“My entire house is warded, Hunt. A Mundane wouldn’t have felt anything at all yet you act as if the whole place suddenly caved in on your head. Ergo, you’re not a Mundane.”
A Mundane?
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
I had my back to the wall now, my hands flat against the surface behind me, ready to use it for leverage if I needed to push off it suddenly. Trouble was, I’d gotten disoriented in the fall and didn’t know which direction was out. I could make a run for it and wind up deeper inside her apartment instead of out the door where I wanted to be.
“Stop playing games, Hunt. Dmitri and I have known there was something different about you for a while now. He might let you get away with that act you put on, but I won’t. Especially if you want my help. Now start talking.”
As I struggled to figure out how to answer her, I heard a loud click.
I knew that sound from a hundred different cop shows.
It was the sound of a pistol being chambered in front of me.
“Is that a gun?”
“Yes,” she replied.
My heart rate went up a few notches.
“Are you planning on using it?”
“Only if I have to.”
She sounded almost bored.
I was quite certain she knew how to do so, too. Apparently my time was running out.
“What do you want to know?”
“Are you here to harm me?”
What a curious question. Like I would tell her if I was? “No, I just need your help.”
She was quiet for a moment, long enough for me to wonder if she had left the room. All I could hear was the pounding of my own heart.
Abruptly, the veil over my senses lifted. Clearwater must have been very close—I could smell that particular scent of coffee and jasmine that she gave off like perfume—and my hearing went back to normal. I still couldn’t see, she had too many electrical lights blazing away for that, but at least the sense of being lost in nothingness went away.
“Take my hand. We’re going to go into the living room to talk, and I’d rather you didn’t trip and break your neck on the way. After that, if I believe you, we’ll see about that help.”
I didn’t want to. What I wanted to do was get the hell out of there; I didn’t like feeling so helpless. But then I thought of Elizabeth, and I visibly swallowed my pride and took Clearwater’s hand, letting her lead me into the living room where she put me in a seat across from her.
“Talk,” she said.
So I did. I told her everything. Well, almost everything. I told her about my missing daughter and just how far I’d gone, and still would go, in order to learn what had happened to her. I told her about my subsequent discovery that the world was full of things that the average person couldn’t see, some dark and terrible, some truly majestic, and how I’d been blessed or perhaps cursed with the ability to actually see them for what they are. I even explained my affinity for the dead and how I’d somehow managed to befriend two particular ghosts who I’d taken to calling Whisper and Scream. Last but not least, I told her about the work I’d been doing for the police and the two crime scenes to which I’d recently been called.
She sat calmly through it all, as if discussing gruesome murders and meandering spirits was something she did every day. I kept waiting for her to freak out and order me out of her home, but it never happened.
Taking her silence for permission to continue, I went on.
“At the second scene, I found this.”
I withdrew the envelope from my pocket and passed it to her.
There was a moment of silence as she opened it and looked inside.
“And?”
“And I need someone to help me determine what it is and, if possible, track it back to the person it came from.”
“And you think I can do that?” she asked.
I nodded, knowing how crazy it sounded but not caring much about that at this point. “Can you?”
She laughed.
“I should hope so, Hunt,” she replied. “I am, after all, a pretty decent witch.”
25
NOW
A hedge witch, actually, as I found out moments later. Historically, they were the village wise women, the local healers and seers, the ones you went to when you needed that little extra something. The term originated from the fact that the witch usually lived out beyond the hedge, or the boundary of the village. That area was considered part of the unknown, the wilds. The hedge witch lived on the boundary between the known and the unknown, between this world and the next, and was seen as one who walked in both. Gradually the name also began to be applied to those who were wise in the ways of the natural world, who explored the great mysteries of nature.
Clearwater explained all this to me as I sat there on her couch, the piece of stolen evidence sitting in an envelope on the table before us. I wasn’t worried about getting shot anymore, which was a relief, but I wasn’t sure what her reaction was going to be with regard to my end run around the police.
She, however, had other concerns.
“What’s your take in this?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you doing this? What’s in it for you?”
I shrugged, trying for lighthearted. “Just doing my civic duty. Ma’am.”
“Bullshit.” Her tone brooked no argument. “You don’t even like people, so I don’t see you as the altruistic type. Out with it.”
I could feel her scrutiny and something deep inside told me that if I wanted her help, I couldn’t lie. Not here, not now.
I reached into my pocket and withdrew the charms from Elizabeth’s bracelet. I’d been carrying them around with me ever since realizing they’d belonged to her; they made me feel somehow closer to her, gave me hope that at last things might be turning around. I showed them to her.
“These belonged to my daughter. I found one at each of the crime scenes. Whoever he is, he knows what happened to my little girl. I intend to find him before the police do.”
I didn’t say anything more. I didn’t need to. My tone was enough to let her know what my intentions were if I succeeded.
She was silent for a few moments.
“What can you tell me about the tissue sample?” she asked finally.
I told her how I’d gone back to Marshall’s loft and discovered it near the spot where his body was found. I didn’t mention the hidden room or the mysterious birch grove, as I didn’t see how they were relevant.
“You realize that whatever it is, it probably isn’t human.” She stated it as fact.
I wasn’t surprised; I’d suspected as much. “Is that a problem?” I asked.
“No, not really. Just something to be conscious of, that’s all. If we’re going to try and trace it back to its source, it pays to be aware of such things. There are plenty of creatures out there that value their privacy and don’t like being spied upon.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“Of course,” she said, sounding as if there had never been any doubt.
She led me into the kitchen and sat me down at the table. She left me alone for a moment as she went to gather what she needed for the working. I could hear her banging around in another room, muttering to herself, and something about it made me laugh. I made sure to have the smile off my face by the time she returned. When she came back, she put several items on the table in front of us.
“We’re going to use a scrying mirror for this working. Think of it as a crystal ball, but one that is flat instead of round, okay?”
“Sure.”
“In the same way that we all have a unique genetic signature, we also have a unique magickal signature. Call it a spiritual fingerprint, if you want. And as any competent worker of the Arts will tell you, that spiritual fingerprint can be used for all kinds of mischief. In this case, we’re going to use it to zero in on our suspect.”
“Will he know that we’re looking for him?”
“Not when I’m the one doing the looking.”
She talked me through what she intended to do. “A successful scrying depends upon many things: the strength of the one doing the working, the nearness of the subject, how strongly the subject does not wish to be seen, and a hundred other factors that are too esoteric to go into right now.
“The mirror will act as our focus. At first we won’t see anything, the mirror will simply appear like any old mirror, just as it does now. But as our seeking gets closer to its target on the ethereal plane, it will begin to shine brightly and ripples will run out from the center, as if someone had dropped a stone into a pool of water. The faster those ripples occur, the closer our seeking is to its target.
“If the working is successful, we’ll see the ripples stop, the center of the mirror will clear, and we’ll be able to see our target as if we’re watching a show on television.”
As I was way out of my league, I took her word for it. Who was I to argue with a witch?
“Because we are attempting to spy on a possibly otherworldly creature, I’m going to cast a ward around us just to be safe.” She explained that wards were one of the mainstays of modern magick and were used to form a shell of protection around a specific location, person, or object. They came in two types: minor and major. Minor wards were just what the name implied, minor magicks that could be used to protect an object or a location for the short term. These could be performed by a single individual with limited preparation, often on the fly, which is just what she intended to do now. Major wards were another story entirely, intended to last indefinitely and requiring several days of preparation by a sorcerer with considerable power, using the assistance of several acolytes. Major wards were not undertaken lightly, and the slightest mistake could have disastrous consequences.
“Isn’t the house already warded?” I asked. I remembered all too vividly my arrival.
“Yes, but it’s only a generic warding and keyed to me alone. This one, while much smaller, will be more specific to our particular task and therefore offer more protection for both of us. Shall we get started?”
She picked up something from the table and a moment later I heard her strike a match. She blew on something, probably to get the flame to catch, and then the sweet smell of incense wafted into the air around us. I was reminded of the way the priest would use an incense burner to bless the congregation on high holy days. She must have been doing something similar, because I could hear the soft clanking of a chain as she moved in a circle around the table.
“O Guardian of the East, Ancient One of the Air, I call you to attend us this night. I do summon, stir, and charge you to witness our rites and guard this Circle. Send your messenger among us, so that we might know that we have your blessing, and protect us with your holy might.”
A light breeze caressed my cheek, ruffling my hair. Within seconds the breeze strengthened to become a wind. I could imagine it stirring the incense smoke around us into a thick cloud.
The smoke stung my eyes and tickled my nose. I heard the flutter of wings, as if a great bird had suddenly flown into the room, and somewhere in the back of my mind I could hear its shrieking cry of hunger and warning, but it lasted for only a few seconds and then was gone.
I heard her strike another match, and the scent of a vanilla candle banished that of the incense. She moved around us again, this time in the opposite direction.
“O Guardian of the South, Ancient One of the Flames, I call you to attend us this night. I do summon, stir, and charge you to witness our rites and guard this Circle. Send your messenger among us, so that we might know that we have your blessing, and protect us with your holy might.”
There was no mistaking the sound of a roaring fire, nor the heat that streamed off of it. Suddenly frightened, I almost rose from the table but Clearwater’s hand on my shoulder gently held me in place.
She poured something into a cup or a bowl and then put it in the center of the table before calling out a third time, using the same ritual words but this time calling for the Guardian of the West, Ancient One of the Waves.
Her final words were almost drowned as a thunderclap boomed throughout the room. No sooner had its echoes died away than rain poured from the ceiling, hammering us in a torrential downpour. Something large and wet loomed overhead, like a wave about to break over us. But in the next instant it disappeared and I was dry again.
She was quiet for a moment, doing something, but I couldn’t tell what. We’d had air, fire, and water already, however, so I could guess what was coming, the element of Earth, the Guardian of, I figured, the North.
When she was finished, Clearwater sat down next to me again at last, and as she did a new kind of tension filled the air, as if every molecule had gained an additional charge.
“Well now, that should do it,” she said. “Let’s see what the mirror has to show us.”
We sat in silence at first, but after a couple of minutes, she said, “We’re getting something.”
I leaned forward eagerly, desperately wishing for Whisper’s presence so I could see. I wanted to look upon the face of the person who had done this. I thought of asking Clearwater to turn off the lights, but realized that even that wouldn’t help; the mirror was now glowing with a light of its own.
“Yes, yes, we’re getting closer, closer …”
I felt my blood pounding in my ears. Let’s have a look at you, you son of a bitch!
“Got you!” she crowed.
Clearwater’s next comment took me by surprise, however.
“It’s a woman,” she said, and I could hear the confusion in her voice. “A woman with long blond hair.”
A woman?
“No, wait, it’s a man. Late sixties, I’d say, long white hair and beard. He’s wearing a striped suit and it looks like he’s walking down a city street, I don’t know where, it doesn’t look familiar. The buildings look old, worn out. Wait a minute! Now it’s a younger man. He’s standing in Central Park, I recognize the Beresford building in the background.”
Central Park? What the hell …?
It didn’t stop there. For the next several minutes the image of our target morphed again and again, showing her more than twenty different individuals from all walks of life. Male, female, young, old, thin, fat, tall, short—you name it, we saw it. Or Clearwater did, rather. I just sat there in my personal darkness, growing more and more frustrated. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Enough! Shut it down.”
We sat in silence for a couple of minutes, lost in our own thoughts.
“Does that happen often?” I asked, thinking that maybe it signaled a failed sending or something.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
So much for that theory.
“Theoretically, it shouldn’t happen,” she said. “It’s almost impossible to interfere with a sending of that nature. You can block it, but if that was happening we wouldn’t get anything at all. I just don’t get it.”
Neither did I.
But we weren’t finished.
We still had the charms from Elizabeth’s bracelet.
26
NOW
I laid the pewter figurines on the table in front of me.
“Can we try the sending with one of these?”
I could hear her push them around a bit with her finger. She was quiet a moment, and then asked, “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Hunt?”
“What do you mean?”
She sighed. “Come on, don’t be obtuse. What if I zero in on your daughter’s location and, well …”
It took me a moment, but then I understood what she was trying hard not to say. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly as I considered the implications.
It had been five years since Elizabeth had mysteriously vanished from our house. In that time I hadn’t found a single trace of her. Not a one. Until now. This was
my chance to change that.
While I didn’t like to admit it, to myself or anyone else, I knew that Elizabeth might be dead. The police certainly thought so. They’d told me time and time again that most successful recoveries happen in the first seventy-two hours after a kidnapping and that after that, the chances of the victim living through the experience go down exponentially with each passing day. They had taken the active detectives off the case and sent her file over to the cold case division, where it got looked at once every three months as a matter of routine only. No one on the force was looking for my daughter; it was up to me and me alone.
I’d gone down some pretty strange roads since she’d disappeared. I saw no reason to stop now. If Clearwater had even a hair’s breadth chance of locating her, I was in.
I felt myself nodding, slowly and then with more emphasis. “Yes. I’m ready to do this,” I said to her. “I want to do this.”
“Okay. If you’re sure?”
“I am.” A pause. “Except …”
“What?”
“I can’t just sit here and listen to you tell me what’s happening. I need to see this.”
I could practically hear her frown as she said, “I don’t see how that’s going—”
I cut her off. “There is the possibility that I’m going to see my daughter for the first time in five years. You can’t keep that from me, you just can’t.” I hurriedly explained how I could sometimes borrow Whisper’s sight as my own. “All I have to do is call her; she’ll come, I know she will.”
There was a long moment of silence.
“I’m sorry, Hunt, but that’s—”
I interrupted her again. “Don’t give me that. Lower the shields, or whatever the hell you call them, and let her in. I have to see for myself.”
I was rapidly getting exasperated, and when that happens I need to move, to let the energy out before it consumes me from within. I would have gotten up to pace, but I was afraid not only of breaking the circle but of walking into a piece of furniture and looking like a fool. I settled for bouncing my right knee up and down, like a junkie waiting for a fix.
Eyes to See Page 13
