Mac stayed the night.

    He offered to leave after Nick's departure but I didn't want to be alone.

    Selfishly, I didn't know if I wanted to be alone again.

    I remembered the kiss he gave me before he left to go on his run in the morning, but I was still half-asleep and in no mood to ask for any more details, let alone what time it was that made him want to get out of bed at such an ungodly hour.

    I probably should have, I realized, once I heard the sound of sirens outside my apartment building.

    I tried to ignore it, hoping it would pass by, but it didn't.

    It lingered, repeating again and again as the light flashed on my bedroom walls.

    I had just sat up in bed, wrapping the blankets around me in an effort to warm myself from the morning chill when I heard the stomping on the stairs and the banging on my door.

    "Police!" they announced.

    "Shit."

I scrambled to throw on clothes, finding my yoga pants and a t-shirt that had long been discarded, and ran to the door.

    Outside stood two uniformed officers, hands protectively on their firearms and meaning nothing but business as I stood in my doorway.

    "Ma'am, we'd like to ask you a few questions."

    I swallowed. "About yesterday?"

    They looked to each other. "Ma'am, are you unaware as to what's happened?"

    "My friend's boyfriend was the one who died yesterday," I said. "Nick Warsaw. I know he was at the police station yesterday but I don't know what I can tell you that he hasn't already."

    "Ma'am, this is not regarding the Leo Kincade case," the other officer asserted. "We'd like to talk to you about Mr. Clifford Johnson."

    I couldn't hide my confusion. "Mr. Johnson. My landlord?"

    "Ma'am, where were you between the hours of 10:00 PM and 6:00 AM last night into this morning?"

    "I... I was here."

    "Alone, all night?"

    My cheeks flushed. "No. I wasn't alone. What is this about?"

    They glanced between each other again. "Are you alone now?"

    I opened my mouth to answer but remembered Mac had already left. Was it around 6 in the morning? Earlier? I couldn't remember.

"What is going on?" I asked again.

    "Ma'am, would you be willing to come with us to the station? We'd like to ask you a few few questions-"

    "How about you tell me why I need to answer any questions in the first place." I crossed my arms over my chest, but my anxiety was rising. I had been interacting with too many cops too often recently and I was starting to panic.

    "Ma'am," the first officer sighed. "The investigation is ongoing, but at this time it appears your landlord, Mr. Johnson, was attacked overnight and found dead this morning."

    All color drained from my face and I had to brace an arm against the door jam. I couldn't hear anything through the blood rushing in my ears.

    "Ma'am, are you alright?"

    I blinked away the spots and colors forming behind my eyes, my vision blurring as tears began to burn. "How can I help?"

    "Again, we'd like you to come down to the station, ask you a few questions-"

    "Of course," I said, shaking the fog from my head. "I just need to get my shoes, and my purse."

I looked back over my shoulder into my apartment and only then it occurred to me the reason I had no idea what transpired overnight was because I was distracted. And that reason I was so distracted still seemed to be missing.

"Where's Mac?" I found myself asking out loud.

"Who?" one of the officers asked. I lost track of who said what as I looked for my shoes.

"Mac. Mackenzie Stewart. My... friend. He was here with me." I was tired of feeling embarrassed over what I did in my own time.

"And where is he now?"

"He went for a run this morning." I bit my lips as I considered the repercussions. "If he comes back and I'm not here-"

"We'll keep an officer posted at the door, ma'am. We'll have someone inform him as soon as he returns."

That would have to be good enough, I conceded as I picked up my purse.

The officers led me from my apartment and down the narrow stairs to the first floor. There were too many bodies in the small foyer, and all of them had their attention focused on Mr. Johnson's first-floor apartment. I said a small prayer of thanks that I couldn't see anything as I walked by, but my stomach still churned at the thought of something horrific happening a floor below me and being none the wiser.

We were silent as they drove me to the police station, and I didn't ask any questions as they led me into a very bright and very cold interrogation room. Coffee was offered, but I turned it down. I couldn't imagine putting anything in my stomach with the thoughts of Mr. Johnson and Leo plaguing my mind.

"Ms. Brady," a detective in a suit and tie said by way of greeting. He may have introduced himself but I didn't bother to make note. "How long have you been living in Mr. Clifford Johnson's building?"

Straight to the point then.

"Just about three years," I said hoarsely.

"And how well did you know Mr. Clifford?"

"He's... was... my landlord." I shrugged as I looked down to my heads where they remained clasped tightly on the table.

"As his tenant, did you ever have any issues with him as your landlord?"

I glanced up. "You mean other than running out of oil in the dead of winter?"

    The detective only stared at me.

    "No."

    "And what do you do, Ms. Brady?"

    I cocked my head to the side. "What does that have to do with anything?"

    Generally, I didn't care about what people thought about me when I told them I was a card reader. Sometimes they would just shrug it off. Other times they would tell me how cool it was and ask for a reading. There were a select few who tried to convince me I was doing the work of the devil. But with everything that was going on lately, something kept me shielded. I wasn't ready to give up any more about myself unless absolutely necessary.

    When the detective threw a bagged copy of my business card on the table, I realized there was no point in hiding anymore.

    "Is that yours?" he asked.

    I picked up the clear plastic bag and turned it over as if I was contemplating an answer. In truth, I knew there was no denying it. "Yes. Where did you get this?"

    "We found it within Mr. Johnson's apartment."

    "I gave this to him when I moved in," I informed him, putting the bag down. "Just in case he ever needed to contact me if I was at work."

    "I see," the detective muttered as he shuffled through his folder. "And what can you tell me about this?"

    Another bag was tossed onto the table, but this time I didn't reach for it. Instead I stared at yet another blood-covered Tarot card.

    The Star.

    From the Tarot of the Moon Garden.

    The deck I so often used at the shop.

My throat was dry. I couldn't find the words.

"Ms. Brady." The detective's stern voice brought my attention up. "What can you tell me about this card?"

"Where did you find that?" I asked as soon as I found my voice.

"It was found at the murder scene."

"Where?"

"You need to answer my question first."

"Is it like the one you found with Leo?"

The detective clenched his jaw. "Do you want to tell me how you know about that?"

"I was there- I saw it being handed between the officers at the scene. The Tower card."

Now the detective's brows furrowed. "Ms. Brady, can you tell me what you were doing the night before Mr. Kincade died?"

"I was at my apartment," I said matter-of-factly.

"Can anyone confirm this?"

"Mr. Johnson-" I started, but caught myself as the detective arched a brow.

"Is there a purpose as to why I'm here, Detective?" I asked plainly, though I could feel the uncertainty coil in my stomach.

"Ms. Brady, we have two possible murders on our hands, and at both scenes a Tarot card was found. Now, it's my job to determine how they're connected, if they even are, and right now you seem to be the only link I can determine."

"Because I happen to be a Tarot card reader, and you happened to have found Tarot cards? Do you know how many card readers there are in the Boston area?" But I had a horrible fear of where this was leading, and I needed to talk to Nick, and find Mac. They could corroborate anything the police needed.

"Yet you happened to be at both crime scenes, Ms. Brady. And you happen to have no one who can confirm your alibi."

I peered at him. "Am I a suspect?"

"A person of interest," he admitted.

I stood from my chair at that. "Am I under arrest?"

"Should I have reason to arrest you?" he asked coolly from where he sat.

"Then we're done here."

I picked up my bag at my feet and turned on my heel.

I made it to the door before he called out to me.

"Ms. Brady," the detective said levelly.

Turning back to him, he held out a business card. "If you think of anything, I do hope you'll call."

I grabbed the card from his hand and continued on my way.

The detective didn't try to stop me after that.

In fact, no one tried to stop me as I made my way from the police station.

The morning was cold, and even though I was in my wool jacket I wrapped my arms around myself as I began to walk aimlessly down Broadway.

I needed to talk to Nick. And find Mac.

I needed to get to the store.

And I needed to make sense of this, one way or another, before another something horrible happened.