AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He finished his drink, then changed out of his corset and garters and into his most prized possession—a pair of worn, comfy as sin blue jeans he’d rescued from a dumpster and patched a dozen times over. He yanked on a tank over his head, and over that, an equally comfy sweater he’d knitted last winter. He’d probably end up ditching the sweater, as he’d been unusually warm since last night, but until it became unbearable, his favorite soft garments would also help him focus. Grabbing his laptop out of the closet safe, he carried it into the living room, claimed the opposite end of the couch from where Atlas had stunk it up, and commenced excavation.
Hours passed with the daylight outside, the sun only coming close to his toes once, when it burned off the midafternoon fog for an hour or so and snuck in around the sides of the balcony blinds. By dusk, he’d ditched the sweater and was two seconds from ditching his laptop as well. He had little to show for his daylong efforts. Nothing about Adam Devlin—or Adam Levin, he’d checked—and only one article about Deborah and David Levin. It was in an obscure local newsletter, something the hired scrubber must have missed. They’d died in a fire in Talahalusi, the area north of Yerba Buena and the Bay. That was all Icarus could find about them or the incident. No survivors were listed, and no mention was made about whether the fire was natural, man-made, or magical. Talahalusi was a popular destination for Yerba Buena refugees. There was vegetation and agriculture, jobs and homes, and a thriving cultural scene. A different proposition than YB’s dreary fog, unstable ground, and magical mayhem or the twenty-four-seven, hyper-business scene of Portola, a grimy rat race powered by drugs and money with a highly polished, highly fake veneer. And don’t even get him started on the religious zealots farther south who would tie him and any other paranormal to the stake and roast them.
Talahalusi could be roasting too, though, with its increasingly long, increasingly hot summers. While much had been done in Talahalusi under the leadership of the local Indigenous communities to fight the effects of climate change, the lack of similar foresight and concern by those in the areas around them meant climate change was encroaching nonetheless, driving up Talahalusi’s average daily temperature, decreasing the rainfall, and sparking wildfires.
Maybe Deborah and David had died in one of those. Or maybe they’d died because their husband was a cop? Retaliatory arson? Something to do with Vincent? Adam spoke of vengeance to the raven and coyote. Against Vincent? Were their deaths in the past connected to whatever it was Vincent was planning in the present and what he needed the Devil out of the way for? Had Adam always been the Devil—had he always been Adam—or only since his need for vengeance pushed out whatever else remained? Or because he’d survived the fire? Like he’d survived that burning building last night? He was unscathed in either instance. Icarus hadn’t noticed any fresh burns or scars from old burns on him, but he’d only seen his torso; his lower half had remained covered the entire time.
He looked again at the picture accompanying the article. The Levins were slightly older in it than in the pictures on Adam’s mantel, and something about Deborah looked familiar. Long blond hair, honey-colored eyes, freckles. Recalling the pictures on the mantel, something about her had looked familiar in them too, but Icarus had been too caught up in surprises to process it then. Now, he was too caught up in frustration to make a connection.
Sighing, he set his laptop on the floor, stood from the couch, and snagged his phone off the charger. Drawing back the door blinds, he found a crow on the balcony rail outside. They were frequent visitors, having overrun the old golf courses in the area, but tonight he gave his visitor a closer look. Checked its beak—narrow, its tail—fan-shaped, the scruff of its neck—smooth, the color of its eyes—black.
Just a crow, then. Not a raven.
Nottheraven.
He slid the door open, and his visitor flew off with a parting caw. The bird didn’t go far, just to one of the lonely cypress trees beside an overgrown putting green, wobbling for several seconds until it found the point of equilibrium on the branch.
Caw.
“All right, then, bravo,” Icarus said, giving the bird its due.
Caw.
His chuckle eased the tightness in his chest and made it easier to punch in the numbers on his phone. He hung up after two rings, counted off thirty seconds, then dialed again.
“I was expecting your call,” a woman greeted.
The smirk in her voice made Icarus smile. “I need an excavation.”
“I taught you how to excavate.”
“Enough to check out my clients, though apparently, I’m not even good at that.”
The smirk vanished, concern coloring her words. “What happened?”
“Long story involving a stinky warlock and a hacked cock cage.”
“What?”
“Blackmail ensued.”
“What the ever-loving fuck, Icarus?”
He rolled his eyes and held the phone away from his ear as she continued her chiding. Once she’d blown out the well-placed, endearing concern, he brought the phone back to his ear. “Point is, what I need to know is beyond my capabilities.”
“About the warlock?”
“No, about someone who’s been erased.”
A ping sounded, a request for visual. He accepted, and her face filled the screen. She looked as worried as she sounded, eyes wide and brows halfway to her dyed-green hairline. She’d been wearing it that color since they were teens. A fucking beacon, unintentionally, and then intentionally because she liked giving the world the middle finger. And she chidedhimabout being reckless. He rolled his eyes.
She huffed. “Icarus...”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
He glanced away from the screen, back out at the weed-covered green and the crow still perched on the cypress branch, watching him as the evening grew darker. Reminding Icarus of the choices he’d made and the choices he’d closed off for good. Reminding him of last night. Making him wonder what choices Adam had made, what choices he had left, and how Icarus played into those. He returned his gaze to the woman onscreen. “I don’t.” She opened her mouth to protest, but Icarus continued before she got the chance. “But it’s more with this one. I want to know. I need to. Can you help me, please?”
