I gaped at her for a minute until it occurred to me I had a job to do. It was so easy to concentrate with that music playing. It made everything seem both easy and right.
“He was stabbed,” I said after a few minutes of searching. “Paul Mueller is listed as having died in 1910 at his parent’s home. No one was arrested because the mom had been bludgeoned and the dad had been attacked, died probably of blood loss.”
Imogen continued to play that tune.
My mind spun through everything I had learned. “We need to talk to Gina. I thought it was weird that she still smelled like alcohol when she’d showered and changed her clothes. That means she was possessed until just before she got to the office. Somebody transported her from the place where her body was used to murder her girlfriend, to her place, to my office.”
I started driving before it even hit me that something was in the back seat of my car. I glanced back and sorrow filled my mind. It was Gina or a remnant of her.
Tears filled my eyes. “Gina, it wasn’t your fault,” I said, aware that she had either been killed by Mueller’s ghost or she had killed herself.
Her eyes met mine as Imogen continued to play that tune. “I loved Tanya. The memory of my hands hurting her, it was more than I could handle. It was a relief to die at that man’s hands.”
A tear slid its way down my cheek as I turned onto the busy street. The fact it was getting close to dark had not escaped my notice. We had to figure out where Paul Mueller’s family home had been before he killed anyone else.
“Gina, can you tell me what happened after Tanya died?” I questioned, praying that her death would make the pain of my abrupt question a little less potent to her.
Imogen’s song continued on. The peace of the tune, along with whatever magic she was calling on, made it appear easier for Gina’s spirit to be there.
She sat still for a moment before she turned her eyes down. “I thought it was a joke but then that figure was right in front of me and . . . it was like smoke went inside me. When it did, everything faded back for me. I saw but I wasn’t really there. I saw myself stop the car. I saw Tanya get out after me, ask me what I was doing. But all of a sudden, there was an ax in my hand. It was right there and I felt a mix of hatred and excitement when I hit her with the ax.”
A shiver of horror passed through me. She watched that happen to the person she loved and woke up and found out it had been her? I couldn’t even imagine the pain it must have caused her.
Something about the story made the back of my neck prickle. I waited for her to finish. I already had a guess, though.
“Another figure was there,” Gina said, speaking the words I had guessed would be part of her story. “There was a man off to the side, recording what happened on his phone. Something about that man made the spirit inside me afraid. It was a feeling the ghost didn’t like. But there was laughter in the air. I could hear it. Someone helped Paul lift Tanya’s body up onto the spike and that second spirit laughed the whole time.”
Imogen flicked her eyes toward me as she played, clearly as disconcerted by the ghost’s story as I was.
Gina continued on, her half translucent figure less solid than she had been at first. “The man recorded everything we did on his phone. When Tanya’s body was staged as the thing inside me wanted it to be, the man with the phone guided me to a car.”
“Where did he take you?”
“To a farm on the other end of the city.”
“Gina, can you tell me why he took you there?”
Her figure faded a little more. “The girl wanted to see her parents.”
My heart started jackhammering in my chest. “Did you see them?”
“No and that made the girl angry,” she said, resting her hand on her ribs. “There was so much malice in her eyes, the kind of hatred I’ve never even imagined a girl so young could feel.”
“B-because he had killed their parents?”
Gina shook her head. “Because he didn’t let her do it.”
And all the puzzle pieces clicked into place. Paul Mueller had gone to the school where his sister was on her birthday and had killed twelve girls, then her. They must have worked together. That had to be what Tria had been talking about, that there was something that didn’t make sense about Edith.
The brother and sister had worked together to commit those heinous kills, then when Paul Mueller had finished, he had done the same thing to his little sister.
“Gina, where was the farm?” I asked, praying she could tell us before her spirit went off to its afterlife.
An image floated in front of my eyes. It was a place I’d never seen before but with the image came the knowledge of how to get there. I had no idea how it happened. All I knew was that danger was coming for us no matter what direction we turned.
TWENTY
Tria Hewitt wasn’t sure if it was a better idea to stay in her car or to get out. Maybe lending moral support to the proceedings would give Tillie an edge over Paul Mueller.
She shifted around and slowly got out of her car, her eyes fixed on the scene in front of her. The police officer was older and hard-faced, a man who had been damaged by all the damage he had seen in his career. But she could also see the dark spirit.
It was inside the man, wrapped around his soul like a demon. It was a horrifying thing to be able to see, yet something told her she would see far more horrifying things that day.
Tria watched as Tillie’s spirit, which was more shadow than true form, shot toward Paul Mueller like a wisp of smoke. It looked like he hadn’t expected her to move so quickly, his mouth hanging open as her figure passed through the body of Detective Roche.
As Tria watched, lesions appeared on the man’s skin. Her eyes widened. Tillie had poisoned people with arsenic. That must be what she had done. The detective’s body had been poisoned.
No. No. No. She had to do something. She had needed the help facing down that spirit but not at the cost of a man’s life. If only she had salt or iron or . . . but she knew someone who did.
She brought up her phone to send a text to Madison but stopped when she saw she didn’t stand there alone. The smell of roses filled the air around her. She recognized the scent as the one from Edith but the feeling that came from the figure was of pure enmity.
Tria turned her head to look at the ghost of the girl and her blood ran cold. The look on Edith’s face was one that scared her to her core. Edith’s face was red as she shot an intense, fevered stare at the other two. There was so much darkness around the girl that the smell of roses grew rancid like the flowers had begun to decay.
Tria took a step back. She was brought up short by the car. She kept her eyes fixed on Edith, sure something was wrong.
Her attention was drawn to Detective Roche. The dark spirit inside him kept his body moving despite the damage the arsenic had done to him. There was still a window of opportunity to be able to save him. He would be in critical condition but if she could call the spirit out of him, she might be able to save his life.
Tillie’s spirit shot toward the detective again. Paul Mueller’s spirit released the man’s soul and shot forward as well, colliding with Tillie’s ghost.
Detective Roche slumped back but didn’t fall, his eyes fixed on the ghostly battle in front of him. His mouth opened wide as he watched. It was like realization dawned in his mind.
He had obviously never believed. Tria had dealt with people like him before. They never believed until the truth hit them in the face. Detective Roche had just been clubbed in the head with that truth.
He stared for a while until slowly, his own pain seemed to register in his mind. His hands and face were covered in lesions and he clutched at his stomach like he was about to throw up. Tria didn’t know much about how arsenic poisoning affected the body, yet it was clear it was not pleasant. The man doubled over and began to vomit, his knees giving out as he kept his eyes fixed on the ghostly battle in front of him.
Tria rushed over to the man, t
aking out her phone to call for an ambulance. There had to be something she could do but she wasn’t sure how severe his poisoning was. She wished Poston was there to advise her.
Her fingers fumbled on the screen of her phone, her attention divided between the man and the ghosts around them. She knew the detective was the one who needed her attention, so focused on the phone instead. Her mouth fell open when Edith’s spirit shot toward her and knocked the phone from her hand.
She heard the shattering of glass and the crunch of the case as the phone hit the unmarked police car. She gaped, horrified by the hostility radiating off the girl. It was the most frightening thing she had ever seen or felt in her life.
Her body was cold as ice. She had no guardian spirit to protect her. She was on her own.
Tria turned to look at the spector, not seeing even the slightest hint of the innocent girl she had first beheld. What she saw was someone as dark as Paul Mueller. And the scent of roses made sense to her.
A rose. A beautiful, sweet-smelling flower . . . with thorns. She had never imagined that the girl could have been anything more than an innocent child. She saw clearly that she had been wrong.
Tria watched as Edith’s face went hard, a malevolent phantom who wanted blood.
The sound of running footsteps filled her ears but Tria couldn’t take her eyes off Edith. Poston had brought the spirit to her. There had to be a reason. There had to be good in her or Poston wouldn’t have allowed the girl to be near her.
A shriek of pain brought her attention back to Paul and Tillie’s battle. Her mouth fell open when she saw that Paul Mueller’s spirit had clubbed Tillie in the side of the head but he didn’t stop. The two spirits were able to use the weapons they had killed with . . . and the ax he had used was in his hand.
Paul Mueller swung back and forth with the ax and Tillie . . . she turned her eyes to meet Tria’s. Tears filled the ghost’s eyes as Paul Mueller’s spirit plunged his hand into her body and tore out the bit of her soul that kept her on the earth plane.
Tria’s eyes bugged as that devil wrapped his hands around the fragment of soul and it burst into flames. He had annihilated the last bit of Tillie Klimek.
Tria turned, looking for something, anything to stop the spirit from possessing the body of the detective again.
That was when she saw Ian. The handsome guy who was so obviously in love with Madison was there, a vial of salt in his hand.
The trouble was, his eyes were only fixed on Paul Mueller. He didn’t look at Edith. He ran forward, the salt ready to throw . . . when Edith’s spirit collided with him.
Tria’s mouth opened in a scream as Edith’s decayed rose scent permeated the air around Ian and Paul Mueller came back to the body of the detective.
She reached for the phone in the man’s pocket but was stopped when the possessed man’s hand wrapped around her throat and he lifted her into the air. “Our third,” the spirit said through the detective’s mouth.
“We must take her to the third bend of the road, brother. Tradition must be upheld,” Edith said through Ian’s body.
And Tria knew why Tillie had not promised her there would be no collateral damage. She would die. It was clear as day.
As the two spirits used the two men’s bodies to end her, Tria’s eyes fell on a man in a car not far from them. That man wore a white lab coat, his phone held up to record what happened. Dr. Renat. But there was nothing she could do. Death had called. All she could do was to answer.
TWENTY-ONE
My heart fluttered as Imogen stopped playing her song. It had been a simple melody but the magic in the tune had . . . I didn’t even know what it had done. I just felt bereaved that it was gone.
I blinked a few times, relieved when my thought process cleared out. I remembered the music. I would recognize it anywhere. But I also remembered myself and our job. We had to get to the Mueller family home and . . . and what, though? That hadn’t been discussed.
I looked over at Imogen as we stopped at a light, suddenly understanding what was going on. “You wanted to know where they’re buried because you can do something, can’t you?” I asked, wishing I had done more research on the fae.
Imogen nodded. “My song calls on the magic already in the air. What I can do is ask that magic to bind the spirits of the Muellers in their graves. I need to be right there or the magic doesn’t know where to go,” she explained, her eyes fixed on the flute in her hand. “Madison, this is some serious dark magic going on around us. It really would be better if we had a team of fae, all with earth magic. I . . . might not have enough juice to do this.”
I tipped my head to the side, twiddling my fingers on the wheel. “You and I have been roommates for eight months. In that time, you have never once let on that you’re not fully human. But after half an hour of knowing the truth about you, I have no doubt you have the juice to do whatever you set out to do. Your song called Gina’s spirit back to talk to us. You can do this,” I stated, no doubt in my heart or mind.
She smirked at me. “Madison Meyer, motivational speaker,” she said, bringing her hands together in a teasing clap.
“I’m not kidding, Imogen. I’m positive you can do this.”
“I’m not hunting for a compliment. I’m trying to tell you, this isn’t going to be easy.”
“I never said it would be easy. I said you had the power to do it.”
She blew out a long breath and rested her elbow on the door, rubbing at her brow. “You know, I thought about telling you my truth when you started working for TC Erkens. I just wasn’t sure if you’d consider me a threat or not. Now that you know and I see how you’re reacting, I wish I’d told you a long time ago.”
I chewed on my bottom lip, my eyes still fixed on the road. “I uh . . . wish you had too but I’m not mad about it. I just can’t believe I didn’t figure it out. I’m a paranormal investigator and had no idea that my roommate is a paranormal.”
She flicked her eyes in my direction. “Half. That’s how I got away with it. Most fae, they’re so ethereal, there’s no way to hide it.” She tugged on her fluorescent green hair. “Going punk makes me look more human.”
I nodded, understanding what she meant. The rocker chick look was more of a disguise than anything else and it had worked perfectly. I would also guess that her human DNA made the fae side easier to conceal. I honestly couldn’t think of a single reason why she would want to conceal it, though.
I opened my mouth to ask her about it when a chill passed over me. The cold worked its way inside me until I felt like my car was a freezer. I flicked my eyes back, almost veering off the road at the sight of the nun who sat so nonchalantly in my back seat.
My heart pounded so hard, it was difficult to breathe. My head swam. I was not entirely convinced that the nun was good.
The only way I knew she was a nun was because of the habit she wore. The rest of her was hardly more than charred bone and fragments of burned flesh. She was a gruesome spirit to see.
“The Lord bless thee, and keep thee: The Lord make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee: The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace,” the nun said, though that time, it seemed less threatening than it had the night before.
I stared at the spirit until it occurred to me that I was driving. I looked back at the road, my hands shaky on the wheel. “What are you trying to tell me?” I asked, needing something other than scripture verses to understand what she meant.
The nun’s mouth worked silently for a few moments before slowly, she raised her hand. “Death . . . has . . . returned,” she faltered, her mouth working more but no more words would escape.
My mouth went dry as dust. Slowly, I pulled the chunk of amber out of my pocket and reached back to bring it close to the ghost of the nun. It was the smoky gray Spencer had told me it would be when it was near a ghost but there were silver lines through the gray. He’d told me that meant something was pure. That was my answer. The ghost of the nun could b
e trusted.
“Where has death come to?” I demanded, trying to focus both on driving and on the specter in my back seat.
But the look on the ghost’s blackened face made it clear where death had come back to. She opened her mouth and all of a sudden, words began to pour from her, clearer than they had been so far. “It was Easter Sunday. A holy day. The Lord’s day. I believed it must be a dream when I heard the scream in the night. A feeling of foreboding woke me fully. I went to look in on the girls and so many of them were missing.” Tears gleamed in the ghost’s eyes. “I peered out of the window and I saw Edith tearing the clothes from one of the girl’s bodies. She bared the girls before her brother and impaled them for the world to see. Edith was an outgoing girl, well-liked and pretty, a girl I believed the Lord’s light shone through. I know now it was the devil shining through her. She laughed as they did their gruesome work and laughed harder as we prayed for our merciful Lord to protect us. They bound us inside the school but I saw the boy tear the clothes from Edith’s body and place her on the thirteenth bend in the road,” and the nun’s spirit faded back, her message having been given to me.
My whole body felt like it had been encased in ice. Edith Mueller’s body was on the thirteenth bend in the road.
Imogen shuddered as well, her hand clutched so hard around her flute, her knuckles were white. “They’re in different locations. I can’t do this alone,” she muttered, then fast as lightning, she took her phone out.
I was busy swerving onto a side street. Calculating in my brain the best way to get to Campbells Run Road took me about five seconds. It would involve some serious use of the gas pedal but it hardly mattered. We had to get there before Edith Mueller and her brother hurt anyone else.
“Kelton. I need your help,” Imogen blurted into the phone.
I didn’t know who Kelton was but could only assume they were fae as well. I hoped whoever they were, they’d be willing to be Imogen’s backup. More than that, I wished Erkens and Spencer were there.
The Thirteen Bends Page 10
