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  Lucas kissed the top of her head, murmuring into her hair, “Normal is relative. You don’t need them to do good.”

  Wistfulness tinged her words. “They are the gold standard in good.”

  Red had lost her memories, but she had still remembered the Brotherhood when she woke up in that Oregon hospital. That was all she wanted—to be a shield for humanity. With her tiny drip of power, she’d never be a hero with a capital H like the ones trained by the Chiron branch of the Brotherhood, but she could still help people. She had traveled all over the west with Vic. They’d helped the people with problems too small for the Brotherhood. Some were bounties, money sent by a cash-rich but hero-poor ancient order, but others were just because Red was there and she could do something.

  As a realist, she knew that the blanks in her memories might have terrible answers. Vic had told her that point blank on their first meeting even without seeing the extent of the scars on her body. She had no control over the past, but she could control herself now. Brushing up against Nevaeh Morgan and Maxwell’s dark magic only made her want to fight evil even more. Prove herself as a force for good in the Brotherhood.

  Breaking her from her thoughts, Lucas rubbed her back in soothing circles. “Sod ‘em. Most like this is some secret society hard-to-get horseshit. Reject you a few times, then welcome you in to learn a fancy handshake.”

  Red buried her face in Lucas’s chest. She curled tighter around him, drawing in strength from the feel of him, before she could lift her face again. “I don’t know how much I can talk about it yet. Raw is an understatement. I just…” She bit her lip.

  “How about I just hold you while you watch the wizard boy?” Lucas stroked her arm.

  A sob caught in her throat as she nodded. That was exactly what she needed. She had kept Vic going after his disability, fought warlocks, and saved cities. She did it with a quip and kept doing it. Night after night, Red had to be ready. Now, all she wanted was someone else to be the strong one.

  “Just lie back,” he murmured, holding her close.

  The little spoon on the wide couch, Red sighed as she entwined her fingers with Lucas’s. The buzz in her head gradually settled into a low hum. She tried to only think about the fantasy of a boy who lived instead of the reality of a dream that died. The ending credit theme soared as she dozed on his chest.

  Weak winter sun shone over the blanket as Red blinked awake in a mental fog. The dazed reprieve lasted all of five seconds before the last night’s events hit her. Turns out vampires didn’t accept “a dark witch stole my body” as an excuse for rampaging through a nightclub. Tonight, Red faced a tribunal of the Blood Alliance for breaking the Dark Veil.

  Turning over, limbs flopping in defeat already, Red stared at her alarm clock across the empty right side of the bed. Green digits, squared like gravestones, warned her. She had nine hours and not enough minutes to make a difference.

  Chapter Three

  January 21st, Late Afternoon, California Sunrise Apartments, Culver City, Los Angeles, California

  Vic wheeled out of his room into the living area. “You look like someone died.” He was hunched and scruffy in sweatpants, the dark bags under his eyes declaring that the last night had done him in. Coughing, he patted his chest, then squinted. “Did someone?”

  Licking her lips, Red looked up from her journal. Tea and angst had fueled her scribbling as she strove to soothe her fraying nerves, but she had pulled out of the writing flow when she’d heard his electric wheelchair stirring in his room. Yarn and pens littered the island counter. She had started the morning stress-knitting until she had moved on to journaling in her list of sanity-making activities. Normal people called them hobbies.

  Zooming over, Vic picked up the yarn ball. “Did you get more of this? We still have all that origami paper.”

  “I’m still figuring out my hobbies.” Red put her pen down. This was a safe topic. Better to let the hungover bard wake up before she hit him with the bad news. “Origami just wasn’t one of them. Neither was bowling or yoga.”

  “You were good at bowling!” Vic pointed out.

  “That league was weird even before the Jinn joined.” Slumped on her elbow, she flipped her notebook closed. How long would she let Vic distract her from breaking the news? Could she stall until lunch arrived? The harsh light of day had finally found her. It was only down from here.

  His forehead puckered. Worry edged into his sleepy eyes. “We’re bantering, and you still look like the sheriff is coming at dawn. Tell me.”

  She had brooded on what she would say to him all morning. The carefully composed speech dissolved in her brain. She winced as the bald truth escaped her lips. “The Brotherhood rejected me.”

  “What? Did you go behind my back to take the written? Little shit.” Vic wagged his finger, amused. “Don’t worry. Everyone gets rejected the first time. Then you apply again, pass it, and on to the practical. Maybe reason with a leprechaun or something.” He shook his head, chuckling. “They are more Irish mob than Tinkerbell, FYI.”

  Red stood, choking up as his excitement bubbled. “You don’t get it. I was rejected. Full stop, as they say in Merry Old England. Fat Crispin video called me about it.”

  “Video call?” Vic blinked. “No, none of this makes sense. Any hunter off the street can take the challenge. And after we took down the one-eyed bastard who killed his daughter, he owes you. He owes us.”

  “They heard what Michel said that night to me. Fat Crispin couldn’t say more, but he was spooked.”

  His mouth twisted. Vic slammed his fist on his armrest. “That’s bullshit! You’ve done more in the field than most of those crusty fish and chip eaters in their ivory tower ever have.”

  “You asked me why I stopped practicing magic. This is it. I have everyone judging me because of a woman I never met.” Avoiding his gaze, Red stared at their framed picture on the wall. A Christmas gift, it had been taken on Cannon Beach in Oregon before a hunt. That was the life she wanted. She didn’t want to be a witch anymore—especially not the doppelgänger of a dark one.

  Vic zoomed to Red, patting her arm. He cleared his throat. “Hey, they suck. That’s why I don’t wave my bard flag anymore. I stick with the hunters in the field—people who are doing shit. That includes you.”

  “They think I’m a risk.” Head drooping, her chin brushed her chest. The good guys thought she was bad. Even after a night’s sleep, it still felt like a stake through the heart.

  Wiping his slack mouth, Vic gathered his thoughts. He brushed back his sleep-tousled mullet, nervousness imprinted in the gesture. “Did Fat Crispin say that? Because old Jake is careful with his words.”

  “No, but I got the message anyway.” Red turned away, goosebumps rising. How could she explain to him that there was a small part of her that didn’t think the Brotherhood was out of line to be worried even if it was based on a lie? Juniper St. James had betrayed the order once upon a time. History could repeat itself.

  “Hey, cut the shit.” Vic poked her arm. “You’re not her. You’re my intern.”

  Like a referee calling timeout, a knock sounded on the living room door. The casual holler drifted through the wood. “Got some lo mein.”

  Red went to answer the delivery, grateful for something other than Vic’s crushed expression. He had been so gung-ho about being a proper mentor for the challenge and making up for all the times he said he’d half-assed it before. She had wanted to make him proud, but all she‘d managed to get right was the lunch order. “I figured you’d be up soon, so I got you some too.”

  Their usual Old Shanghai delivery man stood outside in the open-air hallway, holding their tightly bagged takeout cartons.

  “Thanks, Bill.” Red took the bags, heat escaping the takeout boxes.

  “Hey, I know this is personal, but I just wanted to say that it looks like you two are doing better.” Bill’s nervous thin lips twisted into a smile, his eyes kindly.

  Taken aback, Red raised her eyebrow and sai
d slowly, “Oh, thank you?”

  “You guys order a lot so it’s like the whole restaurant has followed the journey with you and your husband. With the chair and all. We’re rooting for you.” The deliveryman beamed. “That’s why we put in extra wontons.”

  Red blinked, too surprised to even say that Vic wasn’t her partner like that. “Wow, that’s super nice.”

  “See you tomorrow.” The deliveryman smiled and waved as he walked away.

  Red closed the door, checking the food. She couldn’t decide if she felt validated or self-conscious. Were they ordering too much Chinese? That was the weird part about staying in one place. People began to know you. She couldn’t even imagine what their crotchety next-door neighbor Mrs. Morales thought of them.

  “We’re getting pity wontons.” Vic crossed his arms. “We need to find a new takeout place. Let’s switch it up and start ordering from Thai the Knot.”

  “It’s sweet. They think we’re improving as people.” Red could only imagine how they must have seemed when they first moved in, licking their wounds after Halloween. The fall had turned into winter in a flurry of doctor visits, settling into the apartment, and dealing with new jobs at Quinn Investigations. Old Shanghai might as well have been their kitchen. With her mysterious inheritance, takeout didn’t hurt the wallet like it used too.

  “I suppose you’re right. Free is free.” Vic followed her into the attached kitchen.

  “On the bright side, we look like well-adjusted members of society now.” Red put the bags on the counter and unwrapped them. She tried to keep a straight face. It crumbled into giggles.

  Tossing his head back, laughter drudged up from his belly. He leaned on his wheelchair, holding his side, then swiped under his eye. “Oh, yeah, those few therapy sessions really did the trick.”

  “I’m over the whole amnesiac mystery heiress doppelgänger thing.” Red lifted her arms. She snarked to herself—she had definitely processed the supernatural soap opera that was her life. No confusion or conflict there. All blue skies, baby.

  “Yup. Perfectly stable, we are.” Vic chuckled. “All our bathroom towels match, even. Hand towels too. We’re adulting.”

  “We’re trying though!” Red clutched her chest to calm her giggles. She pointed at him with a mock-serious expression. “Admit it.”

  Chin wobbling as he held in his mirth, Vic stroked his stubble. “The deliveryman is willing to give us points for effort.”

  “No, we are. We’ve truly become California people by finding a shrink. I’ve been meditating. You’re back at church. Made a normie friend, even.” Red tapped his shoulder in a friendly punch.

  “Luis is the inspirational Marine that gets invited on The Ellen Show. I don’t know why he puts up with me when all I do is drag him to strip clubs for pity lap dances.” Vic shrugged.

  Red looked askance at him. “So, you won’t take pity wontons, but lap dances are cool?”

  “Obviously.” Vic laughed. “He’s really trying hard to draft me for his wheelchair basketball team. He’s noticed my gains in the gym.” He sniffed, discretely flexing his bicep in his spaceship-covered Orville T-shirt that she had gotten him for Christmas.

  Pretending to oo and ahh over his muscles, she laughed. “That’s awesome. See, we’re doing it. You’ll have basketball and I’ll...” She trailed off. The pause lingered too long, like an old bulldog fart.

  Vic smiled like polite company waiting through a social snafu, worry hiding in his gaze.

  Red crossed her arms, bouncing on her heels, chin lifting robotically. She tried to stay upbeat and calm but felt more like an embarrassed host putting out a kitchen fire at a dinner party. “You know, keep doing my thing.”

  “Hey, you got a good thing. It’s unlicensed by any governing body, but that makes you a rebel in the supernatural gig economy. You’re a rogue hunter who has to use my password to access the Bard database.” Vic’s tone flattened as he winced, visibly realizing that his attempt at comforting had failed. He tried again after a long beat. “You’ll pull through this, Red. Lots of great hunters don’t even bother with the Brotherhood.”

  Red nodded. “I know. Just gotta prove them wrong. If I can show them who I really am…” She started to pace the kitchen. She had been thinking of how to get back on the Brotherhood’s good side. Her journal had a whole color-coded mind map about it. “I’ve got some more guesses for the name of that Oregon diner I teleported into with Basil when I was in the Dreamland. I can picture it so clearly, but I didn’t catch the name of the place. Everywhere I went in the Dreamland had a reason. The diner was the only place I couldn’t place. I just wished to go somewhere safe, then there I was. That has to mean something.”

  “I’m all for your journey of self-discovery, Red, but you don’t need to keep obsessing over online maps looking for a mystery greasy spoon.”

  “That could be my hometown diner. Maybe I worked there. I could have been a waitress.” Red shrugged before rubbing her forehead and sighing. “If I had a paper trail that wasn’t just mug shots and an account at a shady supernatural bank, maybe people wouldn’t be so quick to believe that I’m a future baddie.”

  “You’ve already proved them wrong about that.” Vic pulled a plate out of the dishwasher to hand to her. “Now, I’ll make more coffee and you dig into the pity wontons. You’ll need all the well wishes tonight.”

  Red started loading her plate with noodles. The nerves pinching her stomach had dissolved when she had finally confessed to Vic about the hunter’s challenge. She needed to eat before the next wave of nerves hit her. “Don’t remind me. I already filled out their stupid form, and now I have to deal with the Blood Alliance. Face to fang!”

  ---

  January 21st, After Sunset, Moon Enterprises, Inglewood, Los Angeles, California

  Red shivered from more than the winter’s chill when she stepped into the warmly lit lobby of Moon Enterprises. Decorated with inspirational murals and racks of public services brochures, you couldn’t tell that a gun battle had been fought here on Halloween. It looked like the same community center. Only the murals, updated from their original 70s splendor of earthy tones and bell-bottomed Black Panthers, had changed.

  Two guards in black stood at the elevator while a secretary typed at a large circular desk. The unnatural white of their teeth and the stillness of their chests made it clear that the night shift had started. After the sun set, the bottom floor drop-in center was cleared of humans. Except one.

  Detective Aisha Callaway loitered at the front desk. A shoulder holster bulged under her blue suit.

  Lucas put an arm around Red as he let the door close behind him. “I’ll walk with you until they kick me out.”

  Red leaned her head on his shoulder, sighing. “That would be now, I think.”

  The young detective’s relaxed hair hung in polished waves, but it was clear from the dark circles under her eyes that her new year had started rough. Aisha met them by the door, arms crossed and eyes darting around. “Lucas, I’m sorry, but Cora is only allowing Red up.”

  Lucas tensed. “I’m not on her payroll.”

  Detective Callaway’s face jerked down as if slapped.

  Glaring up at Lucas, Red wondered if she was going to have to worry about him going rogue and causing a scene. “No, but you are still one of her subjects.” She kissed Lucas on the cheek. She knew how much it galled him to feel helpless. He could do as much as she could against his kind’s laws. “Behave and I’ll meet you right here.”

  Glancing around, Lucas studied the guards. His irises flickered amber. “I’ll read an old magazine then.”

  Aisha Callaway gestured for Red to follow her.

  “You’re my guide tonight?” Red asked Aisha as she walked beside the other woman to the elevator. She glanced over her shoulder to see Lucas sit down in a waiting area with the air of a man plotting how to burn the building down.

  “No.” Aisha’s voice came out shaky. “I just had to be here.”

  “He
ard about the tribunal then?” Red shrugged, feeling even more like a condemned person with the melancholy cop at her side. They had both worked for vampires, but Red wouldn’t have traded places with the supreme’s vassal human in the LAPD. Quinn Investigations protected the innocent, not the secret that vampires existed. Red could tell that she slept better at night than Aisha.

  “I need to know if Cora can protect her people. Or will.” Callaway shook her head, lines deepening on her forehead, her lips twisted in disgust. “Since I’m on her payroll.”

  “Don’t listen to him.” Red eyed the bodyguards at the elevator as she stepped closer. If Aisha Callaway was concerned about Cora’s sway, it was nothing to the dread-filled curiosity that burned inside Red. “You’re doing what you need to do.”

  “That’s what I tell myself.” The detective looked away before a dry, bitter chuckle escaped her. “Not like I can quit. This is her town.”

  Opening her mouth to reply, Red closed it at Aisha’s terse head shake and followed her line of sight to the nearby vampires.

  Aisha introduced her to the guards before she shot Red a sad stare that hardened her youthful features. “Good luck, Red.”

  Quelling her trembles and smoothing down her dark conservative dress, Red followed the guards into the elevator. She would need more than luck tonight.

  ---

  “Stick to my script, baby girl, and Miss Cora will take care of you.” The Supreme Master Vampire of Los Angeles put her hand on top of Red’s from across the table. A brown afro framed a compassionate face. City lights from the windows fell on the rose quartz decorating her headband. The black, long-sleeved turtleneck hid her lack of a pulse.

  “It’s not so different.” Red nodded and shifted in her seat, smoothing her other hand over her skirt before placing the fidgeting digits on the table. Weeks ago, she had learned what Cora had wanted her to say about Nevaeh Morgan. Nerves made her palms sweat anyway. This would have been the perfect time to knit. If vampire tribunals allowed knitting. She hadn’t asked about bringing her new hobby to Moon Enterprises in the debrief, but she had the feeling that one didn’t knit in front of vampires.