Arrest, Search and Séance : Book 1 of the Fringe Society, R.D. Hunter [good english books to read txt] 📗

damage and glowering at me like it was somehow my fault. Then he crossed over to his boss, who had stood up by this point and looking at me in shock.

“How’d you do that?” he asked, his veneer of professionalism stripped away to show the man underneath. I shrugged.

“I…saw that she was about to trip and warned you,” I said unconvincingly. “That’s all.” It sounded like bullshit, even to my ears, and even Bill seemed unnerved by it all.

Mason looked at me for a long moment, while the poor secretary apologized over and over again as she began cleaning up the spill. At last, he inclined his head in thanks, and we made our exit.

I was shaken. Whatever had happened in that room, it hadn’t been natural, and I had a sudden insight into what Mason’s ‘crises of faith’ might be. But it didn’t concern me. I had enough irons in the fire already.

“So, that was weird,” Bill said on the elevator ride down.

“You never seen spilled coffee before?” I asked, maybe a little more defensively than need be.

“I meant the interview. I can see why Mason would want to keep it private, if he was hiring a spiritual adviser. It makes him seem vulnerable, which is something powerful business guys like him tend to avoid. But hiring a piece of shit like Hawkins is a mistake in anyone’s book. And Harold Mason isn’t the type to go around making those kinds of mistakes.” I shrugged, trying not to think about the wave of negative energy that had washed over the room shortly before the accident. Could it be influencing Mason in his decision making? I’d have to ask Gramps about that.

“Well, whatever the reason, Hawkins lied to us. He never submitted a report to Mason, which means that the only person who knew Nichole Barret was a wi…err, Wiccan, was him.” Bill glanced over at me with a raised eyebrow.

“You looking at that for a motive?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone was murdered for their religious practices.” But it’d damn well be the last in my city, if I had anything to say about it, I added silently.

Hawkins’ office building looked the same as we’d seen it yesterday, except for a bright, new sign in the front declaring “UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT. PROPERTY OF MASON INDUSTRIES.” I couldn’t help but smile a little. The man worked fast.

Bill and I took the stairs. The shaky elevator from our last visit was still fresh in our minds and we didn’t want to tempt fate any more than was necessary. There was no sign on the Hawkins’ door declaring him out of the office, so Bill knocked politely while I stood off to the side.

There was no warning. None. Just an explosion of force and sound that threw me back down the hall and showered me with bits of wood, metal and glass. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. My whole body was an alien mass of pain that I had no control over. What the hell had happened? Where was Bill?

Gradually, I became aware of a presence standing over me. It took all of my will to focus my eyes, and when I did, I beheld the startling visage of Darren Hawkins glaring down at me. Except, it wasn’t him as I remembered him yesterday.

His once brown eyes had turned a sickly yellow and his hair was splayed out in all directions. He wore no shirt, which allowed me to see his bare arms and torso and the many charged and glowing crystals he had embedded in his skin. There were dozens of them, each humming at a different frequency that only my magical senses could pick up. At least those still worked.

I struggled for my gun, but my arm moved slowly and erratically, not understanding the mixed signals sent to it from my addled brain. Hawkins watched me for a few moments, then bent down so close I could smell the stale coffee on his breath. The sound of doors opening up and down the obliterated hallway reached my ears and I heard the clamor of alarmed voices.

Oh, good. Witnesses. Hawkins must not have been keen on performing for a crowd, because he looked up for a moment, then glared back down at my limp form.

“You’re a lucky bitch, you know that,” he said between gritted teeth. “I was looking forward to finishing you off, but I guess that’ll have to wait. I’m about to rain down hellfire on every freak in this burg tonight. Then, I’ll be the only magical game in town. Stay out of my way and, if you’re lucky, I might forget about you. Cross me again, and you can join your friend I left in her tub. This is the only warning you’ll get.”

He stepped over me, not even changing his stride as I tried in vain to grab his leg and detain him. Then he was gone, and a few seconds later, so was I.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 

I’ve woken up in a hospital twice in my life. The first time was when my parents died. The second, I was in the fifth grade on an overnight school trip and my appendix decided to burst. If I’d been at home, Gramps could likely have taken care of it himself. But Mrs. Punkle, my teacher, was a practical woman who didn’t believe in magic, so to the hospital and into surgery I went. Both times, when I’d come to, Gramps had been there by my bedside. This was the third.

“How are you feeling, My Dear?” he asked, wiping my forehead with a cool, damp cloth. It smelled faintly of lavender, and I had a feeling it was soaked in more than regular water.

I thought about it. Everything hurt, but it was a distant ache, like I’d worked out