Page 133 of The Diamond in the Rough

I also remembered Ward and Mason talking afterwards—about how they were going to make sure that both ofthem had all the information either of them would need for Jackson and the baby, just in case.

Nobody likes talking aboutjust in case. Nobody likes even thinking about it. Everyone would rather assume that their parents, siblings, spouses, and children will live forever—or, at least, will outlivethem. Unless they don’t like those people, of course, but that wasn’t usually the case, no matter what the TV murder mysteries suggest.

And that means that people assume that they don’t need to know all the things their chosen life partner or parent knows—about finances, schooling for the kids, medical records, even utility bills. People lose track of credit cards, account numbers, safety deposit box keys, even lists of all the places they pay bills.

And none of that counts things like what someone wants for their funeral or memorial or whatever. Andy Duarte was one of those people—he had no idea what Maria had wanted because they’d just assumed they’d both have plenty of time for those sorts of things.

That case had inspired me to make a file I’d calledIn the Event of my Death. I wanted to be cremated and my ashes cast in a river. It didn’t matter which one—justariver. I’d written down all of the companies I paid for things, like my phone, internet, electricity, credit card. And I’d put down where my bank account was, although it didn’t seem like a great idea to write down the number. A death certificate would get someone access, anyway.

I’d also written down that Melissa and Sam and Violette should get to take anything they needed from my stuff, and that the rest should be sold and the proceeds donated to Beyond the Veil and Lost Lineage.

I had no one else to leave anything to.

That had been two days ago.

I hadn’t actually been here for the other three people whose thoughts I read off the pens. Presumably because I’d still been recovering. They did serve as a pretty good reminder of why what Beyond the Veil did was important, though.

The melancholy that had set in a few days ago hadn’t really lifted, and I was starting to think that maybe it was because the case was over and I now felt fairly useless. Sure, I’d given Detective Maza some information from the knife he’d brought in, but I knew that for the most part, I wasn’t going to be the most useful person when it came to crimes and murders.

I didn’t resent that. I just wished that I could do more than just answer phones and put together spreadsheets and expense reports. And I knew all those things were important. A business literally can’t run without someone to answer phones and put together spreadsheets and run expense reports.

It just didn’tfeelthat way.

Maybe I should have been more grateful to just be alive. I’d almost died, after all, by getting in the middle of the case I’d wanted so desperately to work.

Except that me working the case had been an eerie coincidence—they came after me for my magic and had no idea I’d actually been involved in investigating them.

Hart had explained the whole thing.

Garraway’s family had known mine. And his father’s involvement at Tranquil Brook had been the reason my parents had chosen to send me there rather that somewhere else. When the facility had been raided and shut down, the younger Garraway saw an opportunity—first to extort money out of the families who didn’t pay attention to things like news reports or contact from police, and, second, tohunt down and take magic from former patients, using modified versions of his father’s methods.

Lucky me—I had been their first victim from Tranquil Brook.

They’d stolen magic from others before me—vagrants, mostly, and most of them hadn’t died as a result. Only three, according to Garraway, anyway, hadn’t survived, and they’d been sick or strung out on drugs and not worth much magic, anyway.

Hart had expressed a few thoughts about that attitude.

I didn’t disagree.

A little beforefive and with no further scheduled appointments, I started the process of saving, shutting down, and checking the offices. Mason and Ward had both left early to go to yet another adoption appointment, although Beck was still in her office.

“Do you need anything else?” I asked her, sticking my head in her door.

“What? Oh, no, Rayn, thanks, though.” She gave me a distracted smile. “Just doing research on this converted factory that needs a banisher.”

“Are you okay if I lock up?” I asked her. I assumed she would be, but Ward had emphasized that it was always polite to ask.

“Absolutely.” She smiled again, a little less distracted. “How’s the arm?”

“Getting better.” It still ached and twinged, and was still in a cast, but at least I could use my fingers where they stuck out from the plaster.

“That’s good.” She winked at me. “Glad we didn’t lose you.”

I smiled back. “Me, too.”

I left her in her office and went to make sure all the dishes had been done, the back door was set to auto-lock, and that nothing had been left by any of the people who had come and gone throughout the day, including returning a couple pens to the much fuller pen cup on my desk.

It still felt good that I could do all of that without having to disappear into other people’s heads.