“A variety of ways. I can track it to a degree with the compass.” He took it out and showed it to her. “From there, I look for news stories and read police blotters. It always kills at least two people, often more, but never just one.”
The round compass looked like an antique brass pillbox, but it was indeed a compass when Amber opened it. One that had seen better days. It was scratched and marred and beat up, much like its owner. Four tiny, amber jewels indicated the four directions: north, south, east, and west.
It emitted an otherworldly heat, but before she could examine it further, Quentin took it back and closed the lid.
“The Secret Guard gave that to you?”
“Not exactly. More like they allowed me to keep it. To help with my investigations.”
“You mean, you found that?”
He hesitated, his face forming a thoughtful frown, and said, “In a way, yes. But I had help.”
“And the dagger?”
“I had help finding that, too.”
“But it’ll kill the demon?”
“If I can get in a good swing, yes. I just need to eat.” He was looking a little peaked, his pallor ghostly as though his strength were waning, and Amber straightened in her chair as alarm crept through her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said, almost seeming annoyed that she’d asked. Asshat.
The entire time they spoke, Kyle had kept busy scribbling notes. It was what he did. Quentin glared at him, but Kyle missed it, he was so busy transcribing their conversation.
“Hey,” she said to Quentin, her tone warning, “don’t get mad at him. He’s just doing his job.”
“And what exactly does he do for you?”
The way he said it, as though he were jealous in some way, took her by surprise. She leaned forward and said, “He’s done more for me than you ever did.” That was a lie, but he didn’t need to know that.
He bit down and looked at his watch, then toward the kitchen in annoyance. “I need to get back. Anyone with a key could open that front door now.”
“That’s bad?”
“I contained the demon inside the salt circle. If anyone opens that door, they’ll break it, and the demon will escape.”
“Crap. Hopefully, the police tape will keep the family out.”
“My family,” Dora said softly. “What they must be going through.”
“I’m sorry, hon.”
She clasped her hands together and averted her gaze.
Kyle stopped scribbling and looked at her, his expression anxious. “Ms. Kowalski, I hate to bring this up, but you have an appointment at two.”
Amber pressed her palms to her eyes and then scrubbed her face. “Crap. Mrs. Harmon.” There went two hundred bucks she really could’ve used. And if she didn’t get ahold of the woman to reschedule, she could lose her business for good. Yet, a demon was holding her phone hostage.
“Mrs. Harmon?” Quentin asked.
“Her best client,” Kyle said and then snorted. “Woman’s crazy.” When Quentin merely glared at him, Kyle cleared his throat and went back to taking notes.
What the actual hell? What did he have against Kyle?
But Dora leaned in, intrigued. “You’re investigating something for her?”
Amber shook her head. “Not exactly. I read her cards. It’s what I do. Kind of. Like an on-the-side thing.”
“Really? Can you read mine?” she asked, her eyes bright with fascination.
“I don’t… I mean, I’ve never tried to read the cards for a departed.” But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. “Let’s give it a shot. Maybe something will come up that’ll explain all of this.”
Dora gasped in excitement and squirmed in her chair, but Amber remembered one pertinent detail: Her cards were with her phone, which was in her purse, which was in Dora’s house, which was currently occupied by a bloodthirsty demon. Still, it wasn’t like she used real tarot cards anyway. The cards she used were completely blank. Black on one side, white on the other. She didn’t actually read them. She used them as a tool to dive, as she called it. To delve into the person’s life. Into their psyche. Their past and present and future. But she did need something. It was more in the movement, the flipping of the cards.
She looked around. The napkins weren’t quite right, but the coasters… “Perfect.” She gathered the four coasters on the table, the round ones with The Mine Shaft Cantina written on them. The backs were blank, a dark brown. They would work, but she might need... She leaned over and asked Hawaii if she could borrow his.
He lifted a shoulder, so she scooped them up and straightened in her chair, all under the watchful gaze of Quentin Rutherford. And now, Hawaii, who was suddenly very interested, though he pretended not to be.
That was okay. The fact that she would have to talk to air? Oh, well. She’d looked mad before. She should fit right in here.
Dora was on her right. “Okay, just concentrate on me. I’m not sure if I can do this, but I’ll try.”
“Gotcha. Concentrate. I am so there.”
She tapped the coasters, seven in total, straightening them in her hands and then focusing on Dora. She really was a lovely woman. Short and curvy, she looked younger than her age, which she’d confessed during their initial interview was a surprising fifty-five.
She drew in a deep breath and relaxed. Or she tried to. It was harder than she thought it would be, thanks to her audience. Not Hawaii. Quentin. The blistering, scruffy sexpot keeping a close eye on everything she did.
Then again, maybe it was the town. The mystical merry-go-round called Madrid, emphasis on the Mad. Maybe its energies were short-circuiting hers.
She wiggled her shoulders and tried again, shaking off any negativity—like, say, the kind radiating from the delicacy sitting across from her. Concentrating on Dora’s kind eyes, Amber focused on her goal to help the woman. To help everyone in the town. Who knew who could be next if the demon escaped? But the question popped into her head again. Why these three people? In this town? There had to be a connection. Something must have lured the demon to them.
Amber put the coasters in her left hand, printed side up, and slid the top one to the side with her thumb, all while pushing out any and all emotion. She then took the coaster in her right hand and flipped it. The movement caused a slight breeze on the air, like a butterfly’s wings, and the familiar action stopped time. At least, in her head. Everything around her faded away as she put the coaster on the table in front of her client. Her lids became heavy. The noise of the tavern sounded like it was underwater. And she saw through Dora’s eyes.
Knowing time was pressing, she searched quickly. Dora’s memories were lovely. She’d had a good life. Lots of friends and a family who truly cared for each other. But three events stood out. Three tragedies.
The first was a car accident when she was a little girl. The one in which she’d lost her beloved father. She remembered it. The screeching of the tires. The loud, solid crash as another car T-boned them. The glass spraying across her face and arms.
There was simply life before and life after. It divided her existence into two separate parts and took a year for her to be able to get into a car again.