Chapter 4
Max was true to his word. He didn’t drag me out of the house for the rest of that day. Nope, he let me relax (if you could call being under house arrest imposed by a fairy relaxing).
The next morning, though?
Oh, the next morning, he bundled me into the car. Literally. When I tried to clutch hold of the front door, he simply plucked me up and carried me to his car. Somehow, there hadn’t been a soul on the street so no one to hear me scream.
Max drove in silence, ignoring my protestations as if my voice was nothing more than white noise.
“It's not going to happen. Listen to me: it's not going to happen. I'm not a real clairvoyant. I’m a fricking fake. And I'm okay with that. But there is no way I'm gonna go to the police station and help investigate a murder.” My voice cracked on the word murder. Oh boy, did it crack. It shook so badly it could have rattled my throat to pieces.
Max did that thing manly men do whenever they're driving. He didn't turn to look at me despite the fact I was right there beside him. He tilted his head at an angle and looked at me out of the corner of his eye, instead. I could have balled up a hand and punched him. And I would have if I weren't so incapacitated by the idea of what would be waiting for me at the police station.
Last night, I’d managed to come to terms with what was happening to me. Almost. Grandma’s journals had helped a little. They corroborated what Max had already told me, confirming everything from the mendacious Mary McLane to the fact I now had to use my so-called abilities for good or I’d pay the price.
Still, there was no way I was going to help investigate a murder.
“I can’t do this!” I whined once more.
“You can, and you will,” he said, that rich brogue of his bottoming out on the word will.
Now, I’ll admit I’ve known plenty of men in my time. But I have never, ever come across somebody who had such fine control of their baritone. When Max wanted to, he could make his voice sound like a clap of thunder.
I gritted my teeth, balled my hands into fists, and thought about kicking the dash.
Thought about it, that was, until he shot me another one of those truly disapproving looks. Maybe I should have chosen that exact moment to shut the hell up and mentally prepare myself for what would be waiting for me at the police station. Instead, I tilted my head to the side and bared my teeth. “Where exactly do you get off with this, anyway? Why are you taking so much pleasure—”
Despite the fact he was driving, and we were currently negotiating a fairly tricky congested intersection, he tilted his head and turned all the way towards me. It was the slowest, scariest, most damn intimidating move I'd ever seen.
“Ah, the traffic. Pay attention to the traffic,” I gulped through my words.
“You think I need half a mind to negotiate this traffic, let alone deal with you?”
The look in his eyes was way past sanctimonious now. It achieved some pure level of indignation mixed with spite. And it made my blood boil. I clenched my teeth until I thought I would lose all circulation to my lips.
Maybe I wasn’t okay with magic and my so-called abilities yet. But there was one thing I was getting a handle on pretty quickly – Max.
I didn’t honestly think he’d try to attack me like he had when we’d first met. If you believed him, it had been an honest mistake. He’d forgotten about Joan’s death – and the costs of protecting her in her final fight had sent him into a daze for weeks. When he’d seen me at the door, he’d thought I was another fairy muscling in on his turf.
And now I didn’t think he’d actually physically attack me, the proverbial verbal gloves were off. “I repeat, where exactly do you get off? And don't give me that bullshit explanation about you being contracted to protect my grandmother and following through with her final wish to protect me. You wouldn't be here unless you had to be.” It was my turn to act intimidating as I leaned over and sneered right in his face. “So,” I asked once more, “Where exactly do you get off?” I had my mother to thank for my ballsiness. For a little Chinese woman, she never backed down from a fight. Heck, she created most of them, but that was an irrelevant point at the moment. Point was, you never showed weakness.
Well, in the real world. When you were dealing with humans and not jacked up Scottish fairies with biceps that could tear off mountain caps.
Suddenly, we came to a screeching stop. Which was kind of inconvenient, considering I'd been leaning right over to sneer into his face. As he slammed on the brakes, I tumbled forward, and somehow, some freaking how – despite the laws of physics – I ended up with my head in his lap.
“You can find out how I get off,” he said, tone shaking through his body and shifting into me until I finally found the balance to jolt out of his lap.
I pressed myself against the far window, hoping like hell my cheeks didn't turn neon red. Hope, however, was dashed as I felt a fresh new supply of blood blossom over my face and down my neck. Though I couldn't see myself, I could appreciate I would be brighter than the sun.
And no, it hadn't exactly escaped my attention that he’d used the words get off while my head had been buried in his lap. Realizing that, my cheeks became even redder. But, like I’d said, I was my mother's daughter, and I was never one to back down from a fight. I pressed my lips together. “You think you're so smart. You think you're holding all the cards. Well, you’re nothing more than a prick—” I began.
He leaned past me and pointed out the window. He came close enough that his arm all but brushed against the underside of my less-than-considerable bust.
I jerked backward, even though some stupid, mutinous little part of my mind suddenly wondered what it would feel like to touch that rigid, taut bicep.
He didn't point past me for long. Just tapped the window. “You get off here,” he said.
Hello, blush. Move over and meet total complete mortification.
Because yeah, I couldn’t deny the thrill that escaped down my stomach and charged hard through my pelvis as I felt his arm brush against my shoulder. It took me all of several more seconds to actually twist my head and look through the window. Because he wasn't talking about getting off in that sense, was he? Nope.
“The police station is here,” he proffered in that deep brogue.
When I didn't move quickly enough, he leaned past me again, opened my door, and shoved it with a hard move.
My door swung open, and my stomach bottomed out. In my head, I'd kind of been hoping that I'd be able to get out of this some way. I’d be able to state a compelling enough argument about my total lack of ability to psychically find a killer. But hey, in between arguing with this numbskull and convincing myself I couldn't feel anything for him, we’d already arrived at the police station.
My gut did its best version of an Olympic pole-vaulter as it somersaulted and twisted in my torso.
My mouth became so dry, I swore I would retch, and as I shifted my attention and saw the satisfied glint in his eye, I simultaneously wanted to throw up on him and punch him.
I, of course, did neither. A sense of foreboding building in my stomach, I turned and shifted my full attention to the police station.
Snap – I felt the threads of my destiny unraveling. Or maybe they weren’t unraveling – maybe they were tying themselves around my throat so they could strangle me. Because I knew full well that if I stepped foot in that station and pretended I could solve this murder, my life would end. Violently. It wasn’t just that I had no stomach for brutality, it was that I was a frickin’ fake fortune teller. Yes, I’d been able to tell the future for an itty bitty fraction of a second when Max had attacked me, but I had no clue how to extend that ability, nor did I want to. It had been the most sickening, awful experience of my life.
Though all I wanted to do was run away, Max didn't give me the opportunity. Before I knew what he was doing, he marched up onto the pavement beside me and hooked an arm through mine. No, he wasn't proposing an impromptu dance on the paveme
nt. He turned his head down to me, and I appreciated just how stiff his lips were, just how severe and hard his expression had become.
“No turning back, witch,” he said. And though every other word he’d uttered sounded pejorative, witch ticked off his tongue with a quaint, rhythmic quality. “And no lying,” he suddenly added as he shifted towards me and whispered in my ear.
His harsh whisper sent a shiver twisting and jerking down my spine, and only half of it was at the implicit threat. The other half was at his kind of distracting presence.
As soon as I caught my mind thinking that, I wrestled it into a headlock. Get a grip on yourself, girl, I thought sneeringly, this Scottish fairy is a total prick.
Feeling a little better at that rebellious thought, I let him pull me all the way into the police station.
He didn't keep an arm hooked through mine for long. As soon as we made it through the doors, he took a respectful step back. That did not, however, mean he didn't take the opportunity to shoot me another one of those truly fearsome looks.
I wondered if he'd always been this way, or if it was just me. Heck, maybe it was years of working for my acerbic grandmother that had caused his perpetual foul mood.
Then again, I had no idea how old he was. He was a fairy, not a man – even though you couldn’t convince my body of that.
Those thoughts completely distracted me until he brought me to a stop right in front of the counter. He cleared his throat. “We’re here to see Detective Coulson.”
There was a woman behind the counter, and though she was discreet, I could tell she was checking Max out. Any normal person wouldn’t be able to help checking out the fine Scottish specimen. Well, until he opened his mouth and revealed his fatal personality, that was.
I suddenly got the urge to turn to this lady, lean over the counter, and tell her he absolutely wasn't worth it. Oh, and he was also a fairy. Rather than point that out, the woman muttered something to Max that I didn't pick up.
Before I knew what was happening, he flattened a hand on my back, pushed me away from the counter, and led me towards the stairway to our left.
Several detectives walked past us. As soon as they were out of earshot, I twisted and faced Max. “I’m not doing this,” I said through a sharp breath. “There is absolutely no way I can do this. I'm not a freaking clairvoyant,” I snapped, suddenly lowering my tone so no one could pick it up.
He snorted. “You managed to get away from me, didn't you?”
“That was different,” I snapped right back. I trailed off as a memory of that moment slammed into my mind.
For half a second, I swear his expression softened. Maybe a pang of guilt for almost killing me sliced through his heart. But Max did not soften for long. He leaned in and sneered once more. “I don't really care if you think you can do this or not. You will find a way to access your power. I can’t tell you how to do it, because I don’t know. But you will figure it out on your own,” his voice bottomed out, hit the kind of pitching note that didn't just shake through my stomach but threatened to completely destroy the building, let alone my precious little remaining nerve. And again, just for a flash, I saw his shadow elongate.
I turned from him sharply, wanting to hide the effect he had on me.
Before I knew it, we’d already mounted the stairs. Funnily enough, I’d never been to a police station, though I'd received plenty of parking fines. Still, I expected something more modern, something slightly more up-to-date. What I got, was a building fresh out of the 60s that was all concrete, drab brown brick and seriously hideous carpet. I almost blanched as I focused on the truly awful pattern. It was some hideous mix of orange brown and green faux-paisley. Maybe it was meant to distract criminals or have some psychedelic effect on their minds to trick them into telling the truth.
“Here we go,” Max muttered beside me, pointing towards a nondescript door to our left.
“How do you know this is the right place?” I said with a sneer. “Been to the police station a lot?” I snarled.
He twisted his head down and offered me a stiff smile that was about as far away from a smile as you could get. Though his lips were curled, there was zero mirth in the move, just a deep warning look flickering in his gaze. “Yeah, I've been to the police station a lot, but it's not what you think. Us fairies know the difference between right and wrong,” he admonished.
“Then why have you been here so often?” I pushed.
“I came here with your grandmother, following her work as a seer,” he said. As he spoke, he looked right at me. He made zero attempt to hide the fact he was trying to gauge my reaction. And though I had a pretty darn good poker face, considering my job, his direct gaze undid me.
I felt a slight flush take to my cheeks. I jerked my head away again, and he just chuckled. Goddamn him. At the first chance I got, I was going to ditch this fairy and… and what? He’d promised me that there were things out there – dark things – looking for me. Monsters, creatures no ordinary human could face on their own. Though I really didn't want to believe him, I couldn't forget the display of magic he'd demonstrated in my living room.
By the time he reached forward and knocked on the door, I think I was as pale as a snow drift.
“Come on,” he growled.
The door suddenly opened and standing there was Detective Coulson. He got a confused look as he faced Max, but that confusion shifted into outright joy as he saw me. “God, you're here. Thank god,” he said, and he sounded completely genuine. “I thought you’d need a chance to settle in. But I gotta say, I can't thank you enough for coming quickly. This case….” He broke eye contact and shook his head. There was something unmistakably sad about his expression, a little terrified too. And that? Oh, that just made me feel like I wanted to lurch over to the window, open it, and hurl my guts up.
I grimaced and bit my lip. “Look, I don't know how much help I can be,” I began.
Both men completely ignored me as Detective Coulson waved us in.
We entered an open plan office crammed with desks and old carpeted partitions. Again I was struck by how dingy and ancient everything seemed to be.
Detective Coulson waved us over and commandeered a seat for me. He sat me down, and then warily he shifted his attention to Max. “I didn't know you knew Chi?” he said off-hand. And the way he said it – the measure of familiarity – told me that these two gentlemen had met before.
Max shrugged. “I don't know her.”
Coulson frowned. “Then why are you here?”
“Because Joan would have wanted it this way.”
Both men appeared to share a moment and something crossed between their gazes.
I frowned. Before I knew it, Coulson turned away and began to leaf through something in a drawer. Just before I could hope that his case had somehow been eaten up by the paperwork monster on his desk, he found something. He plucked out a manila folder kind of reverentially and set it down on a smaller mound of papers.
There was no denying how tight his chest was, no denying how stiffly he held his jaw as he searched through the folder for something. “I guess I don't need to explain this,” he said. “I imagine, just like your grandmother, you've done plenty of cases like this before. So I'll just give you the photos and give you some time. And as soon as you’ve got any information on the murderer,” his voice became tight, “You let me know, okay? We’re thinking he’s killed at least three other people, maybe up to six. We have to stop this guy as soon as possible before he can murder again.”
I had no idea how terrified my expression was. From the exact feel of my cheeks and lips, I imagined I looked like Detective Coulson had just suggested the impossible. Because hey, he had just suggested the impossible. “Um, look I don't really know—” I began.
“She will do fine,” Max said through a stiff smile as he leaned forward and clamped a hand on my shoulder. It absolutely was not for support. The exact way his fingers weighed down into my muscles was kind of like an anchor locking m
e in place.
Though my fright had been on the simmer until now, suddenly it hit the boil. “Look, Detective Coulson, I really don't think I have time to—” I began.
Max’s fingers weighed down all the harder until it felt like he was going to push me through the very floor.
“Show us those photos,” he suggested, his thick brogue echoing right by my ear.
Now, I was no expert when it came to these things, but I was the one Detective Coulson had invited to help in this case, not Max. So why did Coulson compliantly leaf through the file, grab some photos and hand them to Max?
Max looked at the photos, his expression grim.
Then he handed them to me.
I screwed my eyes shut, thank you very much. Because there was no way in hell I was going to stare at some photos of a real murder. I didn’t need fresh blood and body bags kicking around in my subconscious.
Still, before I managed to close my eyes and jerk my head to the side, I caught a glimpse of the photo on the top of the pile. I saw a thick grove of pine trees, trampled grass and dirt, and, off amongst the broken branches on a bed of pine needles, a body….
I clenched my teeth and hissed as if I’d just been struck.
“Um, look, Detective Coulson,” I stuttered through my words, but at least I was pushing them out, “I'm really… ah, thankful for your offer,” I tried, “but—” I didn't even get the chance to finish my sentence.
Max leaned forward and clamped a rather heavy, rather pointed hand on my shoulder again. “What Chi is trying to say,” he said as he cleared his throat with all the resonant power of someone blasting on a horn, “is that she’ll look over these files and have an answer for you by the morning.”
With that, Max leaned forward, gathered the contents of the file, popped them back in the Manila folder, tucked them neatly under his arm, and rose to leave.
Detective Coulson looked mildly confused, but rather than take a stand and point out to the brutish Scottish fairy that he wasn't the one being employed here, Coulson shrugged his shoulders. Then he turned a smile on me. “That would be great. Because this murderer,” he shook his head as he trailed off, obviously too overcome by the brutality of the killing to string a sentence together.
I felt cold. Okay, cold was an understatement. I felt like some prick had dragged me into the Arctic, dug a tomb for me, and shoved me under the ice forever more. And which prick had it been? Oh, I only had to swivel my gaze to the left to see him.
In between feeling completely terrified over what was happening, I somehow managed to shoot Max a sneer. He simply smiled back.
Then he gestured to me with a rather rude and dismissive flick of his hand. “Come on, Chi – it's rude to keep the detective waiting,” he said pointedly.
Rude, ha? I’d give him rude. There was absolutely no way under the sun that I was ever going to help out with this murder. It wasn't just that the idea of violent crime made me squeamish. It was that, hello, I was a completely fake fortune teller. Okay… there'd been that weird incident with Max when he’d tried to attack me, but I had no idea how to replicate that experience, nor did I wish to. It had been the most frightening episode of my life. And yet, even though I knew in my heart there was absolutely no way I was going to help out with this murder, I didn't suddenly point that out. If I mentioned that, dear old Max would probably take me home and tie me to a chair again. Because, hey, it wasn't like he had any problems tying women to chairs. Nope, if I wanted out of this situation – and I desperately, desperately did – I would have to be smart.
In other words, it was time to run away from Max, run away from Detective Coulson, and run away from dear old grandmother McLane’s house. I'd had enough of this life already.
I let Max lead me out of the door and back to the waiting car. I didn't say a word to him as he drove me home. Instead, I planned my escape.