Sabrina’s lip curled when I came back to the office. “Phil isn’t going to see you.”
“You’re not even going to call and ask him?” I looked past her at the door.
“The only call I’m going to make—hello, Monica.” Her eyes flicked between the two of us. “Is this—are you here together?” She was confused.
“We need to see him,” Monica said. Without waiting for permission, she headed for the door.
“Hang on—” Sabrina lifted her phone. “Phil, it’s Monica Welles and that guy—”
But Monica already through the door. I shrugged to Sabrina and followed her into the office.
Chapin was half standing, confused until he saw me. He was even more puzzled as Monica walked over to the wall, looked up and down, and found the frame she was looking for. “We need this for A.J.”
He sank into his chair. “What’s going on?”
“How much can you talk about?” I asked Chapin.
He tapped the edge of his desk nervously. “About—him?”
“Dominick Slipko, yes. You have to be careful what you tell me, right?” We locked eyes for a moment, and he responded with a slight nod.
“You know about A.J., don’t you?” I asked. “You helped make the deal?”
“Yes.” He was breathing shallowly, carefully. “It was—I did that.”
Monica stepped next to me. “Dominick says if we give him this, he’ll give A.J. her soul back. We have to take it.”
Another slight nod, as if Dominick might be in the walls, listening.
“Why is it important to him?” I asked. “Is he just a big Warren Zevon fan?”
Chapin rubbed his eyes. “It’s not—not really Warren Zevon. It sounds a little like him. It’s Dominick. He wrote it.” Her paused, as if waiting for something. When the ceiling didn’t crash down on us, he took a breath. “I made leave it here when we—it’s part of what he uses, the spell. Not all of it, so he can’t just use it whenever he wants. So I have some—control.”
“There are others?” Oh God, Did Dominick have an attic full of souls he was renting out for abuse?
“Not since—she was the last one. I made him agree. It was part of the deal.” He held his breath. “He’s a little bit crazy.”
Only a little bit? I thought. But Monica was at the door, stuffing the frame into her shoulder bag. “Let’s go.”
“Wait—” Chapin stood up. “Tell A.J.—tell her I’m sorry. Tell her—”
Suddenly he staggered back, his face deep red and sweating. He collapsed back into his chair, gasping, his eyes wide, his chest pitching up and down as he fought to breathe.
Monica and I looked at each other. I grabbed for the phone on his desk, and she dashed to the door. “Hey! Call an ambulance! Something’s wrong with Phil!”
Sabrina shoved her way into the office as I tried to find an outside line. “What did you do? Give me that!” She snatched the phone from my hand. “He has a heart condition—yes, I need an ambulance, I think my boss is having a heart attack.”
Heart condition. Yeah, Chapin had mentioned that earlier. Was it some kind of curse from Dominick? Had he tried to say too much? Did I drive him to this?
I helped Sabrina slide him off the chair and started CPR on him. We switched off until the ambulance came. But our efforts weren’t good enough and the paramedics weren’t in time. We left right after they pronounced Chapin dead.
Two hours later we were at A.J.’s apartment. She was up and dressed in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt, slipping in and out of sleep as she clicked through the TV channels while we waited to hear from Dominick. She finally settled on an episode of Seinfeld, her eyelids drooping as she watched Jerry and Elaine’s shenanigans with George and the other guy while Monica sat watching her, like an aunt worrying over a sick niece.
I sat looking at my phone, waiting for Rachel to arrive. I tried to convince myself I hadn’t killed Chapin. I’ve killed vampires and other monsters, and yeah, I’ve been responsible for at least a few human deaths. But they’d always been unavoidable—I was defending myself, or Rachel. Chapin hadn’t done anything to me. He’d just fallen into a trap, some kind of curse from Dominick. But I felt like I’d given him the final push.
I hadn’t seen my own therapist in months. Maybe it was time to schedule an appointment.
A.J.’s phone buzzed. She roused herself and glanced down at the screen. “It’s your wife coming up.”
“Good.” I braced myself. Would she be mad? Or just silent and icy? I didn’t know which was worse.
Five minutes later Monica opened the door. “Hi. We haven’t heard yet, but it could be any time. Do you want a drink?” She’d opened a bottle of wine.
“Just water. What’s going on?” Rachel was in her business clothes, looking very professional as she sat down next to me.
“Did you bring Donald?”
She sighed. “Yeah.” She unzipped the bag slung over her shoulder.
Donald Duck is the name we gave the Glock I bought several years ago after a particularly harrowing case involving a serial killer. I’d hardly ever fired it, and only once have I had to shoot someone. I hate carrying it—it’s heavy under my shoulder, for one thing—but I wasn’t going to meet Dominick without it, not after watching him shoot Josh Heider.
Monica stared as I struggled into the shoulder holster. “Do we really need that?”
“I hope not.” I slipped my jacket back on. “But Dominick killed Josh.”
A.J. closed her eyes, biting her lip.
“There’s something we have to talk about,” I told A.J. “About what Dominick did.”
She nodded, not following. “Okay.”
“When he had your soul, he somehow gave it to Josh Heider. And Heider used it for . . .” I struggled to find the right words. “To abuse you.”
A.J. blinked. “You mean . . .”
“How could he . . .” Monica murmured, looking from A.J. to me and back again.
“I don’t know how it works. His ex-wife witnessed it and told me about it.” The ex-wife Chapin had sent me to. I pushed that away. I could deal with guilt later. “I’m concerned that when you get your soul back, it may retain some, well, traumatic memories. I don’t know. I just thought you should be ready.” I looked at Rachel.
She glared back at me. “What? I don’t have any experience with anything like this. Demonic possession, sure. Okay, maybe . . .” She turned to A.J. “I don’t exactly know what to say. But if I can help you, I will. I can refer you to other people, too. Therapists with more experience in this kind of trauma. If you need it.”
A.J. bit her lip. “Okay, I guess. I don’t know what to think.” She looked up at Monica. “Will you help?”
Monica nodded. “Of course, A.J. Anything you need.”
A.J. closed her eyes.
Then Monica’s phone buzzed. We circled around her phone as she answered. “Hello? Dominick?”
“Do you have it?” The voice was low and raspy.
“We’ve got it,” Monica said. “Do you have A.J.’s soul?”
His chuckled sounded like an attempt to mimic a Marvel supervillain. “Oh yeah, I’ve got that. Tell her not to worry about anything.”
“You’ve got to put it back in,” Monica said. “You can’t just give her a box or something with a list of IKEA instructions.”
“It’s very easy,” Dominick said, his voice smooth. “Just make sure you bring what I want. Is the detective there?”
She looked at me. I leaned in. “Hello, Dominick.”
“You can come. Just don’t interfere. These things are very fragile.” He chuckled again. “You wouldn’t want anything to get broken.” He was silent a moment. “A.J.? Are you there?”
She opened her eyes and stared toward the phone. “Yes, Dominick. I’m right here.”
“You’ll come too. I want to see you. I want you to see me.”
She bit her lip hard. “Oh, I will. I’ll see you.”
“Where?” Monica asked.
“My aunt’s house. The detective knows where it is. One hour. Don’t be late.” Dominick hung up.
We all looked at each other.
“Where is it?” A.J. asked.
“Beverly.” It was getting dark, and rush hour was gearing up out the street. “We’d better leave in the next few minutes.”
I waited for Rachel to object. But it was Monica who said, “We’re just going to go? He killed Josh! I know you’ve got a gun, but—”
“The priority is A.J.’s soul.” I sounded like a priest. “But I’ve made some arrangements.”
Rachel snorted. “I’ve seen how some of your plans go.”
“We’re still here, aren’t we?” I checked my phone.
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Don’t worry, guys. He usually manages to work things out.”
Monica looked concerned, but A.J. unexpectedly reached out to pat my arm. “Thank you.” She forced a wan smile at Monica. “And thank you. Let’s do it.” She sighed. “I hope I don’t throw up on the way.”
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