The Shamanic Detective (A Riga Hayworth Paranormal Mystery)

by Kirsten Weiss

  At the bear’s side, Sal moved easily, her limbs loose, her head turning to admire the forest scene. Riga followed more cautiously, dodging branches that snapped back in her path.

  The bear stopped, and Riga stumbled into its rear. “Sorry,” she said automatically.

  Sal looked over her shoulder at Riga. Her voice was low. “He’s found her.”

  Riga stepped around the bear, careful to keep to Sal’s side. The bear had paws the size of dinner plates and real or not, she didn’t care to go through a shamanic dismemberment.

  Staring blankly, June stood beside a tree. Her brown curls cascaded loosely around the shoulders of her pink blazer, heels sunk deep in the bracken.

  Riga picked her way across the damp earth. “June? It’s Riga. Do you remember me?”

  The ghost didn’t respond.

  Riga stepped up beside her, followed her gaze to a green-painted door, set into the pine. The door was knee-high and no wider than Riga’s shoulders. Decorative bands of metal ran up its length, and a handle the size of her thumb was fixed in its center.

  Sal squished across the forest floor to stand next to Riga. “I guess we go in.”

  Riga tensed. She hated enclosed spaces. Yes, it was magic. Yes, she’d likely, miraculously fit. There was probably a spacious, glowing world behind the door. But the door looked fae, and she didn’t like it.

  “Maybe we should knock,” Riga said.

  Sal rolled her eyes, kneeled, and depressed the handle.

  The door swung outward.

  “Ugh.” Riga knelt in the wet earth, the cool damp seeping into the knees of her slacks. Tentatively, she reached a hand inside the open door. When nothing bit it off, she crawled into the darkness, her shoulders brushing the walls of the tree.

  The space was too small, too close.

  Her breath quickened. What if she got stuck? What if her air supply was cut off?

  She focused on her breath, forced her breathing to slow. In and out. Move forward.

  The ground sloped sharply downward, and uneven rocks pressed into her shaking hands. She slithered on loose scree. And then the ground beneath her hands crumbled, disappeared, and she pitched forward. She yelped, landing hard.

  “You okay?” Sal’s voice was thin, echoing.

  “Yeah. Watch the last step.” She waved her hands in an exploratory arc, and stood. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom, began to make out shapes, curved walls, passages.

  Sal slid down beside her, feet first. She stood, brushing off the back of her jeans. “Thanks for the warning.”

  Something squeaked in the corner.

  Riga’s chest tightened. She pointed. “There.” Her heart beat double time, outpacing the drum, now a background drone.

  The darkness swirled, solidified, and four shapes grew out of it.

  Sal grabbed her hand. “Okay,” she panted. “Okay. That’s... creepy, but we expected this. We’re good.”

  The children crept across the ground toward Riga.

  “They’re just shadows.” The shaman’s voice wavered. “Start feeling some love and acceptance.”

  Sweat beaded Riga’s brow. She backed away, pulling free of Sal.

  The dark children slunk closer.

  Riga clenched her fists, jammed them into her pockets. Everything in her revolted against these things.

  Skeletal hands reached for her.

  Riga pressed her back to the steep slope of earth.

  Pale eyes illuminated glimpses of white skull beneath the children’s broken, peeling flesh.

  She wanted to run, to scrabble back up that slope, to get out. Her neck muscles corded, tightened.

  Behind the children, the carriage jerked, rolled forward.

  No, she hadn’t come to run away.

  “Riga—”

  “I got this. Just let me do it my own way.” She folded herself into a cross-legged position, closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind.

  The carriage squeaked closer.

  “Are you trying to meditate inside a journey?” Sal asked.

  Riga clenched her jaw. “You’re not helping.”

  They gathered around Riga, plucking at her clothes, their bony fingers leaving pools of stinging cold on her skin. But these were just shadows, and they couldn’t hurt her. It was like a dream, like being pursued by a creature that was only in her own head. And when she stopped running, realized the dream, the pursuit ended. She was safe.

  “This isn’t a dream,” Sal said sharply.

  Something struck Riga’s cheek, and her eyes flew open. One of the creatures grinned at her, its skeletal hand raised, and she jolted with shock. The darkness deepened.

  No. She couldn’t love them, but she could remember love. She thought of Donovan, of Pen, of her sister, Rebecca. She imagined embracing them, remembered the feeling, remembered the joy she felt at their best moments together. And then she extended that feeling outward, felt it flow through her, from her, and fill the cavern.

  Riga opened her arms, smiled. The children’s flesh healed, their bodies straightened, and they walked into her embrace. She felt them melt beneath her, and they vanished.

  Chapter 30

  In the clearing, the bear was waiting for them, sitting on its haunches beside the ghost. June glowed palely in the darkness, cradling the baby in her arms, the three children, crowding around her. The ghost nodded to Riga, and then she and the shadows faded away.

  Groaning, Riga let her head drop backward. Above her, tree branches swayed hypnotically, silhouettes against a sky blazing with stars. “I needed to talk to her before she crossed over.”

  “She hasn’t crossed over.” Sal scrambled out of the door in the tree, brushing dirt and twigs from her knees.

  The drumbeat quickened.

  “Time to go,” Riga said.

  They crashed through the forest, heedless, skidding on the sand when they reached the lake, a black pool in the night.

  Sal paced the tree line, head swiveling back and forth, searching. “Here it is.” She scuttled through a break in the shrubbery, and inside the tunnel.

  Riga followed her into the gloom, and slammed against something cold and unyielding. The light in the tunnel dimmed. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t shout.

  The drumbeat stopped.

  She clutched at her throat, tried to draw breath.

  A robed figure stepped from the shadows. “You do not respect me,” Ankou said.

  Oh, she respected him too well, and that was the problem. Her head spun from lack of oxygen. She had to calm down, to think. And then in her mind’s eye she saw Donovan’s face. He winked, and the spell broke. She bent over, hands on knees, sucking in great gulps of air.

  When she was steady enough to speak, she said, “I’m helping your servant, as you asked.”

  The death fae roared. “And she is paying you in kind! That was not our agreement.”

  Riga straightened. “No, she’s paying me for helping save her cousin. You’re returning my marker in exchange for protecting Sal.”

  “Who has had several narrow escapes, in spite of your so called protection.”

  “She was unharmed because of my protection.”

  “Your familiar will not be returned to you until my servant is out of danger.”

  “My famil... You have Brigitte? But that’s not possible. You can’t hold her against her will.” It was one of the odd laws of the magic that ruled her. She and Brigitte were connected, whether they liked it or not.

  “The land of the fae is seductive.” He vanished.

  The drumbeat returned. Riga cursed, and tore up the tunnel. Sal was only two steps ahead of her – the death fae had somehow manipulated her time in the tunnel. And then they were scrambling up, through the roots.

  The drumbeat stopped.

  Riga opened her eyes.

  “Wow.” Sal swung her feet off the divan. “That was some serious shit. You sure you don’t want to come back and be my shamanic apprentice?”

  Riga sat up, blinkin
g. “I saw Ankou. He said he had...” She frowned. She’d almost told Sal about Brigitte, and the gargoyle was a secret that stayed close. “... had my familiar.”

  “Ankou only takes human souls.”

  “That’s not what he said. And my familiar is missing.”

  “I doubt it will come to any harm.”

  “What if you’re wrong? Can’t you intercede?”

  “No,” Sal said flatly.

  Riga’s heart lurched. Brigitte was more than a familiar. She was a friend, an ally. And now she was gone.

  The shamanic journey left them both ravenous. Voices low so as not to disturb Lizzy, snoring in her bedroom, they huddled in the breakfast nook, eating grilled cheese sandwiches and drinking wine. Outside, Thor patrolled, circling the cabin, checking the woods.

  Martin wandered into the kitchen as they were stacking their dirty plates in the dishwasher. He sniffed, his pink nose twitching. “Lunch?”

  “Help yourself.” Sal waved to the refrigerator.

  Riga’s cell phone buzzed in her pocket of her slacks. She hurried out of the kitchen, and let herself out through the sliding glass doors to the balcony, put her damaged phone to her ear.

  “So... Another attempt.”

  She scrambled to identify the gruff male voice on the other end of the line. “Sheriff?” Her breath frosted the air, and she shivered. She’d left her coat indoors.

  “Your bodyguard called me from the garage where they towed Ms. Washington’s car,” King said. “He told me what happened. Why didn’t you?”

  She rubbed her temple. “Because I didn’t know if there was anything to report. I haven’t heard back from the garage yet,” she said, with a flicker of irritation. It would have been nice if Ash had called her first.

  “Then I’ll fill you in. Ms. Washington’s Jaguar was tampered with. It’s a good thing you weren’t traveling fast. Could have been nasty with all the ice on the roads. The good news is your bodyguard knew where she’d parked her car, and the hospital has security footage.”

  Riga said a silent prayer of thanks. The shaman usually drove as if she were on a racetrack. “And the bad news?”

  Her duct-taped phone hinged backwards. Riga grabbed at the receiver, held it to her ear with her other hand.

  “Whoever messed with your car wore a hoodie and gloves. The footage isn’t much help – can’t even say much about the build, and whoever did it was slouching. We may be able to get a close approximation of height, but right now the only people I can eliminate are you and Ms. Washington.”

  “Was it time stamped?” She switched hands. Stupid cell phone.

  “Nine-thirty this morning until around a quarter to ten.”

  She looped her scarf around her neck. “Thanks for letting me know.” Why was he letting her know?

  Before she could ask, he hung up.

  She made a disgusted noise, and hurried back into the warmth of indoors, knocking her boots together on the mat, shaking loose the snow that had stuck there.

  Derek sat, limp, on the leather couch. His white sports shirt was open at the collar. He slugged back a shot of whiskey, and grinned broadly at her. “I just got back from the hospital. She’s going to be okay. No liver damage.”

  “Thank goddess.” Sal said from her seat on the base of the fireplace.

  Lizzy emerged from the kitchen, one hand toying with the pearls around her neck, a glass of wine in the other. She raised the latter in a toast. “To Zara’s health.”

  Martin sat down beside Sal, unzipping his blue fleece jacket. “You must feel tremendously relieved.”

  Sal nodded.

  “When will they release her?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow,” Derek said. “And the next day, I’m taking my sister home to San Francisco. I don’t care what the Sheriff says. We’re getting out of here.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Riga said. “Someone tampered with Sal’s car this morning. We nearly crashed.”

  “What?” Lizzy cried out.

  “Who would do such a thing?” Martin said.

  Sal scowled. “There was no nearly about it. We did crash. Into a snowbank.”

  “Are you all right?” Lizzy hurried to sit on Sal’s other side. “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “We’re fine.”

  “You never can tell, sometimes whiplash shows up a day or two later. You should be examined by a doctor.”

  “If I start to hurt, I’ll go to the doctor.”

  “So where was everyone between nine-thirty and ten this morning?” Riga asked pleasantly.

  Lizzy reared back as if struck. “You can’t be serious?”

  Riga just looked at her.

  “I was here,” Lizzy said. “In bed with a headache.”

  “Did anyone see you?” Riga asked.

  “I doubt it. As I said, I was in bed.”

  “I was with Sal at the hospital,” Derek said.

  Riga looked to the shaman for confirmation, and she nodded.

  “Martin? Where were you?” Riga asked.

  “Here, making phone calls. And if it helps, I heard Lizzy moving around in her room around that time.”

  Riga arched a brow. “Oh, it does. Between the three attacks and the various alibis for each, it’s becoming clear who’s responsible.”

  Lizzy’s shoulders jerked. “You know?”

  “I’m still waiting for some information, but the police will have it soon.” Riga was angry now, and if she could shake the attacker up a bit, he or she might make a mistake. And the sooner this was wrapped up, the sooner she and Brigitte would be free of the fae.

  The front door opened noisily and slammed shut, and the group started in surprise.

  Ash prowled into the room, and Riga smiled at their unease, the worried glances, the restless shifting of bodies. They were rattled.

  Sometimes, the old tricks really were the best.

  Chapter 31

  After Ash returned to the cabin, Thor drove Riga to the garage to pick up her car, then followed her to the casino. The numbers of reporters at the entrance had dwindled to a half dozen. Their questions bounced harmlessly off her as she pushed past. Perhaps her skin was thickening.

  Crossing the casino’s threshold, she clenched her teeth, preparing herself for the impact of that dark aura. It came, a wave of despair tinged with fury. And then the oppression lifted so suddenly, she staggered. Thor caught her arm, steadying her.

  She looked around at the rows of empty slot machines, the sparkling chandeliers above deserted tables. The casino remained desolate, unnaturally quiet. Why had that strange mood shifted?

  She began to head for the penthouse, then detoured to the finance department. Thor followed discreetly behind. It would be hours before Donovan arrived. She might as well harass some suspects.

  The sleek antechamber to Finn’s office sat empty. Riga checked her watch – still working hours – and rapped on Finn’s door. Thor vanished into the hallway outside.

  “Come in,” the CFO called.

  She walked inside, and her breath caught at the view through the picture windows. The cloud cover was breaking, beams of golden sunlight falling on the mountains, white and blue and cold.

  “Riga!” He put the phone receiver down. His glasses reflected the light from the modern desk lamp. “I was just going to call you.”

  She noticed the shadows under his eyes, the stain on his tie, the sallow tint to his skin. Finn was a man neither sleeping nor eating well. “You found something,” she said.

  “Someone’s been stealing from your sportswear company. Come look.”

  She came around to his side of the wide, black desk, glad to avoid the sci-fi chairs.

  The CFO had to take her through the numbers twice before she got it, but she got it. Someone had been naughty, and she had a good idea who.

  “Thanks, Finn. You’re a lifesaver.” Possibly literally. “Hey, did you keep your calendar from last spring?”

  “I keep everything. Why?”

  �
�Would you mind checking March fifteenth?”

  He lifted his eyebrows, and pulled a leather bound journal from his desk drawer, flipping through it. Finn pushed the book across the desk to Riga.

  She ran her finger down the entries. Finn had two morning meetings on the day of June’s death – one with Reuben.

  “These meetings were here? At the casino?”

  He pointed at the earliest. “This was a breakfast meeting at a diner in South Shore. The meeting at ten with Reuben was in my office – that’s what the ‘o’ means in the notation.”

  “Do you remember what it was about?”

  Finn grunted, looked at the entry. “Yeah, we were reviewing the February numbers.”

  “Is that usual?”

  He smiled wryly. “Reuben’s very hands on. We go over the numbers every month.”

  “Thanks, Finn. You’ve cleared up a lot.”

  She backtracked to the penthouse elevator, Thor her silent shadow. The guard held the door for them.

  “Hi, Joe,” she said.

  He nodded. “Miss Hayworth.” Joe slid his key card in, eyeing Thor curiously.

  The doors slid smoothly shut, and Thor stood in front of them, his back to Riga and the guard.

  “Oh, a package came for you,” Joe said. “I put it on the table in the foyer.”

  “Thanks.”

  The doors opened on silence, hollow, echoing.

  Thor moved aside as she stepped into the foyer, and he shot her a quick smile. “This is where I get off.” The doors slid shut before him, and she was alone.

  She walked toward the bedroom, the sound of her booted feet on the hardwood floor unnerving, unnatural in that strange quiet. Before the totem pole, she paused and studied the raven’s head at the top. Raven was her power animal, and she’d neglected it. Ruefully, she rubbed her head where it had clawed her. A shaman would have cultivated the relationship with raven, left offerings. On the other hand, she was no shaman. Still... “Hi, Raven.” She sketched a wave.

  It didn’t respond.

  Feeling foolish, she went to the side table. A lumpy manila envelope, addressed to her from Gregorovich, lay there. She checked for wires, oil stains, anything to indicate a letter bomb. Finally, she slid her nail under the flap, and tore it open, upending it.