Dead If I Do by Tate Hallaway Read Free Book Online Page A

could do it. I glanced at Benjamin, who I could see clearly with my magical eye. I was about to ask him what he saw in the astral plane, but I thought better of it. He stood in front of a tilted headstone that simply said, Wife. He looked alternately saddened and angry. Every time his expression turned angry, his face became that of a monster: hollowed cheeks, empty eye sockets, and twisted, furious lips. I had a feeling the house was going to get a good tossing around tonight.
    I took a deep breath, reminding myself to deal with one thing at a time. “Just how powerful is Teréza, Sebastian?”
    He shrugged his shoulder and glanced off to the side. Through my magical vision, Sebastian always seemed paler, hungrier —
    more dead, actually. The black hole where his aura should be stood out starkly with its absence. “Stronger than me,” he said.
    “Seriously? Is that possible? You’re a vampire!”
    “There are things stronger than vampires. Remember the Trickster God?” How could I forget him? Micah had been the one that triggered my bonding with Lilith—plus he was a total hottie. “Anyway,” Sebastian continued, “Teréza’s people have been practicing magic for a long time.”
    Gypsy magic: If there really was a famtrad—a family tradition of hereditary magic—Romany blood would be one. I blinked myself back to normal vision. Lilith rippled across my skin, itching for a fight. The band might have canceled, but if we didn’t track down Teréza soon, we could have a scene like this at the church. I could live with a polka band. My friends would think it was retro and hip. But the tele-porting zombie ex was another problem, one I did not want popping in on my wedding day.
    “We have to find Teréza, Sebastian. Now. But she could be anywhere,” I said, considering out loud. “I say let’s go to the source.”
    Sebastian perked up. “You mean blood magic?”
    “No,” I said. “Mátyás.”
    Third Aspect: Square

    KEY WORDS: Combative, Individualistic

    We found Mátyás at Holy Grounds. Besides hanging out with Izzy, Mátyás and William had taken to playing games like speed chess and Go at the coffee shop. Their obsession with those sorts of tactical/intellectual pastimes had gotten so intense that I’d begun to suspect William’s latest new religion was strategy. My theory was bolstered by the fact that just the other day I ’d caught William poring over Sun Tzu’s The Art of War during his lunch hour. The coffee shop was nearly empty. After the briskness of the evening air, the peppermint-mocha warmth felt a bit stifling. The heat steamed the ice particles in my hair.
    Snowflakes had been stenciled on the window in that ubiquitous powdery spray paint. The rest of the place had been decorated with everything from Santa-cap-wearing Buddhas to Chanukah menorahs. The only thing traditionally Christmassy was the electric faux fireplace set up in the back by the couches and the constant Christmas music that streamed over the speakers. Izzy looked up from behind the bar when the door swung open. Izzy always reminded me of that famous bust of Nefertiti, especially now that her dreads had grown to reach her shoulder, and she often held her hair away from her face with a scarf. Her skin was the warm color of the mochas she served, and her features had a regal cut I deeply envied. She ’d been experimenting with fashion too. Tonight, Izzy went for that whole naughty British schoolgirl look and wore a man’s button-down shirt, a necktie, and a knee-length pleated wool skirt.
    Seeing us, she smiled. I waved back, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to smile in return. I was on the warpath. My wedding was potentially at stake, and someone was going to pay.
    Mátyás and William perched on opposite chairs hunched over a game of Risk. William’s hair was short-cropped and frosted blond. I wasn’t quite sure what kind of image he was going for, but with the little round glasses perched on the end of his nose,