Arcanum (Tales from the Tarot)

10. Greyson

Chapter ten

Greyson

C oming home to find three police officers standing at your front door was alarming no matter who you were. Making matters more unnerving was the fact that none of them were Chris, though his squad was parked next door, indicating, at the very least, that he wasn’t working at the moment.

I exhaled a breath and touched the tiger’s eye that lived in my cup holder before exiting the vehicle.

“Greyson Darkholme?” The Mapleton officer said as I closed my car door.

“Yes, that’s me. Is everything alright?”

“These gentlemen need to ask you some questions.” Edwards, according to his name tag, deferred to the two men in suits.

“Detectives.” I acknowledged them with a tight smile. Although I hadn’t met either of them in person, I was sure I’d had the misfortune of speaking to at least one of them on the phone at some point. “What can I do for you?”

“Why don’t we take this inside?” the taller of the two suggested even though the trio was blocking my way to the front door, forcing me to stand on the walkway and look up at them like a lowly peasant.

“Right here is fine.”

A glimmer of surprise shot amongst the three. Even though two of them suspected me of murder based on the evidence—or lack thereof, I should say—they didn’t expect me to stand my ground. They thought I’d bend over backward to appease them, to work so very hard to prove my innocence. And they were very wrong.

Edwards shifted on his feet, questioning whether or not he should stay or leave the Chicago detectives to deal with their own problem.

“There a reason you don’t want to let us inside, Mr. Darkholme?” the shorter detective asked, his dark eyes narrowed.

“Yes, there is.” I gave him a biting smile.

“Care to share?”

“No, I would not. But I’m assuming you didn’t drive all the way out here to throw a tantrum on my doorstep about not being invited inside, so why don’t you get to the point?”

The shorter one opened his mouth to argue but his partner nudged his elbow and took the lead. “Got the autopsy report back on your family. Figured you’d be interested since you’ve been calling the medical examiner’s office every day for the past week.”

“Considering the autopsies were concluded over a week ago, asking for the reports doesn’t seem to be unreasonable.”

“You didn’t leave a phone number.”

“That’s not required.”

“If you want someone to get you information, it’s kind of important.”

I shrugged. “And yet here you are with the information. No phone number necessary.” Although how, exactly, they’d managed to locate me was a mystery I should try to solve. If they could find me, could Don? Had I mistakenly revealed my location somehow or was there some technical, police-only information system involved? For my sake, I hoped it was the latter.

Practically bubbling with anger, the shorter detective pushed his shoulders back with a scowl. “You’re not doing yourself any favors, pal.”

“I learned a long time ago not to expect favors from the police—least of all Chicago PD. You people ignored me when I needed help and my family is dead as a result. And now, because you couldn’t be bothered to do your jobs in the first place, I am your prime suspect. That is the laziest form of policing I’ve ever seen. And you expect me to kowtow to your badges and your supposed air of authority?” I scoffed, assessing both of them from head to toe like bugs I’d happily crush under my heel. “I have more respect for crossing guards than the two of you.”

Anger flared between the two detectives, meanwhile, a bright spot appeared to the side. Edwards bit his lips and looked away, trying to appear nonchalant even though he was dying of laughter on the inside. For a small-town cop, I’m sure having someone else tell the oh-so-important Chicago police they meant jack shit was something of a novelty. While I wished it was solely for his benefit, I meant every word. Their department had failed me time and again and I had little faith they’d do right by my family, either.

Out of nowhere, a current of protectiveness swept through the air. I straightened slightly and tilted my head as a door nearby slammed shut.

Chris.

“Everything ok?” he called out, his steps unusually heavy and the sound of leather creaking softly. He was leaving for work. Of course.

I didn’t dare turn around, but his presence was a comfort nonetheless. While I didn’t trust the police in front of me as far as I could throw them, I trusted him .

“Yeah, we’re good, man,” Edwards said before looking at the detectives. Even though he’d been filled with their nonsense about me, about my potentially murderous background, sometime in the conversation his allegiance switched from their side to mine. Rooting for the underdog? Or because he was all too happy to stick it to the larger agency and knock them off their undeserved pedestal?

Despite the dismissal from his coworker, Chris’s energy didn’t leave the area. The squad doors didn’t open, nor did the engine start. If I had to guess, he was leaning against his Tahoe, clinging to the collar of his vest in the appearance of a relaxed pose, watching everything unfold.

“Helpful as always, Mr. Darkholme,” the taller detective said, descending the stairs and handing me a stack of papers with a business card paper-clipped to the front. “Hopefully you’ll be a little more forthcoming on Friday, hmm?”

I took the papers carefully, mindful not to rip them out of his hand and give him a paper cut to go along with his wounded ego. “Friday?”

“Yeah. Our office. Ten o’clock. We have more questions for you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do. I’ll make sure to bring my lawyer. Again.”

“Yeah, you do that.” The shorter detective smirked.

“I wouldn’t take 88 if I were you,” I said as they made their way down the front walk. “Unless you want to bleed the city for more overtime. That accident you got caught up in on the way here? There’s another one down the road. Troopers are going to be there all night, actually doing their jobs. Maybe you can take notes.”

The detectives exchanged a look at the sidewalk and kept going, muttering to one another with more than one swear word thrown in. Edwards looked back at me with a furrowed brow before he cut across the grass to where Chris was, indeed, still standing by his squad in the pose I imagined.

I smirked to myself and keyed open the front door. Leaving the interior door ajar for when Chris inevitably came jogging up the stairs, I carried the paperwork into the living room and tossed it on the coffee table. As much as I wanted to know what the official results said about my family’s deaths, I didn’t want to know. It was a precarious balancing act—wanting information and wanting to pretend none of it had happened.

While I waited for Chris to finish his confab, I called my lawyer’s office and left a message about the meeting we apparently had on Friday. I wasn’t too worried. The taller detective didn’t give off any sort of energy that had me concerned. If anything, it was bound to be another fishing expedition because instead of tracking down the real killer, I was the logical choice for their half-assed investigation.

Once the coast was clear and all of the other police had left, Chris’s footsteps hurried up my front stairs a moment before he knocked on the screen door.

“It’s open,” I called from my seat on the couch.

He stepped inside, lingering in the foyer as he glanced around. As soon as his gaze settled on me, relief ebbed through his broad shoulders.

“What was all that about?” he asked, wandering into the living room.

“Edwards already told you,” I countered, arching an eyebrow at him.

He paused, mid-stride, and closed his eyes for a moment before changing tactics. Asking a question to which he already knew the answer was most definitely a “cop” thing to do and it was a habit I was trying to break him of, at least when it came to me. All it did was waste everyone’s time and I didn’t appreciate the subtle implication that he was trying to catch me in a lie every time I opened my mouth. “Are you ok?”

“As well as the situation allows.” I reached for the tarot deck on the coffee table and started shuffling, half out of nerves and half because I wanted some sign from the universe as to how Friday was going to turn out.

“Did you read it yet?” he asked, nodding to the autopsy report.

“I know how they died.”

“You think you know. You don’t actually know until you look at the lab results.”

“No, I know.” I glanced up at him, trying to suss out what the real question was that he was driving at. He wasn’t talking about toxicology anymore, that much was clear from the way suspicion clung to him like smoke from a bonfire.

He didn’t even try to hide the fact he was studying me and our immediate surroundings, sizing everything up exactly as a cop would, looking for any sign of deceit. The change in him was quite remarkable. Out of uniform, he was personable, even a little unsure how he should maneuver in the world. In uniform, he wasn’t unsure about anything. He didn’t search for words or worry about how they’d be interpreted. He was confident without being arrogant, but he was also a hundred times more suspicious of everyone and everything.

“How did you know about the accident on the tollway?” he finally asked, fixing me with an incredulous look.

“A lucky guess,” I replied, laying out a series of cards and turning them over, one by one, to examine the answers.

“No one is that lucky. Did you come that way?”

“No, I came from Arcanum.”

He moved forward again, stopping on the opposite side of the coffee table and staring at the cards. “Is this how you knew? This tarot… stuff?”

“Something like that,” I murmured with a frown, distracted. My fingers reached out, touching the Temperance card. I wanted to scream at the universe, For fuck’s sake, I know! I’m working on it! It seemed like no matter what question I asked, what answer I sought, the damned Temperance card was there, screaming back at me to get my life in order. How could I do that when I had almost no control over the things that were happening?! Moving to Mapleton had been a start, but I was constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for the day Don would reappear. And now Chris was asking questions, which would only lead to more questions. He was already skeptical of what he knew of my lifestyle; I doubted he’d welcome the idea of real magic into his life with open arms.

“Do you have a scanner app or something?” Chris continued, not even believing the validity of his previous question or my half-assed answer.

“Or something,” I sighed, frustrated with the cards’ lack of answer.

Selene appeared, meowing happily at our visitor, her fluffy white tail held aloft as she sauntered into the living room. She leapt into the center of the coffee table, scattering the stack of tarot cards all over the floor.

“Shit!” I shooed the cat away as I stood, rounding the table.

“I got it,” Chris said, dropping to one knee and picking up the cards.

“No, it’s fine. You don’t have to. You have work.” I reached for a card but Chris beat me to it. He held it out with a small smile, enough to make his dimples appear, and my heart fluttered at the sight.

“I want to help,” he said, his voice much softer than when he first walked in. From the way he looked at me, his dark eyes full of sincerity, I had a feeling he meant more than cleaning up the floor. “But you have to let me.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking possession of the card. It was the Sun, an indication of success and happiness. We didn’t touch in the transfer, but the air between us felt warm and close, like opening an oven door. “Everything is fine, though.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be ok?”

I wasn’t sure of anything at the moment, except that the longer we knelt there, staring at one another, trying to decipher the other’s secrets and motivations, the more I wanted to make my vision a reality. I didn’t want to wait for Fate to take its course. I wanted to tackle him to the floor and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. I wanted to see him aglow in candlelight and count the freckles on his skin while I drew sigils between them to make sure he was safe from whatever danger was coming.

I also knew without a doubt the feeling was mutual. The longer Chris looked at me, the more his gaze burned like coals, a spark of red lust blazing across their dark depths until all I felt was fire emanating from him. His earliest reservations about me remained, but they were buried beneath new feelings, feelings that had arisen in his subconscious during dinner and came to light on the night of the full moon. I caught a glimpse of them when he came to offer his apologies at Arcanum and again, moments ago, when he was prepared to intervene with Chicago PD on my behalf. I could have argued that it was him being friendly and nothing more. But now? Up close? Whether I had magical abilities or not, there was no denying the confusing but exhilarating torrent inside of him. It was evident in the way he was looking at me.

I could almost feel his gaze as it moved over my face, from my eyes to my mouth and back again. While he wasn’t an empath in the traditional sense, he’d gotten adept at reading body language and he was trying to read me, looking for clues he could extrapolate information from. But along with his curious study, he was registering tiny details as he found them, looking at me in a way he never had before.

“Grey?” His voice was husky and rough in the quiet, the same way I imagined his five o’clock shadow would be against my skin. Both the sound and the idea sent a shiver down my spine.

Realizing I hadn’t answered his previous question, I spit one out for him, hoping it would be halfway convincing. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

His features shifted sharply and his gaze fell from mine. Any sign of lust evaporated, replaced by a resolute mask. He was no longer listening to me. He was barely in the same room as me anymore. His attention was completely focused on whatever was coming through his earpiece.

Lowering his mouth to the mic in the center of his chest, he murmured, “K91 copied. En route,” before looking up at me again. Softness returned to his features, along with traces of worry and guilt. “I have to go.”

I nodded, grabbing the last of the tarot cards and getting to my feet. He rose with me, watching me with concern, like he was trying to think of the right thing to say.

“Before you go,” I said, dropping the tarot cards onto the coffee table and snagging a piece of black tourmaline from the assortment of crystals I kept in a selenite bowl. It was long and relatively flat, so I assumed it would be easy to slide into one of his many pockets. “I want you to have this.”

His dark brows furrowed as he glanced at the crystal. “What is it?”

“Black tourmaline. Think of it as a good luck charm.” It seemed easier to frame it that way instead of telling him it was meant to keep him safe, especially as a sense of unease twisted through the pit of my stomach.

Nodding, he held out his hand, palm up.

I placed it in the center, willing it to do its job. He closed his fingers quickly, trapping mine in his palm, a slew of questions on the tip of his tongue. I beat him to them. “Be careful on Mulberry.”

Perplexed, he cocked his head and opened his mouth to speak. Glancing away for a moment, he decided to let it go in favor of trying to salvage whatever moment had passed between us. “If you want to talk later, you know I’m around. You can call me any time.”

“I appreciate that.”

He gave me a small smile, a flash of his dimples, and released my fingers. Slipping the tourmaline into one of the inner pockets of his vest, he turned slowly and walked to the door.

I followed at a distance and closed it behind him, turning the deadbolt and affixing the chain as soon as he was out of earshot. Spinning, I slumped against the door, letting my head fall backward and my eyelids sink shut.

The desire to tell him everything about me was overwhelming but the fear of his reaction kept my mouth shut. Maybe he would come to the conclusion on his own. He almost did, the night he came to fix the garbage disposal and ended up having dinner. Every time something unusual happened, I could feel the word whispering in the air around him. Witch . Whether it was out of blatant disbelief or a need to remain practical, he kept dismissing it as nonsense.

Even if he eventually accepted what I was, what I could do, there was still the issue of Don to deal with. And that was the part that concerned me the most, more than how Chris’s skepticism would handle the truth about magic.

Beyond the fact that he’d ruined every aspect of my life in every conceivable way, Don was dangerous. A real, potent danger, not just to me, but to the people I cared about—who cared about me. He’d already stolen the lives of my family; I wouldn’t let him steal Chris’s life too.

Swallowing that bitter resolution, I picked up my cell phone again and dialed the funeral home’s number to begin making the long overdue arrangements for my family.