I didn’t realize at first where the source of the sound was, until my husband appeared high above us, in midair, descending the staircase after making a giant leap, and from somewhere deep inside him came a war cry that awakened his ancestors, who appeared from nowhere and everywhere. They lined the stairs, surrounded us, and closed in on the Widow.
She shrieked and tried to turn away, but Heath reached her before she could get far; landing on her as she had landed on him, he drove her into the stair where she stood and rode her down the rest of the steps like a skateboard. Not once did his voice break off from that one beautiful note.
I watched in awe as his long hair fluttered behind him, that distinctive white streak he’d gotten a few years back on another deadly encounter waving at me in triumph.
The Widow’s density was starting to wane. She’d been as solid as any living soul only seconds before, with superhuman strength, but in the face of so many of Heath’s ancestors, who effectively cut her off from her power source, she was no match.
She struggled underneath his weight, flailed her arms and legs, but she couldn’t shake him. He rode her until they stopped. And then Heath’s war cry went up one octave and I saw his elbow jerk and his fist went high and he plunged his stake into the center of the Grim Widow’s chest.
And just like that—she vanished.
For many moments afterward, no one moved. Gil and I simply stared at Heath, whose chest was heaving and posture was stiff like that of a great warrior after a tremendous battle. He looked down to where the Widow had been, as if daring her to make a reappearance, but the change in atmosphere was so distinct that I knew he’d sent her back, somehow, to the lower realms.
“What. The hell. Was that?” Olivera said from the top of the stairs.
All three of us turned to stare up at her. She was looking down at us, but also all around the stairwell. “That, Detective, was my husband,” I said, my heart bursting with pride and relief and even joy.
Heath smiled sideways at me as he came up the stairs. He was bleeding from a few various scratches, and the bandage covering his wound had come off, exposing his stitches and a little blood there too.
He reached us and came right to me; cupping my head with his hand, he said, “Are you okay?”
I nodded at first, but then shook my head and started crying big wet tears and tried to brush them off. “Pregnancy hormones,” I said with a forced chuckle while wiping my cheeks.
The truth was, I was moved beyond words. Heath was this magnificent creature, this thing of absolute beauty, grace, and power. He was also kind, and good, and thoughtful, and sweet. He took care of me in a thousand ways, little and big. He understood me like no one else could, and shared an intuitive talent so rare that it set us apart from almost every single person we knew. And this magnificent person was mine.
He was just . . . mine.
I loved him with a magnitude that felt greater than something that could ever be quantified. It filled me and lifted me and moved me to tears that I couldn’t hide and I couldn’t stop. They dribbled down my cheeks and my lip trembled and I had a hard time looking up at him because it almost hurt to feel that much for anyone.
“Aw, babe,” he said, throwing down the spike in his hand to cup my face with both of his. “I know. Me too.” And then he kissed me, and I shed myself in that moment. I left behind M. J. Holliday, the tough, serious, fiercely independent single person who just happened to be married, and I became half of something so much bigger and a thousand times more powerful.
And then Gilley cleared his throat. “Geez, you guys. Get a room.”
Heath laughed and then so did I. He pulled me into his arms and held me tight, and so much of the past few minutes already felt more distant.
I heard Olivera’s shoes on the stairs and I lifted my head from Heath’s chest. “I’m glad you guys are having a laugh,” she said, “but we’ve got a problem.”
I sighed. “I know. We haven’t gotten the dagger back yet.”
She seemed puzzled by my response and pointed up. “No,” she said. “Him.”
With a jolt I remembered Murdock, and I lifted my gaze to the fourth floor, where the security guard’s lifeless body was still pressed up against the railing.
“Crap,” Gil said. “What the hell are we gonna do about him?”
“You’ll have to call it in,” I said.
“And say what, exactly?” Olivera asked me. “That after chasing a person of interest in the murder of Phil Sullivan into an abandoned building, I found him murdered by a ghost?”
I squinted up and took note of the blood on Murdock’s torso. “It might not have been the Widow who murdered him,” I said, letting go of Heath to start heading up the stairs. “Her modus operandi is to strangle or drown her victims. She usually doesn’t draw blood.”
We ascended to the fourth floor without speaking. Although the air was no longer thick with a sinister essence, we were still mindful that a person had been murdered, and that carried its own solemn energy.
I was the first to reach Murdock, but I didn’t touch him. No one did. Well, except for Olivera, who checked him for a pulse and then stepped back to look over his body for several moments, eventually leaning over the railing to get a better look at the wounds on his chest. “He’s been stabbed.”
“I was afraid of that,” I said. “If he’s been stabbed, then it probably wasn’t a spook who did it.”
Olivera pointed down the stairwell. “That freak show looked like she could wield a knife,” she said.
“I don’t think she would’ve,” Heath said. “Like M.J. said, the Widow prefers snapping necks, or strangling or drowning her victims. And even if she had murdered him, then why didn’t she use the blade against us?”
Olivera frowned and scanned the ground around Murdock’s body again. “No sign of the weapon,” she said.
“You won’t find it here,” I told her.
“How do you know?”
“Because the killer took it with him, and I’m guessing the weapon he used to kill Murdock was Oruç’s dagger.”
“So Murdock wasn’t our guy?” Gilley said.
“It doesn’t look that way,” I replied.
“Then how was he involved?” Heath asked.
“The same way Sullivan was probably involved. Another accomplice. If the IP address led back to Murdock’s house, then the killer could’ve asked to use Murdock’s Wi-Fi, right, Gil?”
Gilley nodded. “Yes. Easily.”
“What I can’t figure out,” I said next, “is why he thought to come here after Sullivan was murdered. I mean, he headed right for this place like he knew the killer was hiding out here.”
“I’m guessing he came to warn the killer,” Gilley said.
“There’s one problem with all of this,” Olivera said. “I checked Murdock’s accounts today after you guys gave me the address, and it came back to the one Murdock listed when we interviewed him. He’s got fifteen hundred between his checking and his savings accounts and nothing deposited other than his biweekly paycheck.”
I thought about that for a minute and remembered the old woman from the house where Murdock had pulled up. If Murdock really did live there, could that old woman have been his mother? “Chris, I think you should do another search on the financials for the woman Murdock was living with. If that was his mother, he could’ve easily set it up with the killer to deposit it in one of her accounts to avoid exactly this type of suspicion.”
Olivera nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “I’ll look into it, but we still need to decide what to do with Murdock’s body. I mean, I have to call it in, and given the encounters we’ve had here in just the past two days, I’m not sure I want to risk a paramedic’s life when he comes to collect the body.”
“You should all be safe for a little while, Detective,” Heath said. “There’s n
o threat to you or anyone else here right now.”
“How can you be sure?”
Heath pointed to the top of the stairs next to us. There, lying in plain sight, as if it’d been there all along, was a large snowy white feather. “Where did that come from?” Olivera asked, looking up and around as if she expected to see a bald eagle hanging out on the banister.
“My ancestors set it there,” Heath said simply. “And they’re going to keep us all safe until we get out of here. But I’d make that call soon. Their protective energy can’t be sustained indefinitely.”
• • •
Olivera cleaned up all the shell casings expelled from her gun from the day before. Then she made the call and tried to get us to leave so that nobody would ask us too many questions. “No,” Heath told her firmly after she all but insisted. “If I leave, so does your protection. We’ll hang out downstairs, Detective, but I’m not leaving you alone in this building.”
She relented, and I swore I saw relief in her eyes.
Still, I felt I had to leave before anyone arrived. I was away for about two hours, after making an emergency appointment with my ob-gyn, who, luckily, was only fifteen minutes away.
She’d been my doctor for more than ten years, so she’d seen me covered in bruises before and knew the type of job I had sometimes got a little physical. This time, I was much more worried about the baby after that tumble down the stairs, but after she’d checked me over thoroughly and performed an ultrasound, she said the baby was just fine. Still, she did make the suggestion that perhaps for the next seven and a half months I should probably find a new line of work.
I took the printout of the baby—no bigger than a bean!—back to show Heath, but when I got back to the building, which still had a number of crime scene techs there working, Heath was in a sort of deep meditation up on the second floor. Choosing not to disturb him, I went in search of Gilley, who filled me in on the details of what’d happened while I was gone. “Some other detective—I think his name was Smith—showed up,” he said. “But Olivera was able to deflect attention off us and back onto the dead guy. Then the medical examiner showed up and I overheard him say that whoever had stabbed Murdock to death had probably done it by taking him by surprise.
“He also said,” Gilley continued, “that the first wound was to Murdock’s stomach, which he thought meant the killer had hidden the weapon, moved in close, and stabbed Murdock, who then fell to his knees and then was stabbed several more times on his way down to the floor. The ME said that all he could really tell was that the killer was right-handed.”
“That’s not much to go on,” I said. “Is Rick Lavinia right-handed?”
Gil pressed his lips together. “No,” he said. “I already checked while you were gone. Rick’s a leftie.”
“Dammit,” I swore. “Well, that doesn’t mean he didn’t stab him with his other hand. Maybe he had something else in his left hand and used it to distract Murdock while he stepped in close and stabbed him.”
“Maybe,” Gilley said, but he sounded skeptical.
We fell silent then, waiting for everyone to finish up. I wasn’t sure what Olivera had said to her peers to allow us to remain in the building while they investigated the crime, but when I’d gotten back to the building, all I’d had to do was tell the beat cop standing guard at the entrance my name and that I was with Olivera, and he’d let me head inside.
Around us the techs were starting to clean up and pack up their cameras, evidence bags, et cetera, and my gaze traveled back to Heath, who was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed and a serene expression. “He’s been like that since you left,” Gil mumbled out of the side of his mouth.
“He’s meditating,” I told him. “He’s helping his ancestors hold the energy here.”
“What do you think will happen to this place when we leave?” Gil said next.
I looked around the hallway we were in, brightly lit by the police spotlights, and thought about the absence of all that energy. “I think it’ll go straight back to hell, Gil.”
Chapter 15
It took another half hour for the police to wrap it up. Still, by that time, beads of sweat had broken out on Heath’s forehead and he’d visibly paled. When I pulled him out of the deep meditation he was in, he actually had trouble walking.
We got him to the car and Olivera told us she was headed over to the house where Murdock lived. She wanted to talk to the old lady.
“We’ll call you later,” I said as I got into the car next to Heath in the backseat.
“Great,” she said. “Stay safe, M.J.,” she added, and I smiled. We were turning into friends after all.
We headed out, and Gilley drove while I sat with Heath’s head in my lap, and in moments he was asleep.
I felt bad that I had to wake him once we got to the condo. He shuffled inside and went straight to bed. I knew he’d be all right, but still, it was hard to see him so drained.
After making sure Heath was settled, I came back out into the living room to find Gilley on the sofa just staring at the floor, as if in a trance. “Gil?” I said a bit warily. He’d once been possessed by Sy the Slayer, and my heart ticked up a beat, wondering if the evil spook had once again entered my home.
But Gil simply sighed and said, “I’m so tired of this, M.J. I’m so sick of battling things that shouldn’t even exist. They’re worse than my worst nightmares, and they give my worst nightmares fuel.”
I went over to sit next to him and took his hand. “If I thought that sending you to New York to hang with Michel until this thing was over was the answer, Gil, I would’ve done that on day one.”
He squeezed my hand. “I know,” he said. “But I’m talking about more than just right now. I never, ever want to do this again.”
I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. “You’re moving after the wedding,” I told him. “And Heath and I are retiring from ghostbusting.”
He turned his head to smile sadly at me. “That’s just it,” he said. “You and Heath can’t seem to help yourselves. You guys get embroiled in these things like there’s a target on your back that only evil spooks can see, and because I love you, I come running to help. I don’t know how to say no to you the next time you guys need me on some bust that you pinkie-swear is the last one you’ll ever do.”
I bit my lip. That stung. Mostly because he was absolutely right, even though in this instance, it was mostly Gil’s fault. “Gil,” I said. “It’s different now.”
“How is it different, M.J.?”
I put my free hand on my belly. “I’m different,” I said. “Literally. And when my daughter comes into this world, she’ll be my greatest vulnerability. Some demon is gonna figure that out someday and go for her. The only way I can protect her is to say no the next time some evil spook is causing all sorts of trouble and my phone rings with a plea for help.”
“But, sugar, how’re you even going to avoid going to their aid? I mean, it’s almost like you’ve had a beacon on your back everywhere you go, and evil spooks seem to abound here in Boston.” Gilley stared at me as if he was pleading with me to keep my word.
I swallowed again, but this time for courage. “Gil . . . Heath and I are moving to Santa Fe. We’ll be close to his family. His tribe. And his ancestors, and today you saw how effective they are at intervening. They’ll protect us, and they’ll protect Madelyn when she’s born.”
Gil’s eyes misted some more. “You’re moving to Santa Fe?”
“Yes.”
“How soon?”
“Right after your wedding.”
Gil’s face registered a series of expressions that each broke my heart. “How come you didn’t tell me?”
My own lip trembled, and in a quavering voice I said, “I didn’t know how. You’ve been with me as my best friend . . . my brother since I was eleven. How do I tell someone I love so mu
ch, who’s so important to me, and who’s been such a part of my life all these years, that I’m heading to the other side of the country?”
Gilley looked down at our joined hands. “I felt like I was betraying you when Michel and I made the decision to move to New York.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
We were silent like that for a while, just holding hands and tearing up. It’s like there were no words to describe how much we loved each other, and how much we’d meant to each other, and how very much we’d miss each other. Finally, I broke the silence by saying, “We’re planning on building a guesthouse, you know.”
Gil looked up at me hopefully. “Yeah?”
“Yes. It’d be a real favor to me if you’d come and decorate it once it’s complete.”
His brow rose a little more. “I can come to visit a lot, you know. Especially if you need help with the baby.”
I let go of his hand to wrap my arms around him and hug him fiercely. “I’m counting on it, sweetie. I’m counting on it.”
• • •
Late in the afternoon Heath shuffled out of the bedroom, still looking drained and exhausted. I patted the seat next to me on the sofa as Gilley busied himself in the kitchen cooking up a storm.
I’ll hand it to Gil: He’s one hell of a good cook, and he was making us a feast of salmon tacos with homemade pico de gallo and guacamole. The scents coming from the kitchen were mouthwatering. “Smells great, Gil,” Heath said, plopping down on the sofa next to me.
Gil picked his head up at the sound of Heath’s voice. “Oh, good. You’re up. Dinner in ten minutes, people.”
My stomach gurgled. I was insanely hungry. Heath raised an eyebrow at the sound. “Wow. Our kid’s loud for someone so small.”
I chuckled. “Yeah. She’s pretty gabby.”
“How’re you feeling?” he asked me, stroking my arm affectionately.