Black wings gray skies, p.15
Black Wings, Gray Skies, page 15
>Exactly.
>She sees you, swoops in, and spins a story about her dad owning this amazing property you could rent for a steal. With the killer using downstairs for body disposal, upstairs was likely kept empty. That left it ready for us to move in, and it put us right where they wanted us.
And if that hadn’t worked, they would have tried a different angle.
The possibilities for machinations were endless when you can be anyone to suit your narrative.
>>Dammit.
>>Why can’t anyone love me for me? Or at the very least my extensive wig collection?
>Text her. See if she responds. Then report back.
All my failures paraded behind my closed eyes while I waited with my phone in my hand.
>>Hey, I found that weird spell book of yours in my tent.
I did a double take before I noticed it was Aedan, and not Clay, touching base.
>>Did you leave it there? I must have missed it. Am I supposed to protect it while you’re gone?
That goddessdamned grimoire was up to its old tricks again.
I was an idiot for not destroying the book after the first glimpse of its contents.
No more excuses. No more bargaining. No more delays.
A black witch was sniffing around the shop, and it decided to pay Aedan, an employee, a visit?
Nope.
Not happening.
Arcane objects craved fulfillment of their purpose, and I was not letting it hitchhike to a new master.
>Pick up the book and toss it in the fire pit.
The outdoorsy Christmas gift from me wasn’t fancy, but it was sturdy, and it ran on propane.
>>Are you serious?
>As a heart attack.
>>Are you sure you don’t want to do it yourself when you get home?
Once the daemon cleared the rest of the space and declared it empty, he gave me back Asa.
>Burn it then dump the ashes in the creek.
The sticky front door jammed my shoulder when I shoved through it out onto the sidewalk.
>I would ask you to video chat with me while it roasts, but we’re following a lead. Film it for me?
>>Sure. Yeah. I’ll do that.
>Good. I exhaled through my teeth. Thanks.
Asa let me walk off my mad on the way to the parking deck, and I vented to him the whole time.
“Do you feel better?” Asa palmed his keys. “More importantly, do you think it will work?”
“I feel…ready to tear out the pages and use them as toilet paper if it doesn’t.”
“Then let’s hope it does.” He stepped back as the liftgate engaged. “The last thing you need is for its magic to clog your septic tank.”
From the SUV, we loaded backpacks with gear for mausoleum spelunking.
“What’s in this?” A gallon of sand was my guess. “It weighs a ton.”
“This and that.” He pressed a hefty metal flashlight into my hand. “Keep this at the ready.”
“Hags aren’t repelled by light.” I tested its unexpected weight. “I could crack a skull with this.”
“We don’t know what condition the tunnels will be in.” He took a flashlight for himself. “If we have to fight our way out, we need to see what’s around us.” He hesitated. “Your power is diminished with Colby cut off from you. That means we rely on your magic as little as possible.”
“Until we need it.”
“Until we need it,” he agreed with grim acceptance that told me how worried he was for me.
“I made it ten years as a white witch without drawing on Colby, and I didn’t die once.”
“While I respect that—” he stroked my cheek, “—I’m of the opinion once is one time too many.”
Black witches were hard to kill, and I had enough accumulation in me to keep me alive unless someone relieved me of my head. Probably. Healing grievous wounds took years or decades, but it could be done. There was a slight chance someone with my pedigree might even survive having their heart taken.
But I was in no rush to find out how much immunity my lineage offered now that I practiced white craft.
Especially when the risks I took with my life gambled with Colby’s as well.
>>Biscuit shop girl’s number has been disconnected.
“Aedan again?”
“Clay.” I shook my head. “The number the cashier gave him has been disconnected.”
The pattern emerging left me convinced we were being played. We just had to figure out by who.
13
As fate would have it, we had to wait for a ghost tour to finish at the cemetery before we could break in. There was probably a metaphor in there if you squinted hard enough, but I was too antsy after Aedan’s texts to find it. This case deserved my full attention, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Samford, to the black witch, to the grimoire.
“I’ve never understood the fascination.” Asa stared through the ornate bars. “It’s macabre.”
“Maybe so, but it’s a win/win if everyone plays their cards right.”
“What do you mean?” He walked with me to the front gate. “I can’t imagine the churches are thrilled.”
“A lot of tour companies in cities like this pay for exclusive access after dark. That money goes into preserving the cemetery, or graveyard, and restoration projects for tombstones, mausoleums, and statuary.”
“What’s the difference between them?”
“Graveyards and cemeteries?” I waited for his nod. “Graveyards are attached to churches.”
That was the simple answer.
“Hence the yard.”
“Hence the yard,” I agreed with a grin. “A cemetery is public burial ground not affiliated with a church.”
I was starting to feel like a guide myself. How fun would that be? To preach haunted history for a living?
“So,” I kept going, “tourists get their ghoul on, tour companies get to make a little extra for having the right access, and churches and cemeteries get help paying for maintenance they can’t afford to keep up their curb appeal for future residents.”
“How do you know about this?”
“When I was a newbie agent, Clay took me on a lot of ghost tours. It was a fun way to learn our region.” Most agents were assigned to an area. Only specialists or consultants got sent to the greatest need. “It was also a good way to learn the hotspots in town while surrounded by the safety of a dozen humans.”
Any paranormal creature would think twice before making a move in front of so many eyewitnesses.
Basically, it was the perfect setup for Clay to teach me the ropes, protect me, and entertain me.
That was how I learned about the symbiosis of ghost tour companies, tourists, and churches.
Though the same logic extended to historic homes, landmarks, and other cash-strapped organizations.
“The coast is clear.” I grinned at Asa. “Let’s get our boo on.”
Given how busy the streets remained after dark, and the routine nature of tours in the area, I wasn’t too concerned with giving us away to any boo hags lurking inside the mausoleum. I imagined, after a while, muffled by the thick marble walls, the outside chatter got to be white noise.
A touch of my wand to the lock popped it open, and we eased inside the gate, shutting it behind us.
From this point on, we would remain as quiet as the graves surrounding us as we crept toward our goal.
The Thurman mausoleum was easy to spot, as it was the largest and most central one in the cemetery.
Stained marble, abundant moss, and rusted metal gave the place an air of neglect.
There were, however, footprints on the steps leading up to the wrought iron door.
Asa came up beside me, and I unlatched the ornate lever holding the tomb shut without so much as a scrape. It swung open under my hand, and, to my utter shock, the tunnel ahead was brightly lit.
No cheap camping lanterns here. They had electricity. Wired in a long time ago, based on the fixtures.
A prickle of unease raised the hairs down my arms as Jilo’s intel replayed on a loop in my head.
This didn’t fit the story she pitched us.
What loomed ahead wasn’t some low-rent hidey-hole. This was an old nest with amenities that suggested it was in frequent use and had been for years. Long before our first victim went missing.
Asa and I exchanged a wary glance, and then the daemon claimed his skin in a crackle of eagerness.
Unlike the stale restaurant from earlier, the air here was fresh. Clean. Helped along by strong currents that blew hair into my eyes. Either they recirculated their oxygen, or the tunnel was open at both ends.
Wand in hand, I took point, aware the daemon was not happy with me acting as his shield.
With him plastered to my back, I wasn’t sure I was walking ahead so much as he was pushing me from behind. The only reason he didn’t hook an arm around me was he understood I required a certain range of motion to use my magic.
Whoever oversaw this nest took their housecleaning duties seriously. The ceiling was cobweb free, the walls polished, and the floors had only a day’s foot traffic to dust them. The lights overhead glowed in a neat row, unbroken by burnt-out bulbs.
The tunnel veered left, and the daemon edged around me to take the turn first.
“Hello.”
The broken silence was deafening, or maybe it was the sudden thunder of my pulse in my ears as I stepped forward to find a young woman with a Civil War-era saber held against the daemon’s throat.
“Hi.” Cold rage echoed in my voice that the walls threw back at me. “Mind lowering your weapon?”
“Mind lowering yours?” Her gaze flicked to my wand. “I don’t want to hurt your mate, but I will.”
The mate comment sailed past me, muffled by the roar in my head. But I forced myself to calm down, to think past the caustic bubble in my gut that craved flesh between my teeth. This woman was rational, more rational than me at the moment, and that didn’t fit with Jilo’s summation of the problem either.
Next time we saw her, Jilo had some ’splainin’ to do.
“Okay.” I slid my wand into its pocket in my pants. “Let’s talk.”
“For future reference, it’s rude to barge into someone’s home. Next time, just knock.”
“I apologize for our rudeness.” I had to bite my tongue to get out the words. “I’m Rue.”
The woman lowered her blade and didn’t fuss when I yanked the daemon to me.
“Marah.”
We shook hands like civilized people, made easier by the fact she was wearing one of her human kills.
Maybe not so civilized after all, when you really thought about it.
“We have a sitting room for visitors, if you want to work things out there.” She smiled up at the daemon. “I have cookies.” She chuckled. “They’re not a bribe from the dark side, but they do have chocolate chips, pecans, and toffee pieces.”
“Like cookies,” the daemon reminded me. “Rue talk?”
“I’ll bake cookies for you when we get back,” I promised. “Probably not a great idea to eat them here.”
Marah gave no sign of insult at my thinly veiled accusation that she might poison us, or, based on what we saw in the restaurant, feed us a new flavor of people cookie.
Seriously, when had those gained such popularity?
“Okay.” The daemon thrust a handful of hair at me. “We talk.”
“Right this way.” The woman gestured us to follow her. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”
The tunnel flared out into a twelve-by-twelve block laid out like a living room. Beyond it loomed the first security measure so far. A thick metal door with dented rivets and a patina of age guarded what must be the entrance to their inner sanctum. An old smuggler’s route indeed. I wondered if it opened on the sea.
“We sit.” The daemon claimed a plush sofa and patted the cushion beside him. “Sit, Rue.”
Rue sat.
Right beside a large basket stuffed with glossy leaves and bright white flowers.
Oleanders.
The sprigs already twisted into the beginnings of a wreath like the one we found in the alley.
“I don’t have to ask why you’re here.” The woman sank into a chair. “Jilo has been telling tales.”
“Black Hat has rather grim views on murder sprees that bring attention to paranormals.”
On occasion, it paid to be upfront. Especially with a murderous faction of people peelers.
After this debacle, the boo hags needed to know Black Hat existed, that we were aware of them, and we allowed their continued existence. On our terms. Which I was all too happy to enforce.
“Black Hat.” She sat up straighter. “You’re really one of them?”
“Afraid so.” I leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Tell me about the spell on Fort Sumter.”
It was a shot in the dark, but I hit the target with startling accuracy based on the jerk of her shoulders.
“Our grasp on magic isn’t so different from yours. We did what we could to mitigate the damage.”
She meant to imply she and I were alike, that black arts bound us, but I had broken free of those chains.
“Does that include having one of your people take a desk clerk at the hotel we stayed in our first night in Charleston? The same hotel where the rest of the agents have set up camp for the duration? Or a cashier at Bridge’s Biscuits? What about her? Her ‘dad’? Park rangers? Teachers? Spa owners?”
“We don’t exactly track one another’s avatars. What would be the point? We can scent our own kind.”
Ah, the vague answer of a seasoned politician. Always open to interpretation.
“The wreaths were your handiwork.”
She wanted me to know that. Appreciate it. Maybe even to thank her for it.
To memorialize the victims spoke of regret, but it struck me as staged for our benefit.
“Yes.” She dipped her gaze to her basket. “A token of remorse.”
“I’ve heard Jilo’s side of things.” I tuned out her attempts to humanize herself. “Tell me yours.”
“There’s a creation myth,” she began, and settled in to tell her story. “The first boo hag, Sorie, was…”
The cadence was practiced, as if she told it often, and she didn’t deviate from Jilo’s tale by a single word.
Curious how she would spin it, I asked, “How does that tie into Jilo?”
“She believed the story was true.” Marah tucked her legs under her. “She was convinced it was the way to save our kind. We only had to be brave enough to try.” She made herself smaller. “We refused to risk even one life with so few of us left, so Jilo swore to do it alone. I don’t know the specifics, but she did it.” She dug her fingers into the arm of her chair. “She always was a little on the nose. She named him Sorie. He is an all-consuming hunger that is never sated, no matter how many times she kills and feeds him. He is proof of her beliefs, and she is willing to let the grume face a different kind of extinction to keep him.”
Based on her stricken expression, she meant death by Black Hat, which was, after all, why we were here.
“Sorie caused the divide between you and Jilo.” I tamed my temper to say, “You cast them both out.”
To wreak havoc on their own.
“We are forbidden to harm one another, so our only recourse was to cast them out. It broke our hearts, to lose that spark of hope for a new generation, and our old friend, but we had to protect ourselves. We knew someone would come, eventually, when we quit cleaning up behind them. We’ve been waiting.”
…when we quit cleaning up behind them.
Our killer at turns appeared both eager and reluctant to get caught, and I was starting to see why.
There were two different factions within the grume working against one another for different outcomes.
But which was which? Who was harboring Sorie? Who was ensuring he and his progenitor got caught?
“You expect me to believe Jilo is evil, but trust that you’re sunshine and puppies.”
“Like puppies,” the daemon informed me. “Puppies soft.”
Afraid the next descriptor out of his mouth might be crunchy, I kept going before he did.
“According to Jilo, you’re a baby-crazed boo hag who tore herself in two to create Sorie. She claims it’s you, not her, who has killed enough humans to garner our attention.” I drummed my knee. “Forgive me, but it sounds like you’re two buddies who had a falling out and now want to get the other in trouble.”
“The best lies mirror the truth.”
Leaving us with two similar stories from two opposing sides that each contradicted the other.
I didn’t trust either of them. Jilo or Marah. There had been too much death for me to pick a side.
“You’re the one who greeted us. Does that make you this grume’s leader?”
“Yes,” she said after a moment. “I suppose it does, but we don’t view it that way.”
“Then why does Jilo want to pin this on you?”
“Jilo believes that if she kills me, she will be welcomed home. She blames her excommunication on me.” A flicker of grief washed over her. “She refused to leave, so I had no choice but to physically remove her and ban her from the nest.” Steel entered her gaze. “The others support me. They won’t take her back.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out then.”
The heavy metal door I noticed upon entering swung open to reveal two young men holding hands.
“Marah?” The taller one pushed his companion behind him. “Is everything all right?”
“They’re guests,” she assured him. “You have nothing to fear.”
With a curt nod, he sidled along the wall to the exit then shoved the other man out ahead of him.
“You’ll have to forgive them.” She stared after the pair. “We can’t afford to trust anyone these days.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” I rose, and so did the daemon. “We’ve got all we need, for now.”
“We’ll be here, if you decide to visit again.” She spread her hands. “We’re homebodies.”
The daemon gave himself over to Asa, who reached in his pocket and flung a handful of BB gun pellets.
