Blue Moon ab-8

by Laurell Hamilton

  "Yeah," I said. "PCP doesn't cause people to levitate."

  He frowned at me. "Did you witness the exorcism?"

  I shook my head. "I won't talk about it. I especially won't talk about it here and now. Words have power, Captain. Memories have power. I won't play into it."

  He nodded. "Are you positive humans didn't do this?"

  I shook my head. "They ate her to death. It ate her to death. A person might be able to bite your throat out and do some of this damage, but not all of it."

  "If you told me this was a possession, I'd call my chain of command and start looking for a priest; but Blake, do you know how rare overt demonic attacks are?"

  "Probably better than you do, Captain. I get called in for all sorts of weird shit."

  "Have you ever seen a demon kill a person by straight attack, not trickery?"

  "No."

  "Then how can you be so sure?" he asked.

  "I told you why I'm sure, Captain. Once you've been in the presence of the demonic, you don't forget what it feels like." I shook my head and fought the urge to take another step away from the body.

  "But I'm not an expert on demons, Captain Henderson. I suggest you contact a priest. I'm also not an expert on this kind of magic. Call a local witch to look it over. They may be able to give you more information. The best I can do is general stuff."

  "Could you have called a demon and made it kill her?"

  I frowned at him. "What are you talking about?"

  "Just answer the question, Ms. Blake."

  "I raise the dead, Captain. I don't do demons."

  "A lot of people don't see that big a difference between the two."

  "Great, just great. You call me down here. I tell you it's black magic, and now you're going to blame me. I don't feel like being the toasty end of a witch hunt, Captain Henderson."

  He smiled. "Just answer the question. Could you do it?"

  "No, I could not do this. Trafficking with the demonic taints the soul. I may not be a perfect Christian, but I am trying."

  "Fucking vampires taints the soul, too, Blake."

  I stared up at him. I looked at him for several long seconds, because what I wanted to do was hit him or scream at him. No, hit him. But I couldn't do that. I settled for one of those smiles you get sometimes when what you really want to do is hurt someone.

  "Fine, Captain, fine. This was powerful magic, and I have a reputation for powerful magic. It's not your fault that you don't understand the vast difference between the two schools of magic. Lack of education, can't hold that against you." My voice said plainly that I wanted to. "But if I were going to kill someone, I'd probably just shoot them. That would at least put me near the middle of the suspect list, not the top."

  "I heard that about you. That you were a shooter."

  I looked at him. "Heard from whom?"

  "Cops talk to one another, Ms. Blake. If she'd shown up with a bullet in her head, then I might believe you did it."

  "Why would I kill some unknown woman?"

  "But she isn't unknown, Ms. Blake." He was watching me very closely.

  I glanced back at the body. I looked down the length of it. There was nothing that I recognized. Of all the women I'd met since I came here, none were tall enough for the body. Except one.

  I turned back to him and felt the blood drain from my face. "Who is it?"

  "Betty Schaffer, the woman who accused your lover boy of rape."

  The world swam in stripes of color and heat. Someone was holding my elbow, and only that kept me standing. When my vision cleared, Henderson had my arm, and Wilkes was back. "Are you all right, Ms. Blake?" Wilkes asked.

  I looked him right in the eyes and didn't know what to say. Betty Schaffer had been worse than murdered. If the ritual was done right and the person was in jeopardy, not pure, like being a traitor or a liar or lecherous, then the soul could be taken with the life. I'd only seen one body that had been killed in ritual for a demon, and it had been nothing like this. The sacrifice had been killed with a knife, but the soul had been taken. And I couldn't raise the body. If a demon was involved with the death, then the body was just so much clay. I had no power here.

  Wilkes couldn't have called a demon. None of his men had the power. Who could have done it? No one I'd met since I arrived had that kind of power and that kind of taint.

  Before I could think of anything to say, Wilkes spoke first. "You've got a call. I think you should take it."

  He was afraid I'd talk. Trouble was, I didn't have any proof of anything. Hell, I didn't even know what was going on. What was on this ordinary looking land that was worth killing over? Why did the trolls have to be gotten rid of? Was it just so the land could be sold? Or was there a darker purpose? Someone had called a demon to try to make it look like a troll kill. I knew why they'd done it, but not who. I even knew why it was Betty. She'd compromised herself, put herself at risk for that kind of ceremony.

  Movies try to give us shit about needing virgins and purity for sacrifice, but true evil doesn't want to kill and send purity to heaven. True evil wants to corrupt good, and once the good are dead, they are beyond the devil's reach. But the impure, to sacrifice them, to kill them -- well, the devil gets his due.

  Wilkes took my arm as if to help me.

  "Don't touch me, Wilkes. Don't ever touch me again."

  He let his hand fall. Henderson was watching us like he was seeing more than we were telling. Cops are good about that. Give them anything suspicious, and they'll put two and two together and make ten to twenty-five to life.

  Wilkes looked at me. "Could it be werewolves?" His voice was quiet.

  I couldn't keep the shock off my face. I fought to regain my nice, blank face, but it was enough. Wilkes knew what Richard was -- somehow he knew -- and he'd try to blame Betty's death on Richard. Werewolves were a good scapegoat, and a lot more fun to believe in than demons.

  He pulled a cell phone from his pocket. He punched up a number. "She's right here." He handed the phone to me.

  Henderson was watching us like we were entertaining. I took the phone. The voice on the other end was a man, and I didn't know him.

  "I am Franklin Niley, Ms. Blake. I think it is time we meet face-to-face."

  "I don't think so," I said.

  "Wilkes told me that you have spoiled our little plan about blaming those pesky trolls for the death. But it is not too late to blame your lover. How many people will believe his innocence once they find out he is a werewolf?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

  I had to turn my back on Henderson's alert eyes. His attention was a little too intense. Wilkes wasn't watching me. He was watching Henderson. Unfortunately, turning around put me back to staring at the corpse. I turned to the side and stared off through the trees.

  The voice on the phone was cultured, almost too well-mannered for comfort. "Come, Ms. Blake, let us not play games, the two of us. I know what Mr. Zeeman is, and once he's accused, a simple blood test in the jail will prove me right. He'd lose his job, his career, and perhaps be executed. You have hired an excellent attorney; my congratulations. But if he is convicted, then it is an automatic death sentence. Juries have a strong tendency to convict monsters."

  "I'm listening."

  "Meet me at the diner in town. A public place, so you'll feel safe."

  "Why do you want to meet?" My voice was growing progressively lower, whispering.

  "To beg you one last time to leave town, Ms. Blake. I have no wish to come against you. The spirits say that to come against you is death."

  "Spirits?" I whispered.

  "Meet me, Ms. Blake. You and Mr. Zeeman. Meet me, and I promise you it will all be over. You will leave town and all will be well."

  "I don't trust you."

  "Nor should you," Niley said. He laughed, deep and rich. "But meet me at the diner, Ms. Blake. I'll answer your questions. I'll tell you why I want the land. Once my people have made sure you're not wearing a wire, I'll a
nswer any direct question you have. Surely that tempts you."

  "You sound like a man who knows a lot about temptation, Mr. Niley."

  He laughed again. "Money tempts many people, Ms. Blake, and I have a great deal of it."

  I'd been walking slowly away from Henderson. "You going to offer me money?"

  "No, Ms. Blake, that is what won a certain officer of the law to my camp -- and his men. I do not think money is the key to your soul."

  I didn't like the way he said that. "What do you want, Niley?"

  "To talk, that is all. I would swear to you or promise you your safety, but I do not think you would believe me."

  "You got that right."

  "Come to me, Ms. Blake. Let us talk. After I have answered your questions, then you can decide whether to leave or stay. Now, would you be so kind as to put the sheriff back on the phone?"

  I turned back to the waiting men and held up the phone. "He wants to talk to you again."

  Wilkes came for the phone. It was just the two of us by the body when he tried to take the phone. I held onto it. I leaned in close to him and said, "Money doesn't spend in hell, Wilkes. The devil deals in a different coin."

  He jerked the phone from my hand and walked away into the trees, listening to the voice in his ear. The voice that had offered him money to sell out everything he was or might have been. The motive I understood least of all for murder or betrayal was greed. But damned if it wasn't a popular motive for both.

  34

  Richard hadn't said a word since we started the drive to the diner. He'd pulled the rubber band out of his hair and played with it, stretching it wide, letting it relax, open, close, open, close. He didn't usually have nervous habits. It wasn't a good sign. I pulled into the parking lot and shut off the engine. Richard was sitting in the middle with his long legs drawn up. He'd wanted me to drive. Something about being more easily distracted this close to the full moon. Shang-Da sat on the other side, his face calm. Every time I looked at him, the horrible claw marks seemed to be smoothing out. By nightfall tomorrow, he'd be clean. It was impressive, and it would mark him in everyone's eyes who saw him as what he was: a shapeshifter.

  We sat there a moment, listening to the engine tick. "You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?" I asked Richard.

  The rubber band broke with a snap, jumping for the floorboard. "Whatever makes you think that?"

  I touched his arm. He looked at me. His eyes were perfect chocolate brown, human, but there was something in the depths of those human eyes that was other. His beast crawled just behind those true, brown orbs.

  "Can you sit through this without losing it?" I asked.

  "I can."

  "Will you?" I asked.

  He gave me a tight smile, and I didn't like the look on his face. "If I let this much anger out in public with the moon overhead, I might shift. Don't worry, Anita. I know how to deal with my rage." He seemed very self-contained, as if he'd pulled back into himself, behind walls of careful construction. But behind those walls was a vibrating, menacing thing. If Niley's sorcerer were inside, he or she would recognize something was wrong. Of course, they knew what Richard was, so it was all right, I guess.

  Shang-Da handed Richard a pair of black wraparound shades. He took them and slipped them on, running his hands through his hair, fluffing it around his shoulders. Another nervous gesture.

  "I've never seen you wear sunglasses," I said.

  "It's in case my eyes change," Richard said.

  I glanced at Shang-Da and his naked eyes. "What about you?"

  "I didn't date the girl. I didn't even like her."

  Ah. "Great, let's go."

  The men walked at my back like bodyguards. Their energy swirled behind me like some kind of psychic wall. It made the skin along my back tight and itchy. I pushed through the glass doors of the diner and stood there for a moment, searching for Niley.

  The diner was a 1950s throwback, long and narrow in front, with a wider area to one side that looked like a later addition. There was a long counter with little, round stools. The place was full of locals and families that matched the out-of-state license plates in the parking lot.

  The waitresses wore pink uniforms and small, useless aprons. A blond waitress came up to us, smiling. "Richard, Shang-Da, haven't seen you in here all week. Knew you couldn't stay away from Albert's hash browns."

  Richard flashed her that smile of his that has been known to melt women into little quivering puddles. The fact that he's unaware of the effect makes it all the more devastating.

  Shang-Da nodded at her, which for him was a rousing hello.

  "Hi, Aggie," Richard said. "We're meeting someone. Frank Niley."

  She frowned, then nodded. "They're over there at the big table around the corner. You know the way. I'll bring water and menus in just a sec."

  Richard led the way through the crowded tables. We went around the L-shape, and at the end of it, against a bank of windows that overlooked a very pretty mountain view, was our party.

  The African American bodyguard, Milo, was one of three men at the table. He stood when he saw us. He was still tall, leanly muscled, with square-cut hair, handsome in a cold sort of way. He had a long coat on, and it was too hot for long coats.

  I grabbed Richard's arm, slowed him. "Please," I said.

  Richard stared down at me from behind black lenses, his eyes lost. I'd never realized how much of his expression was in his eyes. I couldn't read what he was thinking. With some effort, I might have found out, but the last thing I wanted to do was activate the marks in front of Niley's people.

  Richard let me walk a little ahead of him. Shang-Da had put a sport jacket on over the white shirt and black slacks. He'd surprised me by having a snub-nosed thirty-eight, chrome-plated. It had a paddle holster and fit at the small of his back without breaking the line of his jacket. When I'd questioned the gun, he'd said, "These are not policemen."

  The logic was sound, and he'd checked the gun automatically to see it was loaded. He handled the gun like it was habit. He was the first lycanthrope I'd ever met who carried and seemed comfy with it.

  It was actually nice to not be the only person on our side with a gun.

  There were two men still sitting. One was under twenty-five, with curly brown hair cut short and a wide, almost surprised face. Not Niley. The other one was well over six feet and must have weighed close to three hundred pounds. He gave the impression of size without being exactly fat. His hair was black and receeding sharply in front. He'd done nothing to hide this fact. Rather, the rest of his hair had been buzzed very close to his head, making it all the more obvious. The lack of hair made his face seem too small for his broad shoulders.

  The dark pin-striped suit sat over his white shirt, smooth and costly. He wore a vest but no tie. The wide, white collar showed a curl of greying chest hair. He smiled as he watched us move through the tables of tourists and their screaming children.

  His eyes were pleasant and empty like an amused snake. He waved large blunt-fingered hands. Gold rings glittered from every finger. "Ms. Blake, so good of you to come." He didn't stand for me, which made me wonder what was in his lap. A sawed-off shotgun, maybe. Or maybe his overly mannered speech was an affectation, and he didn't know the actions that went with it. Or maybe he didn't consider me a lady. Maybe.

  Shang-Da had moved to one side so that he and Milo were facing each other. I narrowed my focus to Niley and the younger man. He looked benign, like he should have been sitting at one of the other tables, surrounded by normal people doing normal things.

  Niley offered me his hand. I took it. His handshake was too quick, barely touching. "This is Howard."

  Howard didn't offer me his hand, which made me offer my hand to him. His big brown eyes got even bigger. And I realized that Howard was afraid of me. Interesting.

  "Howard doesn't shake hands," Niley said. "He's a rather powerful clairvoyant. I'm sure you understand."

  I nodded. "I've never met a strong
clairvoyant that would willingly touch a stranger. Too much crap to pick up."

  Niley nodded, small head bobbing on his wide shoulders. "Exactly, Ms. Blake, exactly."

  I sat down. Richard slid into the chair beside me.

  Niley's eyes moved from me to Richard. "Well, Mr. Zeeman, we meet at last."

  Richard stared at him from behind dark glasses. "Why did you kill her?"

  The abruptness of it made even me wince.

  I must have made some movement, because Richard said, "I didn't come here to play games."

  "Nor did I," Niley said. "If you will accompany me to the men's room, I will check you for listening devices. Milo will check your bodyguard."

  "Shang-Da," Richard said. "His name's Shang-Da."

  Niley smiled even more broadly. If his smile kept getting wider, soon his face would just split open.

  "Of course."

  "Who gets to search me?" I said. "Howard?"

  Niley shook his head. "My other associate is running a little late today." He stood and there was nothing in his lap. Paranoia. "Shall we, Mr. Zeeman? May I call you Richard?"

  "No," Richard said, voice deep and low, as if he wanted to say more.

  I touched his arm as he moved past me. I looked up into his face, trying to tell him with a look not to do anything stupid.

  Niley took Richard's other arm, slipping it through his like you'd walk arm and arm with your lover. He patted Richard's arm. "My, aren't you a handsome fellow."

  Richard gave me a look as Niley led him away. I'd have given a great deal to see his eyes at that moment. Usually the bad guys make moves on me.

  Shang-Da moved back so Milo could come out from behind the table. They moved off together, not touching, the tension between them thick enough to swing on.

  I was left with Howard and my back to the door. I changed chairs, sitting where Milo had been, so I could see the entrance. It put me closer to Howard, and he didn't like that much. I smelled a weak link.

  "How good are you?" I asked.