by Catie Rhodes
I opened my mouth to argue but snapped it shut. Wade had made his decision when he wrote that Dear Peri Jean Mace letter and hightailed it out of my life. Hearing Desiree tell me why it would never happen broke my heart into a million pieces, but it solidified things. Wade and I were done. Nothing I said or did would change it.
Shelly watched me, her dark eyes intent on something around my head. “Your aura shows that now would be a good time for you to drop the rock and start again. My advice? Go for it with the next man who seems interesting. You never know what you’ll find.”
It didn’t matter what Shelly thought or said. I couldn’t imagine myself liking another man enough to even bother with a ten-day ugly bumping marathon. Forget any new relationships.
Hannah watched me think. She knew me better than anybody. She smoked the last of her cigarette and stood. “Let’s drop it for now. I’ve got some stuff I want to show you.”
I sat up straighter, glad for a change in the subject. “Did you find anything about Oscar Rivera in Austin?”
Shelly and Hannah had taken a day trip to Austin, ostensibly to shop, while the workers had been setting up Summervale in its current location. They must have done a lot more than shop.
“I’ve been talking to a girl online who does ghost tours in Austin. She’d written an article for her blog about something that intrigued me. She agreed to meet me for coffee.” Hannah turned to a file cabinet in the corner, slid open one of the drawers, and dug around in it. “She gave me a few ideas. I ended up having to make copies out of a reference book they had at the library, but look at these.” She handed me a sheaf of pages. I leafed through them.
The first one was a copy of a page-sized picture. At first glance, all I saw were a bunch of people dressed in dusty looking clothes and staring straight ahead like they were having their mugshots taken. But then I recognized Oscar Rivera’s thick lips and sloe eyes.
“Holy shit. It’s him.” A shiver worked its way down my spine. I set the page aside and skimmed over the entry associated with it.
Oscar Rivera was named as William Burkehardt in the picture. This Burkehardt started a church in Austin catering to wealthy widows interested in spiritualism. He presented it as exploratory Christianity, but one of the members of the order said they did a lot of trying to contact the spirit world and even tried a crossroads-style meeting to attract spirits.
One weekend, the entire membership—about ten women—disappeared. It was thought Oscar, or William, had spirited them away to get their money. They were looked for but never heard from again.
The member quoted in the article, which was based on an old news story, said the disappearance happened while she was out of town but that she had already lost interest in the group before she left. Burkehardt scared her.
I tried to hand the papers back to Hannah.
“There’s one more,” she said.
I flipped to the last page. It was from an article dated a year after the disappearance of Oscar and his harem. It was a copy of a newspaper article about a murder. I skimmed through the details, noting the name of the victim. It matched the one member of Oscar’s church who hadn’t disappeared. She’d been hacked to death with some sort of long blade and then mutilated. The bones had been taken out of one leg.
“The runes,” I whispered.
During my fight with Oscar Rivera several months earlier, I’d become acquainted with a set of runes he’d created out the bones of his victims. Each rune, smaller and thinner than a domino, had been carved with a particular symbol. The symbol represented a deal Oscar had made for immortality with a creature from the dark outposts.
Each rune carried the life force of the victim it came from. The life force contained in the runes allowed Oscar’s corporeal body to live without the effects of age or disease. Because of the runes, Oscar walked among the living.
But every bargain with a creature like the one Oscar dealt with has a loophole. Oscar’s loophole had been that his corporeal body, while it could not get old or sick and die, could be killed. Oscar had pissed off the wrong witch—an ancestor of mine—and got his corporeal body killed.
His consciousness, the evil that made him Oscar, went to where he’d hidden his soul. No longer able to walk among the living, and unwilling to join the ranks of the dead, Oscar had languished there with his trapped soul. Until the wrong person had found one of his death runes and summoned him back.
Oscar’s second walk among the living had ended in a fight with me. I’d sacrificed so much to send his awful, evil consciousness back to his soul. As far as I knew, he was still sitting in that cave with his soul, waiting for another moron to find one of his death runes. My goal was to find the box where he’d hidden his soul and forcefully banish it to the dark outposts before Oscar could make his way back among the living.
Hannah’s voice cut into my thoughts and made me jump. “How much you want to bet a piece of every single one of those missing women is in that bag of runes you have?” Hannah wrinkled her nose.
Gross. I wrinkled my nose. “That makes me wish I could throw them away. But Samantha said the wheel and the runes were my key to finding where Oscar hid his soul.”
“You made any progress on that?” Shelly knew the story and seemed to have a working understanding of it.
“I tried a few of the divining spells in Priscilla Herrera’s grimoire, but nothing happened.” I stopped and reconsidered. “Oh, the runes got hot with magic and I could hear people screaming, but I didn’t see anything useful.”
“What about the wheel?” Shelly asked.
The wheel had been gifted to me by Priscilla Herrera’s daughter Samantha—the witch who’d killed Oscar’s mortal body. Of course, Samantha was already dead when the gifting happened. But I still thought it counted as a gift.
My biggest problem with the wheel was that I couldn’t quite understand its purpose. Therefore, I didn’t know its function or what to do with it. Realizing both Shelly and Hannah were watching me with puzzled looks crinkling their features, I said, “The only time I’ve seen the wheel do anything is when Sol crawled out of it and killed people.” I paused, enjoying the horrified looks on Hannah’s and Shelly’s faces.
“So it’s a summoning device.” Shelly spoke with confidence. But then she always sounded that way.
I shrugged. “I’ve tried a few of Priscilla’s summoning spells on it. It just stays cold and dead.”
Jadine’s vision of me with the runes returned to my memory. The image still didn’t connect to anything I knew. I needed more information.
“Who would know about the wheel?” I muttered out loud.
“The only person I know is Mysti Whitebyrd,” Hannah said, “and I can’t believe the two of you haven’t beaten the topic to death.”
We had. I gave her a shrug and a nod.
“What about your problem accessing the center of our family’s power?” Shelly raised her pencil-thin eyebrows. “The mantle, I mean. Could that have anything to do with your inability to make the wheel and the runes work together?”
I grunted in answer. I didn’t even want to think about that stupid spell. It made me tired.
“Have you done any more work on removing the spell?” Not one to beat around the bush, Shelly also wouldn’t drop a topic just because it made me uncomfortable.
I shook my head. “I don’t know what to do. Cecil mentioned a man he knew who might help. But honestly, I’m a little afraid of what he’ll do to me. When Sol ate a hole in the spell to let some of the mantle out, I thought I was losing my mind from the pain.”
Hannah, who’d endured more physical and emotional pain than just about anybody I knew, stared into the face painting tent, face haunted.
Shelly spoke up. “I tend to believe the power we need is within us from the start. There is a way to remove that spell yourself. Didn’t you say it was a form of scar tissue, made up of the bad things you’ve endured?”
I nodded.
She pointed at me. “Think
about what we were just saying about leaving the past behind and blazing a new road into the future.”
“But…” I didn’t know what my argument was, but I did know it wasn’t as simple as shrugging off all the bad I’d endured like a too-hot coat.
“No, not yet.” A man’s cry came from right outside the tent. I recognized the voice right away.
Before I could react, Shelly shouted, “That’s my Cecil,” and raced out of the tent. Hannah and I hurried along behind her.
Cecil stood off in the middle of the dirt midway, one hand clapped to his chest, sucking in deep, moaning breaths.
“No, Jackson. Not yet,” he managed between pants.
Shelly ran to her husband’s side and grabbed his arm. “Somebody call an ambulance,” she yelled. For Shelly to want outside help, she had to believe Cecil was really dying.
I whipped out my phone, but Hannah gripped my wrist.
“He’s not dying,” she said. Her caramel eyes locked on my darker ones. For a second I relived the horror of saving her after a suicide attempt. Her re-entry into the land of the living came with a talent. She predicted deaths. The irony of it hurt my soul. I gave her a grateful nod, and she let go of me.
Still holding my phone, I approached Cecil. His frightened gaze latched on to mine.
“Peri Jean, do you see Jackson’s ghost?” He pointed at a man standing a few feet away, mouth hanging open in shock at the scene. The poor man clutched a picture in one hand.
“That man’s not a ghost, Papaw. He’s alive like us.” I advanced on the man. “Are you Jackson?” I yelled, expecting the man to back up. He stood his ground, head lowered like an animal, staring out at me from narrow glittering green eyes.
“No. I’m not Jackson. My name’s Tanner Letts. My grandfather was Jackson.” Tanner’s voice, a rough purr, stopped me from coming any closer.
The sound of that voice did something to my body. Made it hot all over. Suddenly, I didn’t want to argue with Tanner any more. I wanted to go somewhere and splash cold water on my face.
Tanner walked toward us, steps soft and rocking, like a big animal on the prowl. “Should I call the paramedics?”
His concise way of enunciating words, of speaking every syllable, marked him as not from Texas or the South. An outsider in every possible way. Just what we needed.
I looked at Cecil for the answer. Only he knew if he still felt like he was dying. Sweat covered my uncle’s face, had dampened his white dress shirt, and made it stick to his chest.
“No. I thought Tanner here was his grandfather’s ghost. Jackson always said… well, it's silly.” Cecil put his arm around Shelly and leaned on her.
“Tell us, honey.” Shelly stared at her husband, probably worried he’d keel over with no warning.
Cecil cleared his throat. “Jackson Letts was my best friend throughout boyhood. The last time we spoke, Jackson and I agreed that whoever died first would come fetch the other when it was their time to die so we could walk into the afterlife, the next great adventure, the same way we’d done things as young men.” Cecil’s voice quaked on the last word. Tears flooded his eyes. He tried to laugh. “My heart’s been so bad the last couple of years…I just thought…”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Tanner stepped forward and handed Cecil the picture he’d been holding this whole time.
I crowded in, brushing against Tanner. Those jewel-colored eyes met mine again. I tried to ignore him and looked at the picture. It showed Cecil as a very young man, maybe early twenties, standing next to a man who shared Tanner’s narrow chin and wide cheekbones. Both Tanner and Jackson sported broad, bar-fight noses, though Jackson’s was more crooked.
Tanner caught me staring. I glanced away, cheeks heating. World’s Biggest Tramp goes to Peri Jean Mace. Five minutes earlier I’d been crying my eyes out over Wade, thinking I’d never get over him. Thinking any other man would be a weak substitute for Wade. Why was I even bothering to assess Tanner Letts? He was probably a loser anyway.
I caught Hannah watching me. She raised her eyebrows and shrugged. I could practically hear her thoughts in my head. Let it go. Move forward or be trampled by everything else moving past you. I ignored her and pretended to be fascinated by the picture.
“You were good-looking, Papaw.” I nudged Cecil. He laughed and shook his head, already getting his color back. I took the opportunity to check out Tanner some more.
Long brown hair brushing his shoulders. Muscular thighs encased in black jeans so faded they were gray at the thighs and white on the knees. Tight T-shirt with a faded emblem I couldn’t quite read. Facial hair trimmed to the perfect length, not quite stubble, not quite beard. Mr. Rock-n-Roll.
Then I noticed the necklace. Jadine’s vision of the man looking for us came crashing back. The necklace wasn’t a snake. It was a plain silver chain looped through a silver ring. The ring was a snake eating its own tail. Ouroboros. Close enough.
Especially when the other part of the vision had me with a hole in my head and wading in the Coachman’s runes. Tanner better have some good answers about why he was here.
“You’re the one who’s been looking for us.” I faced Tanner. The black opal pinged to let me know there was something magical about him. I didn’t care what it was right then. He’d been tracking us, and he'd better have a damn good reason why.
“Of course I’ve been looking for you.” He tried to laugh it off, but he widened his stance. The cat getting ready to pounce.
“Move,” Finn yelled at the people who’d surrounded us.
For the first time, I took in the curious faces. “Show’s over,” I yelled. “Go back to having fun or go home. My uncle just had a scare.”
The people moved enough for Jadine to push her way through. Finn followed right behind her. I pulled Jadine to me, made her stand next to Tanner, and whispered, “I think this is the man from your vision. He’s here looking for Papaw, and he has an ouroboros necklace. Can you sense anything?”
Jadine held one hand toward Tanner, fingers reaching. She wanted to touch him.
Tanner backed away, muscles in his arms tensing. “What is this? I’m just here to talk to Cecil Gregg. I don’t want trouble.”
Finn stepped behind Tanner and gripped both his arms. Tanner twisted in Finn’s grip, easily slipping out of it. He bent both knees and held up his fists.
“I don’t want to fight you people. I’m just…” Tanner glanced at Cecil, the intimidating eyes no longer confident. Now they almost pleaded.
Cecil motioned for us to get away from Tanner. “You kids stop it. Give him some room.”
Tanner backed into me, his long hair brushing my face. The scent of his shampoo filled my nose, clean and manly. I shoved him back toward Finn. Tanner spun, already rearing back to hit, but stopped himself with an obvious effort. We glared at each other. The bright lights gleamed golden on his not-quite-beard, and sweat glossed his sun-bronzed skin. I forced a frown onto my face.
“Tell us what you’re up to.” I tore my gaze off him and glanced around for Finn’s wife, Dillon. She could use her gift of persuasion on Tanner. Get him to tell us anything we ever wanted to know.
“Everybody stand down,” Cecil shouted. “Tanner is the grandson of the best friend I ever had. He’ll be heard with respect.”
Finn and I backed away, hands up in surrender. We exchanged a glance. I pushed a thought to the forefront of my mind. Jump him if he runs. Finn, a telepath, nodded his understanding of my command.
“This is not how I pictured this.” Tanner, having regained his cool, kicked at the ground with one of his worn-out, square-toed boots.
“Life is rarely how you picture it. Start talking.” My eyes met Tanner’s again. I narrowed them to let him know I meant business. Tanner did the same.
Cecil put his hand on Tanner’s arm. “Just relax. Peri Jean here—she’s my niece and Sanctuary’s enforcer—seems a lot meaner than she is.”
Cecil shot a glare at me, its meaning clear. Back off and let this guy
talk. Even though I didn’t want to, I took a step backward.
Watching me, Tanner tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. His neck, smooth-shaven, looked soft but strong. A current of desire ran through me, made my jeans too tight. My lips parted. Tanner’s nostrils flared, his tongue going to the corner of his mouth.
He took his eyes off me and spoke to Cecil. “Fine. I’ve had a bad couple of years. Lost everything.”
His voice, rough and soft all at the same time, seeped into me as though he was touching my body.
Tanner danced foot to foot, uncomfortable, but still fluid with each movement. “When I was getting the last of my stuff out of my house —what I didn’t have to leave after the bank foreclosed—I found a box of pictures. That one was in it.” Tanner gestured at the picture Cecil still held. “I remembered all the times my grandfather told me about Sanctuary, how he said it was a place where you go when you need somewhere safe.”
Tanner’s story pierced my heart, stirred up the beginnings of sympathy. No. I did not want to sympathize with this guy. He needed get the hell out.
I couldn’t quit looking at him, and looking at Tanner felt like a betrayal to Wade. It wasn’t that Tanner was pretty. The wide cheekbones and the brawler’s nose kicked him out of male model territory. But it didn’t matter. Tanner’s kind of magnetism ran deeper than pretty. And those eyes. They made my stomach flip-flop.
That was when I decided Tanner couldn’t stay with Sanctuary. Because if he was around, it was going to make me have thoughts I didn’t want. I wanted to mourn the loss of any possibility ever with Wade on my own terms. I formulated my no and glanced at Cecil.
My uncle wore a wide grin, and his dark eyes glowed with excitement. Before I could tell Tanner to hit the road, Cecil said, “We’d love to have you, son.”
Tanner swallowed and stood very still, breeze fluttering long strands of his hair.
