Tubbs and Associates was a two-room operation located above Mums ‘n’ Roses, Little City’s premiere florist. There were no associates, just Henry Tubbs and his elderly secretary, Mrs. Flannigan. Henry had four regular clients, all local business owners who’d been with him for years and stayed out of loyalty more than Henry’s competence as an accountant or their confidence in his work. Two of these clients required what Henry called creative bookkeeping to keep the IRS off their backs so he was sure they kept him on for that more than anything else. Henry could get very creative when handling other people’s finances.
Unfortunately, he was not so successful handling his own, and four regular clients were hardly enough to keep his business open, pay the mortgage on his house at the shore, kick out two alimony checks each month—plus child support—and afford his own monthly living expenses. That’s why someone wanting to rent his beach house—in the winter no less—was so welcome. She paid in cash. More importantly, she paid double the asking price.
Things should be turning around, but they were getting worse. Yes, the bill collectors and ex-wives were no longer breathing down his neck, but Henry was having trouble sleeping. The little sleep he got was plagued with strange dreams that spilled over to the daytime. Images flashed in his head when he was supposed to be working, when he was at the supermarket, and when he was driving to see his son. Sometimes they were pictures of him doing things he didn’t remember doing, so he assumed they had to be leftover fabrics of a dream. Other times, he saw things that couldn’t possibly exist, and he knew they had to be nightmares seeping into his consciousness.
As frightening as those moments were, and they scared Henry so badly he’d started drinking again, what really made his skin crawl was the missing time. Whole hours of Henry’s life were just gone. He had no idea where he’d been during that time and, worse yet, what he’d been doing. He’d suddenly find himself in his apartment in the evening when the last thing he remembered was being in his office in the morning. The next day, Mrs. Flannigan would inform him of the meetings she had to cancel because she couldn’t reach him—wherever he was, Henry realized, he wasn’t answering his cell phone—and missed deadlines.
Henry sat behind his cluttered desk, looking out of his office window, trying to make sense of it all. He’d lost track of the number of times it had happened. He was sure Mrs. Flannigan thought it was because he was drinking again, but he knew that had come later, after the crazy dreams and lost time. Besides, she was hardly one to talk. She knew about the way he conducted his business at times and she accepted it because she was a widow with a gambling habit. Mrs. Flannigan called her monthly government checks her “living money” and the salary she earned from Henry her “play money.” Every other weekend she went to Atlantic City and spent that salary on the slots. Most weekends, she returned home with just enough money to catch a cab back to her apartment. Henry didn’t think his secretary had any desire to talk about the things she knew or the things she’d seen, because she wouldn’t risk the job that fed her habit—not when jobs were so hard to come by, especially for people her age.
Henry shook his head and looked down at his hands. Why would I even think something like that? What could she have seen? What does she know? I haven’t done anything, have I? His hands were frail, with veins that looked thicker than his fingers. He tried to remember the last time he’d eaten and failed.
“Mary!”
Within moments, Mrs. Flannigan appeared in the doorway. She leaned her heavy hip against the frame, her arms crossed in front of her chest and an impatient look settled on her face.
“What time is it?” Henry asked, running one hand through his thinning hair. Ex-Mrs. Tubbs Number Two was right: He should just shave it all off and be done with it.
Mary Flannigan gave a pointed look to his open laptop, the wall clock, and his cell phone resting on the desk, all perfectly capable of displaying the time. She sighed and said, “It’s almost noon, Henry.”
He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a thick knot of cash. Mrs. Flannigan actually gasped as he unfolded the bills—not one less than a twenty—and spread them on top of the mess of papers on his desk.
“Can you run down to the deli and get us some lunch? On me.”
She stepped forward to accept the cash. “Did you collect rent from your tenant? Is that where all this money is from?”
Henry looked at her with surprise and fear. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about that. Right? Why wasn’t I? Oh, yes. She’s sick and her husband is looking for her. No one must know about her living at the house with her… with her… what? It was right there on the tip of his brain, but whatever Henry was trying to recall wouldn’t surface. The harder he tried to grasp it, the more the memory covered itself in shadow.
“I told you about that?”
Mrs. Flannigan pushed her gray bangs from her eyes impatiently. “Yes, you told me. Don’t you remember? And why wouldn’t you tell me?” She narrowed her eyes, regarding Henry suspiciously. “What is wrong with you, Henry? You look a mess. You’re skin and bones. Those are the clothes you were wearing yesterday.” As she spoke, she folded the money Henry handed her and placed it in her sweater pocket. He’d given her two hundred dollars.
“What did I tell you?” Henry asked. He tried to fold the cash back together neatly, but his hands were shaking.
“What did you tell me about what?” Mrs. Flannigan watched his hands. “Have you been drinking already?”
Henry looked offended. “No! It’s not even noon,” he said, like he hadn’t just been told the time. “And what did I tell you about the tenant, exactly?”
“You said she had cancer and that she was hiding from an abusive husband.”
Henry’s blood ran cold. He wasn’t sure why, but telling Mrs. Flannigan anything was a bad, bad thing. “Uh, what else did I say?” Henry couldn’t meet her eyes, so he continued to focus on the poor job he was doing of putting the money back into his pocket.
“Honestly, Henry!” Mrs. Flannigan huffed and placed her hands on her hips. “You said she wanted to stay out at the house because no one would think to look for her there. You said that sometimes she asks you to come out and run errands for her, although I don’t know why you do it. You’re the landlord. She’s the tenant. You’re not supposed to be running her errands.”
“Well, she’s a nice lady.”
“Yes, you’ve said that, too, many times,” Mrs. Flannigan said impatiently. “What do you want from the deli?”
“The usual… except, hold the pickles this time. And you keep the change. “
Mrs. Flannigan paused at the door. “Oh, and you did tell me about her children. The twins? You said you thought there was something wrong with them.”
Henry’s heart stopped. The past few weeks may have been a blur, and there were things he couldn’t quite put together so that they made sense, but Henry Tubbs was sure of one thing: He shouldn’t have told anyone about the twins.
*
The supernatural council known as The Trust was made up of one vampire, one witch or warlock, one fairy, and one werewolf. The first time Jack and Violet had been told about them, they’d assumed Dr. Tesla was a crackpot. He’d been Jack’s psychologist, helping him deal with his issues after Bobby’s accident, but Violet had never met him before. Both teens had no idea why their parents would leave them in the care of someone who was obviously mentally unstable.
They hadn’t even believed him when he took them into the virtual reality and revealed the history of the supernaturals. Three ancient warring tribes, each with the gift of magic, had been on the verge of a truce when two of the tribes planned to double cross the third. Angels had been watching and decided to punish the treacherous tribes for their duplicity.
The people of the Ianto tribe, farmers who worshipped the moon, were turned into lycanthropes, or werewolves. For the three nights of the full moon they were cursed to turn into creatures. The rest of the time they appeared human, but with amazing strength and agility. Violet and Jack had met one werewolf already: their parents’ lawyer, Trevor Gervais, though they hadn’t known what he was at the time. He had been trusted with handling their affairs because he was a supernatural, and his father, Titus, was the werewolf representative on The Trust.
The Edi tribe was stricken with vampirism and forced to remain out of the sun they treasured and forever crave the blood they’d believed contained magical healing properties.
Furla, the tribe about to be betrayed, remained as they were: humans with powerful magic. The fighting between all intensified and it didn’t help matters that the angels were themselves punished, banished to live on Earth as fairies, immortal and full of secrets.
Everything they’d seen could have been achieved with advanced technology and special effects. It wasn’t until Kalina appeared and revealed her true nature that Jack and Violet believed.
And now The Trust wanted to meet them. Actually they’d wanted to for weeks now, but Dr. Tesla had put the rest of the members off in favor of Jack and Violet’s delicate situations, and the adjustment period to their new lives and all that they’d learned. That was good enough for a while, but it seemed the Trust’s patience was wearing thin. The other members of the council wanted to meet the two teenagers who were such a crucial part of their secrets remaining hidden.
They knew there was a lot about the situation that Dr. Tesla wasn’t telling them. He was the head of The Trust, but he clearly had to answer to the other members to some degree. If he’d had his way, they’d never go anywhere near them. Jack and Violet had their own reservations. Grace Bale had managed to break into one of The Alliance’s most secure facilities not just once, but twice. The second time she made off with the bodies of Lincoln and Ashlyn. The Trust had been keeping the comatose bodies since their souls were removed. When Grace had them held in the basement, she confessed that someone on The Trust had helped her, and not just in retrieving her children, but they told her where they were to begin with. She’d thought the twins were killed in the attack, and The Trust had staged an accident so the world believed that Grace, a politically connected New York socialite, and her children had perished. Whoever the traitor was, they’d revealed what had really happened that night, including the fact that Lincoln’s and Ashlyn’s souls now resided in Jack and Violet.
Understandably, they had no desire to meet a group of supernatural beings, one of which was responsible for them almost losing their lives. Dr. Tesla said that the oath they all took when being elected to the council was sealed by magic. The children figured that was more binding than swearing on a bible, which could be done with impure intentions and no one would be the wiser. As the head of The Trust, he’d also administered some kind of magical test to weed out the traitor and, though he wouldn’t go into details of what it entailed, he did tell them that every member had passed.
They were no experts, but Jack and Violet were not convinced and it didn’t put them at ease. The test had been Dr. Tesla’s last stall—he wasn’t about to bring Jack and Violet into the inner circle without eliminating the possible threat—and now that it was done and everyone had been cleared, there were no more excuses. Jack and Violet would be meeting The Trust that evening.
“So, what does one wear to meet a group of supernatural politicians?”
Jack and Violet were in her room after school. Jack was sitting at her computer desk, flipping through the pages of Violet’s grimoire. He had a similar book of spells. Dr. Tesla had given them as gifts, but they were instructed not to go off trying unfamiliar spells on their own.
“Clothes,” Jack said, not looking up from the book with its yellowed frail pages and leather cover.
“I’m serious.”
“I don’t know why,” he said, closing the grimoire and placing it on the desk. “Why are you worried about trying to impress a group of people we can’t trust?”
“I don’t want to impress them. I just don’t want to…” Violet stopped. She didn’t know how to explain it, but she felt like she and Jack would be judged—that whatever it was Dr. Tesla wasn’t sharing amounted to them being tested in some way, and she didn’t want to fail.
“It doesn’t matter. Just wear your regular clothes. I want to get this over with. I’m going to shower.” He left the room, firmly closing the door behind him.
Violet resisted the urge to go after him and say something smart. She knew he was just upset over the attack at the pipe farm the night before. Not just that it had happened, but that Sheila could have been hurt. To make matters worse, they discovered that Jack was not yet strong enough in his healing abilities to fix his own injuries, so he’d had to attend school that day with bruised ribs. Violet suspected that Dr. Tesla could heal him easily enough, but he didn’t as a form of punishment for Jack and Violet purposely being vague about where they’d gone. Violet shuddered to think of what punishment he had in store for her.
She’d just changed into a pair of jeans and black turtleneck when the doorbell rang. As she hit the second floor landing she could hear the shower going in the hall bathroom. She jogged downstairs to answer the door. It didn’t occur to Violet that she should have looked through the peephole before answering until she pulled the door open to find two men she didn’t recognize on the front porch.
Way to go, Vi. It’s not like there’s someone trying to kill you or anything.
“Hello, are you Violet Ross?” the dark-haired, taller of the two, asked.
“Yes. Who are you?”
“I’m Detective Tedesco,” he said, flashing a gold shield in a leather case, “and this is Detective Czarnecki.” The blonde showed a similar badge, but it was shaped differently. When he saw that Violet had noticed, he explained, “I’m from Philadelphia.”
Now Violet was completely confused. What could the cops want, especially one from Philadelphia?
“Can we come in?” Tedesco asked.
Violet instinctively looked at the sky. It wasn’t quite dark, but getting there, still too light out for a vampire though. Then she remembered the enchantments Ms. Sweet had put on the house. No one who meant them any harm could pass. She didn’t know what would happen, but she supposed if Grace sent these men, they were all about to find out.
“Sure.” She stepped aside, allowing them entry. When their heads didn’t explode and they didn’t burst into flames, Violet figured she’d be okay. They awkwardly stood in the foyer with the detectives looking around in that way detectives did, soaking everything in and coming to conclusions. At least, it seemed to Violet, that’s how it was on television, and these two looked very much like television cops.
“Is your guardian home? Dr. Tesla?” Tedesco asked.
“Not yet, but he should be here soon. You should have gone to his office.”
“Well, actually, we were hoping to speak to you.”
Now Violet was really unsettled. “Why do you want to talk to me?”
“We were hoping to ask you some questions about Angela Harkin,” Czarnecki said, watching Violet’s reaction carefully.
Violet mentally kicked herself. She should have been prepared but, when the police hadn’t come around immediately after the fire and Dr. Tesla’s sources confirmed that she wasn’t on their radar, Violet thought they were in the clear. Hearing that name, however, was like a kick in the gut, and she was sure it showed all over face. The truth was that she’d stopped thinking of Angela Harkin as a real person the night she attacked them. Now there was only Grace Bale.
“What about her?” Violet asked, immediately knowing she’d struck the wrong tone. She sounded callous even to her own ears. As far as anyone knew, Angela Harkin was a sweet old woman who’d spent time with Violet after her parents died. Now she was missing and Violent should be worried. “Have you found her?” she asked, this time with what she hoped was the right amount of concern.
Czarnecki was regarding her suspiciously, but Tedesco still had kind eyes. He gave her a sad smile and said, “No. Not yet. Can you tell us the last time you saw Ms. Harkin?”
Even though the police hadn’t come to them, Dr. Tesla made sure their story was prepared and she gave the answer they’d practiced the day after the fire.
“It was the day of the fire, a few days after Thanksgiving.” Dr. Tesla had decided it was best to admit she was there that night since they had no way of knowing who’d seen her arrive. “I stopped by to bring her some of our leftover pie,” Violet continued.
“And what time was that?” Tedesco asked gently.
Violet recited the rest of the story about how she’d gone over to her former neighbor’s house after school and stayed for no more than thirty minutes. She then walked down to the bus that would take her back to the east side of Rosemont. As far as she knew, Ms. Harkin would be leaving town for a few days to visit her children.
“Where was that?” Czarnecki spoke up.
“I don’t know. She didn’t say.”
“She told she was leaving town, but didn’t say where? She never mentioned what city her children lived in?” he asked incredulously. Violet caught a quick look Tedesco gave him. If they’d rehearsed ahead of time which of them was going to treat her with kid gloves, Violet had a feeling Czarnecki was going off script.
“No, she didn’t,” Violet said, trying not to sound defensive. “She could be kinda private sometimes,” she added, doing her own improvising.
“Violet,” Tedesco said, “do you think you could describe to us what Ms. Harkin looked like?”
Again, Violet hesitated in surprise. Not only had she not been expecting that question, she had to think about the right answer. For almost a year she’d known Angela Harkin as a middle-aged woman with gray-streaked red hair, who wore flowered dresses under aprons. That was a magical distortion, for Grace Bale looked younger, more fit, and had flaming red hair with no signs of gray. Violet did not give the detectives that description. They looked at each other, and then Czarnecki pulled a photo from his jacket pocket.
“So she didn’t look like this?”
Violet studied the photo of the driver’s license and shook her head. “No, she didn’t. I don’t get it. Who is this? It says…”
Czarnecki explained how his investigation of a missing woman named Angela Harkin in Philadelphia led him to Rosemont. When he was done, Violet had to put her hands in her jeans pockets to keep them from shaking.
“So, she’s dead? The woman in that picture is dead?”
“Yes.” Czarnecki nodded solemnly.
“And you think that my Ms. Harkin murdered her?”
“We don’t know what to think right now, Violet. That’s why we’re here. If you could remember anything about where the woman you knew came from… did she talk about family other than her children? Did you ever notice who her visitors were? What about phone conversations she may have had when you were around?”
Violet heard Tedesco’s questions, but couldn’t answer them. She knew exactly what had happened. Grace Bale had killed the real Angela Harkin and had assumed her identity in order to infiltrate Violet’s life. All this time she’d thought the name was an alias, something Grace had come up with out of thin air, but Angela Harkin had been a real person who’d been murdered and thrown into the river. The detectives were looking at Violet expectantly, waiting for her to answer their questions.
“I’m sorry. I can’t help you. She didn’t talk about any of that stuff. She was just helping me not feel so… since… you know, my parents…”
“Can you explain the coincidence? Your parents died in the same accident as Jack Morrow’s?” Czarnecki paused for a moment to check his notepad. “And it turns out that his doctor was appointed the guardian of both—”
“I’m not sure I see how that pertains to your missing person investigation, detective.”
Violet, Tedesco, and Czarnecki all turned at once. Kalina stood at the top of the stairs, one hand on her hip, her head cocked to the side. She glided down the stairs with such grace Violet would bet the detectives thought she was a model or a dancer. Kalina had once explained to Violet it was a byproduct of being so in tune with everything around her. Vampires could hear and smell better than humans. They were capable of moving faster than the eye could process, sometimes defying gravity. In fact, most could fly.
Kalina moved with the confidence of someone who knew that every step would be perfect. There was no tripping over your feet when you were a vampire. Violet had spent months studying with Kalina, tutor to pupil, and had no idea what she really was. She’d seen Kalina pretend to be human and she’d seen her at ease, as her true self. Vampires did not fidget, adjust their clothing, nervously tap their feet, or any of the other dozens of things humans did without thinking. Kalina had said that something as simple as blinking was done more out of habit. The same went for breathing.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Kalina came to stand next to Violet and put a protective arm around her shoulder. This was new, but a necessary part of the act. Violet had no doubt that Kalina would protect her with her life, but she didn’t do touchy feely. It wasn’t the vampire’s style.
The detectives hadn’t spoken a word the whole time Kalina made her entrance—Violet was used to this. Even before Violet had known what she was, she noticed that Kalina had a way of making her presence known with little to no effort. That wasn’t hard to do when you were nearly six feet tall with skin the color of caramel, piercing brown eyes with flecks of green, full lips, and a mane of curly brown hair that danced on your shoulders when you moved. Add to that the preternatural allure, and you had the very definition of commanding attention.
And Kalina had the full attention of both Tedesco and Czarnecki, which suited Violet just fine. She was still trying to process what she’d learned, and the reappearance of Kalina had sent her brain into overload.
“Actually,” Czarnecki said, taking in Kalina’s form-fitting mini sweater dress and knee-high leather boots, “it’s now a murder investigation, Miss….”
“Kalina.” She removed her arm from around Violet and shook hands with both detectives. “I’m Violet’s tutor, and am responsible for her when Dr. Tesla isn’t home. Hey, should you be questioning a minor like this? You know, without her guardian present?” Kalina asked this as if the thought had suddenly just occurred to her, nothing accusatory about it. Still, Tedesco was quick to respond.
“We’re not here to accuse Violet of anything,” he said, a smile spreading across his face. He was trying to get things back on track, but he was clearly taken aback and maybe even a bit intimidated by Kalina’s presence.
“Well, I’m sure glad to hear that. Why don’t you leave your cards with me? If Violet thinks of anything, she will call you. In the meantime, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Dr. Tesla pays me by the hour and Violet and I have more work to do.”
Tedesco produced a business card from his pocket and handed it to Violet. “Violet, please don’t hesitate to call if you remember anything you think might be helpful. Even if you don’t think it would be helpful, please call. This could all be one explainable mistake, but we need to find out exactly what happened to the deceased Angela Harkin and the woman you knew as her.”
Violet nodded, trying not to imagine what Grace had done to the smiling woman from the photograph.
“Thank you, detectives,” Kalina said, and extended an arm towards the front door, ushering them along the way as they left.
When the door had closed behind them, Violet made her way to the staircase on shaky legs and gratefully collapsed on the bottom step. In a matter of minutes she’d found out that Grace Bale had murdered someone else and her vampire tutor had returned. She needed a moment to process, but it didn’t look like she was going to get it.
Kalina said, “There’s been a change in plans. Dr. Tesla asked me to bring you both to the meeting.”
“When did you get back?”
“Just. Are you ready?”
“Wait a second. Did you hear everything those detectives said? She killed some woman and—”
“Violet, we knew that was a possibility,” Kalina said impatiently.
“What? How?”
“When I pulled you and Jack from the house that evening, after the fire started, I was able to enter the house without being invited. That meant the true owner of that house was dead. We did a records check and found that someone named Angela Harkin had indeed purchased the home. The logical conclusion was that she, the real Angela, was dead.”
Kalina’s explanation was delivered as nonchalantly as she explained Violet’s history assignments. “So what do we do?”
“Right now? We get you out the door. We’re going to be late.”
Violet rose, purposely putting thoughts of Grace, the dead woman, and the detectives to the back of her mind. They were replaced by her earlier apprehension of meeting The Trust. She wiped her hands on her jeans and then held them out at her sides.
“Do I look okay?”
Kalina gave a small smile and shook her head. “Sometimes, with everything you’ve been through and everything you still have to face, I forget that you’re just a teenage girl.”
*
“You want to tell me what that was about?” Tedesco asked, taking his eyes off the road to briefly glance at Czarnecki in the passenger seat. They were headed back to the precinct in Little City where Czarnecki had left his personal car. It was only a thirty-minute ride to Philly, so he wasn’t staying in town while working the case.
He sighed and replied, “I know. I was a little harsh on her, but something isn’t right. You feel it too, yeah?” Czarnecki spoke with his hands, looking out the windshield but not focusing on the landscape around them. The orange lights of the Sagaw Bridge danced across the dashboard and Czarnecki’s face, making it easy for Tedesco to see just how perplexed he was. He thought Violet Ross should have been handled with more care, but he had to agree: something stank.
“Yeah, I feel it, too.” Tedesco sighed. “The woman living as Angela Harkin disappeared the night her house burned to the ground. By all accounts, she kept to herself. The only person we know for sure spent any time with her is a teenager who is definitely hiding something.”
“Oh, she knew more than she was giving, that’s for sure. And what do you make of that arrangement? Two couples die in the same accident, and they leave their children to the same person? What did you guys have on that? Were they friends? How big of a coincidence was this?”
“We didn’t have anything. There was no criminal investigation. The accident was ruled just that, an accident. And they didn’t break any laws when they left their children to that psychologist. But you’re right. There’s something there.”
“Listen, I know this is your town, your people. And I won’t push like that again without clearing it with you first, but we need to keep on this.”
“I agree. We won’t get another shot at the girl without going through the doctor first. I’m sure her tutor will make sure of that.”
“What did you make of her?”
Tedesco couldn’t help but smile. “She was certainly… something.”
Czarnecki laughed. “And then some.”
They’d crossed the bridge into Little City and were approaching the police parking located behind the station house. Both were recalling the intense eyes and unsettling beauty of the woman they’d just met. And both were thinking that the case was getting more interesting by the moment.