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I blew my breath out. “She had to know. It doesn’t feel new. And I think I screwed up colossally by having all the wards taken down.” But I felt a renewed flare of annoyance at my aunt. Why couldn’t she have fucking told me about this? Surely a weakness in the fabric between the spheres was something that I needed to know about.
“Why didn’t your aunt tell you about this?” Jill asked in an echo of my thoughts.
I gripped my hair, then shook my head. “Probably the same reason that so many people don’t have wills. They don’t want to consciously think that they won’t have time to put things in order. Nobody wants to think about how sudden and unfair death can be. Everyone thinks that they’ll have those last few minutes to gasp out their final instructions.” I sighed. “Now I need to redo the wards as best I can and then summon a demon who can put them back as soon as possible.” I scowled. It was nowhere near a full moon, which meant that it would be a bitch to summon anything decent. And more dangerous.
“Well, let me get this crap over with,” I said. “Hopefully I can do enough to keep anything else from coming out.” Jill stepped back, and I focused on pulling enough potency to weave the protections I needed. It came to my control slowly, like taffy on a cold day, reminding me that I wasn’t exactly at my strongest. I hissed through my teeth as I shaped the sluggish energy, cautiously probing at the weak spot. I wasn’t sure I wanted any of my wards to actually touch the weakness, just in case it could be warped or shifted, so I compromised and made a little dome of energy over it. After finishing that, I backed out of the library and set another level of wards—both keep-out and keep-in wards.
I sighed as I looked them over. I sucked at crafting wards, but I had a shred of confidence that they would hold until I could summon something that could place some more-robust protections. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and looked at my moon-phase calendar, even though I knew that it was only a week past the full. Another week until there was no moon. I’d have to give it a try then.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said to Jill, as I replaced the aversion on the front door. “I think we’ve done enough damage for one day.”
Chapter 21
It didn’t feel like a Sunday. I was used to my weekends flying by, over before I could even blink, but so much had happened in the past two days that I kept thinking it should be Wednesday at least. Or September.
But now time had slowed back down to a non-frenetic pace, and I had a list of crap that I needed to get done, plus some stuff that I merely wanted to get done. I was pleasantly sore from my trip to the gym the other day—just enough achiness to remind me that I liked having a few muscles—and I really didn’t want to gain back the pudge. So before I could talk myself out of it, I headed to the gym, taking the risk that I’d be shocking the people who worked there by showing up twice in one week.
At eight a.m. on a Sunday morning, the gym was practically deserted, unlike last time. With only a handful of people in the weights area, I was able to throw myself into my workout, welcoming the burn and the sweat as I attempted to drive away all of my uncertainties and insecurities.
At this rate, I was going to end up with six-pack abs.
“You’re making the rest of us look bad,” I heard from behind me as I waited for my pulse to slow between sets. I turned, reaching for my towel to wipe my sweaty face. A good-looking man gave me a friendly smile. I knew him, but my oxygen-starved brain refused to supply me with the information. “It’s a Sunday,” he said, smile widening. “Here we are talking about football and avoiding yard work, and you’re working up enough sweat for all of us.”
I grinned, flattered at the mild flirtation, just as the lightbulb went off over my head: Holy shit, this is Judge Roth. I’d seen him only in court or at the funeral, and he looked far different—and far more approachable—in simple shorts and a T-shirt.
“Sorry,” I said, still smiling. “But if y’all can’t keep up with me, that’s not my fault.”
He laughed. “I should know better than to tangle with strong women. There’s no way to win!” Then he gave me a more appraising look. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before. I’m Harris Roth,” he said, extending his hand. “Are you new here?”
I shook his hand. He had a nice, warm grip. “Kara Gillian.” I briefly debated mentioning that we’d met in passing in court, but then decided that would bring up too much other unpleasantness. “I’ve been a member here for a while, but my attendance is sporadic.”
He gave my hand a squeeze and then released it. “Good to meet you, Kara. I won’t keep you from your workout any longer, but I do hope to see you here again.” With that, he gave me another charming smile and turned away. I finished the rest of my workout quickly, bemused and more than a little stunned that I’d been seen as someone worth flirting with. Especially since I didn’t dress in the Cardio Barbie spandex attire that most of the other women here favored. My workout clothing consisted of running shorts, a Jogbra, and a T-shirt. Sexy.
I headed to the locker room and retrieved my gym bag. I’d just turned to head toward the shower area when a blond woman in perfect makeup sidled up to me—dressed in exactly the kind of spandex getup that I wouldn’t be caught dead in. To give the woman credit, though, it was obvious that she put in a lot of time and effort—and perhaps some surgical enhancement—to have the kind of body that looked damn good in spandex.
“I know you don’t know me,” she said in a low voice, “but I wanted to give you a bit of warning about Harris Roth.”
I looked at her expectantly. The expression on her face seemed sincere enough. “It’s none of my business, I know,” she continued, “but I’ve seen him charm his way into the pants of a lot of pretty girls. And he really doesn’t care what may happen to them afterward.”
It took me a couple of seconds to find my voice. “Um, thanks. But I have no intention of sleeping with him.”
She gave me a wry smile. “I’m glad you think so. But, trust me, he’s a charmer. Anyway, you seem sweet and I didn’t want to see someone else get screwed by Harris.”
My cop sense lit up like a Christmas tree. “Who else has been screwed by him?”
She hesitated, then shrugged. “Well, she’s not around anymore, so I guess it’s not too terrible to gossip.” The woman did a quick glance-around, then lowered her voice even further. “He had an affair with Elena Sharp, and then her husband kicked her out!”
I blinked. This was a far cry from the story that Elena had spun for me. “Wow.” Now it was my turn to do the furtive glance around. “And didn’t Harris’s son kill his wife and then himself?”
She sighed. “Yeah, that was awful. I mean, Harris is a bit of a sleazeball ‘playa,’ but that was a horrible thing to have happen.” I heard a bustle of women’s voices coming into the locker room, and the blonde stepped back. “Anyway,” she said, “I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were getting into.”
I gave her a grave nod, hiding my bemusement. “I appreciate that. I’m sorry, what was your name again?”
“Becky. Becky Prejean.” She gave me a wink and then scuttled off in a flash of spandex and artificial breasts.
I took my shower and dressed, thankfully unaccosted, but my mind kept turning over the tidbits of information. Elena and Harris, huh? Well, she did say she was attracted to powerful men. Yet another interesting twist.
But was it true? I headed out to my car and cranked the AC up, then called the dispatcher and asked for a local address for a Becky or Rebecca Prejean, white female, approximately mid-thirties.
