Victoria Cage Necromancer: The First Three Books (Victoria Cage Necromancer Omnibus Book 1)

by Eli Constant

  I told him almost everything, minus what Mordecai was and how he, and a couple thousand God Stones, had helped me ‘mind’ travel through soil to the bad guy’s lair. Of course, that meant I had to bend the truth a little.

  “So… the spirit of the fourth victim contacted you and told you where her body was?”

  “Well, she described it.”

  “So you’re not, in fact, sure at all that the Sherwins are the killers.”

  “No, but—”

  “Tori, I trust your gifts, I do, but there’s no way a judge is going to sign off on us searching the house because a department consultant has a feeling. And we can’t exactly say you spoke to a ghost and ghosts can’t lie.”

  “Not a ghost, Terrance. A spirit. Ghosts are different.”

  “Fine, a spirit. You spoke with a spirit.”

  “Well, bring them in for question earlier than Monday. That’s what I said in the first place. Just bring them in so I can get a read on them, see if the spirit’s attached to them or something.”

  Silence for a while. I can see Terrance’s face, scrunched up in thought.

  “I’ll see what I can do tomorrow morning, Tori, but no promises.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  “You need anything else?” The way he says it, he clearly doesn’t expect me to say ‘yes’.

  “Um… actually…” how do I ask him to file a report on my Bronco without pointing the finger at Mordecai? “I wrecked my Bronco over on Crawford Lane. Kyle thought I’d had it towed because he saw some man in a truck hooking it up and hauling it off. He didn’t think it was the city contractor. Can you see if it’s at the impound for me? And, if it is, pull some strings to get it out? I really don’t want to have to deal with the insurance company, possibly buying a new car, and having to pay impound fees.”

  “Sure, I’ll have Steve call over first thing in the morning and get it out for you.”

  “Thanks a mill, Terrance.”

  “No problem.” And he hangs up. I wonder what he’ll think once he finds out that my Bronco isn’t at the impound yard. Will he put together a stolen property report? As long as I have something to turn into the insurance company to prove I’m not attempting some sort of fraud.

  Dammit. I’m going to have to go car shopping. I don’t want to go shopping. I want my freaking Bronco back. Mordecai says we’re even, that he’s gotten his pound of flesh, but I don’t feel ‘even’. I feel angry.

  But I know I have to let it go. The Dwarf King and I are allies now. We can’t be enemies.

  I lock my front door, not throwing the safety latch in case Kyle comes back before I’m awake, and I strip off my clothes as I walk to the bedroom, leaving them in little piles along the floor. I don’t even care. I fall into bed in my skivvies, so desperate for sleep that my eyes close before my body has even made impact with the comforter.

  I wake up in a coffin, but I don’t panic. I’ve had this dream before. Buried alive, fists beating against the interior of the lid, voice crying out for help. I know how to handle this illusion. I take deep, slow inhalations of air. I forget about the casket. I forget that I am in it. I will myself to wake up standing, looking down at a closed coffin already lowered into the earth, waiting for the concrete to be poured to seal me in for all time.

  It’s a scary thought, but then again, if the concrete begins to slap against the lid of the dark wood coffin and I’m inside. Then I am dead. I won’t care that I’m trapped.

  And that’s preferable to being burned to ashes. I don’t ever want to be burned.

  Now that I’m outside, standing on the ground, I walk. It is nighttime and when I look up at the sky, I see the stars blinking in the heavens.

  Only they are not stars.

  They are God Stones. Bright and pulsing, trying to converse with the world, trying to bring sanity back to humankind.

  I close my eyes, feel their warmth upon my cheeks, and when I look again, I am in a room, small and dark. The walls are dirty and there is a distinct dampness floating through the air. I turn in a circle very slowly, until I see the bed and the body. I stare at her, embarrassed because I realize she is clothed only in a red negligee.

  As I watch, she begins to rise into the air, supported by the wires running through the holes bored within her bones.

  The corpse’s steps are unsteady as she walks towards me. Yet, she still tries to sway her hips seductively.

  A noise from above our heads has both of us looking upward.

  A door is opening. A ladder is lowering.

  An older man is descending, dressed in a robe better suited for the owner of a mansion who has far too many young, blonde girlfriends.

  He walks toward the human doll and he kisses her full on the mouth. His tongue flicks in and out of his mouth, pushing between her unyielding lips. It makes me sick to my stomach and I want to wake up.

  He moves her to the bed. She moves better now, with his aid.

  He lays her down against the stained mattress and pillow.

  His aging fingers push the negligee up to expose breasts that look too pale. He’ll have to let her go soon, I realize.

  I can smell the decay of her. He’s kept her too long. Even down here, in the room that I realize is freezing, she will only last a short while longer.

  I turn away as he works his hands beneath the thin lace thong covering her private parts.

  And it is not until I hear him grunting and thrusting that I finally, mercifully, wake up.

  I wake up to a spirit hovering above my bed.

  “Shit!” I jump, sitting up quickly, my back banging into the headboard.

  “I’m sorry.” The spirit floats down to sit—as well as a spirit can sit—on my bed. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “You gave me that dream, didn’t you?”

  She nods.

  “How? I didn’t know spirits could do that.” My eyes widen. “Wait, are you… were you human?” I stutter over the ‘were’, hating to have to ask her the question in past tense.

  “No.”

  That made sense. Supernatural beings retained some of their powers in the afterlife, at least for a short while. “Is that what happened to you?”

  She nods again.

  “Who did this? What was his name?”

  This time, her head shakes.

  “You don’t know?”

  “No. It all happened so fast. I was alive and then… I wasn’t. I’d just gone on a quick run around campus. That’s all. I just wanted to kill some calories before Chemistry class.”

  A student. That was something.

  “I couldn’t get out of that room with him. It’s like I was stuck there, like I couldn’t move.”

  “That happens sometimes. A spirit becomes attached to a place.”

  “But then I could. I felt you, you and another mind, enter the room and then I could leave. And I felt a power that I thought didn’t exist anymore.”

  “God Stones.” I say, realizing that she must be fae.

  “Only half fae,” she responds, reading my mind, “my powers are weak. I can only catch bits and pieces of what others are thinking and I can project my thoughts and memories into someone else. At least I could… I suppose, now that I’m dead, I’ll lose my abilities, won’t I?”

  “Yes, it’s a matter of time.”

  “I always felt that being half-fae was what made me special.” A tear rolls down her cheek, falling from her face to hit the comforter. No damp spot appears. Spirit tears are never wet, yet they drown me with their sadness as well as any flood could. With that tear, her form begins to waver. She’s fading, moving on.

  “If you see a light, you should go into it.” I whisper, fighting my own tears.

  “I know I should, but it’s hard.”

  “It’s always hard.” I realize I haven’t asked her name, as her body continues to flicker. “What’s your name?”

  “Meghan.” She’s turned away from me, watching the end of everything she knows com
e to life. The light to the ether. “Meghan, being half-fae isn’t what made you special.”

  She smiles softly. “Being half-fae is what made me, me.” And with that, she fades completely away, the light calling her to where she belongs.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I go to the coffee shop first thing in the morning, hoping Mr. Barrington might be there. He’s not, but Shannon says he usually doesn’t arrive until around 9:15 for coffee before Doug lets him into the morgue to visit with Timothy around 10. She should say ‘Timothy’s body’, but I don’t correct her. The living always hold onto what was a bit longer than they should. Hell, I feel half-dead sometimes, and I do the same thing.

  They’re out of blueberry scones today, but I’m hungrier than that anyways, so I order the largest breakfast special on the menu. It’s clear, when the waitress brings the platter, that my eyes were way larger than my stomach. Two buttered English muffins, four scrambled eggs, two slices of bacon, two sausage links, and a side of cheesy hash browns.

  “Good god, who could possibly eat all of this?”

  “Officer Steve does, about four times a week.” Shannon quips, setting ketchup and a little basket of jellies in front of me. The first waitress has already left, a young girl that didn’t think my comment was interesting at all. In fact, I was pretty sure she’d given me a dismissive eye roll. Apparently, I was just not cool enough for the high school crowd any longer. Not that I was ever cool enough for the high school crowd. Mei and Adam were just about the only people who liked me back then. Everyone else thought I was weird, especially when they’d catch me talking to walls and ceilings.

  Oh the brilliant childhood of a kid that can commune with the dead.

  “How is the man not four hundred pounds?” I laugh, picking up a piece of bacon and tearing at it with my teeth. It’s been fully cooked. And that means it’s crunchy and greasy and delicious instead of being limp-noodle and wet like some diners serve it.

  We both laugh because Steve is one of the thinnest men on the planet. I think his lower body could quite literally fit into the leg of one of my jeans.

  “Probably because Laurie doesn’t let him eat anything but rabbit food at home. He comes in here, bellyaching about kale and parsnips, and then downs the farmer’s special like there’s no tomorrow coming.”

  “I’m going to have to remember that the next time Terrance invites me to a potluck. Roast parsnips and cream kale for the win.”

  Shannon grimaces. “Remind me to avoid the next potluck when the time comes.”

  We laugh again. “Thanks, Shannon.”

  “No problem. And, just F.Y.I., Mr. Barrington just pulled in.” She wipes her hands on her apron and smiles sadly. “He’s the sweetest old man. It’s so sad what happened to his son.”

  “It is sad.” I wonder if Shannon knows about Timothy’s particular situation or if Mr. Barrington only introduces Timothy as, well, Timothy to strangers. “After he orders, can you let him know that I’d like to speak with him?”

  “Sure, hon.” Shannon walks away. She looks even more pregnant today, her apron barely tied in the back.

  It’s a few minutes before Mr. Barrington joins me in my booth. “Morning, Ms. Cage. It’s awfully nice to see you this morning.”

  “You too, Mr. Barrington.”

  “I told you to call me Allen. Please.”

  “And I told you to call me Tori.” We smile at one another. “Thanks so much for coming over to talk to me. I know things haven’t been easy lately.”

  He shakes his head. “No, they certainly haven’t been easy. Tess called me yesterday evening in one of her fits. Going on and on about how the police were bothering them over Timothy’s death.” He sighs. “Bothering them. It’s hard to imagine that that woman gave birth to my compassionate and kind boy.”

  “They shouldn’t have been surprised really. It was only a matter of time before the police asked them some questions. She is Timothy’s mother after all.”

  “Yes,” he bobs his head up and down once, “but, in her warped mind, Timothy’s been dead for a long time. Or, Amanda’s been dead for a long time.”

  Shannon comes up then, two warmed scones and a mug of coffee in hand. “Here you go, Allen.”

  “Thank you, Shannon. It’s always nice to come in here and see your face before going to see my Timothy.” He smiles at her and pats her hand before it leaves the plate of food.

  “You just call out whatever you need, okay? I’ll bring it over in a jiff.” There’s a warmth to Shannon’s face that isn’t normally there. She’s always nice and she’s relatively attractive, but you can tell that she genuinely cares about Allen. She turns away and then back again, “And, Allen, Doug and I have decided on a name for the baby. If you wouldn’t mind us using Timothy.”

  Doug? Like… coroner Doug? My mind does flip-flops.

  I look from Shannon to Allen. His eyes are filling with tears, quickly and violently, and suddenly he’s crying. “Oh, that’s the nicest thing. I’d be honored. Timothy would be honored. You and Doug,” He lifts a napkin from the dispenser and dabs at his face, “you two have been such a bright light in this awful time. So kind. He doesn’t have to let me see my Timothy every day, but he does.”

  Shannon bends down and hugs Allen around the neck. “It’s our honor to use his name, Allen. And if you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate.” She pulls away, crying herself now, and goes back to the counter to serve a ginger-haired woman and toddler who’ve just entered the shop.

  “Allen, forgive me if I’m nosey, but I had no idea that Shannon and Doug were married.” I push at my eggs with my fork. They’ve gone cold already and there’s nothing worse than chilly eggs.

  “Oh, yes. Not for long, though. The egg came before the chicken so to speak, so they eloped last fall. I think there are still quite a number of people who are unaware that they’re married now.”

  “That’s wonderful. I mean, I heard Doug saying that his wife wasn’t pleased he’d had to work on a Sunday, but I never once thought to ask who his wife was. You’d think in a small town, I’d just know these things.”

  “Oh, that’s the thing about small towns, even with wide open walls and loose lips, people still tend to have secrets.” Allen breaks off a piece of scone and dips it in his coffee. The tip of it dissolves, leaving behind a doughy residue in the black liquid.

  I take a nibble of sausage, also cold, and then I think of what to say to move the conversation back to the case. I’m not sure what information I’m looking for, but there has to be some piece of the puzzle that will let us get a warrant for the Sherwin’s home. And I don’t know who to turn to, not if Allen has nothing that will get us through the door.

  “Allen, has Terrance spoken with you about the case lately?” I try to sound casual, speaking around a rubbery bit of meat. “I mean, has he asked you anymore questions about Timothy, about his friends, what he did with his time, anything like that.”

  “He’s asked me to come in on Monday, while Tess and her husband are there. I’m not sure why though. Having Tess and I in the room… it’s not always a good formula for civility.” He dips another piece of scone in his coffee.

  I could tell him why Terrance wanted him there. He wants to knock Tess off her game, have her delusion about her dead daughter shaken. And it wouldn’t hurt to see how Doctor Sherwin reacted to Allen’s presence either.

  “You should have seen us during Timothy’s appointments at their office.” Allen sighs.

  But his words punch me in the gut.

  “His appointments?”

  “Yes, I told you that I often had to take Timothy to Doctor Sherwin’s medical practice. It was all I could do to let Tess’s vicious jabs roll off my back. We were there for Timothy, not for anything else. If Doctor Sherwin hadn’t been the best in the state, I would never have agreed to let Timothy see him. Thankfully, Mitchell is a wonderful doctor. How he can be married to my ex-shrew of a wife...” Allen’s voice is harsher than I’ve ever hear
d it as he talks about his ex-wife this morning.

  “Allen, I don’t understand. Why would you be taking Timothy to see Doctor Sherwin?” It makes no sense—with what had happened between Timothy and his mother, between Allen and his ex-wife, why in the hell would he let his son see Mitchell Sherwin?

  “He’s the best reconstructive surgeon in the state, Tori. I tried to convince Timothy to let me take him across state lines to Georgia, but he said that was silly, especially since Tess ignored him most of the visits. She would even make the point of commenting to someone else in front of him that her daughter Amanda died some time ago and the ‘boy’ sitting in the waiting room bore a likeness.” Allen pushes his plate and coffee away from him, toward the middle of the table. It clinks against my own mug, which sloshes amber liquid over the lip. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Tori. I just get so frustrated thinking back to how she treated him.”

  “It’s fine, Allen. Please don’t worry.” I grab a wad of napkins and wipe up the coffee. When the mess is sopped up, I pile it on top of my half-eaten food and I push my own plate away also. It seems we’ve both lost our appetites. “Allen, why was Timothy seeing Doctor Sherwin?”

  “He was going to perform his breast reduction surgery and, eventually, the following procedures for Timothy to become male… if he decided he wanted that. Darnell loved him just the way he was, without a single surgery. The last visit before Timothy disappeared, he voiced his doubts about having any procedures done.” Allen gets a strange look on his face then, thinking back. “It’s odd though, thinking about it. Doctor Sherwin was really trying to talk him out of changing his mind. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, just a doctor doing his due diligence to make sure the patient thinks through his options thoroughly.”

  “And that was how long before Timothy went missing?”

  Allen raises his face, looks me in the eyes, and there’s a sliver of fear in his expression. Fear and disbelief. “A week. He disappeared a week later.”

  I try to smile, to disarm Allen and dispel whatever he’s thinking, because there’s no sense in him worrying about how he was actively taking his son to see the man who would murder him. Of course, that’s what was running through my head.