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  Karen paused. Not overcome by grief that Jack could tell. She simply sat on the edge of the recliner showing no strong emotion at all. It was then Jack first noticed that her clothes were just a little too big. And her eyes had purplish shadows that had defied her attempts to mask them with makeup.

  When she spoke again, Karen’s voice was measured and even. “I found him holding her picture one night, crying. And he said he couldn’t remember. It didn’t make much sense to me at the time. He would ask me to talk about her, to tell him stories—and I couldn’t. It was just too soon.” She stopped suddenly. “It was a week or two before I could see that he couldn’t remember significant events. Not small things, though that would have been bad enough. Important events, things I’d never imagined he could forget, he could no longer recall: Corinne’s first dance recital, her ballerina Halloween costume, how excited she was when we went to the petting zoo and she met the baby goats.”

  Jack and Marin both waited, neither eager to interrupt. Karen was taking this opportunity, one that had been denied to her by her friends and family, to sort through events. And to say out loud what must have been in her mind for some time now. And Jack wasn’t about to stem the flow.

  Karen fiddled with the fussy lace coverings on the arms of her chair. Eventually, she continued. “I thought that was his way of dealing with the grief, and I was so angry.” Karen’s eyes got wide and she looked straight at Jack. “But that can’t be right, because he didn’t want to forget. Really didn’t want to forget. When he realized some of his memories were slipping away, it made him even more upset. He desperately wanted to remember.” She sighed quietly—the barest hint of audible exhalation. “He left a note. I burned it, didn’t want anyone to see it.”

  “Do you remember what the note said?”

  Karen turned toward Jack, but it was a moment before her eyes focused on him. “He said he was sorry. And that he couldn’t stand to lose any more of Corinne. That’s all.”

  “There was no question about the cause of death?” The question had left his lips before Jack realized how inappropriate it was. He could have kicked himself.

  It was like something clicked in her brain, and Karen asked them, “Why did you want to know about Eric? Milton didn’t say. Just that it would be helpful if I didn’t mind discussing what happened to Eric with you.”

  “Rose Perrin and Betty Lasserre are both suffering from memory loss,” Jack said. “Betty’s condition, much like your husband’s, may be limited to memories of one person.”

  “Her husband passed—from heart problems, I believe—less than a year ago,” Karen said. “Is that who...?” Jack murmured a quiet agreement, which triggered a perplexed look from Karen. “But I don’t really see why Eric’s death would have anything to do with either of them. Rose and Betty are both older than my grandmother. Aren’t memory problems normal for really old people?”

  Really old? Betty and Rose weren’t that much older than Jack—younger than his parents. He didn’t think forty was particularly old, but right now he felt the weight of each year. “Losing cognitive function can happen as we age. But the symptoms in Betty’s case are very similar to what happened to your husband.”

  “Very similar,” Marin said. “So similar that we’re trying to determine if there might have been a related cause for both of them.”

  Karen’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think I understand. Psychological problems aren’t contagious, are they?”

  “No. It’s nothing like that.” Jack tried not to wince. Just what they needed: the whole town to pick up on Milton’s contaminated water theory. And he still hadn’t asked about Conrad. Shit. “We’re simply reviewing some trends and trying to find some common factors.”

  “Yes. For example, do you know if your husband used a psychic’s services?” Marin, the clever girl, had picked up what he was after. “Or had his palm read or a tarot reading?”

  Shaking her head firmly, Karen said, “No. Definitely not. He thought all of that was silly. Although—you know, I do wonder if he changed his mind a little. Not that he believed, but after he met that new man—”

  “Conrad Blevins?” Jack asked.

  “That’s right. He met Conrad in grief counseling. I can’t imagine Eric ever believing in psychics, but he wasn’t bothered that Conrad believed in spirits and all that.”

  Jack heard the mechanical sound of the garage opening. Quickly, he asked, “They were friends?”

  Karen tipped her head at the sound of the garage door opening.

  Jack asked again, “Eric and Conrad were friends?”

  “Yes, I suppose they were. They shared their grief in a way that Eric and I couldn’t. That much sadness brings some people together, but it tears others apart.” Karen glanced toward the back of the house again and rose from her seat. “I’m sorry, but it’s probably best you leave now. And I don’t know how else I can help you.”

  “Of course.” Marin stood and pulled on Jack’s arm until he was following her.

  They managed to miss Karen’s mom on the way out.

  Marin dragged Jack along the drive. “Hurry up.”

  “What has you in such a snit?”

  “If we can get in the car and down the drive before Karen’s mom sees us, then she can tell her mother whatever she likes. For whatever reason, that poor woman doesn’t want to explain our visit to her mother.” Before she hopped in the driver’s seat, Marin gave Jack a significant look, and added, “It’s the least we can do.”

  “Right.” But he was talking to air. Marin was giving him a hurry-up look from the driver’s seat. Damn, he really was feeling old today.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “You’re sure this is a good idea?” Marin asked for the second time since Jack had told her Conrad’s house was the next stop.

  “No.”

  “We have no idea how he does...whatever it is he does.” Marin continued driving to Conrad’s, even as she pointed out what an incredibly poor choice that might be.

  Sometimes, Marin was a halfway decent employee.

  “Whatever it is he does? How about stealing people’s souls?”

  Marin shot him a sidelong glance. “That’s a little melodramatic.”

  Jack stared out the passenger window, considering her accusation. Bullshit. “Not at all. He rips away those things that make us who we are: our experiences, our memories, and all the emotions that go along with them. If that’s not stealing someone’s soul, then—well, it’s stealing something just as vital. Someone has to stop him.”

  “I agree. But maybe we do a little research first.”

  Jack snorted. “Right. You have an expert on soul-sucking psychics.” He shot her an annoyed look—and that was when he caught it. Uncertainty. “You do. You actually have an expert. Who do you know and why aren’t we reaching out?”

  Silence.

  “Pull over, Marin.”

  Marin sighed and pulled the car over to the shoulder.

  “I know IPPC has nothing. I sent Harrington an update after our midnight meeting with Rose. Harrington’s the cog that keeps everything turning in that organization. If IPPC had any information, he would know about it and have at least passed on a warning by now.”

  Reluctantly, Marin turned to Jack, hands still on the wheel. “IPPC may not—but my dad might know something.”

  “Your father works for IPPC—so isn’t that the same difference?”

  Marin laughed. “Sure. Like Dad’s sitting down with some tech and cataloguing hundreds of years of experiences. I don’t see that happening anytime soon. He’s security, not a walking database.” She shook her head slightly. “But I’m sure he’s helpful enough when he can be.”

  “So?”

  Marin pinched the bridge of her nose. “So—give me a second. Dad and I aren’t exactly tight right now.” She scrunched her eyes shut. “And it’s not like he’s a walking encyclopedia of rare magical talents.”

  Jack knew something was up between her and her father—but he hadn
’t asked. Didn’t want to be involved, because his own family drama was more than enough for him. Well, shit. “Do we need to talk about it?”

  Marin opened her eyes. Distracted, she looked at her phone but didn’t pick it up. “What?”

  “Do you want to talk about whatever it is that’s going on with you and your dad?”

  Marin gave him a perplexed look. “Not really. Not now.” She took a deep breath and blew it out. Then she picked up her phone and dialed.

  “Hi. Yeah. Quick question. What do you know about magic that steals memory?” Marin tilted her head so she could hold the phone against her shoulder then reached across Jack for a pad and pen in her glove box. “No, not total amnesia. And still walking and talking.” She jotted a few notes down. “Yeah—selective memory loss.” She turned to Jack and asked, “Happy or childlike demeanor? Or more confused? Confused, right? Jack’s with me, Dad.” Marin tipped the phone slightly so Jack’s answer would get picked up.

  Jack reviewed his interactions with Betty and Rose and what Karen had told them about Eric. “One confused victim. One angry victim. But we’ve got one who’s more...distant. None of them have what I’d consider a happy or a childlike demeanor.”

  “Two are missing memories of recently deceased family members.” Marin made a few more notes then her lips thinned. “Well, yes, of course. But do you know any way to counteract—” Her nostrils flared. “I get it. But if you’ve not got anything useful—” She scribbled on her pad again.

  Jack caught her attention before she could end the call. “He might be using and keeping personal items from his victims.”

  “Did you hear that? Yes.” Marin’s eyes got all squinty. “I’ll make sure not to hand him any tokens, Dad. I get it. Gotta run.” Marin blew at a stray wisp of bright red hair. “Ah—hi to Heike.” And she quickly ended the call.

  She closed her eyes, leaned back against the headrest, and let out a long, low groan. “Family.”

  From Jack’s perspective of the conversation, Ewan had been helpful and hadn’t asked a lot of unrelated questions. But Jack wasn’t going anywhere near that landmine. He glanced at her notepad but couldn’t make anything out. “Didn’t you learn to write, like, eighty years ago?”

  Marin turned to look at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “Shouldn’t you have good handwriting? I thought that was a thing back then.” When she just stared at him like he’d lost his mind, he looked away from the scraggly, indecipherable scratches on the pad she was holding and asked, “What do we know?”

  “Definite exclusion of a few possibilities. And through elimination, he’s got a best guess.” Marin shrugged. “I told you: it’s not like he has an encyclopedia of weird and wonderful creatures. Also, Dad’s memory is decent, but you have to remember that dragons are very much creatures of the now.”

  “Yeah, I remember you told me about that whole concept of living in the moment. Something to do with how long you guys live, right?”

  Marin nodded. “So that leaves us with a disturbing prospect. Dad called it a created man. Think Frankenstein or a golem.” She pulled back onto the road.

  “Are you telling me that Conrad has a partner? A creator?” Jack grabbed her discarded notepad.

  “Technically. Assuming he’s this created man Dad was talking about. But these created men, they don’t wander the countryside stealing memories if their creators are still hanging around. The creator’s life, memories, magic, or something keeps the thing alive. But if the creator dies—”

  “Good Lord. Some egomaniac creates his own personal human Gumby servant and then forgets to flip the off switch before he dies.” Jack chucked the useless notes into the glove box.

  “Yeah. Basically. Although Conrad is focusing on specific memories, which is apparently not the norm. Well, assuming there is a norm. So we’ve probably got a vessel, previously powered by his master’s magic, with a dying battery that he somehow recharges by stealing memories from grieving humans.”

  “Don’t forget Rose.”

  “Actually, Rose’s symptoms are what Dad described—the confusion about time and place. Something like nonspecific senility. So the bereaved victims are unique to Conrad. Oh, and tokens are important to some created men.” Marin gripped the steering wheel. “I think it’s a terrible idea to go to Conrad’s without some kind of plan.”

  “Since you’re driving ten miles under the speed limit, we should have plenty of time. And there’s some urgency here. The active attacks on Betty and Rose, combined with the fact that we don’t know how exactly he’s causing the damage or if it’s reversible—all of that means now is better than later. And we don’t really want him prepared for us, do we?” Jack scrubbed his hands over his face. “So how do we kill this thing? And we’re not calling him the created man. That sounds goofy as hell. He’s basically a golem, so—golem.”

  “A golem is a subtype, and that’s probably not what Conrad is.” Marin must have caught Jack’s eye roll, because she quickly added, “But sure—golem works.”

  “And...?”

  “And—no idea. Chop his head off, burn him. Maybe he dies just like any other person. Dad didn’t know, which is why he insisted I be careful.”

  “He’s your dad. What do you expect? Hey, I’m just saying.” Jack lifted his hands. “Okay, our next stop is the hardware store.”

  Marin’s lips curved into a hint of a smile. “Yippee. Axes, duct tape, lamp oil, and a shovel, here we come.”

  “It’s disturbing how quickly you came up with that shopping list.”

  And that made her grin outright.

  ~*~

  “One murder kit—check. One body disposal kit—check. Escape car gassed up—check. I feel like a well-prepared criminal.” Marin dropped the last bag into the rear of her Rover and slammed the rear hatch.

  “Why don’t you announce that a little louder?” Jack waited until they were both seated inside the car before he said, “I’d love to spend the rest of my life in jail for killing a mass murderer who’s not even human.”

  “Potential mass murderer. We don’t have a body count. But the sudden disappearance or death of Mr. Blevins is an issue. We’re clearly the prime suspects if something happens to him: new to town, digging around his clients, asking questions about him, and purchasing a variety of suspicious materials immediately before his death.” Marin tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “I think a house fire.”

  Jack tamped down all-too-vivid images of buildings—homes—aflame. “Are you kidding? We could light up the whole town. Or at least the neighborhood.”

  “Really, Jack. Magical fire, dragon—remember?” Marin turned and blew a small puff of smoke in front of Jack’s face. “And we’ve had an unusual amount of rain lately.”

  Damp, warm air touched his face. Steam, not smoke. “That’s creepy as hell—but I get it: you have excellent control.” He waited a few seconds then said, “A little heavy-handed.”

  Marin smirked. “What’s the plan, boss?”

  “Arrive, subdue, remove the head, burn the body, burn the house.” Jack couldn’t help but cringe at the house-burning, magically controlled or not. “What do you think?”

  “Are you actually asking my opinion? Give me a second to recover from the shock.”

  “My mistake. It won’t happen again.” But the words slipped out with no conviction. Just something to say as he thought about Marin, himself, their professional relationship. Yeah, something needed to change, and he didn’t want a repeat of Miersburg. Jack cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. So?”

  Marin peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t let him have anything that belongs to us. Tokens are important to created...uh, golems—whatever that means.”

  “I’m betting they help him steal memories.”

  “Or give him power over the token’s owner. Or are just trophies he keeps to remind him of past successes. Whatever. Best to avoid dealing with it, so hang on to your stuff.”

  Jack grun
ted in agreement. “And we can’t forget how much everyone likes this guy. He must be charming.”

  “It’s possible he’s literally charming his victims, that he has a magic talent that influences how people feel about him.”

  Jack groaned.

  “Right.” Marin’s lips twitched. “In theory, I should be immune—or at least less affected.”

  “Well, that’s good anyway. Because if he has super strength or some kind of physical advantage—”

  “Like not being alive and therefore impossible to kill?”

  “Smartass. Yes, like that. You’re the obvious one to get close and try to immobilize him, since you’ve got the super strength and lightning speed.” Jack had a gut-churning thought. “So if Conrad is a vessel for his master’s magic, how exactly did his creator make him? Not the golem—the vessel?”

  “We’re almost there, so I’m circling the neighborhood before we head in.” Marin made an immediate right turn a few streets before Conrad’s. “The simple answer: his creator took some poor soul’s body and repurposed it.”

  “If that’s true, then we forget taking his head. We immobilize him and incinerate his body. No body, no vessel for whatever the hell it is that makes Conrad alive.” Jack nodded. “All right. We walk in, overpower him, gag and tie him, and then burn him.”

  “Without giving him a chance to talk or touch us—those are the most common vehicles for persuasive talent,” Marin added.

  “Or letting him take a personal object from either of us.” Jack dug around in his pockets and dumped out the change, a small pocketknife, and his wallet. He stashed the wallet and knife in the glove box.

  “We’re parking and knocking on his door?”

  “No. That gets him too close. In through the back and we try to surprise him.” Jack reached down to check his ankle holster and gun. “Preferably before he calls the cops. If we could not get stopped by the police at any point today, that would be great. Especially since I’m carrying concealed.”

  “You’re worried about a concealed weapon?” Marin snorted. “If he calls the cops and then ends up dead, no accidental house fire. That’s a much bigger problem.”