Spring's Calling

Chapter 3

Three

The precinct bunkroom came into view as I sat up in a cold sweat, hair matted to my forehead and dampness soaking my shirt. My hand clutched the pendant as if I were still in the dream. I hadn’t taken it off since the day my mother died. I’d had that same dream every year on my birthday since I was sixteen. This was the first time my mother had ever spoken to me. The dream had been so vivid, I could still smell the sweetness of my mother’s magic. Why had she spoken to me this time? And how could she have been protecting me if she was dead? I’d never known exactly what had happened that night, but I knew she’d fought her attackers until her very last breath. Her warning stuck out in my mind. “Remember her words.” Without even naming names, I knew whose words I needed to remember. Our magical family tree traced all the way back to the Witch Trials. And with that lineage came a destiny for one of our line: When the world is balanced anew and fire rains down as midday turns to night, the last daughter of Harrow’s blood shall rise to stand against the Old Guard’s return.

I was the last living daughter of Theodora Harrow’s bloodline. It was up to me to fight off the impending evil force. I now only had eight days until I went toe-to-toe with destiny. The burden of what was coming had weighed on me since I learned that I was the one. Fear had given way to determination. If this is what had to be, then I was damn well going to be ready for the fight.

“You okay?” a bleary-eyed guy in dress blues asked from the doorway.

I hadn’t even noticed that I was no longer alone. I blinked beads of sweat from my eyes. “Yeah, fine.” I caught sight of the clock hanging above the doorway. I’d been out longer than I’d expected. It was nearly five in the morning. I climbed out of the bunk and returned to my desk where I’d left my notepad. I may not have been on shift anymore but that didn’t mean I couldn’t do some digging. But first, a shower and breakfast were in order.

I had just made it to my car and cranked the heat—sweat and chilly winter air did not mix—when my phone buzzed with an incoming notification. I immediately regretted checking it. A simple text reading, “Happy Birthday, I miss you, sweetheart,” should have cheered me up, but I didn’t need the reminder of what I’d lost. It was even worse coming from my father. We hadn’t spoken in years. I threw the phone onto the passenger seat and headed out of the parking lot.

On some level, I knew he’d lost the love of his life, but the way he’d acted after her death broke my heart. He’d come home not long after I’d found her and he sent me out again with J.T. and Desmond. When we’d come back hours later, my mother’s body was gone. The apartment had been cleaned and there was no sign of foul play. He’d refused to call the police, just saying it had been taken care of. Without a body, it hadn’t made sense to have a wake and the funeral was a joke.

I always suspected he’d done it to give me some sort of closure. But I’d never gotten closure. And from that day forward I knew the people I was supposed to trust—the people keeping the magical community together and in order—had betrayed my family. They were supposed to keep us safe from dark practitioners and they just swept a heinous act under the rug, pretending it hadn’t happened. I’d walked away from all of them.

So my father’s small gesture at connection wasn’t the joyous greeting it was meant to be. It only boiled my blood and reminded me that I had a mission still to complete and a promise to my mother to keep.

Muscle memory brought me back home to my one-bedroom apartment in Brighton. Even on a detective’s salary, I couldn’t afford to live in the city. But being a little way out was nice. It had the calmness of the suburbs but was still urban enough to keep the need to be close enough to get into the city satisfied.

I climbed into the shower and let the water wash away some of the anger that had bubbled to the surface. I needed to be clear headed so I could show Jacquie and the brass that I was capable of doing the work they believed I could do; the work that magic had helped me do to get me where I was. Using magic had become so commonplace in my life I sometimes forgot that it could have a cost. I never pushed myself far enough to really feel the effects. Or at least I hadn’t in a long time. Like any part of the body, frequent use strengthened my magic and my ability to wield it. Long gone were the days of three-day-long migraines and unstoppable nosebleeds from manipulating the power within me. I could alter the speed at which a suspect ran away from me without even breaking a sweat now. Sure, it had raised an eyebrow or two, but other officers had chalked it up to being in peak physical condition. Or at least that’s what I told myself.

Another benefit of magic: I didn’t even have to bother with a hair dryer anymore. I just heated the water molecules until they evaporated. I pulled my hair back into a low knot at the nape of my neck and pulled on a new blouse and pair of slacks. Clipping my holster and badge to my belt, I poured myself a cup of coffee in a travel mug and headed back out into the early morning air.

The trip to the Esplanade was quick. Most of the city wasn’t up yet given that it was Sunday. I pulled up to the corner where Mrs. Mendoza’s body had been found and I could see the Hatch Shell in the distance, standing empty and unused at this hour. In a few short days people would gather all over the city, even here, to watch the eclipse and the meteor shower. The biggest lightshow the city would get until the fourth of July fireworks display.

I paced the length of the block where Mrs. Mendoza had been discovered. Like Mr. Cho there hadn’t been much blood evidence at the scene. The only sign of something out of place that remained was the last vestiges of the cracked sidewalk where she’d lain, her body crushed like Mr. Cho’s. I hadn’t stayed around long enough to see if the sidewalk had suffered similar damage at the other scene. I pulled my notepad from my pocket and scribbled a reminder to follow up with Tricia about it later. I spotted a few surveillance cameras overhead set up by the department and made a mental note to check the footage when I got back to the precinct for my next shift.

I moved to stand over the cracked cement and closed my eyes. With slow breaths I let the world fall away from me, one sound at a time. The rush of the very distant traffic vanished first, followed by the other city sounds. The buzzing of street lamps faded out until all that was left were the sounds of my breathing and my heart beating in my ears. I opened my eyes and looked around at the world. I could see the interconnecting yet invisible fabric of magic that blanketed the city. Those threads woven together moved through me, latching on for the briefest of moments to the magic within me before letting go and connecting elsewhere. It was a beautiful sight and I had to believe there were few places in the country where magic was so engrained in a place. Magic may not have been born in Boston but it thrived, even though our kind had been persecuted in this place hundreds of years ago. Humanity had since forgotten about our existence or had turned its ire to other superficial differences. Just another facet of the American Dream.

I studied the ground beneath my feet. I could see that a spell had been used here but it was still too faint to pick out its purpose. I could swear my nose picked up the barest hints of limestone and garlic, but even this connected to magic I couldn’t reach back that far in time. It was just a trick of my imagination. Confirmation bias messing with my senses. It had still been worth a shot.

As the world came back into focus and daybreak crested over the nearby buildings, a sense of being watched tickled the nape of my neck. I turned around, right hand hovering over my holster, but there was no one in sight. That, of course, meant little when you could turn yourself invisible with enough force of will. I used a little of my own magic—sweet strawberry tickling my nose—to reach out through the world, probing to see if I could reveal anyone hidden by spells, but nothing jumped out at me.

“Get a hold of yourself,” I chided before retreating to my car, pulling an illegal U-turn on the street and heading back toward the heart of the city, a sense of foreboding still prickling my senses.