“What’s wrong?” I asked, straightening. There was something about her demeanor that tipped me things were about to take a less-amusing shift.
“Um ... something is happening upstairs,” she replied, her eyes busy as they bounced between faces. They lingered on Braden — something I was used to because she had a bit of a crush on him — but returned to me. “There’s a bunch of people outside. Looks like a mob or something. I’m not sure what they’re doing, but I’m afraid to go out there on my own to find out.”
“That’s my job,” I reassured her, my mind busy. “I guess I’ll go see what they’re doing.”
“Not alone you won’t,” Braden argued, suddenly sober. “We’ll do it together.”
We’d become a team of sorts since I returned to Detroit and met him. I had fought my battles solo, but I was getting used to the constant backup I had here. In fact, I liked it.
“Together,” I agreed, grinning. “Let’s see what fresh hell has landed in our backyard this time.”
Two
Braden stuck close as we climbed the stairs from the basement. It wasn’t even a question that he would follow. It was expected. While I liked to fancy myself as “in charge” on Belle Isle, I was happy to have him with me.
“That Sami kid is a trip,” he offered as we reached the main floor. “Does she call a lot?”
My mind was already on the parking lot, but I answered all the same. “She does. She and Paris are ridiculously tight.”
“Has Paris told you why?”
Paris spoke frequently about her friend Zoe Lake-Winters, Sami’s mother, but always in a protective manner. There was something special about the friendship, but the specifics of the magic weaving a tapestry of trouble through the lives of the Winters family remained cloudy.
“No,” I replied after a moment’s contemplation. “I’m not sure what the deal is with Sami. I do know they’re visiting — the entire family — in a few weeks. Paris seems excited about it.”
Braden cast me a sidelong look, intrigue lighting his handsome features. “You don’t sound excited about it.”
“I’m not dreading it,” I reassured him quickly. “Paris looks forward to it, and the family sounds interesting.”
“But?”
“But I think Paris’s friend is powerful.”
He hesitated, his hand on the door. “More powerful than you?”
“I’m not all that powerful.”
“You’re the strongest person I know.”
The simple declaration settled me. He obviously meant it. There was no guile behind his eyes. He believed in me, which was something I could never take for granted. “I ... um ... thanks, I guess.”
A grin spread across his features. “I love it when you get flustered.” He leaned over and pressed a quick kiss against the corner of my mouth. “It’s the truth. You’re the strongest person I know, so if this Zoe is stronger she must be a force to be reckoned with. Are you afraid of her?”
I thought back to the brief interactions I’d seen that involved Zoe during Paris’s video calls. She was usually nothing more than a flash of blond hair and snark. “No.” I smiled at a few of the memories. “I think she’s just a woman — a wife and mother — who is incredibly powerful. I don’t think she’s evil. And I don’t think she’s a pushover.”
“You almost sound excited, but nervous, to meet her.”
“In a way, I am.”
“Well, then I look forward to it too.” He squeezed my hand before turning his attention to the glass door separating the aquarium from the outside world. Even though we couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary, there was a flurry of movement in the parking lot. Several people — maybe more — had descended on our quiet island hamlet.
“I am not looking forward to this,” Braden added, his expression grim.
I followed his gaze. I was right there with him. “Me either. Let me do the talking.”
Mock annoyance — or maybe it was real — washed over Braden’s expressive face. “Are you suggesting that I can’t handle whatever this is?”
That’s exactly what I was suggesting. “You have many fine qualities,” I reassured him as I pushed open the door. “You’re handsome. You’re fun. You’re romantic. You have a wicked sense of humor.”
“You forgot that I’m smoking hot and a sex god,” Braden offered helpfully.
“You’re not good when it comes to dealing with people politely,” I added, frowning when I realized there were more people in the parking lot than I initially thought. In fact, a quick count told me we were dealing with at least fifty people. “And I think we’re going to have to be polite because we’re outnumbered.”
Braden dragged his eyes from me and focused on the crowd in the lot. “What is this?”
That was a very good question. I planted my hands on my hips and allowed my gaze to bounce from face to face. The gathered individuals seemed to have no single trait that tied them together. The assemblage made up a virtual ethnic rainbow. Ages varied too. If I had to guess, there were people as young as twenty in the group, maybe even younger. There were also a number of septuagenarians.
“Are you here to talk to the dead?” a young blonde popped up in front of me. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, wore simple black pants and a plain T-shirt, and appeared ecstatic.
“The dead?” I was confused. “Are you holding a séance or something?”
She snorted, as if I’d asked the funniest question in the world, and shook her head. “No. We’re here to communicate with the dead. They live on this island.”
The woman seemed sure of herself, as if she had the inside information all religious zealots believed they alone held. Her reaction made me uneasy. “Um ... is there someone in charge here?”
“I was just about to ask you the same question,” the blonde replied. “Is there someone in charge here? We need access to the building behind you.”
I took a second to glance over my shoulder and focus on the aquarium. “I see.”
“Maybe we should call my father,” Braden suggested, his voice low. He wasn’t one to immediately jump to the conclusion that he needed his daddy to bail him out — in fact, he was the opposite — but he seemed as uneasy as I felt. His father was a higher-up on the Reaper Council, and technically my boss, so it seemed to make sense to call him.
But because I was me, I wasn’t quite there yet.
“Who’s in charge here?” I asked, opting to ignore her demand and raising my voice. Nobody stood out as large and in charge, but someone had to be leading the group. There was no way they just happened to congregate on my island.
“That would be me,” a voice announced to my left, causing me to snap my head in that direction. There stood a man who screamed “power,” although in a corporate way rather than a magical one. At least that’s what I assumed.
He was tall — a good two inches taller than Braden, who crowded the six-foot mark — and he wore sharply creased khaki pants and a button-down shirt. His hair was a dark chestnut and his eyes an odd green that made the rest of his features pop. His cheekbones were chiseled and he boasted a pair of powerful shoulders.