streams of light. Swiftly using the advantaged, he leapt toward bar, grabbed a bottle of Vodka, and shattered it against the floor between us. A simple spell ignited it. Peering behind his half-wall, he didn't bother converting the fire into anything else. He simply lifted the flame from the floor and let it grow like a living ball of hungry flame.

And so, the battle resumed.

One of his rings glowed as he ordered the floating flame forward. The ball of white-hot fire grew more intense as it approached. The sudden surge of heat forced me to react.

I know how to throw a fireball. It isn't all that hard. Essentially, fire is simply an intense form of rapid oxidization. My staff has all the equations necessary pre-programmed in to throw a blowtorch flame out of the end.

Ingram, on the other hand knew _fire_ , and in ways I'd never even imagined. The blue blasts he'd used earlier were flames so dense that they could pound things away as though they were a semi-solid force. He controlled fire as though it were a servant awaiting his orders.

There was one thing about fire that I did know – it requires a fuel to burn.

I flung his flame aside with a blast of force powered by heat. As the spells collided, my spell simply devoured the flame's heat, but some random variable redirected the blast. Part of the spell spiraled randomly to the right, directly through the window. The glass shattered outwards with a flourish of maroon curtains. Another pelted heavily into the decorative mirror behind the bar, shattering it, while a third shot a hole through the booth directly beside me.

I ducked in fright, seeing the sweat on Ingram's face as he sneered toward me. Yet the time for my fear had passed. I knew one simple fact. He failed. First, he failed to frame me, and now failed to kill me.

I arose slowly, holding my staff at my hip like Clint Eastwood would hold a shotgun. As I focused on keeping down the hatred toward this man, my mind was suddenly a full library of spells. One of my favorites came to mind, but I hesitated only to say, "It's over, Ingram. Give up."

The police bellowed at us again. Their spotlights made our shadows large on the left wall.

His answer was a focused ball of blue flame, which spewed out of his wand.

"Ventus Pulsis," I bellowed.

But I knew that fire is that not all that dangerous without heat. Throwing out a wide, weak wave, it simply absorbed in any heat in its path. When the spells met, all the heat – all the power of his spell was absorbed into my own. It sped forward with a golden hue lining its shimmering surface.

Like a truck, the spell slammed solidly against anything in its path. Although Ingram leapt back between the booths, it simply didn't matter. With the power of both of our spells combined, it shoved the entire seat backwards, trapping him between it and the bar.

Caught on the edge of the spell, he survived. The back wall of the bar, including the mirror, the beer taps, and the dozens of bottles of hard liquor, however, all evaporated on contact. Only solid construction kept the entire wall in place. For a brief moment, the back of that bar was an epic display of shattering glass, spraying liquids, and breaking counters.

Ingram's wand had fallen limply into view. Using a cloned staff, I swept it out of his reach.

_It's over,_ I told myself. _I've finally won._

I savored the second and took my time to walk over to Ingram, clunking my staff against the ground as I did. I slid my bare feet to avoid stepping on the glass. Halfway there he shoved the booth away from him, and struggled to get free. However, just as he was ready to scurry back toward his wand, I slapped my staff down front of him. It came down in the pool of Vodka, and droplets sprayed into his face. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't kill you now."

He looked up slowly, eyes wide like two grapefruits. Then he fumbled to a sitting position. "I–I'll admit everything! I swear it!"

I still had a bad feeling, as though he still wasn't ready to admit defeat. I stared into his frantic eyes.

"Just get out of here," I said, pouring my anger out through my eyes.

He gave several jerky nods and pushed himself to his feet. I watched him leave, springing headlong out of the double doors, where he'd go right into police custody. The police sirens were still surrounding the room, and I knew that standing here, armed in their spotlights wouldn't bode well. I dropped my staff, knowing that in a moment the place would be swarming, but I just took that moment to take a deep breath.

Several officers were already scurrying toward the door, where I figured they were going to meet him with a pair of handcuffs. The fight was over. Finally, I was out of the crosshairs. After a day as bad as this one, a police cell didn't actually sound too bad. It wasn't as though I had anywhere else to go. Leaning with my free hand against the toppled booth, I decided to simply bask in my victory before the police came with their cuffs.

That's when the floor beneath my bare feet caught fire. Leaping backwards, Ingram was probably grinning now as he laid front-first on the ground. Just when I thought it was all over, I was in yet another burning building. Awesome.

But why? Why, after I'd clearly won? Surrounded by dozens of broken bottles, I watched in horror as the flames slowly wavered across the floor toward the bar.

Grinding my teeth, I backed up toward door, and thought, _damn-it. Lance is still there! Damn-it. Damn-it._

Sure. Lance leaned heavily toward the evil side of the spectrum. However, he wasn't necessarily the baddest of the bad. I couldn't just let him just lie there as the flames consumed him. They were already licking the front of the bar. With my breath held, since the room was already growing foggy gray with black smoke, I sprang up and slid over the bar.

My feet screamed in agony when they planted down on the dozens of alcohol soaked, shattered bottles. The stinging made the insanely painful cuts put me on the verge of passing out. I focused on my goal.

Lance was still unconscious, so I grabbed him under his arms. My feet were stinging in agony.

"Get up!" I shouted, inches from his ear.

His head jerked lightly to the side, hardly conscious. With sluggish movements, I helped him to his feet.

The flames erupted on the top of the counter. Every now and then, another puddle of particularly potent alcohol ignited. The fire seemed to be doing a leapfrog toward me, ignoring the less flammable liquids.

I put my hands on my knees and took a breath of smoky air. Once again, my head went dizzy. "Lance! Get up!"

To my surprise, he jerked at his name. Within moments, he pushed himself up and hobbled to the broken window, leaving the establishment with his arms up.

I followed the best I could, shuffling through the broken glass as I walked around the counter. Even before I was outside, the officers swooped in around me, first to pull me out, then to hold me down. I grinned insanely as someone slapped a pair of cuffs on my wrist, simply happy to be alive. Ingram was pinned to the ground by a pair of cops, pleading to be let go.

To the cops, I was just some psychotic terrorist.

I'd beaten the bad guy. I'd saved the day. And here was my reward. A pair of handcuffs, and a small, barred room that would soon go with it. A threesome of men pulled me to my feet – one of them chanted off the Miranda Rights as they ushered me to the car.

Lance still looked amused, as he stared at me from inside a different police car.

### Chapter 26

An hour later, I sat alone in a small, white room. It was the kind seen in every crime show. White walls. Gray door. Large mirrored window. The only furniture was the table and two chairs. Maybe this was a bit forward of me, but I decided this place was my new home. As I sat with my head on the desk – my roof – I tried to focus on the positive.

I was alive. That's always good. A bit worse for wear, and as dirty and battered as a flat tire. The bad guy was taken care of. That's also good. Soon, I'd be relocated to a small cell, where I wouldn't have to watch my back any longer. Win–win.

I let my eyes close, wondering what the policemen on the other side of the one-way mirror thought of my lazy demeanor. I wouldn't know for sure, but I suspected that most people they dragged in here didn't try to fall asleep, least of all while wearing nothing but a robe and a couple pounds of sweaty ash. At the moment, my biggest concern was keeping my weight on the good cheek to minimize the pain.

A year ago, I was in a similar room, after the warehouse incident. As I drifted along the line of exhaustion, I decided I'd do now what I'd done then and refuse to speak without a lawyer.

You're a bit beyond lawyers, Thomas. Even if you do get out, what then? No home? Few friends?

Lara might take me in, if she'd ever forgive me for leaving her at Wal-Mart. If not, I'd maybe have to go back to live with Lucian, my mentor, except that he hasn't spoken to me since I'd been kicked out of the Guardians.

_There's always jail,_ I thought with a chuckle.

I absently rubbed my hand through my hair, sickened at the thought. Ash fell out of my hair onto the table with the motion.

Some time later – minutes, probably, though it could have been hours for the way my mind was working, the door opened. With my head resting in the crook of my elbow, all I could see was a pair of penny-loafers walk pretentiously inside.

The man, who'd violated my new living room, didn't seem disturbed as he sat in the chair. He just put some papers down on the table, and read them over slowly. A minute or so later, I wiped my hand over my face. It came off black again from round three with fire. Then, slowly, carefully, I sat up.

The man wore a gravel gray suit and a pair of reading glasses. His skin was very dark, and he put on the act of ignoring me as he read my file. It quite obviously was my file. It sported a large, colored mug shot of me, taken last year when they tried to book me for the destruction of Lance's warehouse.

"Sorry. Did I miss anything?" I asked.

No response. His thick, black hair and purposeful posture gave him the look of a valedictorian rather than a police officer. He turned a page.

I leaned back, closing my eyes and stretching against the back of the chair. "I'll entertain you with small talk, officer, but if you want to talk about what happened, I want to see a lawyer."

"Agent," he corrected, not looking up from the files.

He flipped the cover of my file shut, cleaned his glasses, and put them into a small case, which he then slipped into the inside pocket of his suit. Then, shifting his brown eyes up to me, he said, "You've had a busy couple of days. Haven't you, Mr. Amberose."

"Call me Thomas." I considered offering my hand, but that would be polite. I didn't have anything against manners, but was in no mood to use them.

"Agent Garrison. FBI." The man looked to be in his mid-thirties, and my eyes caught the glint of a golden wedding ring. "The fire was put out, by the way. It didn't kill anyone."

"Thanks to me," I said.

"Thanks to you, Mr. Amberose," he said without emoting. "What brought you to the Divination tonight?"

I shrugged as passively as I could.

"You have an interesting record, Mr. Amberose. I've been looking through your file, but it's largely incomplete. Years of your life seem to be just... missing."

I couldn't resist. "Where'd they go?"

Agent Garrison didn't smile. But then, he didn't frown, either.

"I couldn't help but notice that you have a tendency to turn up whenever there's trouble. There was an incident with a warehouse last year. Your own house recently caught fire in a suspected case of arson. Hours later, there was a brawl on the street, and a reported gunshot. Then there's that house in the suburbs owned by a Brianna Porter, which also caught fire. That one made the news. You were seen fleeing the scene. And now you're right in the middle of a fire at the Divination."

"It's hard to think, sir. Maybe a lawyer would jog my memory."

"The Divination is the second establishment owned by Mr. Lance Ruben that's suffered damage during one of your visits." He leaned forward. The creaking chair was echoic in the otherwise dead silence. "Look, Thomas. I'll be straight with you. I honestly don't know what you're involved in. You have a splotchy record, but nothing outwardly criminal. Mr. Ruben, however – we've been looking into him for a long time. You're guilty of a lot of things. Fleeing multiple crime scenes. Three cases of Arson. Breaking and entering a secure building. Assault. Two charges of attempted murder in the first degree. You fight me, and you'll be put away for a long time. Lucky for you, my main focus is elsewhere."

"Lance..." I said, understanding.

"Lance," he confirmed.

"You know, sir, that sounds a bit like blackmail."

Not a smile. Not a twitch. Hell, since I first looked at the guy he hadn't even blinked. It was a wonder his mouth moved when he talked. "Think of it as a favor, Mr. Amberose. Help me, and I'll help you."

I looked back at him, attempting to keep my face just as stoic as his. As I considered my next words, I flung the thought of incriminating Lance aside before it even came.

Lance scares me. Mage or no, he's a powerful man with unknown connections. There has been more than one account a member of the Imperium simply disappearing when they do something bad to the Venir. I didn't want to be the next vanishing act.

At that moment, the door opened and a young woman burst inside. Tall and thin, she wore a suit-jacket and a professional gray skirt that stopped just above her knees. She was Asian, with hair tied tightly into a bun against the back of her head. She didn't even look at me when she entered boldly. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Ma'am, you're not supposed to be in here."

"You have no right to hold an interrogation without the presence of his lawyer. I will be filling that spot, Agent Garrison. Furthermore, this session is done."

"This man is not going anywhere," Agent Garrison said.

"Is this an interrogation, Agent?" My lawyer asked. "If it is, then he had better be under arrest."

"He was at a crime scene. He's suspected of arson, assault and attempted mur–"

"He was a victim of the arson, not the suspect. Also, do not mistake speculation for fact. There is no proof that Mr. Amberose was indeed the one running away from Ms. Porter's house, other than the fact that the man fleeing that scene was a male. He may have committed the crime of trespassing on Cane Industries property, but Cane Industries has made it explicitly clear that we do not wish to press charges against him. And as for the murders, it's obvious he had nothing to do with them. He was being coerced by Paul Ingram. Lance even backed up the story, and if that's not enough, there is evidence of Mr. Ingram's presence on the Divination's camera. And as for Paul Ingram. Well, unless you are suggesting that Mr. Amberose has the unique ability to throw people across a room, without actually making physical contact than it is obvious that he had nothing to do with that so-called attempted murder. I ask you again, Agent. Is Mr. Amberose under arrest?"

Agent Garrison exhaled loudly – finally, proof he was human. "No."

"Than you have no reason to keep him here. Come with me, Mr. Amberose. We are leaving."

I made a mental note not to piss this woman off as I grinned at Agent Garrison. Upon leaving the room, I spotted my staff on a shelf and took it as I followed her out of the room. The way she ushered me out, I half expected her to take my hand and yank me along like a domineering mother would a child. We strode out the front lobby, and I adjusted my untidy robe as I walked, throwing soot off it in the motion.

My eyes widened in shock upon seeing my ride – a stretch limousine. It was black with a sunroof, tinted windows, and hopefully a full bar. A few lights between the windows glowed dimly against the starry backdrop. The engine was already running, hardly audible over the chirping frogs in the nearby pond. She opened the door for me, and the first thing I noticed, aside from the full bar, was a pair of Jeans and a polo shirt. There was underwear, even, still in the package.

A good philosophy to live by is that if sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Kind of like those emails saying you've got some great, great, uncle five times removed who died and left you a fortune. Another good rule I often follow is one that is most often taught by mommies – don't get into a car with a stranger. I tried to form these doubts into words, but all that escaped from my lips was a dumbfounded, "Ahh."

"You have no need to worry, Mr. Amberose. All of this, and me, are courtesy of Cane Industries." She smiled pleasantly, leaving me in wonder.

"Err–"

"I understand, Mr. Amberose, that you and Mr. Cane recently had what he referred to as a 'tussle,'" she spoke quickly, with a lightly British accent. "Mr. Cane has given me explicit instructions to inform you that he holds no grudge. He only wishes to make up for any unpleasantries. He would like to speak with you, and he apologizes for ever suspected you of wronging him."

My jumble of objections solidified and intensified as I stood there with this woman, but finally my mind eased enough for me to form a coherent thought. "Err, okay."

"Great," she motioned her hand inside the door. I shouldn't have been surprised when she followed me inside, but for some reason I was. She sat staring at me from the back seat while I collapsed into the one along the front.

"Oh," she said, her eyes brightening as though just remembering something. Holding out a slender, hand, she said, "A pleasure to meet you. My name is Ayaka Souma."

I shook her hand, glad for the first time of the day that there was probably enough soot on my face to hide the adolescent blush that I felt. I ignored the way her skirt slipped up slightly as she crossed her bare legs, instead focusing on her slim, angular face. She must have been right out of law school.

My face reddened again as I glanced down at the clothes laid out for me. "I, err..."

"You want privacy, I suppose. With a practiced smile, she folded her hands in her lap. Then, she rested her head on the seat and closed her eyes. "I won't peek."

I hesitated a second as my mind went into a dull daze. I noted, with groggy intelligence, that she was a rather beautiful woman.

I shook my head and started with the boxers, sliding them up and under the robe. Then I did the same with the pants – I didn't bother trying to keep them, or the limo, clean. It would be a futile struggle, so I just threw the disgusting robe onto the floor. Mr. Cane – Daniel or Cameron, I didn't know which, was thoughtful enough to get me a black polo. When I was done, Ayaka offered me a drink, but I didn't take it. A depressant was the last thing I needed. Instead, I spent the rest of the trip sitting with my weight on my undamaged side, which was growing slightly numb by now. "So what does Mr. Cane want to see me about?"

"He will answer all your questions when you see him. Is there anything I can do for you? You appear rather beaten about, and the cops were clearly not helpful. I am trained in basic first aid. If you have any–"

"–I'll be fine." The words blurted out a smidgeon too quickly. It took all the mental fortitude I had to suppress the urge to take off my shirt and play a game of 'check out these battle-scars.'

However, the sleep took over again a minute or so into the ride. For being unconscious for several hours, I certainly was worn down. Keeping my weight on one side is hard when you're about to fall asleep. As we rode, I went between moments of near-sleep to intense pain as I relaxed onto my scab, until the familiar shape of the Cane Industries Headquarters loomed up alongside the car.

As I got out of the car, Ayaka slid her soft fingers against my elbow. "This way, Mr. Amberose." I followed, limping along since the new shoes hurt my throbbing feet.

We walked inside, and I hardly paid attention as we walked past the security station.

"Hold up. That's the guy?"

I looked up to see the same college-student night-guard I spoke to earlier, clearly surprised and outraged at the sight of me. There I was, full of ash, and in the few hours since I'd met him, I managed to get even more battered and war-torn.

I couldn't help myself. Upon seeing him, I let out the biggest grin I could manage, and waved like the madman I'd become.

This time, Ayaka blushed, clearly embarrassed to be seen with me. She quickened her pace as they let us pass. When we stepped into the elevator, I wiped my face clean as we arose. Turning toward the glass, I adjusted my hair in the reflection. I did have my other eyebrow, by the way.

If I were about to talk to Cameron, or even Daniel, I at least wanted to seem presentable. If nothing else, a paycheck relied on what came next, which would be desperately needed in the absence of a house.

The elevator stopped, so I let her lead me out. We didn't have far to go. It was the same place I'd seen Cameron last time, in the octagonal lounge in the center of the uppermost floor.

I felt a horrid pang of guilt upon stepping over a few drops of blood on the gray carpet. However, she didn't make any mention of it. I'd almost expected us to stop right there, but instead, she turned down the left hallway and urged me onward. We walked all the way to the end of the hall, where she stopped just outside the last, unmarked door.

"Mr. Cane is waiting inside. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Amberose. I'm sure we'll speak again." I shook her hand again. Was it my imagination, or did her fingers linger against my wrist for an extra second?

_Wake up and smell the ashes, Thomas. You're a mess._ I shook my head awake as she walked away. Then, I turned and walked inside.

The office was empty of furniture, save for a desk facing the left wall. I call it a wall, but it was actually just one, giant window, overlooking the rest of Minneapolis. A few blocks away, there was the IDS tower – the second highest building in the city. Its highest point was several feet lower than my feet. With a view like this, I realized that it must be good to be the king of Cane Industries.

Cameron Cane waited with a magazine in his lap. He lounged on the leather chair with his feet on the desk. They were clad in shiny, new shoes. He looked up brightly as I stood there and spun in the chair. "Thomas! Come on in"

"Hey," I said innocently, scratching my head and coming away with dark fingertips. A sudden pang of guilt expanded in my stomach as I realized I still held my staff at my side. "Sorry about before."

"I like to think of it as a display of talent. Not many have ever seen a full-fledged mage in action."

"Full-fledged?" I said stepping inside. I hardly thought of myself as fully trained. Sure, I'd blown up a building or two in my time, but compared to some of the other guys out there, I was nothing. Each and every one of the higher ranked Guardians could take me on with bound hands and no foci. Not that Cameron needed to hear that.

I leaned my staff against the wall and put my hands in my pocket.

"She got you out of jail, I see. Any problems getting here?"

"No, no. Everything's good."

He smiled lightly at me, standing up. "I'd wanted to thank you personally for everything you've done. I know you've lost a lot in the past few days, and would like to make it up to you."

"Make it up to me?" I felt trapped. Sure, I'd lost a lot. On the other hand, I'd attacked him, damaged one of his cars, and in general was not very forthcoming most of the time.

"I went directly to see Brianna Porter, who confirmed your story. She's fine, by the way. Broken leg, broken wrist, and a couple-dozen stitches, but nothing life-threatening." A weight fell off my chest that I hadn't even realized had been there. Bree's all right! I hadn't killed her after all. "Here, have a seat. I'd like to hear what happened from you, if you don't mind."

I didn't mind. But considering my situation, I preferred standing. Plus, I didn't want to fall asleep mid-sentence. I told him that. Then, I began my story, start to finish. I told him everything that happened, editing the story only slightly to keep the fully magical details quiet. I was on good standing with the Imperium again, and didn't want to ruin it. How did I know I was on good standing? Because they hadn't sent a hit squad after me.

The story started when he hired me, and then went to Lance Ruben's threats. From there, I explained my encounter with Bree – my break-in to James's cabin. Everything. I skipped out on that small segment in Bree's burning house where he'd come to me in a vision after my life flashed before my eyes. Cameron hadn't interrupted me, except to offer me water about halfway through – around the part where I was stuck in a fire. When I finished with Ayaka's daring rescue from the interrogation room, Cameron Cane was sitting on the edge of the seat, fingertips together.

"I've hired a few people of my own to look into the mess. Paul Ingram is in custody, but I don't think anything will stick. There are eyewitnesses who saw you throw him across the room. They think it was some sort of explosion. As for the other guy, Lance Ruben – there are witnesses who saw you rescue him. The cameras didn't catch anything once the smoke hit. Also, there is the bullet's random ricochet on video. The fight itself was out of view, mostly. Lance is not pressing charges, by the way – a way of thanks for saving his life, I expect."

That made sense. If that was the worst I had to worry about, I was probably in the clear. My latest mentor had a lot of pull in the Imperium. If it were entirely up to the judges, I'd be gone already, but I'm sure Lucian Mercer would find some way to save me. Even if we weren't talking, he was the next best thing to a father, and he wouldn't abandon me. Assuming the Imperium worked in their usual ways, every copy of that film would be modified. Likely, the gun would jam on camera, or be loaded up with blanks. Or, knowing them, they'd make me into a clown who missed entirely, probably with some cockeyed, drugged up grin on my face.

"There's another thing I think you should know about," Cameron said.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Back at the manor when this all started, you told me to look for any records of conversations shared between Emmitt Cane and Lance Ruben, and think I found what you were after."

"Oh?"

"Apparently, my uncle has magic in his bloodline. James Freidman was able to develop it, as well."

"Oh?" That was another part of the story I edited – in my version, I claimed James stumbled onto an ancient ritual. I didn't think Cam bought it, but he didn't question it. The 'your bloodline is special' scam works perfectly on strangers, but Emmitt and Cameron are related. I hoped this wouldn't lead to future complications.

"I found a written contract locked inside his safe with a video. It wasn't easy to break open, but I managed."

Cameron handed me an old fashioned scroll signed in blood – mages often use clichés such as these to make things seem more authentic. I read it over quickly as Cameron went on. "Apparently, Emmitt and Lance swore some kind of oath, magically enforced by James Freidman. Lance offered Cane Industries a few scientists, at the cost of being his magical body double."

I cocked an eyebrow at that. "Magical body double?"

"Yeah. Know anything about it?"

"I do. That's dangerous magic. If I had to guess, I'd say that James Freidman whipped up some kind of magical contract that bound the two of them together. Hmm... This here states that any harmful spell meant to do harm to Lance would instead be drawn to Emmitt Cane. So Emmitt wasn't the target after all."

"Can that work?"

I looked at him, pushing away that lake of drowsiness as I considered offering him an impromptu lesson in basic magic. This explanation was marginally illegal, but I couldn't leave a man as rich and powerful as Cameron Cane without a defense. "If you make an oath with a mage, whether that be verbal or written, you're bound to it. With an oath, there are conditions and consequences. If the conditions are broken, the consequences come to bite you in the ass."

He nodded.

"An oath like this is the most dangerous kind. Essentially, Emmitt agreed to take a bullet. He probably signed it thinking it was just a stupid piece of paper. He gets three genius scientists out of it at no cost. That is, until he finds out magic is real, but by then it was too late." I bit my lip and made my decision to take another chance. "Look, there are two things you need to know about magic. One – don't agree to any oath. Ever. Two – magic cannot affect you directly as long as you don't let it."

"With the exception of an oath."

I hissed air between my teeth. "Kind of. That falls into the, 'unless you let it' category. If the conditions of an oath let it, you're screwed. The wrong oath can forever poke a hole in your magical defenses and render you helpless. Emmitt Cane was completely defenseless against the ghost because he made that oath. The ghost was summoned to kill Lance Ruben, but that oath redirected it to kill Emmitt, instead. Even if Emmitt didn't believe in magic, he agreed to let it kill him, so the oath was binding." I shook my head in awe at a stupid realization. "Funny thing about it? When Emmitt Cane made the oath, he didn't believe it would work. This technically meant it shouldn't have been binding. Or rather, it wouldn't have been had Emmitt known that it wasn't. If someone had told him he wasn't bound to it, he'd be alive today."

"So, if you were to, say, throw one of those force blasts at him."

"It wouldn't necessarily work for a spell like that. A spell like that is often fired like a gun – you aim and shoot in a direction. But if you're using a spell on an actual person as a target, than it'll work perfectly. The ghost targeted _Lance_. Actually, in a sense, I used the same spell as the one in this oath at the banquet. When the ghost went after Daniel, I threw myself out there as bait. Different type of execution, maybe, but to the same effect – I changed the target of the spell to myself."

Cameron stood up and flicked his curly bangs out of his face with a casual whip of his head. "I guess that leads me to one more question. Why would Ingram want Lance Ruben dead?"

I sighed and gave a massive shrug. "I'll make a few calls, but frankly? I don't know, and I doubt anyone will tell me."

"Okay," Cameron said. "But if you had to guess, what would you say?"

"Honestly," I said, a darkness fluttering through my thoughts. "My people don't like Lance Ruben. Don't quote this as fact, but I think it's because Lance-" I paused to think out my words. "Lance is a powerful guy."

I cringed inside as I yearned to tell him the secret of his origin, but it was one of the Imperium's most well guarded. The only reason I even knew was because I'd been in the area of his arrival. Lance fled from a war in his own universe, and ended up here. A war that, according to Lance, he couldn't possibly win. Rather than sink with the ship, he and his men opened a portal to a random destination. Here. "My guess is that the mages wanted Lance dead, and they suckered Paul Ingram into being their un-official hit man. I'd bet you just about anything that Ingram won't live through the week."

"But won't Lance see right through it?" Cameron asked. "Possibly retaliate?"

"Maybe," I said. "But no one wants a confrontation, so things will just go back to normal. For a while, at least." I trailed off, not wanting to talk about Lance. Call it paranoid, but I found myself suddenly worried that he may be listening. "So, are the guards I attacked alright?"

"One had a minor concussion, but he'll be okay." Cameron said. "The other has a damaged ego."

I drooped my shoulders. "Sorry. And Daniel?"

For once, Cameron gave a full, wide smile, revealing his perfect, shining teeth. "About that." It faded the next moment. "The action was too much for him. He's gone."

"Gone?"

"Living it up on his new island home."

"So what? You're the new CEO?" I said, half jokingly.

"Nah," he said, grinning. "For now, I'm just the Interim CEO. Was all along, actually. Emmitt's saw to that in his will, and the board agreed."

"Thus, the giant office on the top floor," I smirked.

"This closet? Nah, this is your office. I've got the bigger one down the hall."

I felt like a cartoon character who'd just seen something unbelievable enough to drop his jaw to the floor. "Huh?"

"Yeah, there's a connecting bedroom to the side. It's tiny, but some of my employees prefer to simply sleep here during the busier times of year. If you're interested, you've got a position as my CMO."

"C...M...O?"

"If you don't like the city life, I'm sure better living arrangements can be made. The job comes with a six-figure salary. Flexible hours, and all you have to do is be my consultant and bodyguard for supernatural matters."

I shook my head. It was too late to think about this. My mouth formed the three letters, over and over.

"The M stands for Magical," he said.

"Chief Magical Officer," I tried to sound skeptical, but laughed at the absurdity of it.

"It's a dangerous world out there. If you had been working for Emmitt, he'd still be alive right now. Plus, I've seen you in action. You know your stuff." He watched me with a muted smirk on his face. "I don't need an answer now, and of course we need to do a background check and drug test. You know – legal mumbo jumbo."

"I, err..."

He took five steps across this so-called closet and slapped me on the back as he made for the doorway. "Take your time. Think about it, Thomas. And feel free to spend the night. There's a set of keys on the desk. One's for this room, one's for a company car. Another is for the elevator. I've had some clean clothes put in the dresser. If you decide you don't want the job, no hard feelings, though I'm sure I'll request your services as a PI again. For this case, I'll pay you what we agreed, plus a couple of zeroes on the end of the bill. Oh, and Ayaka is down the hall if you need anything." He gave me a sly smirk. Then, his with his face snapping back to seriousness he added, "You look like crap, Thomas. Get some rest," and walked out.

### Chapter 27

From the personal log of Special Agent L. Garrison  
Supernatural Investigations Department:

Incident Report: Divination crisis.

Paul Ingram's whereabouts during the night of Emmitt Cane's murder are unknown. However, he was present during the Cane Industries bi-annual banquet, as well the aftermath in which it appears Mr. Ingram attempted to either kill or capture Thomas Amberose.

The mages organization appears to hate loose ends, and this case left two of them. First, there are the Divination's security videos – I'm pretty sure Lance wiped those. I went for them immediately, but there was no trace of the security systems being activated.

The second is Paul Ingram, the murderer of Emmitt Cane and officially, the perpetrator of this whole crime. He was to be taken directly from the Divination to the Saudan underground prison facility. However, the armored truck was ambushed en route, and he was killed.

So who ambushed the truck? Was it Lance Ruben? He could afford to pay Cane Industries billions of dollars, so what else could he buy? Or maybe he was killed by the government of mages. Would they kill their own kind?

And what of Thomas Amberose? I initially figured him for one of Mr. Ruben's stooges, but after speaking with him I wonder if he was just working to stop more murders. If that's the case, perhaps he has information about Mr. Ruben and his mysterious organization that call themselves the Venir. In the meantime, I have one sure-fire way to keep him off of Supernatural Investigations list of suspects.

I awoke late the next morning, and resisted the urge to stay in bed until next afternoon. Sometimes, when you have a really hard work out, you wake up sore the next day. I thought I knew what to expect, but reality out-shined all of that. A combination of sore ribs and a silky layer of soot in my lungs made me feel as though I'd awoken with a concrete slab on my chest. Every time I coughed, which was about every ten seconds, someone used that slab as a platform for jumping jacks.

The funny thing was, I didn't actually remember getting into bed the previous night. When I opened my eyes, I was in some unfamiliar room with only three walls and a sky. Eventually I used my recently acquired PI skills to determine I was in the Cane Tower. There weren't curtains I could see, but when I found a random remote and pressed a button, the glass dimmed to black. That would have been nice at dawn.

Two hours later, when I realized that I wasn't going to get any more sleep, I got up. There was a bathroom nearby, so took a shower. That was another endeavor that was harder than it should have been, what it all the bandages and medical tape slung to me. I didn't manage to pull it all off until I coughed up about a metric ton of black goo. My arm had turned purple along one side, but at least it matched my shoulder, which could hardly move. The dozens of scrapes and bumps burned as the water ran over them, but despite the stinging, it was refreshing and clean. As the water washed the ash off me, it left me feeling like I'd been baptized into a new life.

Plus, the shower itself the most impressive thing I'd ever encountered. It could be set to spray from about twelve angles, and it only took me about a second to adjust the knob to a perfect temperature.

When I stepped out a half hour later, I scowled harshly at the clean white robe hanging on the back of the door for me. I'd worn out that fashion trend by now, and walked naked into the bedroom.

Simply because my luck had been so bad, I was almost certain someone – Ayaka, probably – would be in there, but upon seeing the room empty I figured it meant my streak of bad luck was over. The dresser had boxers, briefs, whity-tighties, white Ts, black Ts, sleeveless shirts, and even two pairs of pajamas – one plaid, and one adorned with rubber duckies. The closet had pants at one end, ranging from casual on up to tuxedos. I gazed over everything, and picked out a pair of blue jeans and a polo – today was my lucky day, after all, so I challenged fate by wearing white. I still had a few things in my morning routine, but at the smell of fresh, strong coffee, I decided that my toothpaste could wait.

I followed the ambrosial scent out, into the diamond waiting area, where Cameron was at the bar.

"Cream?" he asked.

"Not today," I said, collapsing onto the nearest sofa. Even my bum was getting better, but not enough to sit on yet. He handed me a thick cup of black goodness, and I burned my tongue with my first sip. "You know, I had the craziest dream. At least, I thought I did until I opened my eyes and found myself here."

"So you've decided to take the job?"

"Not sure yet," I took another cautious sip as he sat across from me. "There's something Lara said that's been bothering me."

"You're wondering if it was a coincidence that I just happened to show up minutes before Lance did."

I shrugged. "Guilty."

"It wasn't." Cameron said, sitting beside me. "Years ago, Emmitt told me that if anything strange ever happened to him, that I should go to either you, or a woman named Brianna Porter. A year ago, that changed to just Brianna for a few days, but then it changed again to Lara. Honestly, it wasn't a coincidence. Until I knew a bit more about you, I choose not to divulge this."

I nodded with realization. Translation; Emmitt Cane had been keeping tabs on the Imperium. For a while, he'd have Cameron go to the Guardians in the event 'something strange.' When Lara started up her PI business, she was the new choice.

"Sorry I can't help more," Cameron said.

"That is more helpful than you probably realize," I said.

"Emmitt Cane has been obsessed with Magic since he discovered the truth about it. On and off over the past several months, he's had people following you, Lara, Bree, and Ingram. It is a coincidence, I'll admit, that you were the one put on the case. I honestly meant to hire Lara. I needed someone who was in the supernatural circles, and since she had a PI business, she seemed the most logical choice. It took me by surprise that you were there, but I knew who you were from the start, and what you could do. Not as vividly as I do now, of course, but I knew."

"Okay," I said, glad for his honesty. I took another sip of my coffee, hoping it'd soon cool down enough for me to chug.

"If you wish, I could give you a tour of Cane Industries. Come to think of it, most of our branches I've yet to see myself."

"Nah, not today," I said. "Sorry, but there are a few things I need to finish up before making any firm commitments."

"Sure," he said. We sipped our coffee in peace as I enjoyed the first peaceful downtime I've had in days.

After I'd finished, I decided I to get to it. I enjoyed the view out the elevator's glass window as it lowered me to the lobby. Typically, I'd take the stairs to the parking lot, but not today. Today was strictly a no-stairs kind of day.

The car keys Cameron gave me about had an attached remote, which I tested right outside the elevator. Several black vehicles of varying models were nearby, each with custom plates reading Cane, followed by a number. "Cane 1" beeped. The sporty model. Cam was sure milking this life of luxury thing. I got in, determined to ensure a better fate for this car than what came upon the last one Cameron lent me. It's strange how he never brought that up.

I drove to my destination, Saint John's hospital, up in the northern suburbs. It had a small gift shop, and although I planned to buy a bouquet of flowers I still didn't have my wallet back, so I'd have to settle with a verbal apology and well wishing. A nurse directed me to Bree's room.

When I stepped into the doorway, Bree had her eyes closed. My feet hesitated as one hand clenched the other nervously. She opened her glossy, green eyes and gazed at me for a few seconds before closing them again. Her typically wavy strawberry blond hair lay matted and shapeless against the pillow as she rested with her arms on her stomach. One was wrapped in a plain, gray cast. Her face was blotchy with minor burns, but I doubted it'd leave any more scarring than a bad sunburn would. "How're you feeling?"

"Like crap, Thomas," she said with closed eyes. "Same way I look."

"You look like a trooper to me," I said, smiling awkwardly.

Her face grew stiff as she frowned.

"Look, I know we had our differences, but I wanted to wish you well," I admitted. "And to say that I'm glad you're okay."

She swallowed as I lingered in the doorway for a few seconds. Did that mean we were good? I never could read her very well. Several moments passed.

Drooping my head between my shoulders, I turned away.

"I'll never forgive you for what happened to my brother," she said.

I rested my arm on the doorframe and said solemnly to the floor, "I'll never ask you to."

"But I understand why you followed him." She opened her hazy eyes, and I hoped it was her, rather than the painkillers, that were talking.

"If I'd have known what would happen to your brother, I swear, things would have been different."

"I know," she said lightly before closing her eyes.

_You didn't have anything to do with her brother's death, Thomas,_ my defiant side said. _She has no right to be mad at you._

But then, could I honestly say that? Did I honestly believe the child would have destroyed that warehouse, even if I hadn't come? I sighed at the thought, for the truth was that I had no idea what killed her brother. Children can't cast, and adults can't rip apart a warehouse with a spell that effectively. Not without some kind of massive power source, which the Blind Child simply didn't have.

Maybe her brother's death was my fault. Maybe it wasn't. It seemed to me that it didn't matter – Bree just needed an explanation to put her mind at ease. The least I could do was offer myself as an output for her anger.

So here we were. I left a free man. In other words, Bree and I were exactly as we'd been before this all started.

After that, I got a bite to eat, and started for Cane Industries to see if they could do anything about getting me a phone and a wallet. I had no doubt that there were already people working on the wallet. I figured there was a phone already on my desk, which I hadn't checked this morning beyond the quick grab for the keys. However, I was just about to pull onto the highway when I realized that all I was doing was stalling the inevitable. I struggled to keep my mind free of the potential consequences as I drove to my next destination.

A quarter hour later, I walked with drooped shoulders into Lara's office. She stopped typing and slammed her laptop shut the moment I walked in. Flinging a wayward bang off her forehead, she said through biting teeth, "You really are an egocentric ass, aren't you?"

"Sorr–"

"Don't you sorry me," she snapped. "You just left me. Alone. I trusted you, but you even stole my phone. What the hell were you thinking, Thomas? We were supposed to be a team."

"We were." I said, drooping my head another inch. "I just-"

"-didn't think I'm up to the job?" she interrupted. "Didn't want me to hold you back?"

I stepped boldly inside. "I didn't want to see you hurt," _My turn to be angry._ "Since I left you, I've been through two burning buildings, another ghost attack, held at gunpoint, and shot at with both bullets and spells. I hate to say it, Lara, but you're no good in a fight."

Her face reddened as she exhaled with a fiery disgust. "That's why I avoid them. I bet you I figured out it was Ingram hours before you did. Hell, I suspected him from the beginning but had no way to tell you since you wouldn't answer the god-damned phone. Plus, it was _me_ who killed the ghost."

"Look, Lara, I'm sorry that I– hold on, you killed the ghost?"

She opened her computer and began typing again, ignoring my glare. "I thought you had all the answers without me."

"Fine, I'll play," I said, getting down on one, sore knee like a withered old man. "Lara, I am truly sorry. I shouldn't have left you at Wal-Mart."

She rolled her eyes. "You're just doing this because you need a place to stay. My house is small, be we can manage."

"Err, actually–"

"No, really, Thomas. I don't mind."

I could tell she was still a burning furnace of anger. Maybe playing nice after I'd been so selfish was her way of getting back. I got creakily back up. So did she. Then, instead of throwing me out like I thought she would when she arrived, she instead rushed around desk and tackled me in a massive hug.

"Damn-it, Thomas. You scared the hell out of me. I thought you were dead for a while. I just want to put this whole thing behind us."

I returned the hug awkwardly, uneasy at her abrupt, ever-changing moods.

She pulled slowly away, smiling with a slightly reddened face before leaning against the back of her desk. "So, what happened, anyway?"

"I, err, actually got captured again, by Bree." I gave her a summary of the events, and it only took me a minute. With her, I was completely honest, but stopped my story short.

"So, have you talked to Cameron?" she asked.

"Err, yeah," I said. I wasn't entirely sure what tipped me off, but somehow I _knew_ she'd react badly to the thought of me working for Cameron.

"I can't believe he finagled his way up to CEO," she exploded, walking back around to the front of her desk. "I mean, he's so young."

"Err, so what?" I said.

She gave me a hard stare for a couple of seconds, before saying, "Come on, Thomas. You can't tell me he's suckered you into believing he's one of the good guys."

"One of the good guys? Lara, this world isn't divided into good guys and bad guys."

She scowled aggressively, her mood switching again. "He's a kid in a business suit, Thomas. People his age don't become CEOs. Do you have any idea how CEOs are even hired?"

"How do you even know he's CEO," I asked.

"Because it's all over the news," she replied. "There is simply no way the Board of Directors would consider someone with no experience at company of that size. It's not a monarchy. Cameron isn't Emmitt's heir. Being Chief Shareholder doesn't give him the power to run the place."

"What exactly are you suggesting?"

"Suggesting?" she said. "I don't need to suggest anything. I'm saying there's simply no way he should have gotten that job. Cameron is hiding something."

"Oh, so this is some kind of conspiracy."

"We still don't know Ingram's motives in killing Emmitt. I think it's obvious that he was working with Cameron from–"

"Lance Ruben was the intended target," I bellowed suddenly. "Cameron showed me a signed contract that turned out to be an Oath. Any spell cast at Lance would instead target Emmitt Cane."

I could see her mind simply rejected the possibility. "And you believed it?"

"I had no reason not to," I said. "Especially considering that he helped so much in solving the case."

"Cameron used you, just like he used Ingram!" she said, her voice rising above my own.

"He offered me a job," I countered. "As his consultant and bodyguard, to ensure something like this never happens again."

"No. No, stay with me. At my house!" she said, her eyes gaining a ferocious concern. "We'll work a few cases. We had a rough start, but it'll be downhill sailing from there."

"Downhill sail–" I cut myself off, realizing that correcting her could upset her even more.

"If that sounds so horrible, you can find a new place," she snapped. "I'll help you do that, too. I'll even chip in, but you can't put yourself near that man."

Resistance I expected, but outright hostility? My jaw sagged at her unexpected reaction. Annoyance alone compelled me to shout, "Gee, Thomas. Congratulations! It's about time you find something practical and useful to do with your life! And hey, you'll be making thousands as you do it!"

I could see her try to remain calm, but after her night full of worries, she was anything but. "Cameron Cane cannot be trusted. And the Imperium–"

"I already asked him about your suspicion, Lara," I said, about ready to just walk out on her. "Cameron's no longer hiding anything. He already admitted to knowing who we were when he hired us. Emmitt Cane kept track of us for years."

"I... I won't let you work for him! I'll tell Dad."

She'd tell Lucian Mercer. My mentor. That was the final blow I needed. _She_ was the one that constantly urged me to do something with my life. Something practical. Something that could help people. What better way to help people than by working for one of the country's most powerful men?

I bellowed, "You go and do that, Lara! But I know the rules – positions of power are off limits, but there's nothing that says I can't be a bodyguard. It's a well paying job for a man that already knows a fair amount about the magical world. You're damn right the council won't like it, but at least this way I can keep tabs on things in Cane Industries, and maybe I'll learn a thing or two about the Venir in the process."

Simultaneously, she arose and screamed, red faced, "Cameron Cane's been pushing your strings from the beginning! Who was the one that first told you to look into James Freidman? Who led you right to the ghost in his cabin? Who was the one that ensured you were at the banquet, where Daniel Cane was attacked? Who was the one that told you to go to the Divination last night? Cameron did! And if that's not enough, he's somehow coerced the board into making him the next CEO! If you think he's still on our side – if you think he doesn't have a hidden agenda, then I was wrong to think you'd ever make a good partner! They were right to throw you out of the Guardians!"

I had my fists on the top of her desk as I shouted. She had her palms on the edge of her side. Our glares met with the intensity of two recently branded bulls, and our rants both ended at the same time. Spinning on my heel, I realized couldn't have been more wrong about the luck in the air today. I slammed the door on my way out.

### Chapter 28

From the case files of Special Agent L. Garrison  
Supernatural Investigations Department:

Name: Thomas Amberose  
Occupation: Bodyguard  
Threat Level: Low

Despite being a key suspect in multiple supernatural incidents as previously indicated, the video evidence collected from the Divination reveals that he acted to protect the interests of Lance Ruben. The most reasonable explanation of the aforementioned financial discrepancies is likely the result of off-the-books contracts to protect the livelihood and interests of Lance Ruben. I recommend dropping the investigation.

"I want the job," I told Cameron an hour later. He stood on the balcony outside the ballroom, gazing at a distant boat that paddled down the Mississippi River.

"Good."

"But I need to warn you – the Imperium isn't going to be happy about it."

He nodded, as though expecting it. I joined him at the edge of the balcony, sparks still flying through my mind every time I thought of the argument. He seemed to notice. "You alright?"

"Yeah. Lara and I just had an argument. Nothing big."

"She, err, put a video of the ghost on YouTube, by the way."

"What?" I said, turning to him, exasperated. Magic was based on belief. The more people that believe in something, the more tangible that power becomes. Putting it where millions could potentially see it is the equivalent of turning it into a nuke.

"It was the original murder at the Cane Manor. I'm not sure how she got it, but we've had it removed. Only a few hundred people saw it."

"What the hell is she–" I broke off my sentence as I realized why she'd done it.

A spell like a ghost could die in one of two ways. You take away the beliefs, or you make just as many people believe in a contradictory story. When people who _don't_ believe in something, it acts as a counter-effect to those who do believe. My guess is that she put in a link to a computer graphics site of some kind or another, so that when people see the video, they assume it to be a hoax. It was a huge risk, but in the end it was the killing blow. A Digital Exorcism.

"Don't worry about it." I sighed. Lara got lucky, but in a way that likely saved my life.

"So what happens next?" I asked.

Cameron rubbed his hands together as the wind picked up. "Next? We conduct business. And try to avoid the Imperium."

Standing there on the balcony, I thought back in astonishment of the past few days. I'd taken on a ghost. Caught the bad guy. And, holy crap, I blew up a house! Boom! Last week I didn't know if I'd have enough to afford food. Now I was looking over the city like I owned the place with a man I hardly knew.

Maybe Lara's right. Maybe he does have an agenda.

Or maybe he preformed hard work to figure out what happened to his uncle. The man was in his mid twenties, which is generally far too young to pull off anything too elaborate in my book. Of course, I'd still question Daniel, just in case, but I had no doubt Cameron would be the real thing.

"What does Cane Industries do, anyway?" I asked, lamely.

"Medical development and manufacturing," he answered simply. I nodded. The wind picked up, blowing by loud enough to hamper any conversation for a few seconds.

"So, is this your destiny?" I asked. "Running Cane Industries?"

He gave a half smile as his gaze over the city lingered. "I thought you don't believe in destiny."

"I don't."

He stood stoically in the cold wind. Finally, he said, "Whatever my destiny is, I feel this job is the first step toward fulfilling it."

I nodded, letting the flourish of excitement flutter through my body as I looked across the cityscape. I may not believe in destiny, but I certainly believe in choice. Now that I was here, I knew my choices would impact a lot of lives. The employees of this company, for starters, but somehow I knew there'd be more. I'd work for Cam, but in doing so I'd be given hundreds choices that would impact the betterment of many people. With Cane Industries at my disposal, all I had to do was ensure I'd make the good choices.

The Venir. The Imperium. Cane Industries. Whatever other threats were out there. They were all connected, and would only grow tighter as time went on. I chose then to make it my destiny to ensure that no one got hurt as those connections got more and more tangled.

I wasn't a guardian anymore. I was something better. I was the one that could keep this city safe.

Or maybe, this was just my mind rambling on. The other buildings were small from so high. Cars and people looked like toys from way up at the top of the city's tallest skyscraper.

Warmth cut through the otherwise bitter wind as I leaned in the railing beside Cameron Cane. For the first time in over a year, I realized that I was excited about my future.

###

### About Grayson

I want to offer a thank you to everyone who read Modern Pantheon: Ghost. If you enjoyed it, I would be grateful if you left a review. The second book continue Thomas's story, and has a planned released date of 2015.

You can find more information about me and my books on my website, grayson-barrett.com, where you can also sign up for my mailing list to get updates about when my next books will arrive.

I've been a writer all my life. It was high school that I finished my first novel, which was about kingdoms, magic, and knights in shining armor. Back then, I didn't realize I was writing in a setting I simply wasn't suited for, and didn't think I'd ever publish a book. It's over a decade later, and finally I've written a novel I feel I can share with the world.

It's the first of eight an eight book series. As of the time of publishing it, I'm writing the first draft of the sixth book. My goal is to publish a new book every year. I keep my website updated at www.grayson-barrett.com. If you enjoyed this book, I encourage you to go to my website and subscribe to my mailing list where I'll give occasional updates on my writing, and let you know when the next book will arrive. I would also appreciate it if you leave a review of my book at your favorite retailer.

Also, I wanted to extend a few personal Thank Yous:

Thank you to my brother, who's read and critiqued all of my previous unpublished books I wasn't too nervous to share. You've always been a busy guy, but you've found time to offer me advice and encouragement that's developed my writing style into what it is today.

Thank you to my wife, who read and edited this book for grammar and content. If it wasn't for her, there would still be a lot of awkward tension in scenes that weren't meant to have it.

Thank you to my family, who has always been supportive of my writing.

And also, thank you to Mr. Krueger, who taught me English in High School. He showed a genuine interest in my amateurish work, and suggested I spent five minutes writing each day. It's in those collections of five minute writing periods where my first novel was born, and the reason my writing hobby truly started.

### Other titles by Grayson Barrett

Beast: Modern Pantheon Book II (Available late 2015): Thomas only has a month to settle into his new lifestyle when a mage seeking his help is murdered in Thomas' office. To make things worse for Thomas, the victim's many enemies followed him into town. These enemies include powerful mages, beasts, and even those who claim to be a member of an ancient Pantheon. Meanwhile, Thomas' former mentor complicates matters by giving Thomas a test of loyalty that could easily lead to Thomas's death if he fails. Thomas is forced to defend himself and his new allies as new threats close in.
