He spoke again. This time he was calmer, which made his magic less chaotic . . . and some of his words understandable. “Wife . . . Wrong . . . Unfaithful . . . Wasn’t . . . Wasn’t . . . Design . . . Please tell her . . .”
Tears gathered at Annabelle’s lashes, slipped down her cheeks. But she didn’t take her eyes off the man in front of her.
“I’ll tell her, Mr. Leeds,” she said, voice quiet but earnest. “I’ll make sure she understands. That’s my solemn oath to you.”
And then she reached forward and held out a hand, grasping his translucent one in hers, small sparks of lightning traveling between them. If the sensation hurt, she didn’t show it.
“Let your soul rest, Mr. Leeds. Let your mind and heart calm. Your message has been heard, and will be delivered, and you can depart from his earth and seek your rest. You can sleep now.”
The magic shifted, softened. By listening to this man, by doing that simplest and most important of favors, she’d changed him. Even as he drew his hand away, his image began to fade, the hazy magic diffusing into the darkness. He lay down on the grass again, and drifted away.
Silence fell, and we honored it long enough that crickets began to chirp nearby.
After a moment, Annabelle wiped her cheeks and turned back to us.
“Thank you for sharing that with us,” Ethan said, breaking the silence. “It was . . .” He seemed to struggle for words. “Quite a thing to see.”
“You’re welcome. They aren’t often as visible. He was trying really, really hard to talk.”
“Can we ask what he told you?”
She started to speak, but stopped and pressed her lips together, working to control her emotions. “He died after a car accident. Earlier that day, his wife had seen him with another woman. When he was in the hospital, before he passed, he heard her say she believed he was having an affair. But he wasn’t. The woman was a jewelry designer. Her name was Rosa de Santos, and he was having a special necklace made for his wife. He asked me to tell her all that. To tell her that Rosa has her necklace.”
“Oh, damn,” I said quietly, tears threatening me as well. We worried about our own, our Novitiates, our House, when there were a million tiny tragedies every day. And as Annabelle’s work tonight had proven, a million tiny miracles.
“Yeah,” she said. “I have a lot of nights like this. But I’ll call Mrs. Leeds, and tell her about Rosa and the necklace. She’ll grieve again; it’s inevitable. But now the fog across her memories, the fear of infidelity, will be gone.”
“We’ll let you get to that,” Ethan said. “And we’ll get back to our search.”
“You know,” she said, glancing toward the south, “if there are any maverick supernaturals around here, you might find them in Hellriver. The chemicals shouldn’t hurt immortals, and there are plenty of sups who just don’t care about that kind of thing. Where better to wheel and deal than in a neighborhood like Hellriver?”
“And since the CPD doesn’t risk its officers’ health by sending them into Hellriver,” Ethan said, “there’s protection for them.”
Annabelle nodded. “They do sweeps once a year or so. Usually around Christmas. Charitable types will come around, shuffle any remaining humans into shelters, and the cops will follow, round up any stragglers. But when the holidays pass, there’s not so much goodwill, and temps get cold again, people find their way back into the houses.”
Living on the edge, Ethan said silently to me. Much like Caleb Franklin. He glanced at Annabelle. “How do you know so much about it?”
She smiled. “I come across all types, and I pick up information here and there, file it away. Context is important in my business. You never know what information you’ll need. The folks who request my services aren’t always on the up-and-up. And, frankly, ’mancers like to talk. This job can be dangerous. We try to keep each other aware.”
“Any idea where in Hellriver the sups might be?”
“No, sorry. I stay out of there physically.” She patted her belly, as if her touch would protect her child from the darkness around her. “Especially with Peanut, who is currently again kickboxing my internal organs. Enough already, kid.”
“We’ll let you get back to work,” Ethan said. “If you do hear anything, could you let us know?”
“Of course,” she said with a smile, and we exchanged numbers.
“It was a pleasure meeting you.” Annabelle smiled and offered a hand.
I looked instinctively down, realized the skin of her palm was dotted with hundreds of black dots the size of pinpricks. When I looked at them, she looked down, squeezed her fingers.
“Each handshake with a client leaves a mark,” she explained. “Not all ’mancers do it; they don’t like the permanent reminder of death. But it’s important for me to keep a memento of the ones I’ve spoken to. They trust me, and I take that trust very seriously.”
I had no doubt of that. I took her hand, shook it. “I’m really glad we got to meet you, Annabelle.”
“I’m glad you did, too. Be safe. And stay away from ghouls if you can.”
I intended to, absolutely.