by E M Lacey
Sunni’s crunching-crackling approach was hard to miss.
“Do you recognize these?”
Sunni’s crunching-crackling movement shifted as she moved to the side then stopped. She crouched, leaned forward to inspect the box. She shook her head as her inspection deepened. “I have never seen these.”
A camera shutter clicked rapidly. She looked up into the pulsing flash of McKellen’s phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting visual evidence. I need to be able to chew on this later.”
Sunni motioned with her finger around the top. “This is old magic.”
“How old?”
“Very.”
“Is it too old to name?”
Sunni shook her head, her hand tightened around the staff. “No. Everything has a name. Some things are just so old that their name has been forgotten.”
“Will your masters know?”
Sunni drew her staff closer. It sang. The vibration of metal and magic was comforting. She lifted it. “There are historians within the Immortalem who can track down the origins.” The black script crackled. “But the firm has a witch who can track its origins faster.”
McKellen tapped his sight rune. Though the box glowed, it didn’t give off a magical signature. It was plain old light and glass. “It doesn’t seem cursed, but...” He waved his free hand at the decimated room. “It’s not harmless like it reads.”
Amethyst light flared in a perfect circle; it spread and ended under the box. The circle expanded, forming a bubble around it. White sigils etched themselves in the bubble. The light in the box went out. The bubble levitated, floating above their heads.
Sunni stood. McKellen did the same.
“What now?”
“We’ll leave it here.”
“What? Why? Who’s to say it’s not going to pop open again?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll lock down this room with warding.”
He looked around the office. “Are they going to be able to work in here?”
“They’ll be able to do what they need from within the confines of the safe room for now.” Sunni planted her staff in front of her and focused her magic. Furniture scraped and scratched as she drew it away from the wall. Chanting ensued. Plaster cracked as sigils began to etch into the walls from the base to the ceiling. The soles of McKellen’s boots jolted up as a containment sigil rose underneath him. A matching symbol materialized on the ceiling. Sunni’s chanting ended; her eyes rolled up. Satisfied, she motioned for McKellen to follow her from the office. The box stayed behind.
“We will need to go over the information gathered by your partner. Something dark is at play.”
“Black magic, sure.”
Sunni shook her head as they neared the main door. “It’s more than dark magic. It’s like seeing a black dog and not knowing how long it will be before you meet your maker.”
McKellen paused. “Spirits aren’t supposed to leave claw marks.” He waved his arm at the broken furniture. “Tossing a room is normal for poltergeists.” He pointed at the claw marks. “That! That’s typical of demons.”
“Nothing about this is normal.” Sunni shook her head as they exited the office.
Chapter Eight
Abigail held out the white envelope Aurora had given her. Everybody in the corridor turned in her direction.
“That’s Negruscu’s emblem.” Montague jabbed his finger at the wax seal as he pushed past Thurgood.
“The vampire your firm executed?” Julius shifted his position, placing himself between Abigail and Montague.
Montague nodded as he came to an abrupt stop in front of Julius. He thrust his hand out, ignoring the man in front of him, motioning for Abigail to hand over the envelope.
Abigail drew it close to her chest then took a step back. There was something off with Mr. Myer. He was never aggressive with her. He was always kind. Proper. She stared, grateful that she hadn’t blinked. If she had, she would have missed seeing his pupils shrink and expand rapidly, before resuming their normal shape.
Montague drew back, slighted. “What’s wrong with you Abby? What do you think I’m going to do, destroy it?”
“Actually,” Sunni maneuvered through the group, cautious as she approached Montague. “You might be compelled to do that very thing.”
As soon as she spoke the words, a headache bloomed at Montague’s temples and quickly encompassed his entire head.
“You went into the office without being shielded, didn’t you?” Sunni tapped the bottom of her staff in a rhythm: four rapid taps, two slow methodical, followed by six rapid taps, ending in three slow methodical beats. She repeated this cadence and the sigils on her staff pulsed in time with the beats.
A prickly sensation worked its way up Montague’s body. A strong desire to dig his manicured nails into his flesh surged. His fingers twitched but did not reach for his skin.
“It’s alright, Mr. Myer. A cleansing spell is working on removing the residue from the office.” She looked to Thurgood. “You will have to be cleansed as well.”
Thurgood made no objection.
Her eyes flared amethyst, as she examined the people in the hall, including the hunter Julius. Thurgood’s aura was a sickly yellow green like Montague’s, everyone else’s was normal except for Aurora. Her aura was a misty pale green, but it was properly warded. The sigils at the edge of her hairline, hands, arms, and over her heart flowed down, a cast of full protection. The sigils were invisible to the unmagicked eye, but Aurora used her saliva as ink.
Sunni narrowed her eyes, sniffing subtly. She scented no magic. The girl’s aura held no power. It was a hazy, thinning sheen. Not a good sign for the girl’s future, which, if she was right, would be a brief one.
Aware that her scrutiny was causing restlessness among the villagers, she spoke. “All of you are good,” she announced as she split the cleansing spell and sent it to work on Thurgood.
She let go of her staff, which remained upright, hovering in place. She went to Abigail, who offered up the envelope. Sunni didn’t take it immediately. Instead, she studied it, using her enhanced sight to reveal any hidden spells. Her brows furrowed when she found none. “It looks harmless enough, but I believe defacing it may come with a curse.”
“Where did you find this?” Sunni asked, without breaking her inspection.
Abigail shifted her weight from left to right. “I didn’t find it.”
Sunni looked up.
Aurora moved to stand next to Abigail. “I found it this morning.”
“But I thought Abigail was the first to enter the office.”
“The envelope wasn’t in the office. It was on the floor in front of the door.”
Thurgood and Montague looked sharply at Aurora. “Was the seal facing up when you found it?”
“Yes. The seal was visible.”
“I didn’t know about the envelope until just before I started making calls.” The envelope shook in Abigail’s outstretched hand. McKellen was suddenly in front of her. His large hands folded over hers while being careful of the envelope.
“No worries, Firecracker.” Her lips ticked up. Her gaze traced his strong weathered hands up the maze of muscle, broad chest stopping at his face, which was quite handsome. He was a stranger. Usually she avoided strangers no matter their appeal, but more than anything, she wanted to lay her head on his chest, listen to his strong heartbeat while folded in the shield of his arms. It was silly, but she needed it. No, she wanted it.
“Why do you call me that?”
McKellen looked pointedly at her hair, his expression softened. “Redheads are fiery.” He raised a hand to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, then stepped back. He took her hand. She didn’t resist.
“Not this one.” Abigail wished she had the courage to pull away from him and storm off. Show some of the fire he accused her of having, but she remained where she was longing for warmth, protection.
“You’ve done nothing wrong. We’re just followi
ng the chain of events that led to the firm’s current predicament. The information you give us helps us do that.”
Abigail visibly relaxed, eyes returning to the evenly spaced dark blue squares interlocked on the beige carpet. They were nice. Soothing, drawing her attention to the office everyone was avoiding. She swallowed, hoping her urge to run inside and tidy up would go away. She needed order. She felt like a balloon with a broken cord, floating into oblivion. Her attention shifted to her uncle, who fidgeted under the purifying spell. She watched what looked like scratches burn away, rising like smoke, as the spell vanished from his skin.
Abigail heard her name. She gave her full attention to Sunni, who stood next to McKellen.
“May I please see the envelope?” She held out her hand. Abigail dropped the envelope into her palm. The envelope never made contact with Sunni’s skin, it hovered, barely an inch from her palm. “This will be placed in a warded bubble, until I can get a senior sorceress or sorcerer here.”
“What about Bridgette?” Abigail scanned the hall. “She’s supposed to be here.”
Sunni shook her head. “Bridgette is not here because I sent her home.”
Abigail’s expression pinched a little. “Why?”
“Bridgette’s a Keeper.”
“I thought she was a witch.” Abigail couldn’t keep her disappointment from her voice.
“She is a witch by blood and practice, but she is also a supernatural historian.”
“Oh.” Abigail wondered what types of histories Bridgette was aware of. Were they all about Others or were humans included?
“I need her to help us with the history of whatever this is, but most importantly, I have her digging into Negruscu. He may have been a vampire, but he’s got connections to some very old and very dangerous magic.”
“Do you think he survived the spell?” Abigail’s voice quivered.
“He’s dead.” Sunni said with a finality that was undeniable. “The teams would not have been able to enter his properties unharmed had he still been living.”
“Why?”
“Some wards, the dangerous kind, are tied to the owner’s life force.”
“Blood for blood?” Montague made the sign of the cross.
“In a sense, yes. If the ward is to protect a life, the caster binds it to a bit of his or her client’s life force.”
“Oh.”
“Adiran was just a vampire, but he did have some powerful beings on retainer.”
“What are we going to do about this?” Montague motioned toward the ruins of his office.
“It will be purged, cleared of debris once the human crime scene investigators are done.” She examined the motley group, gaze settling on Montague, then shifting over to Thurgood. “You will rebuild your office. Your practice will continue, but remotely until everything has been reinforced.”
“The Sisters of the Immortalem?” Thurgood asked.
“Yes. The Senior Sorceress and Wizard will go through the property once it’s cleared, then they will ward the bare space and do a secondary layer of warding once the space has been furnished.”
“Will the furnishings coming in have to be inspected?”
“A lower ring of the Immortalem will take care of the furnishings. Order what you need, share that data using the safe room’s landline with the Council, and everything else will be taken care of.”
A slow clap turned them all in the direction of the elevator. A statuesque olive-skinned woman with raven hair sashayed toward them. She wore an olive-green form-fitting dress and matching jacket the same color as her eyes.
A black rectangle, too stiff to be a decorative handkerchief, obstructed the normally perfect view of her cleavage. Valera was very proud of her boobs. Perfection came with a hefty price tag.
She stopped several feet away from the group. “Montague Myer.” Her voice was a lovely contralto, husky with a hint of a European accent. It wasn’t British. Maybe Romanian or something similar.
Montague’s expression became predatory. “Valera Thorne.”
She laughed, genuinely amused by the disdain he injected into her name.
“Oh Monty, you’re always such a treat.” She clapped her hands lightly then pulled a black envelope from her bosom, holding her hand out as if waiting for a kiss. “You have forty-eight hours to get your client and the child into Night Court.”
She spun on her heel and left the way she came. The elevator seemed to have waited for her. As she neared it, the doors slid open; she entered then she vanished from sight.
“Negruscu’s lawyer?” McKellen thrust his lips toward the elevator.
“Yes.” Montague’s voice was near guttural. “She is one of the partners, actually.”
“What does she want with Alex and Alba?” Abigail withdrew her hand from McKellen’s. He had taken up a protective stance. She looked over to her left, Julius had done the same with Aurora.
“Whatever this is about…” Montague shoved the summons in his pocket. “It’s not good.”
Sunni made a mental note to check the office for hex bags and other avatars of dark magic once the cleanup commenced.
The hall was silent in the wake of Valera’s exit. So quiet that they all heard the seal break on the envelope. The wax transformed into a small red cloud then vanished. The flap opened and a white-blue smoke poured from it, melting Sunni’s wards, as it streamed to the floor creating a shimmering puddle. The puddle slowly drew in, forming a ball, then it stretched. It jerked and pulled, taking on a familiar shape: Adiran Negruscu. His glowing eyes touched them all. His face bore the usual smirk he wore during his undead years.
“Little pigs.” He smiled bright; the glittering image exaggerated the action. He clasped his hands together. “Little pigs. Did you think my death was the end?” He clicked his tongue and shook his head slowly as he waggled his finger. “Oh no, no, no. My purpose is not done.” All humor drained from his face, reminding them of the monster he was. “I’m going to live forever.” He leaned back. The place where he made his recording was dark. The barest sheen made them aware that he was leaning on a desk. “Granted, the whole not having a body anymore does throw a wrench in my initial plans, but I’ve got options.”
He began pacing, stopped, then pivoted on his heel to face his viewers. “I would like to thank you, though, for helping me locate key ingredients to my spell.”
“Alba is out of your reach. She’s protected.” Thurgood stepped toward the shimmering image. Sunni placed her hand on his shoulder and shook her head sharply, her gaze still on Negruscu.
Adiran laughed heartily, fangs showing. His face was just as cold as before when he stopped. “She’s just a pinch of salt in what I’ve got brewing.” He examined his nails, rubbed them on his shirt before looking pointedly at Abigail, who backed away.
“Your law firm is like a spring market.” He clapped his hands together. “Everything I need is available.” He made an exaggerated shocked expression. “And for a steal.” His gaze shifted to McKellen. He bared his fangs.
“McKellen.”
“Vampire.”
“You’re not forgotten.”
McKellen freed one of his necklaces. It held a clear charm with a small, odd-shaped white square. “Don’t worry, Night Rat, I keep you close to my heart.” He let the charm drop back into his shirt. He had a run-in with Negruscu and almost killed the bastard. It was before Julius, when he hunted solo. Negruscu’s right-hand man intervened. His aide was tall and lean, so it shouldn’t have felt like he’d been hit by a Mack truck, but it did. McKellen was laid up in a hospital for a couple days.
Negruscu made a rude noise. “I thank you all for helping me attain true immortality.” He bowed, all the while glaring at McKellen. “I hope you liked my little gift.” He snickered. “There are more like it in your future.” He winked at Abigail before his shimmering image collapsed into a pile of white ash.
“What in the hell was that?” McKellen looked to Sunni expectantly.
“I
honestly don’t know.” Sunni said, eyes wide. “It shouldn’t have been able to interact with us.”
“But he’s dead.” Thurgood said several times. It dwindled to a whisper, almost prayerlike. His eyes were fixed of the pile of ash.
“He used proxy magic.” Abigail said, as she moved over to the pile.
“How do you know about proxy magic when we were only taught general wards?” Thurgood cut his eyes at his too smart niece.
“I read about it.” Abigail dropped her gaze to the floor.
Thurgood grunted his displeasure.
“You are correct.” Sunni joined Abigail, crouching next to her. “Proxy magic has its limits. It requires a living vessel to channel through. Being that the vampire was destroyed, what we just saw is impossible.”
“I believe we need to add this to the list of Bridgette’s assignments.” McKellen said as he buried his hands in his hair, pushing it away from his skull as he turned in a slow circle, stopping when he faced the wall.
Abigail did her best to become invisible, slouching and keeping her eyes cast away from the group, but she listened. She wanted to add to what she knew about proxies. A proxy was always a surrogate for the person desiring the benefits of the spell. It required blood, bone, or life force for it to work.
Sunni straightened then faced the hunters. “Hunters, you’ll need to look into local missing persons reports. Proxies are usually kidnap victims, mainly: runaways, drug addicts, hermits, or people on the bad end of a paranormal contract. If you find a common location, we may be able to trace the warlock or sorceress behind the proxies.”
“Contracts with vampires or witches are worse than payday loans,” McKellen mumbled to himself. “Speaking of payday loans, I’ll check the usual payday loan stores. Most predators set up shop in plain sight.”
