Free Hell's Belle by Marie Castle

me to find out?
    I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like either answer.
    I quickly rinsed off, changed into my favorite pair of frayed holey jeans and sage-green hoodie, and brushed my hair before knotting it into a chignon. I might not make the cover of VQ , the Vamp’s fashion mag, but at least I smelled better.
    There was something very disarming about Jacqueline Slone. But disarming didn’t mean unarmed. I strapped a small knife above my right ankle. My libido might be on a pher-induced roller coaster, but that didn’t make me stupid. Jacq didn’t appear armed. But then, I’d taken a thorough look and never determined where she’d pulled that badge from.
    On my way downstairs I stopped in my aunt’s study for a copy of the case file and the medallion I’d taken off Bob’s body. The kitchen was empty when I returned. Jacq had removed the tea ball from the kettle before it could become overly strong. Considerate, considering I’d deserted her for far longer than planned. I put the file and medallion on the tray and went in search of my errant guest.
    My bare feet made little noise as I padded into our family den. I found Jacq there, standing by my Grams’ old black piano, staring at the family photos spread across its top. She had picked up the cat. Hex purred contentedly as Jacq absentmindedly stroked her fur. Apparently even feline vessels of unholy power found this woman attractive. Jacq focused on a photo of me and my mom taken when I was five, her expression inscrutable. She gestured to the piano. “Do you play?”
    “Very little, but my mother played beautifully.” The words simply slipped out. I looked away, using the distraction of setting the tray on the scarred trunk we used as a coffee table to clear the sudden lump from my throat. I stood, my own mask firmly in place, saying lightly, “I see you’ve met Hexamina, Satan incarnate, evil sorceress, and all around bad kitty.” I gestured to the cat, who was enjoying herself a little too much, before signaling Jacq to sit.
    Jacq placed the cat on the floor. “She seems nice.”
    Aunt Helena would’ve found my snort of derision most unladylike but Jacq merely smiled. People thought we Delacys were joking when we commented about Hex being a vessel of unholy power, a hell-cat, evil spawn, etc. Eventually Jacqueline Slone would find out for herself. If she was lucky, all her limbs would still be attached after the epiphany.
    We had an old cream-striped couch and two brown leather armchairs cozied around the brick fireplace. What the pieces lacked in beauty they more than made up with comfort. The only thing from this decade was the flat screen hanging over the fireplace and the nearby sound system. It was too hot a night for a fire, but the recessed lighting and café latte walls kept the atmosphere warm.
    Jacq sat on the couch with one leg out along it and the other, crooked at the knee, resting on the couch cushions. I pulled a chair a little closer and sat.
    While we drank orange spice tea I filled her in on everything from my fight with Bob to the five girls’ disappearances and deaths. Viewing the photos, she wore a hardened cop’s mask of cold professionalism.
    I was surprised when she pointed at the rift bearers, saying, “That explains why Fera picked a guardian for this.”
    The fact that we were guardians was a closely kept secret. Jacq knew, too? Who else in the Council knew? And was it the result of my recent advertising? Now was not the time to ask. This woman had the type of poker face only someone who’d lived centuries could perfect. But I’d eventually learn to read her. And then I’d ask the questions battering at the locked doors in my mind.
    Finally, we came to the black medallion. Brow creased, Jacq silently traced the gold and silver engravings, lost in thought. “This,” she pointed to what looked like an ancient temple with a large moon hanging low over it, “could be for an Elite house. This one,” she turned the