“You know how much I love taking the T first thing in the morning— during rush hour traffic?”
I froze midway through the front door, closing my eyes. The weight of the paper bag was heavy in my right hand, the rich scent of grease and freshly cooked eggs nesting in my nostrils.
“I brought— food?” I lifted the bag. “Coffee’s in the cupholder in the hallway.”
“Did you at least bring the Toyota back in one piece?” Sammy shot me an annoyed look as he came around the table and took the bag from my hand, peeling it open as he walked to the kitchen. “That doesn’t always happen.”
“It is perfectly in one piece,” I promised. I dipped out into the hallway and scooped up the cup holder, laden with three to-go cups of coffee. “I’ve been a little better, but—”
Indigo rubbed the sleep from her eyes and took the cup holder from me.
“What happened to you?”
I rotated my right shoulder, wincing visibly. For a moment I wondered why they weren’t at least a little bit alarmed about Loren’s presence in my apartment again— until I remembered that Lamar and I had placed her in my bed last night before I’d left.
“Tell you what— you both missed a hell of a night.”
“Wait,” Indigo said, lowering the coffee from her lips. She watched me walk toward my bedroom door and took a few steps after me. “Don’t tell me last night was karaoke night at Doyle’s. I keep on promising I’m going to sneak in there one of these times and watch you—” her voice broke off as she peered over my shoulder and into my bedroom, where I’d eased open the door. She gasped and slapped me on the back, giving me a sideways glare. “Loren slept over again? You little rascal!” She had a crooked grin on her face, but it faltered the moment she saw my own stoic expression. “What happened?”
I eased the door closed again and walked back to the kitchen, plucking my coffee cup from the drink holder. “She was attacked last night. An attempted assassination.”
“Are you serious?”
“Do you think I would joke about that?” I took a drink.
“To be fair— you joke about pretty much everything.”
I considered that, then nodded my agreement. “Well, I’m not joking this time. From what I can tell— her mother passed away last night. It’s possible that Loren doesn’t even know yet. The moment Nadella took her last breath, Loren’s brother Ricard sent a Shade after her.”
“A Shade?”
“It’s a species of beings— part demon. It lurks in darkness but given the right circumstance can turn themselves corporeal. They can make themselves physical beings, made of shadow.”
“And one of them got to her?” Indigo sipped delicately, speaking in a low whisper, as if afraid someone might overhear.
“Stabbed her with one of their shadow blades, which produces a unique poison.”
“Is she— going to be okay?” Indigo looked legitimately worried.
“I’m honestly not sure. I went to Side Pocket, looking for Doris, but found Lamar there instead. He came back and helped treat her, used an old Elven remedy from what I can tell, which seems to have stabilized her.”
“Wait, wait, wait— Lamar? The head chef at Side Pocket? An Elven remedy? This all happened last night?”
“What can I say? It was busy.”
“Then what happened?”
“Then, I went to the Airbnb that Loren was renting— to see if I could find anything that might be helpful. Instead— I was attacked. I’m assuming by the same thing that attacked her.”
“One of those Shades?”
I nodded and took a long, bitter drink, relishing the rush of caffeine. “Got me in the arm at one point, but not deep enough to cause lasting damage.” I flexed my fingers.
“And you— got— rid of it?”
I shrugged. “Sure seemed like it— but one can never tell when it comes to stuff like that.” I lowered the coffee cup and looked back toward the bedroom for a moment, then back at Indigo. “How’s Miranda? She seemed to be in rough shape last night when I left.”
“She was. Still is. Before you came back, I was talking to Sammy about where I might get my hands on some Narcan. She’s feeding for something big time. I’m not sure my dinky little apartment is the best place for her, but I don’t know what else to do.”
“Is she at least conscious?”
“She’s been up most of the night. It’s been a bit of a struggle, and I admit that I’m not exactly Florence Nightingale. I think I’m going to go check on her at lunch.”
“And how are you doing?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what I mean. Are you— drinking?” My eyes darted toward the refrigerator where the synthetic blood was being stored. Indigo made a face.
“That stuff is nasty.”
“You need it, Indigo— even if you don’t think you do.” I heard the phone ring in the background, listened as Sammy scooped it up and began talking in a low voice.
“I know, Gus.” Her shoulders slumped and she set down her coffee cup, which she’d emptied in record time. “What are you up to today?” The off-white refrigerator door eased open and she crouched before it, studying the containers of synthetic blood stored on the bottom shelf.
“I need to go back to Salem.”
She slammed the door and looked up at me over her shoulder. “Are you nuts? You just said Loren’s brother tried to kill her. Probably tried to kill you, too.”
“Can’t let that stop me.”
“Stop you from what?”
“I need to get my arms around this business with the Darkheart Coven. It’s a powder keg and if I ignore it, it’s going to detonate.”
“Would it be such a big deal if it did? When I was talking to Loren, I got the impression she didn’t want anything to do with it. Maybe it’s better off in her brothers’ hands?”
“Nothing is better off in Ricard and Lucinda’s hands. I wouldn’t trust them with a water gun.”
“How bad could it really be?”
“Bad.”
“E.L.I. five.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “What?”
“Explain it like I’m five. It’s— an internet thing, you old coot.”
“I might be old, but I am not a coot, whatever the hell that is.”
Indigo leaned back against the refrigerator. “Whatever, Gus, just tell me— what is so bad about this coven?”
“It’s not necessarily this coven, but covens in general. There are several of them throughout the world, four of them in the United States. They all operate along a delicate balance of power, mostly self-governed, with the realization that the Caretakers are always lurking in the background should anything drastic happen.”
“Okay, understood.”
“Imagine if you will — each coven is like its own nation state which operates under its own traditional rule of law. Though they have these handshake agreements with the other nation states which keep things in harmony.”
“That sounds like a recipe for disaster.”
“It hasn’t been— yet. Because the Darkheart Coven has been at the head of the table and Nadella Montague is their representative. One of the most trusted, highly respected witches in the world. She’s held things in check.”
“Only now she’s dead.”
“Now she’s dead.” I took a breath. “Also imagine if you will— these nation states are governed by some of the most powerful witches and warlocks in the world. We’re talking each coven is in a mystical arms race with another— though none of them will directly act upon another— mutually assured destruction and all that.”
“Let me guess— Ricard and Lucinda— they’re not stable enough for that to work.”
“Not even close.”
“So how did it get this far? They had to know that Loren’s mother was dying. They couldn’t put contingencies in place to make sure her twin psychos didn’t get control?”
“As you might imagine, there are powers at play that believe the covens have played second fiddle for too long. Many witches and warlocks who have been around for centuries remember when the covens held more power. They wouldn’t mind getting back there.”
“So they get things twisted up enough to delay any action until it’s too late.”
I shrugged. In all honesty, I had no idea if this was right, but if felt right. It felt like the same sort of crap that would happen in most governments of the world, and in a way— the covens were no different.
“We all thought the Darkheart Coven might be okay— after all, Loren was there. Even if things fell apart at the negotiating table, tradition dictated that ownership pass to her, at least temporarily. What happened from there could be decided over time.”
“Until her brother decided to have her killed.”
“Exactly. Right up until her brother decided to have her killed.”
“And he can get away with that— how, exactly?”
“I’m not sure. But I need to try and find that out.”
“And how do you propose doing that?”
“How else?” I walked back toward the front door, pausing for a moment so I could scoop an egg sandwich from the to-go bag on the desk. I fished my keys from my pocket and jingled them between pinched fingers. “Like I said, I’m going back to Salem.”