Chaos (Book 4) (The Omega Group) (5 page)

 Several hours later, the psychiatric center reluctantly
released Grace into their custody. It took a few phone calls from Director
Finley, and more than a few promises of returned favors, but when the Governor
demanded she be released, her doctor had no choice but to acquiesce.

That didn’t stop him from making a few demands of his own,
however. “She is now your responsibility,” he said. “She cannot be left alone
for any reason and must appear at her commitment hearing on Monday. Do you
understand?”

Orano signed the protective custody forms and handed them
over. “We understand.”

Gracey pulled her bag over her shoulder and somberly left
the facility. Quiet had never been a word used to describe the Gracey he knew,
yet she’d remained curiously silent throughout her release procedures. When
they were safely in the Jeep—Gracey in the passenger seat and Phoenix in the
back—and driving toward her apartment, Orano found out why.

“Finally,” she spouted. “I was so worried they’d rescind the
release order if I had another outburst, I was afraid to even open my mouth.
This curse is killing me.”

Phoenix leaned forward between the two front seats. “Can you
please tell us what’s going on?” He gently brushed an errant lock of hair
behind her ear, an intimate gesture Orano didn’t like.

“Sure. Of course. Sorry. Geez, where do I start?” Gracey
brought her hand to her mouth and began chewing on her nails. It’d been a
nervous habit of hers even during their childhood. Orano instinctively reached
over and pulled her already mangled fingernails away from her mouth.

“My coven is about to cross a line that can’t be uncrossed.
At first I thought what they were planning was good, but the farther along they
get, the more I realize how wrong it really is.”

“Hang on,” Phoenix interrupted. “Your coven?”

“Yeah. Sherwood Coven. It was started by my
great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother, Grace Sherwood, but they’ve
lost their way. My great-great-great—”

“Just call her Grace,” Orano said.

Gracey raised her eyebrow. “You haven’t changed at all, have
you?” When he didn’t answer, she turned her attention back to Phoenix and continued.
“The coven has followed the teachings of
Grace
”—she gave Orano a pointed
stare as she stressed the name—“for three hundred years. Her journal is like
our bible. It’s kept under lock and key to preserve it. Only our coven leader
has access, but we’ve all been made privy to what it says.”

“And what does it say?” Phoenix asked.

“According to Tori, our leader for the last seven years, it
says that a day will come when mundanes—that’s what Grace called
non-witches—will need our help. That our kind will finally be able to come out
into the open and live freely.”

“Your kind? You’re a witch?” Orano asked.

“Well, duh. What part of ‘my coven’ did you not understand?”
With a huff, Gracey turned back in her seat and stared out the windshield.
“Look, before you turn this car around and dump me back at the funny farm, open
your mind to the possibility that there is more on this earth than you’re aware
of. I know how crazy it sounds, especially to someone like you, Orano, but ….”

When she stopped talking midsentence, Phoenix leaned
forward. “Gracey? Are you okay?”

“The triangles are melting into the carpet!” she yelled,
then slapped herself.

Phoenix shook his head and sent Orano a look that said “I
told you she was crazy.”

“Dammit!” Gracey said. “Tori did this to me. It’s wearing
off, but I can’t control it. Yesterday,
every
time I opened my mouth,
something nonsensical flew out. She’s trying to make it so no one will believe
me. It’s hard enough to get people like you to accept even the possibility of
supernatural powers, but when I keep spouting random insane thoughts, well,
it’s basically impossible.”

 “How did you know to contact Director Finley about this?”
Orano had been wondering about that since Myrine first gave him the assignment.

“I’ve known him my whole life. My dad served in military
intelligence. He worked with Robert for years, and they became really close. In
fact, he’s my godfather. When I found out what the coven was up to, he’s the
only person I could think of that might have the connections to help.”

“Finley’s your godfather?” Phoenix asked.

“Yeah. After Dad died, he helped me and my mom get settled
back home. I’m pretty sure he gave us money, too, but Mom never admitted to it.
He’s just always been there for me.”

Orano was still digesting that piece of information when
they pulled in front of Gracey’s apartment. He’d never thought of the Director
as a family man. He’d never really thought that much about him at all. But he
was glad someone had been there for Gracey after her father died. He remembered
how hard his death hit her.

As they climbed the stairs to her second-floor apartment,
the door across from hers opened, and the same woman that greeted them earlier
that day stepped out.

“Gracey, back so soon?” she asked.

“Hi, Mrs. Fletcher. Yeah, it was just a misunderstanding.
They released me this afternoon.”

“I know, sweetheart. You told me that already. Don’t you
remember? We spoke a few minutes ago when I saw you leaving the first time.”
The woman’s concern over Gracey’s apparent confusion was obvious.

Orano looked to Phoenix, who quickly interjected, “My
cousin’s had a rough couple of days, ma’am.”

Mrs. Fletcher pulled Gracey in for a hug. “You let me know
if you need anything, all right? I’m just heading off to bingo but can skip it
if you need the company.”

“No, but thank you for offering. My cousin will stay with
me.”

After another hug, and a less than gracious glance at Orano,
the neighbor made her way down the stairs to the parking lot.

“Someone’s been in your apartment. But why would your
neighbor think it was you?” Orano asked.

“A glamour spell. It must have been Tori or one of her followers.”
Gracey placed her key in the lock, but Orano stopped her from opening it.

“We’ll go first,” he said.

With Phoenix on one side of the door and him on the other,
Orano pushed it open. The apartment had been ransacked. In the kitchen, every
drawer hung open, with half of their contents strewn across the counter. The living
room fared no better with cushions lying haphazardly on the couch and every
picture and piece of artwork hanging on the walls at crooked angles.

They cleared every untidy room before bringing Gracey
inside.

“Oh, come on!” Her eyes darted from one corner of the space
to next. “Did you really think I’d leave it here, Tori?” she screamed at the
ceiling.

“What were they looking for?” Orano asked.

Gracey reached into her bag and pulled out a book, holding
it up for them to see.

“
Controlling Your Mental Health
?” Phoenix questioned.

Her brow furrowed, then she shook her head. “Sorry, I forgot
to remove the glamour.” She waved her hand over the book and held it out to them
again. “I figured if the hospital thought I was reading a self-help book,
they’d let me keep it.”

Phoenix took the book from her and flipped through the
pages. “It’s just a self-help book,” he said to Orano.

“No,” Gracey whined. “Why can’t I undo the glamour spell?”
She tore the book from Phoenix’s grasp and waved her hand over it again. “They
must have blocked my powers.”

Phoenix gently grasped her shoulders and held her gaze.
“What do you believe that book really is?”

“It’s pictures of some of the pages of my ancestor’s journal.
Three hundred years ago, she prophesized that a day would come for our kind to
move out of the shadows and into the open. Some disaster that would require
witches to help, and our high priestess would lead all the witches of the world
to the forefront. There were to be signs—unearthly storms and stuff like that—letting
us know that the time had arrived. Those signs came a couple of months ago, so
we all believed it was happening.

“After I pieced together what Tori had done, I snuck into
her shop to read the journal for myself. I knew my ancestor wouldn’t have
condoned that kind of plan, so I thought I’d get proof to show the rest of the
coven.” Gracey’s eyes shot wide open and she dumped the contents of her bag on
the already messy floor.

“The original photos are on my phone.” She grabbed her cell
phone from the multitude of other junk and started scrolling through the
screens.

“Dammit! They must have deleted them. I had them all in
here.” She stormed out of the living room and into her bedroom, slamming the
door behind her.

 “I think we’re done here,” Phoenix said.

“Someone searched this place,” Orano responded.

“Or she’s just a slob.” Arched eyebrows revealed Phoenix’s
skepticism.

“But the neighbor—”

“Saw someone she thought was Gracey,” Phoenix interrupted.
“She’s not exactly a spring chicken, buddy. It could have been an upstairs
neighbor, or anyone else with a passing resemblance.”

Orano clenched his jaw in frustration. He knew his partner
might be right. All of Gracey’s wild allegations of witches and impending
attacks could be easily refuted. Especially if she suffered from a mental
illness. There simply wasn’t any proof to support her, and plenty to undermine
her claims.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. “Give it
twenty-four hours,” Orano said.

One corner of Phoenix’s mouth turned up. “You’re going to
have to explain to me sometime how this nutcase got under your skin. I’ll give
it a day, but only because that new kid in training is a pain in my ass, and
I’m not real excited to get back.”

Orano couldn’t be sure which pain in the ass his partner
referred to, as all three of the new recruits fit that description, but he
didn’t care. All that mattered was giving Gracey the chance to make her case.

“Give me a minute with her.” Orano left Phoenix in the
living room, made his way to Gracey’s bedroom, and knocked. “Can I come in?”

“It’s open,” she said.

The room matched the others in the apartment as far as
tidiness went. The sheets and comforter were all but torn off the bed, and
clothing lay scattered across the floor and along the top of an antique
dresser.

“I guess I’ll see you when I see you.” Gracey sat on the
extra wide sill created by a large picture window, her arms wrapped around her
knees. She didn’t tear her gaze away from the view of the parking lot below
when she spoke.

“We’re not leaving just yet,” he said.

Gracey turned to him, letting her feet fall to the floor.
“You believe me?”

“Of course not, you’re obviously a loon.” Orano crossed his
arms over his chest but allowed a slight grin to soften his expression.

Gracey stood and sauntered toward him. “I see you’re still a
dick, but thank you. I may not be able to prove it yet, but I’m telling you the
truth. Tori is up to something. Something bad.”

********

Tori Houlton slammed her small fists on the desk, rattling
the ornately carved glass bowl sitting in its center. Her short blond hair fell
into her eyes, and she angrily brushed it away.

After the unsuccessful search of Gracey’s apartment, she’d
spelled every room to allow her to hear all conversations. She knew Gracey
would be released from the institution eventually—even the strongest of spells
wore off—and needed to find those pictures. They were a loose threads that
required snipping.

The sound quality left much to be desired. Unlike those
captured by a microphone, these voices warbled and echoed as they rose from the
bowl. But the security of knowing there would be no evidence of her
eavesdropping was well worth the inconvenience. Especially given Gracey’s
visitors.

She’d known Gracey would call the authorities, but she hadn’t
considered the two government guys would actually believe the far-fetched rants
of a mental patient. They should have written her off as crazy and been on the
next flight home by now. One of them, though, seemed to have a history with the
girl. Apparently, their connection remained strong enough for him to give her
the benefit of the doubt.

Tori rose from her chair and stepped to one of the bookcases
lining the wall of her home office. Although most of her books and supplies
remained at the shop, she kept a few of her more prized possessions at her
house. Dozens of grimoires from covens all over the world filled the shelves
along with several scientific journals and texts. It had taken her years of
studying every tome to formulate the plan that would finally bring her coven
founder’s dream to fruition.

Over the centuries, many of the Sherwood Coven’s leaders tried,
and failed, to do just that. The Spanish Flu pandemic of 1918, orchestrated by
one of Tori’s more ambitious predecessors, killed nearly fifty million people,
yet still didn’t have the desired effect. At the time, the coven leader assumed
that magically altering the virus to attack only mundanes in the twenty- to
forty-year age range would cause such a weakening of the ruling bodies as to
allow witches to rise. She’d been partly correct.

Although she’d definitely left the governing bodies weak,
she’d failed to understand that the witches of the time couldn’t offer the one
thing the huddled masses required—a cure for the disease—and therefore, they
didn’t have a platform from which to ascend.

Tori’s plan didn’t make that mistake. When she struck, the mundanes
would be begging witches to take over. And she would be happy to oblige.

The smile that spread across her face quickly fell as she
glanced back at her desk. Before she could relish her victory, she needed to
ensure she had the opportunity to make it happen. With the addition of those
two government men, Tori would need to up her game.