ChapterOne
“There’s been a mistake,” I rush out, stepping onto the porch and putting myself between Ethan and the police officer. Because therehasbeen a mistake. Ethan didn’t kill Patrick. A demon did.
But I can’t exactly explain that to the police.
“Anora,” Ethan says, voice steady. “It’s okay.” I feel him step close behind me and I turn my head, seeing him hold out his arms. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been arrested,” he reminds me quietly, but his words bring little comfort.
Instead, my heart skips a beat and I edge toward the first porch step, hardly aware I’m moving at all. My brain goes a million miles an hour, trying to think of how to handle this situation. Granted, all I have to go off of are the police interactions I’ve seen on TV.
Which is how I know that if the police have a warrant for Ethan’s arrest, then they already have evidence pointing toward him as being the murderer. I’m not going to be able to talk our way out of this. But I’m a witch, so why talk when I can cast spells?
Though again, standing here without my Book of Shadows or any magical items, there’s nothing I can do unless I want to summon fire and…and…probably end up getting shot.
“He didn’t kill anyone,” I say, trying to be careful in what I give away. There’s no reason we should know the details about Patrick’s death. After all, Ethan and I are just regular citizens as far as the police are concerned. They have no idea that I was the one who created a portal to take me to the prison dimension where the real murderer has been hiding for years.
Which is yet another thing I can’t say.
“That’s not for you to decide,” one of the officers says and reaches for his handcuffs. His eyes shift from me to Ethan, and then he stiffens when my German Shepherd, Hunter, calmly walks onto the porch. The officer next to him has his gun drawn and looks at Hunter as if he’s worried he’s going to get attacked. While a bullet won’t hurt my familiar, I’ll still be fucking pissed if a cop shoots my dog for just standing on the porch.
“I’m going to suggest we do this the easy way,” the officer holding the cuffs says and I want to roll my eyes at how cliché he sounds, but I don’t because I’m fucking terrified. Because this is bad. Really fucking bad.
Patrick died in a horrible way, found burned to death inside his apartment. The doors were locked, which I know can lead the police to believe he was killed by someone he knew who would have access to a key. And while Ethan and Patrick weren’t close, we had spoken to him recently…and I’d gotten into a heated argument with him.
Heated enough for Stephanie to accusemeof being the one who killed him with magic. As far as I know, no official report was made. Though if the police know Patrick and I had an unpleasant exchange, well, they could argue that's the motive for Ethan to kill him. But Ethan going over there, confronting Patrick, and then burning him to death? It’s a stretch, though it’s one they might be willing to make. The fire can’t be explained any other way.
There were no ashes. No accelerants used. They won’t be able to pinpoint the source of the fire because it was demonic and came out of a freaking crack in a prison dimension. And—fuck—this happened in Chicago. Ethan and I are here in Indiana. The Thorne Hill Police Department is here to carry out the arrest, but will Ethan be transferred to Illinois? Does this make the charges against him Federal or something? I have no idea how it works but crossing state lines can’t be a good thing.
Fire sparks around my fingers and I ball my hands into fists, trying to keep flames from springing up around my fingers. Knowing I need to redirect the energy somewhere, I squeeze my eyes shut and quickly open my hands, letting go of the energy I was gathering.
“Ahh!” the officer holding the gun says and jerks back as if someone shoved him. He pulls one hand off his gun, looking at his hand. His palm is red and raw, and my eyes widen, realizing I accidentally sent the red-hot energy to him. Shit! This isn’t going to help our case when the victim of said murder wasburned to fucking death.
The other officer, who is close enough for me to read the nameMaxwellon his vest, reaches for his gun, eyes slitting suspiciously.
“Don’t even think about moving,” he tells us, and I look at Ethan out of the corner of my eye. Ethan still has his hands out slightly in front of him, showing that he’s not going to try anything. He’s wearing athletic shorts and a t-shirt, ready to go into work. I know for a fact he doesn’t have a gun on him today, thank goodness. He has his concealed carry permit for Indiana, so having his usual pistol isn’t illegal. It wouldn’t paint him in the best light in this current situation.
“No one is moving,” Ethan says calmly. “This is a misunderstanding but, as you can see, I’m going to comply.” He holds up his hands a little higher. “I’ll come down the porch steps now, if that’s alright with you.”
Officer Maxwell looks at his fellow officer and gives him a curt nod. The officer grips his gun again, grunting from the pain of his burned skin. How he’s going to explain that…I have no idea. Then Maxwell motions for Ethan to come down the steps.
My heart is in my throat, beating so fast that nervous sweat starts to drip down my back. How the hell is Ethan so calm? Nothing about this is okay, and the little voice in the back of my mind is screaming at me to keep my shit together. The voice is trying to remind me that guilty people often act out because they know they’ve been caught.
The police don’t have anything on Ethan because he didn’t do it. There just cannot be any evidence pointing toward him. There can’t be.
“Ethan,” I rush out, eyes wide in shock as Officer Maxwell roughly grabs his arms, pulling them behind his back so he can cuff him.
“It’s okay, babe,” Ethan tells me as tears start to fill my eyes. This can’t be happening. But it is. My breath leaves in a ragged huff and I move toward Ethan.
“Easy now,” the officer with the gun tells me. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”
“But this is wrong.” I look at him, shaking my head. “He didn’t kill anyone. You’ve got the wrong person.”
“Anora,” Ethan says again, hazel eyes locking with mine. “It’s going to be okay,” he repeats. “Just call my dad and he’ll get in contact with someone from—” The words die in his throat, but I know what he’s about to say.
He’ll get in contact with someone from the Order.
Someone who can pull strings and get Ethan’s record scrubbed clean again. But he’s not part of the Order anymore. They won’t help anymore…especially when I’m starting to think they were the ones to accuse Ethan of murder in the first place.
If they can’t have him, no one can.