Crimson pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I can’t release your magic. It’s sealed with a lock only your grandmother can undo.”
And there went all the excitement, fizzing out like a can of soda that was shaken before it was opened. An exhilarating explosion followed by an empty container. She slumped into Trace’s side. “My grandmother is dead.”
A mischievous smile curved Crimson’s lips. “Then we’ll just have to bring her back to life.”
Chapter Eleven
Sophie’s hand was cold and damp in Trace’s palm as he guided her down the corridor. His boots thudded on the tiles, echoing off the plain white walls, while the swarm of vampires behind them barely made a sound.
Maybe it wasn’t a swarm per se, but Sophie had insisted on bringing every supe she knew along on this excursion to resurrect a sixty-years-dead witch from beyond the grave. Crimson brought up the rear of the group with Jax tucked inside the backpack slung over her right shoulder. Weren’t they a motley crew?
Trace got it, though. These people were Sophie’s pack. She may have thought she never belonged anywhere, but he could almost feel the concern emanating from her vampire friends as they followed her down the hall. She’d found her home, if only she could recognize it.
“Do we have to do this in a morgue?” Sophie’s hushed voice trembled as he opened the door and motioned for her to go through.
“She’s a necromancer. This is where she works.” He led the way to the third door on the left and knocked.
“Hi, Trace.” Jasmine smiled as she opened the door. Her long, black hair was tied back in a twist, and she wore a white lab coat over tan slacks and a navy shirt. “You must be Sophie. I’m Jasmine Lee, resident necromancer and research assistant to the coroner.”
“Hi.” Sophie shook her hand and glanced into the office. A metal desk and computer occupied most of the space, and an old school filing cabinet sat in the back corner, collecting dust. “Are you going to summon my grandma in there? Don’t you need candles and crystal balls and stuff?”
Jasmine flashed him a quizzical look. “I thought you said she was a witch?”
“Her grandmother was.” He rested a hand on the small of Sophie’s back. “Her powers were never unlocked, so this is all new to her.”
“Gotcha.” She pulled the door shut behind her as she stepped into the hall, and her lip curled. “Oh, you brought vampires. Joy.”
Jane fisted her hands on her hips. “What do you have against vampires?”
Jasmine looked her up and down, clearly unimpressed, and Trace held in a chuckle. “You’re dead bodies I can’t use.”
Jane’s mouth fell open, and she looked like she was about to argue, but Ethan touched her arm, shaking his head ever so slightly.
“Our bodies are more useful than you can imagine, ma chère.” Gaston puffed out his chest and gestured toward his hips. “Perhaps you would like to take one for an example excursion? I feel you would reevaluate your opinion if you did.”
Ethan cleared his throat. “I think you mean test drive.”
Gaston smiled, showing fang. “She knows what I mean.”
Trace fought his eye roll, but Jasmine let hers loose and then looked at Sophie. “No, I don’t need candles or crystals, but what I do need is a corpse. Follow me to the meat locker.”
“A corpse?” Sophie froze, tightening her grip on Trace’s hand. “Why do you need a corpse? Can’t you just call to her and tell me what she says, or channel her or something like the psychics do on TV?”
Jasmine laughed and motioned for them to follow her. “You have me mistaken for a medium. I can’t put a soul into a body that already has one. We need a corpse if you want to talk to your grandma, and unfortunately, your undead friends won’t do.”
“No. Trace, this isn’t right.” Sophie pleaded with her eyes. “She can’t put my grandma’s soul into another person’s body. That’s gross, and you didn’t tell me we were making a zombie. I’ve seen The Walking Dead. I know what zombies do.”
“She can,” he assured her. “She’s not making a zombie, and she does this all the time. Her main job here is to resurrect murder victims to find out who their killers were.”
Jasmine held up a finger. “That’s my off-the-books job that only the higher-ups know about. Officially, I’m a research assistant.”
“Okay, but surely we could use a medium, right? Corpses are icky.” She flashed an apologetic look at Jane. “No offense, hon. I’m still getting used to how cold you feel.”
“None taken. You’re sleeping with an animal. Let’s call it even.” Jane winked.
“Does your grandma’s spirit haunt you?” the necromancer asked.
“Well, no. I don’t think so.” Sophie shivered, and Trace pulled her to his side. He’d been a bit disgusted the first time he watched Jasmine do her thing for a case he was working. He might have puked in the trash can, but there was no evidence of that. He’d made sure of it.
“Does she haunt your dad?” Jasmine used her ID badge to unlock the door, and it swung open automatically. “Has anyone in your family ever mentioned hearing from her ghost?”
“No.”
“Then, chances are, she moved on to the place souls go to rest a long time ago, ‘crossed the bridge,’ so to speak. Mediums can reach out to spirits who are still hanging around the in-between, that space between the living world and the land of the dead. If you want to pull someone back to this side of the bridge after they’ve already crossed it, you need a necromancer.” She disappeared through the doorway.
“She’s right.” Crimson adjusted the backpack on her shoulder. “And we need your grandma to work magic while she’s here to unlock your powers. She’ll need a body for that. Ghosts can’t cast spells.”
“It’ll be okay.” Trace clutched her shoulders, looking into her eyes and giving her all the reassurance he could with his gaze. “I’ll be here the whole time. You’ve got Crimson, Jane, Ethan, Gaston. We’re all here for you.”
She held his gaze for a moment before looking at each of her friends in turn. Then, with a deep inhale—and thank goodness her sense of smell hadn’t reached full werewolf strength because the stench of death and antiseptic was enough to make him puke all over again—she straightened her spine and nodded. “Let’s do this.”
Turning on her heel, Sophie followed the necromancer into the room she called “the meat locker.” Two steel tables stood side by side in the center of the room, with massive lighting contraptions hanging above each. Rows of metal doors stacked three high lined two of the walls, and Sophie cringed as she imagined what each one might contain. “It’s more like a meat library, don’t you think? With everyone filed away in drawers.”
Jasmine nodded thoughtfully. “I like it. It’s not quite the Dewey Decimal system, but we are pretty organized.”
Trace held his fist against his nose, and Sophie could only imagine how pungent the sickly-sweet smells of death and decay mixed with chemicals must have been for him.
“Are you okay?” She put her hand on his elbow. “You look a little green.”
“It stinks to high heaven in here.” He dropped his arm to his side and swallowed hard.
“There’s the trash can, if you need it.” Jasmine smirked, and Trace glared in return. Sophie made a mental note to find out what that was about later.
Jax let out a deep whine as Crimson unzipped the backpack, and he jumped onto one of the exam tables before licking his paw.
“We have got to get him turned back into a werewolf,” Trace said. “Watching him actually behave like a cat is unnerving.”
“That’s why we’re here.” Sophie rubbed Trace’s shoulder, and he covered her hand with his.
The door clicked shut behind Gaston, and he turned around, peering through the narrow vertical window. “As much as I love a good corpse raising, I’ll volunteer to be lookout. I can glamour anyone who gets too close.”
“That probably won’t be necessary. This place is dead
at night.” Jasmine snorted and covered her mouth, laughing at her joke.
Sophie bit her lip. When the others didn’t join in the laughter either, Jasmine lifted her hands and dropped them at her sides. “Lighten up. It’s just a little morgue humor.”
“It was funny,” Sophie said. “But my friend’s magic is on the line, and this guy might be stuck a cat forever if this doesn’t work.”
“Gotcha. Serious business. I did tell you to bring something that belonged to the person we’re trying to contact, right?” Jasmine asked.
“No, you didn’t.” Trace crossed his arms.
“Well, shit. I’ve been working for the police so long, I forget most people don’t know how this works. I need something she owned so I can connect with her.”
“We have her grimoire. Crimson?” Sophie gestured to the backpack, and Crimson unzipped another pocket. Sophie retrieved the book and offered it to Jasmine. “Will this work?”
“Perfect.” Jasmine pulled a dry erase marker from her coat pocket and scribbled a design on the empty table. “This is a vévé. It’s a symbol that represents Baron Samedi, the Voodoo spirit of death.”
“I didn’t know you were a Voodoo practitioner,” Trace said.
“I’m not, but I have friends who’ve taught me a thing or two. I can call a spirit without the Baron’s help, but having his blessing makes the process a helluva lot easier.” She finished the picture, a decorative cross with two coffins behind it, and placed the grimoire next to it.
Jane moved next to Sophie. “I always pictured stuff like this being done in a cemetery on a foggy night. You’re ruining necromancy for me.”
“Oh, we could do this in a cemetery,” Jasmine said. “But the bodies here are fresh. If you think what we’re about to do is gross, imagine doing it with a corpse that’s been rotting for who knows how long.”
Sophie shuddered. “Here is good.”
“There’s also the issue of the way New Orleanians bury their dead. Those aboveground tombs essentially cook the remains, turning them to ash over time. Unless you find one that was recently buried, chances are there isn’t going to be enough left of the corpse for a spirit to do anything with.”
“Well, damn.” Jane crossed her arms. “That’s no fun.”
“I raised you from the dead in a cemetery,” Ethan said with a twinkle in his eyes from across the room.
Jane cast a loving gaze toward him as he guarded the door with Gaston. “Yes, you did, my sexy, blood-drinking man candy. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’ll be sure to show Vlad my appreciation as soon as this is done.”
“Vlad?” Crimson arched a brow at Sophie.
“She named his dick Vlad because he impales her with it.”
Crimson laughed. “Clever. I like her.”
“The three of us will have to grab a drink sometime,” Jane said.
“I’d love that.” Sophie grinned at her friends.
“Ladies, can we focus?” Trace’s jaw ticked. “Jax has been a cat for long enough.”
Jane leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Have you named his yet?”
Sophie snickered. “I haven’t had time to think of one.”
Trace cleared his throat.
Jasmine laughed. “Humor is how we handle all this death.” She patted Trace on the shoulder. “I couldn’t work here without it. What do you think of this one?” She opened a locker and slid a body out on a platform. “It’s the freshest one we’ve got.” She peeled back the sheet to reveal a man in his late fifties.
“Oh, no.” Crimson shook her head adamantly. “That’s a man.”
“Spirit is spirit.” Jasmine shrugged. “It doesn’t matter the sex of the body.”
“What’s that on his neck?” Sophie asked.
“Crap. I forgot he had a tracheotomy. That’ll make it hard for the ghost to speak through him.” Jasmine slid the man back into the drawer and tapped a finger against her lips. “Oh! I know just the one.” She opened another locker and revealed an eighty-something-year-old woman with silver hair and pale, paper-thin skin.
Sophie’s stomach turned. “That’s someone’s grandma.”
“She’s about to be your grandma,” Jasmine said. “Wait. Is this your first time seeing a dead body?”
Sophie pressed her lips together and nodded.
“A virgin. No wonder.” Jasmine laughed and gestured to Trace. “He whined like a little pup the first time he watched me do this.”
Trace bristled. “Watch who you call a pup. There’s nothing little about me.”
“It’s true,” Sophie said. “He’s buried his bone in me. It’s massive.”
Jasmine blinked. “Have you heard of the expression TMI?” Shaking her head, she turned and placed one hand on the grimoire, the other on the dead woman’s forehead, and began chanting in a language Sophie didn’t understand.
The energy in the air thickened, and Sophie’s arm hairs stood on end as Jasmine quieted. Utter silence filled the room for a good twenty seconds before Jasmine pressed her palms together and bowed at the design she’d drawn on the table.
“Voila.” She gestured toward the corpse, and its eyes blinked open.
Jane clutched Sophie’s hand. “Holy mother of goat cheese pizza! It worked.”
The corpse’s brow furrowed as it glanced around the room. Lifting its arms in front of its face, it flipped its hands over and back before slowly rising to a sitting position. “Wha—” The corpse cleared its throat. “What in the name of the goddess happened to my body?”
Sophie gasped, her head spinning as Trace gripped her arm and held her upright.
“It’s not your body, ma’am,” Jasmine said. “You’re just borrowing it for a bit. Can you tell me your name?”
The woman tilted her head, cracking her neck. “It’s Maggie Burroughs. You know that. You’re the one who called me.” Her gaze landed on the book. “Oh! Is that my grimoire?” She eased herself off the table, and the sheet that was covering her pooled on the floor as she waddled toward the book. Her boobs sagged down almost to her waist, and her skin had so many wrinkles, it looked like crepe paper.
Sophie sighed. She was not looking forward to old age.
Trace cleared his throat, and Jasmine grabbed the sheet, wrapping it around the woman’s body and tying it at her back. With the corpse properly covered, Sophie spoke to the woman. “Grandma?”
“Who are you calling grandma? The last age I remember being was twenty-five.” She wiggled her fingers. “These are not the hands of a twenty-five-year-old. I’m not the soul who belongs in this body.”
“I know.” Sophie touched her frigid, lifeless hand, and jerked away. Nope, she’d never get used to the feeling of cold flesh. “You’re my dad’s mother.”
Maggie tilted her head, holding Sophie’s gaze. “My baby, Mark? He had a daughter?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Maggie looked around the room at all the people staring at her. “Vampires. A witch. A werewolf. Oh, you must be a fauna witch like me,” she said to Sophie. “We have a weakness for shifters, and you found yourself a sexy one.” She wiggled her old lady eyebrows at Trace, and he tensed.
Sophie couldn’t help but laugh. “Wait. Was Grandpa…?”
“I had a weakness for shifters, but I fell in love with a human.” She reached a hand to Sophie’s face, but she pulled away. Maggie looked at her fingers. “This body is a little wrinkly, isn’t it? Cold too. Why am I wearing this horrid outfit again?”
“I need your help. Since you died before I was born, my powers were never unlocked. I need you to release them.”
She shook her head sadly. “Oh, honey, I would, but I can’t train you. I can already feel my attachment to this body slipping, and an untrained witch is a dangerous witch.”
“I’ll train her.” Crimson stood next to Sophie. “We’re neighbors and good friends. I’ll teach her everything she needs to know.”
“That’s an awful big undertaking.”
“Please.” Crimson clasped her hands together. “If you can’t unbind her powers, can you at least help me change him back?” She picked up Jax and held him toward Maggie.
“Oh, my. Is that a werewolf?” She placed a hand on Jax’s head, and he froze. “What did you do to him, child?”
“I messed up.” Crimson explained the entire ordeal. “If I can’t change him back, I’ll lose my powers. The red wolves will start a war with the witches. The supernatural balance in New Orleans will fall apart, and it will be all my fault. I’m a bad witch.”
“I see.” Maggie looked at Sophie and then at Jax. “I can’t change him back. That will require spell work I simply don’t have time to conjure, and I’m afraid only a fauna witch can reverse this spell.”
“What about me then?” Sophie pleaded. “If you unbind my magic, Crimson can channel it. We can save Jax together.”
“You can channel?” She reached for Crimson’s face. “Pardon my cold skin, but I need to touch you to properly read your magic.” Cupping Crimson’s cheek, she closed her eyes and nodded. “It seems that’s the only way to save your friend. When is the next full moon?”
“In two days,” Trace said.
“That doesn’t give you much time. Sophie, my dear, sweet heir.” She gasped. “My heir.” Gripping the grimoire, she opened it to the prophecy and read the lines. “What’s done will be undone. Goddess, could I be any more cryptic when I wrote that? It should be ‘What’s bound will be unbound.’ I believe I was talking about your powers, dear. Come.” She motioned for Sophie to come closer.
Sophie swallowed hard, willing herself to approach her grandmother wrapped in a corpse, and as the old woman reached for her face, she held her breath. The cold, dead hands cupped her cheeks, and she swallowed the sour taste from her mouth.
“Oh, dear. Now I see. I wasn’t sure when I wrote this, but…” She dropped her arms to her sides. “You’ve been bitten, and the only thing stopping you from transforming into a werewolf at the next full moon is the fact that your powers are bound. If I unbind them now, you’ll have the magic of a witch for two days. At midnight on the night of the full moon, all but your inborn power will dissolve as you transform.”
Shift Happens Page 12
