The Reeds had lived in a sprawling old mansion in the Prairie Avenue Historic District, the same neighborhood where Black now lived. Photos from before and after the fire showed flowers, balloons, and other mementos left by those who apparently worshipped (some literally) Sorcha or who hoped she might perform posthumous miracles. Proving, once again, that humans were deeply fucked up.
The Reed house burned to the ground about twelve years after Sorcha’s death. It had been empty at the time of the fire; the Reeds had had no children, but some legal issue had kept part of the Reeds’ large fortune, including the house, tied up in a Dickensian legal knot, so the house couldn’t be sold or passed on to a fourth cousin.
The house stood, at least for a few years, like a monument totheir evil. The fire was determined to be arson because accelerants had been found at the scene. But there was no suspect, and the authorities had no idea who might’ve waited more than a decade to take out some grievance against the couple.
“The house was razed a few months later, when the investigation was complete. No suspect was ever found. The lot was empty for a long time. Until a few years ago, when this house was built on that empty lot.”
I showed them the picture I’d found.
Of Jonathan Black’s house.
“I don’t know what this means,” Roger said.
“In the abstract,” I said, “maybe not much. But when you put the pieces together, and going by our office motto that there are no coincidences, a sorcerer with a mysterious past chose to build his house on the same spot where a powerful and notorious sorceress had previously lived.”
“Wait,” Connor said. “I thought his house was old.”
“It’s not,” Petra said, her frown visible on-screen. “Built only a few years ago according to the county website.”
“To build in that neighborhood,” Roger said, “you’d have to go through a lot of hoops. The house would have to look era appropriate or the builder wouldn’t be able to get the permits.”
“So, we think Black had some kind of obsession with Sorcha?” Lulu asked.
“Maybe not with her,” I said. “Maybe hermagic. If we’re right that something’s weird about his magic, maybe he thought there was something in her magic, and in that spot, that would help him.”
“You’ve been to the house,” Connor pointed out. “Did you see anything?”
“I’ve beeninthe house,” I clarified. And remembering that I had watched Black munch breadsticks in his tidy kitchen mademe feel doubly unnerved. “It’s pretty and well decorated, although it wasn’t all unpacked the last time I was in it. He told me he’d just bought it. Looks like that was a lie.”
And then I thought about that walk around his yard. “The carriage house, though,” I murmured, and I looked at Connor. “Did you feel anything around the carriage house?”
He shook his head. “There was too much demon in the air to notice anything, but I wasn’t there long. Did you?”
“Yeah, it was light, though. And it wasn’t any particular flavor of magic. Just magic.”
“Wait,” Petra said. “What carriage house?” There was silence for a moment while she perused her screen. “On the west side?”
I had to orient myself to my mental map of the city. “Yeah. Edge of the property, I bet.”
“Got it. Boom,” she said. “According to the county records, that structure is original. I mean, it was part of the Reed house, and it wasn’t burned in the fire.”
“That’s our spot,” I said, and stood up.
“Where are you going?” Connor asked.
“To Black’s place and that carriage house. To see what’s in there.”
“He could be waiting for you.”
It would definitely be a problem if he was there with more demon friends. But he wouldn’t know we’d found this link, at least not yet.
“Roger,” I said, “is he at the house?”
“The CPD has a car sitting at it,” Roger said. “He hasn’t been seen tonight.”
“He doesn’t yet know that we know about the house’s history. And we need to take a look before he figures out we do.”
“I’ll get my jacket,” Connor said, and stood up.
