“Before John and I met?”
She hesitated, thinking. “No. No, I think it was maybe around the same time?” She brightened. “I remember. It was while you guys were on your honeymoon. I met him at Death Guild. Eddie said he was a friend of a friend of yours.”
“A friend of a friend? What friend?”
She wrinkled her forehead. “Roy? Ray? I can’t remember. I just remember this person was in the hospital in a coma after someone ran them down one night.”
I stared at her. “Rex?”
Jinx smiled. “That was it. Rex. Anyway, he seemed like a nice enough guy. Eddie, I mean.” She shrugged.
I doubted it. But maybe living with John was making me paranoid too.
“It’s definitely over between you?”
“Yes, Cos. He turned out to be just another poser.” She made a face. “You can reassure John that I’m not dating a blackmailer or getting engaged to a petty criminal.”
“What’s his last name?”
“Darksoul. I doubt it’s his real name.”
“Uh, yeah. Eddie Darksoul? Seems unlikely. Do you have any idea where he lives?”
“I know where he lived then. An apartment on Broadway Street. He could have moved. Who knows?” She added, “You could tell John that not every single person who meets me is only trying to get close to him.”
“Just the opposite, I’d think.”
“Exactly.”
“John’s a little overprotective. That’s all. He loves you. He’s concerned for you.”
She curled her lip. “You keep telling yourself that, Cos. One of these days you’re going to figure it out. John’s controlling and domineering and a bully.”
“I don’t think that’s fair.”
“You don’t know him like I know him.”
I was silent for a moment. “John thinks he knows you too. Do you think he sees the whole picture?”
“Of course not. Not even close.”
“Don’t you think it maybe goes both ways?”
“Nope.” She studied me. “Sorry. I know you’re still crazy about him. And I will say, he’s different with you. But people don’t change.”
“I don’t agree. I think if people want to change—”
“No.” She even looked a little sorry for me. “You’re dreaming if you think that. Even if they were to live a million years, people don’t change.”
Chapter Six
I could not find anyone named Eddie Darksoul who lived in North America, let alone San Francisco, let alone on Broadway Street.
There was a gamer named eddiepurple and/or eddiepurplebum, who made YouTube videos about playing something called Dark Souls, but I was pretty sure he was not Jinx’s erstwhile boyfriend.
There was an Edward Darquez who lived on Broadway Street, and I was on my way to pay him a surprise visit, when John called.
When his photo flashed up, my heart lightened with relief. I pressed Accept and said, “John, I feel like such a fool.”
“No. Why would you? You had a nightmare. It was real. I saw.” His voice was low and intimate. “How are you feeling today?”
“Fine. Embarrassed.”
“No. Don’t be. I’m just glad you’re okay now. Do you still want to go to the party tonight?”
Not really. We hadn’t had a Saturday night at home in nearly two months. But this party was being thrown by the mayor, and everyone attending tonight would be, in John’s view, important. I said cheerfully, “Of course!”
“Because if it’s too much for you right now—”
I laughed. “Too much small talk? Too many watery cocktails? I’m pretty sure I can survive a few hours of it.”
“Okay.” He sounded relieved. “Great. I’ll see you around six. Are you a—”
I knew he was about to ask where I was and what I was doing, and I had given my word I would never lie to him again, so I cut him off quickly. “Where are you? Did you go into the office?”
“Yes. I thought I might as well catch up on some paperwork.”
“I feel terrible. You need a day off.”
“I’ll have tomorrow.” I could hear the faint smile in his voice. “We’ll both have tomorrow.”
“I like the way you think. Hey, I have to go. I’ll see you tonight. Love you.” I disconnected, then sank back against the upholstery of the Uber and exhaled a long breath.
Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?
If Edward Darquez was Eddie Darksoul, John would not be happy with me sticking my nose in police business, but at least he would have the information he needed. And if Edward Darquez was not Eddie Darksoul, John would never need to know about my little fishing expedition.
It wasn’t that I wanted to play amateur sleuth—there were few things I wanted less. But if this guy really was Craft and really was involved in a citywide extortion ring, I needed to know that so that I could bring it to the attention of the Société du Sortilège, who could then inform the hierarchy of whatever tradition Darksoul belonged to.
Not that it was the society’s job to police other traditions. Such meddling would never be tolerated, except in this kind of situation where the bad behavior of one lone wolf was liable to result in exposure of Craft itself. The one precept that is universal to all traditions is the tenth: In our silence lies our safety.
Or as my friends and I used to joke: First rule of Witch Club? You don’t talk about Witch Club.
I couldn’t forget the scintilla of magic on the envelope I had received or the fact that whoever had broken into our house last night had used spellcraft. If witches were involved in this thing, and that seemed increasingly likely to me, it was a big fucking deal and needed to be dealt with as quickly as possible—and in-house, as we say.
It was street parking only in front of 1390 Broadway. I climbed out of the Uber, opened my umbrella, and jogged around the wet-beaded cars parked bumper-to-bumper on the steep hill.
The wide entrance to the dark-blue building was gated, and no one answered the buzzer, which was annoying. I glanced over my shoulder, looked up at the windows—most of them covered by blinds or drapes. I collapsed my umbrella, tucked it under my arm, raised my hands in front of the door handle.
“Ticktock, turn the lock.”
I didn’t expect any wards or protection spells, and I was not disappointed. The lock clicked over, the steel handle turned, the silver gate swung open in well-oiled invitation.
I stepped inside.
There was no one inside the elevators. I met no one on the third floor.
The building looked—and smelled—like it had been built in the twenties. Though there were thirty-six units, no one seemed to be around. Granted, it was not the weather for loitering in damp, drafty hallways.
I found #34 without much trouble and knocked on the door. I could hear rain thundering down on the roof, children laughing in the apartment on the right, and MSNBC blasting in the apartment on the left. Apartment #34 remained silent.
I knocked again.
The scent of baking pumpkin-spice muffins wafted down the chilly hall.
I was just starting to get uneasy—I’ve had bad experience with people not answering my knock—when the door suddenly flew open and a mostly naked man in camo briefs and an aqua gel sleep mask pushed up like a headband glared at me.