Ritual of the Broken (Haunted Hearts)

Chapter 5

Chapter

Five

O llie was immobile, the cloaking spell rendering him invisible to the detective. A pinch of foxglove and a lot of concentration kept him out of sight, sound, and smell.

But it did nothing for his heart as it pounded when the man, clearly a detective from the badge dangling around his neck, walked right by him without noticing.

The ghost was there. The way the detective turned made Ollie think maybe he’d seen the ghost, too. That caught him off guard. Mortals typically weren’t able to see ghosts.

Ollie wanted to look at the guy—really look at him.

Least of all because the detective was hot, a guy worth a second look in that hunky, blue-collar kind of way that always caused Ollie to make stupid decisions. He was a rugged kind of handsome—arms thickened from more than just a robust gym habit, a hint of chest hair peeking out above the straining button on his Oxford shirt. And he carried himself with an air of authority that Ollie couldn’t help but be attracted to. He wasn’t normally a guy with daddy issues, but under different circumstances he might want to call this guy Daddy.

But really, he wanted to see him with his mage sight.

In that moment, though, he was afraid if he made a move he’d be seen. Cloaking spells worked on all the senses, turning away the ability to hear or pick up smells, but visually, they worked by bending the light. If Ollie made any movements this close to him, it might shimmer and the detective would see him standing there. Or, if he was a fellow mage or something else, the guy would just sense something was amiss, like the pull of magic or a shift in the resonance of the area.

So, maybe it was best to save it for the next time he saw the guy. If he ever saw this guy again, that is. It might be best if he avoided detectives altogether. But for now, he could take at least a little pleasure in watching the guy search the area while he remained hidden.

The detective turned and faced Ollie in a way he thought maybe he’d been caught. But then the detective sniffed, squinted, and turned his head.

Ollie exhaled slowly, willing himself to remain still. The detective’s brow furrowed, and he stepped closer, seeming to peer directly at Ollie, eye to eye. Well, eye to chin. The detective was taller.

Ollie’s heart raced, the magic pulsing to keep the cloaking intact. One more step and he’d be on top of Ollie, and not in a fun way. He willed the detective to turn, to dismiss the feeling of being watched. Not magic, just a silent prayer to whatever gods were listening.

Seconds ticked by, tension mounting, until finally the detective shook his head and strode away to disappear back into the alley in the direction of the crime scene.

Ollie held the spell for longer than he probably needed after the detective rounded the corner, just trying to slow down his heartbeat. And it made him a little embarrassed. He was a mage, after all. It wasn’t like he was incapable of defending himself against a detective, supernatural or otherwise.

Eventually he let the cloaking spell dissipate and allowed himself a quick glance in the direction the detective had gone. He half-expected the guy to be waiting for him as he stuck his head around the corner, but he wasn’t. The detective wasn’t even visible beyond the backs of onlookers and policemen guarding the yellow tape.

It took him a moment to steel himself again, but he came out here for a reason, and that reason was the vision he’d seen from the ghost.

He needed answers. Answers the police would likely never uncover, not without understanding the true nature of what they were dealing with. Ollie couldn’t simply stand by—or let himself be chased off by a police detective (who, Ollie had to admit, was committing a major crime by hiding that nice ass beneath all the fabric of his dress slacks).

Stepping as close to the alleyway as he dared, he reached into a messenger bag he carried just for such occasions. He retrieved a small pouch containing an assortment of spell components. With practiced movements, he poured a fine powder of crushed amethyst onto his palm, which came from a stone imbued with a wayfinding spell. As he sprinkled, he murmured an incantation under his breath.

The violet dust began to shimmer and swirl, coalescing into a faintly glowing orb that hovered above his hand that only he could see. Ollie closed his eyes, concentrating on the vision he’d been given, allowing the memory to replay vividly in his mind’s eye. The orb pulsed in response, attuning itself to the emotional imprint left behind in the alleyway by the victim’s terror. Fear had a way of sticking to a place, and Ollie hoped to use that to his advantage.

Extending his senses, Ollie willed the orb to seek out the lingering traces of that same emotional resonance. The glowing sphere drifted away from him, bobbing gently as it followed an invisible trail only it could detect. Ollie followed behind, his steps sure and unhurried, trusting the spell to guide him along the path the victim had taken.

Technicians in gloves, goggles, and protective gear swarmed around the body, meticulously collecting evidence. Adrian decided maybe his time could be better utilized trying to figure out how Zachary O’Brien spent the last few hours before his death. With a curt nod to Lt. Vega, Adrian stepped away from the crime scene.

Adrian pulled out his phone and dialed the number from the napkin. As the phone rang, he wondered how she might be connected to Zachary O’Brien. After a few rings, a woman’s voice answered. “Hello?” Noise like glassware clinked in the background.

“Is this Yolanda?” Adrian asked, reading the name from the napkin.

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“Ma’am, I’m Detective Adrian Keller with the Chicago PD. I’m calling about a man named Zachary O’Brien. Did you know him?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then, Yolanda said, “Yeah, I know him.”

Adrian’s instincts told him there was more to the story due to the tone of her voice. “Ma’am, I’d like to speak with you in person. It’s important.”

“What’s this about? Is Zach in some kind of trouble?”

Adrian hesitated, not wanting to break the news over the phone. “I’d prefer to discuss the details face-to-face. Are you available to meet?”

“I’m at work right now,” Yolanda replied, her voice tinged with concern. And something else. Resignation?

“Where do you work? I can come to you.”

“I’m the night manager at the Second City Saloon.”

The name of the bar on the napkin. “I’ll be there shortly, Ma’am. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Adrian decided to walk it. The location was close, and he thought it might be likely that these were some of the same sidewalks their victim walked down. It never hurt to be open to the possibility he might stumble on some clue. That’s where being a werewolf came in handy. He could use his sense of smell and ability to see in the dark to figure out where someone had walked before.

Except Zachary O’Brien didn’t have the same kind of scent Adrian was used to. That was still something bothering him as he made his way toward the bar.

It wasn’t a long walk. The neon sign above the door of the Second City Saloon flickered as Adrian pushed through the door. Close to three in the morning on a Tuesday night meant the bar clung to a few drunks who hadn’t quite figured out it was a weeknight.

Adrian went to the bar to flag down the bartender as she cleaned glassware, and he asked for Yolanda.

The bartender looked toward the back of the bar. “Yo!”

Adrian thought she was just calling out to someone. It took him a second to figure out she was actually calling to the woman sitting in a back booth. Yo, short for Yolanda. He walked over to the booth to where she sat with a tablet and a stack of delivery receipts and invoices. She held a pen in one hand.

“Ms…?” He still didn’t know her last name.

She looked up at him with tired eyes. She smelled of long hours and spilled booze. A cup of burnt coffee sat on the table next to the stack of receipts. “You that detective who called me? ”

“That would be me.” He took a glance around the bar. “You mind if we go somewhere more private?”

She looked him up and down a moment, an eyebrow lifted as she apparently liked what she saw. It made Adrian shift where he stood. “Maybe later,” she said. “We can talk here. What’s Zach done now?”

“Before we start, can you give me your full name?”

“Yolanda Harbor.”

Adrian wrote it down. He took a breath and blew it out. “There’s no easy way to say this…”

She dropped the pen. “Oh, God. He’s gone and gotten himself killed, hasn’t he?”

After a pause, Adrian nodded. “That’s correct, ma’am.”

“Fuck that ma’am crap. Sit down.” She gestured to the open booth seat across from her. Once he sat, she looked at him. “What happened? He was just in here tonight, and I actually decided to give that asshole a fourth chance because I’m stupid like that, you know?” Her scent changed. Adrian picked up on her sudden distress, and tears rimmed her eyes. “I loved that stupid son-of-a-bitch, you know? Can’t say I’m surprised he’s dead, though. Was it the drugs?”

At least Yolanda Harbor was a talker. “Zachary O’Brien was a drug user?”

“Among other things. Said he was clean.” She palmed at a tear on her face. “Getting there, anyway. And I believed him. He sounded different this time, you know? I believed him. Oh, fuck.” She covered her face for a long moment, leaving Adrian to watch in silence. Then she reached into an apron folded up next to her and pulled out a pack of cigarettes to light one up. “I know. There’s no smoking in Chicago bars. You going to arrest me?”

Adrian held up his hands and shook his head. The woman just found out a guy she was with had died. She was allowed to have a cigarette.

Adrian studied Yolanda’s face as she took a long drag. Her eyes were rimmed red, and he could smell the salt of her tears. Despite her tough exterior, she was genuinely shaken by Zach’s death. The scent of it came off her in waves.

“I don’t know,” she said after exhaling a stream of smoke. “He seemed... present.” She huffed a humorless chuckle. “Sad to say it, but that was not normal for Zach. He liked his drink. And when he wasn’t drinking, he was high on something.” She took another drag of her cigarette. The smell was a lot for Adrian. He had a hard time around smokers, but he didn’t let it show on his face. “Tonight, I really believed he was sorry for what he did. He showed me the coin they give at the meetings. You know the one?”

Adrian nodded.

Yolanda snuffled and wiped her nose with a paper napkin on the table. “He was proud of it. It wasn’t something I was used to seeing in Zach, but he had a real smile on his face, and I couldn’t help but think it was the first time I’d ever seen one of those on him.” She looked off to some dark part of the bar like she was playing things over in her mind .

“Were you together? In a relationship?”

“No. I dumped him six months ago. He wouldn’t leave me alone, and I got a restraining order. Changed my phone number and everything. That was a real pain in the ass, you know?”

“But he had your number written on a cocktail napkin.”

“Yeah. I gave it to him because I saw something in him tonight. He had hope.” Yolanda shook her head. “Or I thought he did, anyway. You’re saying he went off and got high, then went and got himself killed?”

“We don’t know how he died. That will come when the medical examiner has a chance to examine the body.”

“The body…” She shook her head again.

“When Mr. O’Brien came to see you tonight?—”

“Mm-hmm. Couldn’ta been more than a few hours ago. Just some regulars here since it’s a Tuesday, but the place was pretty dead tonight.” She caught what she said and sat back in her seat. “He sat right where you’re sitting now, and we talked for about thirty minutes.”

“Did he say anything out of the ordinary?”

“What’s ordinary for a guy like that?” Another dry chuckle. She took a pull on her cigarette and blew out the smoke with her eyes squeezed closed.

“Why did you write down your phone number? Did he have a cell phone?”

Yolanda shook her head. “He lost it the night he overdosed and got arrested. He didn’t have the money to get a new one, so I wrote it down for him. ”

“Did anyone seem to take an interest in him as he left?”

She shook her head. “No. Nobody seemed to even notice him other than me. I mean, he talked to some of the people in here, but not for too long.”

“Was there anyone who might want him dead?”

Her eyes widened. “So, you’re saying he was murdered. By one of these assholes?” She motioned to the bar.

“I’m just covering all the bases, Ms. Harbor. We don’t know for sure how he died.”

After a moment, she sighed. “I mean, sure. Probably. He was an addict. He stole to get his drugs. He stole from me. He sold his mom’s stuff for drugs. She died, and he didn’t keep anything, just carted it all down to a pawn shop to fund his habit. And he was also a messy drunk. Living the kind of life he did, not a lot of people are wishing him the best, you know? Hell, there were nights I wanted to kill him.” She dragged on her cigarette again. “Not that I did. I was here all night.”

“Did he drink anything while he was here?”

Once more, she shook her head. “Nothing. Not even a glass of water. Said he didn’t want to tempt fate by drinking anything in a bar.”

Adrian considered her a moment. She told him the truth. He could tell it in her body language, and more importantly, in the way she smelled. Lying sparked fear in most people, and that kind of fear had a very distinct smell— sharp and tangy with a metallic undertone. There was no fear coming from her, just sadness.

“All right, Ms. Harbor.” He took a card out from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to her. “If you can think of anything else, please give me a call. I may have more questions later.” Adrian started to get up. “Did Mr. O’Brien have any family I could speak to about him?”

She shrugged. “His mom’s dead. There’s a sister, but she hasn’t spoken to him in about six years after Zach took her kid’s PlayStation and pawned it.”

Adrian nodded. “Thank you for your time.”

She waved a hand at him without looking up as Adrian stood up from the booth. He peered around the bar and breathed in the scent of the place. A lot of spilled liquor and a stale scent of old, unwashed wood and metal from the bar itself. If he could change to his wolf form, he could really pick out the smells of various people, perhaps even follow the exact trail Zachary O’Brien took from the bar. But that wasn’t going to happen, not in front of so many mortals.

But then Adrian caught sight of a man sitting at the bar. It was a face he’d glimpsed for only a few seconds, but that he still remembered.

He stalked across the bar. The man glanced over as Adrian moved toward him, and he started to get up, grabbing his bag. But Adrian sped up.

“Not this time,” he said when he stood behind him.

The man’s neck moved in a swallow. “I’m sorry?” he said as he looked at Adrian. “Do I know you? ”

The strong hint touched Adrian’s nose, the scent of ozone. Of magic.

Adrian hooked the man’s arm. “You and me. Outside.”

“What are you doing?” The man’s voice raised an octave.

“You see this badge?”

“Yes, I do. And what of it?” the man said. “And maybe I should speak to your supervisor.”

The man didn’t really put up much of a fight though, surprisingly. Likely this man—this mage—was under the same constraints as him. A room full of mortals meant he couldn’t cast magic for the same reason Adrian couldn’t flash fangs and fur.

As they walked, Adrian spoke. “You were at my crime scene. You ran away from me when I tried to speak to you. I could arrest you right now.” They made it to the door of the bar. “Not that the cell would hold your kind. I can smell the magic on you, mage.”

The man gave him a narrow-eyed look. “So, you are supernatural.”

Adrian took the man to an alleyway next to the bar so they could have a real conversation, one beyond the hearing of mortal ears.

But, as soon as they made it outside the range of the street lamps, the strong scent of ozone hit Adrian’s nose. Before he could react, he flew sideways and hit the brick wall hard enough to make his vision a little blurry.

“What are you?” the man asked him.

Adrian shook his head. He looked at the man, the odor of magic swirling off him in waves. It took him back to a place he didn’t want to remember, back when he was in the Army and another mage who used power against him.

A growl erupted from Adrian’s throat, and he leapt toward the man, moving at an inhuman speed. Both hands tipped with the hint of claws hit the man’s shoulders, and the guy was pushed hard enough into the far wall to jostle the glasses on his face and drop his bag. The man grunted. At least Adrian returned the favor.

All he wanted to do was bite and claw, to sink his teeth into the throat of his prey and shake.

But he couldn’t reach the guy…

Because of freaking magic!