Spirit Box

by E M Lacey

  Spirit Box

  A Biggs & Myer Brief

  E.M. Lacey

  Seeds of Fiction, LLC

  Thank you for picking up Spirit Box. Please join my mailing list and Facebook Author Page: Author E.M. Lacey for news on upcoming titles and cover reveals.

  Cover design by Covers by Christian

  Edited by Megan Joseph Editorial and Gabriella West

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2020 by E.M. Lacey

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Don’t fear your power, own it.

  Also by E.M. Lacey

  Biggs & Myer Briefs

  Biggs, Myer, and the Vampire

  Spirit Box

  Coming soon…

  A Gathering of Witches

  Stand Alones

  Minor Mischief

  Snow and Embers

  A Faith that Carries

  Novellas

  A Safe Place

  Contents

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Thanks for Reading!

  About the Author

  Beware shiny little boxes,

  with their promise of hope and prosperity.

  Inside lies darkness, black wishes, and death’s kiss.

  Never, ever, open a spirit box.

  Prologue

  A soft chime echoed through the dark, empty corridors of the office building.

  “Fifth floor,” a digital female voice announced. Heavy elevator doors trembled, softly tapping against each other, as they slid open. A man in a black hoodie, dark jeans, and sneakers shifted inside, cradling a ball of white-blue magic between his palms. He threw it at the security camera to his left, as he stepped out. The camera’s green light blinked rapidly, then died.

  The office he sought was at the end of the hall to his right. He pivoted in that direction. The man was tall; his long legs ate up the distance, bringing him to stand in front of a beautiful wooden sign outlined in silver:

  Law Offices of Montague Myer, Esq.

  Thurgood Biggs, Attorney

  Biggs & Myer, LLP

  His lip curled as he examined the attorneys’ placard. He reached into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie and removed a white envelope with an old-fashioned red wax seal. He let it fall to the floor.

  He pushed up his sleeves, revealing skin the color of cinnamon. He stopped at his biceps. Each arm a sheath of tattoos: runes, different colors and types of eyes, and a Celtic band ending at the wrist. He raised his arms, feeling a soul-deep pull of power. His skin itched, as the air around him crackled and popped. Two small black discs appear beside each hand, growing steadily until they are the size of dinner plates. Webs of black and red ooze from them, coating his large hands, forming gloves. He lifts them, then lays his palms flat in the center of the door.

  He hums, deep and guttural.

  “The will of the wrongly dead calls from the nether.

  The will of the wrongly dead calls from the nether.

  Recompense!

  Let the justice of the Night reign.

  Devour the foes of the fallen.

  Deliver what was stolen.

  Recompense!

  Set forth the wrongly dead’s dying wish.”

  The man’s breath quickened, his lungs burned from the magic flowing through his body, collecting in his chest. Power poured through the glimmering runes and flashing eyes along his arms. Sheer will kept him upright. The heat of the spell ebbed. Magic’s release left him light-headed. His legs failed. He fell to his knees. He lay his head against the door and exhaled, tasting blood and chlorine. The inside of his mouth was cold and his lips were cracked, but he grinned when something dragged its claws lightly down the length of the door from the other side.

  An explosion resounded, followed by the clatter of debris hitting the ground. The wall shuddered. He jerked back, laughing as he let himself fall. The spell is a success!

  The man rolled onto his stomach and pushed up on all fours. The door rattled on its hinges, as something heavy hit it.

  He turned, so he faced the door. He pressed his index finger to his lips and said, “Shhh.” A sheer barrier rose, covering it, then spread across the wall. He watched the door jostle on its hinges but heard nothing. Satisfied, he got to his feet. He felt the vibrations of the chaos inside the office; it pinched, just beneath his skin. He knew the sensation would remain steady until sunrise.

  He headed back the way he came. Instead of taking the elevator, he chose the stairs. A porthole awaited him between the second and first floor. It would take him to the next person on the list folded neatly in his back-right pocket.

  Chapter One

  Murder is supposed to harden the heart, not turn it to rice paper. Abigail Biggs believed such things, so when she helped kill a vampire, she was certain she’d come out tougher. She hoped to gain enough chutzpah to stand up for herself, but when the aftereffects of criminality eluded her, she felt duped. She was still afraid. Afraid of everything.

  All twenty-three years of her life, she kept to herself; head down, voice as soft as a whisper, though inside she burned with curiosity. Most days, she spent with her nose in a book. When she wasn’t reading, she was researching things her uncle Thurgood would never approve of. The histories of paranormal beings and magic.

  She glared at the red numbers above the elevator. Once she entered, all the adventure of the past few days was over. Back to the office. Back to routine. Back to boring.

  The sharp ring of the elevator’s bell startled her, despite being aware of the countdown. Something inside her clenched tight, lingering in her belly, as she marched across the threshold. She pivoted, shifting over to the front right corner, to lean in and press the button. She backstepped, leaning against the rear corner wall, arms folded tight across her breasts, rubbing her palms along her shoulders. They tingled.

  She had touched magic. It was like holding a ball of needles, points out, in the palm of her hand. The sensation crawled along her skin in remembrance of the glamour Bridgette cast. Bridgette was a true witch who worked for the firm on retainer. She used Abigail as a conduit for her magic. Abigail unwrapped her arms and raised trembling fingers to her lips. It was her mouth that spoke words of power and they tasted good.

  The battle with the vampire Adiran Negruscu was terrifying and exciting at the same time. Witnessing Bridgette wield battle magic was mesmerizing. It was grace and fangs in a lethal dance. It fueled her need to know if she possess
ed an inkling of magic, or if she was like everyone else, human – normal. There were tests the Council Immortalem possessed. A way of identifying paranormal traits in humans. Any human testing positive would be extracted from the general populous and sent to the Sisters of the Immortalem for training.

  Since the Reveal, things had changed. Not just the acknowledgement of the existence of Others, namely witches, werewolves, the fae, and gods knew what else, but people were changing. Ordinary men and women began displaying paranormal traits. Her uncle Thurgood explained it as a form of evolution. Since predators were openly sharing space with their prey, humans must evolve to survive. He said it had something to do with natural selection.

  The elevator bell dinged. Abigail adjusted the bag on her shoulder and watched the doors slide open. She took a deep breath. There was so much to do once she opened the office. The new associate, Aurora Dixon, would start within the hour but because of a temporary lock down, thanks to an Immortalem inquiry, she had no access to the firm’s in-house server or Covenant sites. Since Biggs & Myer was the first and only law firm to handle Otherworldly cases, their data and network was monitored by the Immortalem. The Council Immortalem, being the governing body of the paranormal world, had authority over their firm. After the vampire incident, access to anything firm related was magically shut down. She didn’t even have access to the firm files she kept on her desktop, which sucked.

  She stepped off the elevator and headed for the office. Her steps were urgent, considering her very long to-do list. The firm had already received several requests for representation. It was her job to sift through and present them to Mr. Myer and her uncle. In order to get that started, she had to open the office.

  She fished the keys from her purse and slid them into the lock. She turned the key, then pushed, only to be met with resistance.

  “What the….”

  She tried again. The door didn’t budge.

  “Really?”

  She grabbed the knob, turned, then gave it another push. Her shoulder slammed against the office door. She stepped back; a bit confused.

  She tried again. Same thing. The door didn’t move.

  She jiggled the key in the lock, twisted the knob a fourth time, and tried opening it again. Nothing. Barely an inch of give. She examined the door for the umpteenth time. There was nothing wrong with it, from what she could tell. All the hinges were polished. Not a scratch on the mahogany wood. So, what was she doing wrong?

  Abigail huffed, setting a red spiral lock of hair swinging. She caught it and tucked it behind her ear, so she could try the door yet again. Placing her left palm above the doorknob, she leaned in, her cheek pressed against the smooth wood facing the hallway. Applying her body weight, all 102 pounds of it, as leverage, she pushed.

  A wailing scrape followed by a brief jerk inspired her to apply more force to the push. Something sharp dug into the floor but she gained an inch. Another shove and the door gave way, gliding smoothly, then stopped. Abigail stood back. Examined her success. She’d gained a full foot.

  She needed more than a foot of space, if she wanted to get into the office. She tried again. After four more forceful shoves, with an agonizing scrape, the door gave her an extra foot and a half—more than enough room for her to work her way inside.

  Now to get in. Her hair was already in a bun, which worked with what she had to do. She took off her watch, earrings, and necklace, adding them to the pile beside the door. Taking a few steps back, she laced her fingers together, then flexed.

  “Alright, let’s do this.”

  One step and she was at the edge of the entrance. She leaned left, giving her a decent view of the inside. Darkness stared back at her. She could barely make out the emergency lamps. The ravenous dark devoured the light, and there was something else. Warm air respired from the interior past the doorway, a fraction of an inch.

  She wondered what it smelled like. Tempted as she was, Abigail held fast to reason and did not inhale. She straightened, shifting so her right foot slid back and the rest of her followed. The odd respiration ceased on her third step.

  Abigail resumed breathing, once she reached a satisfactory distance. Her nerves were on fire; the burn of it made her skin tingle. She rubbed her arms as she inspected the dark gap. She hoped the light from the hallway would force back the gloom just a little around the edges, but it remained absolute.

  A shimmer of pale blue and white along the door frame gave her an idea. The office was warded. During their transitional training, Bridgette did tell them that wards could break. She also said they could be repaired and fortified. It all depended on the skill of the witch. Abigail was no witch. She had not taken the test, so there was no way for her to know if she was. What she did know, was how to order sigils to enhance protection and shield. She even knew a few sigils not in the training material. She’d committed them to memory. Hers being photographic, made her mind a bottomless well of data.

  She looked around for something to write with. She had several pens in her purse. She went over to the pile she’d left beside the wall to the side of the main door, crouched, grabbed her purse, pulled a ballpoint pen from the side pouch, and stood. She clicked it and began carefully writing on the back of her right hand, stopping at the elbow. She would try the lights. Her forearm was the only part of her body she planned to shove into the pitch-blackness. She added two extra sigils, one on each side of her nostrils. Whatever was going on inside, she did not want any of it corrupting her.

  She held up her arm, turning it over to examine her handiwork. She beamed, then flexed her hand before slipping the pen into her hair. Now, all she needed to do was get to the light switch, or rather the plastic strip that controlled them. It was maybe a foot or so away from the entrance. She wasn’t sure.

  She curled her scripted hand into a fist and drew it to her chest. Taking a deep breath, she uttered a quick prayer to whatever gods were listening, before dropping her hand to her side, squaring her shoulders, and walking back to the opening. She grabbed the door’s edge, letting her head rest against the wood. She counted to three, leaned forward, and slid her arm inside. The warding tingled the moment it entered the dark space. A cool, electric-blue hue surrounded her forearm as her fingers crawled along the surface of the wall. Soon, her cheek pressed hard against the door, her free hand gripping the frame for balance as she rose to the tips of her toes, arching her butt in the air, lending a few more inches to her quest. She was rewarded with the smooth, cool plastic. She pressed down, once. A click resounded. Lights flickered. Two of them flared to life, in the farthest part of the office, next to the safe room. Hope hissed from her lungs as the shadows’ dominance hid away what was going on in the office.

  Crap!

  Abigail pushed away from the door and went over to her purse to retrieve her phone. She pulled up her flashlight app and placed it on the highest setting, before going back and squeezing through the opening she’d made.

  Something crunched under her shoes. It wasn’t the light crackle of glass but a more substantial crunch of something else. Maybe a picture frame? Plaster?

  She proceeded with care, thrusting her arm forward, swinging the beam in a wide arc from left to right. Just like the main lighting, her app didn’t do much by way of illuminating her surroundings. In fact, the beam seemed to dull with each pass, bits of shadow the size of gnats diminishing its brightness.

  She paused, inspecting overturned file cabinets and several broken picture frames. She swung the light toward her feet, one of which she had trod upon, and a disemboweled desk. She turned in a full circle, taking the light with her, stopping so she could inspect the blockage behind the door.

  Abigail felt pressure building inside her chest. It wasn’t from the dust or clutter, but the fact that a desk blocked the door. It wasn’t just a random article of furniture. It was her desk, as she could tell from the crater the vampire had put in it. It was propped in an awkward angle against the wall and the door. It seemed perfectly balanced,
yet, like a tower of Popsicle sticks, one wrong move would send it crashing.

  She was used to walking into the spacious reception area with her desk being the only large piece of furniture in the room. It was strategically placed, so she could keep an eye on the partner offices while addressing clients. The office was a simple L-shape. Three partner offices lined the left side, each with large windows, which gave them a grand feel. The first was Mr. Myer’s, the second was her uncle Thurgood’s, and the third corner office was converted to a safe room. It was heavily warded with a vault for grimoires and artifacts. Around the corner from it was a conference room. The wall was glass. A large conference table with eight chairs were at its center. It had a projector and a retractable screen for presentations. Abigail was proud of their office. She picked the furniture and helped design it. Now, it was difficult to get her bearings.

  “Oh my.” She shuddered, then swung the flashlight beam toward the corridor she had entered from. If it weren’t for the light streaming from the safe room, Abigail would have promptly picked her way out of the office, but there was something…

  She cocked her head to the right; squinting at the darkness. She felt something. The barest of caresses touched her bare skin. It was strange, but not unpleasant.