Gray witch, p.12
Gray Witch, page 12
“Do you mind if I ask you about something we heard in town?” I rubbed my arms and hunched my shoulders. “Maybe I should wait until morning. It’s getting late, and I don’t want to upset your sleep.”
“Nonsense.” She reached for my hand and patted it. “You mean the murder.”
As expected, she made the leap in logic and stuck the landing.
“Yes.” I pretended relief that she put it into words for me. “Has that ever happened here before?”
“You’re perfectly safe.” She made a sandwich of my hand between hers. “You don’t have to fret.”
That wasn’t an answer, and her too-warm, too-soft hands were making my palms sweat.
“Oh good.” I broke from her and tucked myself under Asa’s arm. “We’ll let you get back to your game.”
“My call,” she corrected me, a flush in her cheeks as if she were embarrassed to have been called out for playing. “You two enjoy the rest of your night.”
“We will.” I faked a yawn. “Ready for bed, honey bunny?”
A twitch in Asa’s cheek betrayed his amusement as he took my elbow and guided me into our room.
Once the door shut behind us, I set about warding the space and soundproofing our side. I had done the spell so many times at this point, it was as natural as breathing. I didn’t register pulling on the bond with Colby, but it was too big of a spell for me to do alone. I chalked it up to practice and didn’t sweat it.
To avoid losing the entire night, always a possibility with Asa, he and I took turns in the shower.
After we got clean, we climbed in bed with our laptops, and I dialed Clay, switching on speakerphone.
“That video was intense,” Colby answered, proving we were on speaker too. “I might never sleep again.”
“She beat me to the clip,” Clay explained. “And she’s smiling, so don’t believe her.”
Thanks to Camber and Arden, Colby had developed a taste for horror movies. I never let her watch them, but somehow she always knew the plots the next day. I suspected she crawled along the ceiling in her smallest form and camped out in the shadows so I wouldn’t catch her.
“This is like Game Over.” Her mood soared. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”
“That sounds like the title of a movie I would never agree to let you watch.”
“It does,” she agreed gleefully. “Let’s rent it.”
“Are you sure that’s a good use of our time?” I regretted my skepticism was showing when she was finally perking up again. “Can’t you give us a summation?”
“You need to see this,” she urged. “We can use the group watch feature.”
“Rented,” Clay chimed in, not waiting for my answer. “Click the link I sent you, and you’re in.”
“Thaaanks.” I did as I was told. Might as well. I was outvoted. “Do we synchronize watches or what?”
“It’s automatic,” Colby assured us, proving her vast experience with the app. “Just tell us when.”
Asa adjusted so that his back rested against the headboard, and he pulled a small bag onto his lap that held knitting supplies. Sometimes I envied his ability to indulge in his hobby while doing something else. Put a book in my hands, and my brain left on a mini-vacation to another world and left this one behind. I loved that about reading, but it wasn’t something you could multitask with movie watching or casework.
“When,” I told them once Asa was click-clacking away, and I was leaning against him.
Thirty minutes later, I began to understand what Colby meant. The similarities were disturbing. The plot, if you were feeling generous, contained marked similarities to our case. No LARPers, but instead gamers who had had enough with bullying and decided to take revenge on their tormenters by summoning their favorite video game bosses to kill them.
Easy to see how the movie might have planted the seed, but it was far from a how-to manual.
Someone with real arcane knowledge taught the Amhersts how to summon and where to find the Boos.
“When was this movie released?” I figured Colby would know. “How widespread?”
“About a year ago,” she told me. “It didn’t make it into theaters.”
“Do you think this could have been in the planning stages for that long?” Asa kept his eyes on the screen to ensure one of us was paying attention. “There are obvious nods to the movie in our case, but who taught the Amhersts to summon? How did they know where to find the Boos’ remains? Why them? There’s no game or LARP link there. The Boos died before Mystic Realms was released.”
“Summoning fictional characters is, well, fiction.” That meant they couldn’t recreate the movie exactly. “Instead, the LARPers chose to summon paranormal pop culture icons with bloody histories. Maybe the choice is based on the summoners’ proximity to the burial sites? Except that leaves us with the problem of how the LARPers are finding these guys in bulk. Someone must be feeding them that intel.”
“You’re going to miss the best part,” Colby fussed. “Watch the last ten minutes. It’s worth it.”
The last ten minutes were a bloodbath where the gamers lost control of their boss, and the boss killed them. Their deaths were chalked up to yet another murder in a long string of them, and the bosses were yanked back to their reality, into their games. The crimes went down as unsolved mysteries.
“That was not a satisfying ending,” I remarked. “You liked that?”
“The point,” she said in her best kids know better than everyone voice, “is the creations turned on their creators.”
“The Boos are already threatening the Amhersts.” I recalled that wink from Malcom but still couldn’t make sense of it. “As the first summoners on our radar, their clocks are ticking the loudest.”
“I called a buddy in Savannah.” Clay ended the shared movie. “A necromancer.”
“That has bad idea written all over it,” I muttered. “They get tetchy when anyone brings anything back to life without paying their consultation fee.”
“She doesn’t need the money, and she cares more about saving lives than crunching numbers.”
“Another ex of yours?”
“Just an old friend who got a raw deal. She’s not a fan of the Society. That’s why I trust her. She’s not swayed by politics. She’s been the victim of them too often.”
The Society for Post-Life Management was the necromancer ruling body, and they were based in Savannah, Georgia. Since his contact was also in Savannah, she had a finger on the pulse of the Society.
“What did she have to say?” I had trouble picturing a helpful necromancer, one who didn’t charge by the hour. Or by the question. “Anything useful?”
“The summoners would have had to inter the remains of their boss of choice in graveyard dirt from their original grave but rebury them on property owned by the summoner who wanted to control them. She believes they’re onryō, a rare type of vengeful spirit that preys on those who wronged them in life. They can interact with objects and people, the better to murder the people with aforementioned objects.” He paused, as if checking his notes. “Since ours aren’t naturally occurring, they’re attacking their summoners’ tormentors rather than their own.”
Gold star for Colby.
The kid was right on the money with that gorefest we watched earlier.
“What level of magic is required for an undertaking of that size?”
“I like how you said undertaking.” He chortled. “She claims most of the magic is in the bones, and in the death itself. The victims—in this case, our bosses—were targeted for the popularity of their lore. It gives them life after death the same way gods get a kickback from being worshipped. Factor in their violent ends, and you’ve got magic waiting to be tapped by anyone with a thimbleful of skill. And they were all paranormal creatures. She’s certain of that. Which means the Boos, whatever they were, weren’t plain vanilla human.”
“Does she think this is an untrained necromancer?”
“Not a chance.” He explained, “Their magic, ironically enough, brings the dead back to life. Unlife?”
Vampires weren’t alive so much as they were reanimated, the same with pets, but his contact was likely protecting trade secrets with broad answers. Necromancers were a secretive bunch. Taciturn and cheap.
“Let me guess.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “This is the work of a black witch.”
We had been laboring under that assumption, given our past work on rogue cases, but it sucked to hear it confirmed that incidents were on the rise.
“That means the Amhersts have embraced the dark arts,” Asa pointed out. “That doesn’t look good for their parents.”
By far and away the most popular method for a white witch child to cement their black witch status was to kill their witch parent or parents and eat their hearts. The most brutal of dark offerings, it was almost a rite of passage. The Amhersts had, almost certainly, claimed their first victims before they dug up the Boo Brothers’ remains. With their parents MIA, I expected to locate those bodies before the case ended.
“We need to find the bosses’ bones.” I checked with Asa. “Can the daemon help with that?”
He had the best sense of smell but buried remains might prove tricky. Even for him. We weren’t talking flesh, which helped us out by rotting and making a stink, we were talking bones. Old bones. Most of their scent would have faded during their time underground.
A buzz from Asa’s phone gave me permission to cop a feel as I pulled it out of his pocket.
“Get Colby off the line.” I gave Clay a moment to comply then answered. “Hollis.”
“Agent Montenegro is with you,” Parish rasped, “I presume?”
“His hands are full.” I gave Asa a cheeky grin. “I’ll put you on speaker.”
“We have another case,” Parish informed us. “Old Man Fang was spotted in Tupelo.”
“No way,” Clay breathed. “Old Man Fang?”
Parish hadn’t given us permission to leave Clay behind in Raymond, not that we had asked, but if Parish heard Clay and thought he was here, I wasn’t going to disabuse him of the notion.
“I know this one.” I shocked everyone into silence. “Old Man Fang was a warg who—”
“The team in Natchez will remain in place under Fergal’s command.” Parish wasn’t interested in my summation. “You’re expected in Tupelo.”
“All right.” I couldn’t shake a budding sense of unease. “We’ll pack up and head out.”
After the call ended, I returned the phone to Asa. “What do you bet Ms. March is standing in the hall?”
“Trying to listen in?” He put away his current project. “Hoping for another free show?”
“Is it wrong to feel murder-y when I think about her hearing how you sound when you come?”
A bloodcurdling scream filled the room, and I almost fell off my side of the bed.
“Clay?” Pulse thumping, I groped for my phone, for the source. “Clay, are you okay?”
“I can’t hear you,” he sang. “I can’t hear you. I can’t hear you.”
“Clayton Kerr, are you all right?” I waited a beat. “Answer me. Right now. Or else.”
“Can’t hear. Nope. I can’t. Not gonna listen. Ever again.”
“He’s fine.” Asa mashed the button to end the shrill singsong. “Just traumatized.”
“He’s such a baby.” I threw my phone. “Though I do slightly regret him hearing me say that.”
Dirty talk wasn’t a strength of mine. I couldn’t make words sexy the way Asa could, and even he didn’t do it on purpose. That might have been the most direct line I had ever spoken to a man, and it figured Clay would overhear it.
“You’re jealous.” Asa let his supplies hit the floor. “You don’t want to share me with Murder Granny.”
As he climbed over me, I slid lower onto the mattress, allowing him to straddle me more comfortably.
“I don’t want to share any part of you with anyone,” I confessed. “I would stuff you in this pendant if I could.” I slapped his shoulder when he laughed. “I don’t want to hear it. You’d do the same to me in a heartbeat.” I craned my neck to kiss him. “You’re special. You know that, right?”
“To you.” He pressed the words against my lips, a brand. “Only ever to you.”
“Yeah, well, everyone else is an idiot.” I slung my arms around his neck. “They missed out.”
“We should go.” He shifted until he settled between my thighs. “Tupelo is several hours away.”
A knock on our door shattered the moment and proved Murder Granny had the same flawless timing as Clay where Asa and I and nakedness were concerned.
“We’re about to reenact one of the most romantic moments in our relationship.” I nudged him back, got to my feet, and loaded our new belongings. “We’re going to sneak out this window.” I gave it an experimental tug to ensure it wasn’t painted closed. “Then we’re going to run to the SUV like scalded cats and burn rubber.”
“That’s not how that night ended,” he reminded me, his hips pressing into my butt, his lips on my ear.
Leaning against him, I fought the urge to groan as his hands explored over my clothes. “Have you ever necked in an SUV?”
“No.” He bit mine to make a point. “I can’t say that I have.”
“Then our night isn’t over yet.”
Our night was so over.
I could tell the second I caught a glimpse of the carnage Old Man Fang left behind as his calling card. It was textbook, identical to the stories Meg had told me over the years. I wished Dad was here to see it. Old Man Fang’s legends were the kinds of stories I could imagine a black witch dad telling his daughter over a campfire.
“Well, if it isn’t the director’s prize pony. This must be a special occasion for him to trot you out.”
Dread in my gut, I whirled toward the voice, but not in time to fend off the attack.
“I haven’t seen you in forever,” Evette squealed, tackling me in a hug that smelled like lemon drops. She was cecaelian. Basically, a mermaid with tentacles. “Not since we drank Bourbon Street dry.” She pulled back, but her hands were everywhere. Even the six I couldn’t see, thanks to her natural ability to camouflage. She was lucky my hair was in a bun when she pounced. “Where have you been hiding?”
“I ran away from home.” I pried her off me. “Asa, this is Evette.”
“You brought me a present?” She clapped, her eyes flickering a luminescent green. “He’s so pretty.”
“He’s mine.” I gripped her upper arm and yanked her back. “Do. Not. Touch.”
She wet her full lips with her greenish tongue and debated whether to listen to me. We hadn’t been friends, but we had gotten into a lot of trouble together when I was younger. Usually after she wore that exact expression.
“He’s a daemon prince.” I kept a civil tone. “His person is sacred, particularly his hair.”
“How big is your altar?” She fluttered her lashes at him. “Should I worship you on my knees?”
All of a sudden, I felt certain anyone with eight arms could stand to lose one. Or six.
“Touch me,” Asa said, polite as you can be, “and Rue will slit your throat.”
Shock burst across her face, and she glanced back at me to find my athame in hand. “He’s not wrong.”
“It would be a mercy,” he continued, voice flat. “As I understand it, cecaelia can’t survive without all eight of their arms. Lore says they can’t swim without them and lose their way in the sea. They get lost and wander until they die of a broken heart from homesickness.”
“That’s barbaric.” Evette flexed her hands, her eyes narrowing on me. “Forgot who I was talking to for a beat.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and strutted off, swaying her hips. “Finch, you handle this.”
While Finch scuttled to us, we crouched over the body and began an examination. There was no mystery here. A large warg had gone wolf and ripped a guy open from chin to navel. Most of his organs were MIA, and blood spread like brushstrokes where the warg had lapped up the puddle with his tongue.
“They made a mistake with this one,” I told Asa quietly. “Meg will know where to find his bones.”
“She might have known where they were buried, but can she tell where they were moved?”
“I hear you go by Rue Hollis these days.” Finch measured me with a glance. “Evette’s right. You’ve been gone a long time. We all figured you were dead.” He tilted his head. “You’re not dead, are you?” He cracked a yellowed smile. “The things we’ve been seeing lately make it hard to tell.”
“Asa, this is Finch. Finch, Asa.” I answered the question in Asa’s eyes. “The three of us took a few classes together. We worked a few cases together too.”
“Until you got Roy killed.” Finch chuckled, as if the death of my first TO amused him. Roy had sucked as a training officer, but he hadn’t deserved to die like that. “That’s when you got saddled with the golem.”
That golem was the best friend I had ever had, but facts were facts. “Still am, actually.”
“Guess the director likes you under his thumb.”
“Guess so.”
“What can you tell us about the victim?” Asa interrupted our awkward reminiscing, thank the goddess.
“He worked as a butcher in a grocery store in town. Human. He fell for the old I hit a dog ploy.”
Man drives home late. Warg runs in front of car. Man hits warg. Warg plays dead. Man gets eaten.
“Who found him?” I picked up where Asa left off. “And when?”
“A human teen on her way home from work found him in the road, called the cops. We’ve been monitoring their frequencies heavily since this what-the-fuckery started. The Bureau dispatched a unit to contain the situation, and then Parish gave us a heads-up you were on your way.”
“My team, you mean.”
Finch delighted in correcting me. “I mean you.”
Stinging prickles coasted down my spine, that sense of wrongness blossoming.
“You are the black magic specialist.” Asa brushed his thumb along my cheek. “This case is in your wheelhouse.”
“I wouldn’t touch her if I was you.” Finch chuckled. “Last guy who tried without her permission ended up missing his hand.” His beady eyes twinkled at me. “Hell of a thing.”
