hand of hate 01 - destiny blues

by Sharon Joss

  “She wasn’t just a fortune teller. I get that now.” Somehow, I had inherited my great-grandmother’s power, so now it was up to me.

  “No. Most of her clients were anomalous.”

  “What?”

  Rhys took my hand. “You call them paranormals, but the correct term is anomalous individuals.”

  “I promised her, Rhys. I promised I would stop him. With Lance in custody, the FBI is going to stop looking for the Night Shark. But the real killer must be a demon master; we’ve gotta find this guy.”

  Rhys agreed. “We find the djemon, we’ll find the demon master.”

  Fontaigne paled, and sat down on the toilet.

  “We’ve got to go back to the cavern. Everything starts in the caves.” All of a sudden I remembered. “Oh no, I never got a chance to ask her about her powers or what to do.”

  “You still have the journal?”

  Of course. I’d forgotten all about it. “Good point. What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

  Thus energized, we poured out of the bathroom and Rhys and Fontaigne headed out to the hallway.

  “Hey guys, Give me a minute, will you?”

  Rhys’ eyes flicked to the bed behind me. He nodded and gave my hand a brief squeeze; then followed the lawyer out to the hall to wait with Porter.

  I moved to stand beside the hospital bed, gazing down at her. I never even got a chance to know her; she was already gone. On to a higher plane, I hoped. Her face in repose seemed so serene.

  Fontaigne told me the funeral arrangements were already in place, and she had already changed her will to make me her heir. I studied the new crescent mark on my left hand. My great-grandmother was one of a kind and proud. I’d spent my whole life apologizing for my mother and trying to be like everyone else. I wasn’t some freak, I was unique. Just like her. I am the Hand of Fate. The time had come for me to own it.

  The nurse came in, took one look at my eyes and gave a little shriek. She excused herself and couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. Her problem, not mine.

  I sighed. I rubbed my face, feeling dead on my feet with fatigue. I needed sleep more than anything.

  “I won’t let you down.” I planted a brief kiss on her small brow. “I promise.” I said a final good-bye to my great-grandmother and went out to the hall to find Rhys.

  #

  Rhys and I rode down the elevator and walked through the parking lot in silence. The weight of the humid night sky above and the events of the day had me feeling small and insignificant.

  “You all right?”

  “I just wish I’d known her sooner. I mean, I’m sad she’s gone, but I’m afraid I might have made her a promise I can’t keep.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “Rhys, how did Oneiri get so big? She told me djemons live off the life energy of the people they kill. Is that true? Are they soul-eaters?”

  “Whoa there, lady. Djemons are dependent on the life force of their masters to survive. They grow by serving their master. A djemon unused by its master cannot grow.”

  “How many people did Madame Coumlie order Oneiri to kill?”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “I wish I’d had more time with her. There were so many questions I wanted to ask.”

  Rhys unlocked the truck and held the passenger door open for me, but I didn’t get in.

  I sighed. “Do you think she’s going to hell for what she’s done?”

  “I’m probably not the best person to ask.”

  “She told me I was death incarnate.”

  Rhys looked away.

  “She said I was descended from Morta, the Hand of Death.”

  “People are born and die every day, Mattie. It’s the nature of the wheel.”

  “I don’t want to kill anybody, Rhys. I don’t want to go to hell.”

  “This is a discussion you should have with your pastor.”

  “Have you ever killed anyone?”

  His green eyes held mine. “Yes.”

  I stepped back and broke into a sweat. I believed him. All I could see right now was the face of a stone-cold sociopath, completely devoid of humanity. I don’t know how I hadn’t seen it in him before. The world shifted dangerously beneath my feet, like the deepest desert sand.

  “How many?” I whispered.

  He looked away and the spell was broken. “Are you getting in or not?”

  Good question. I had no doubts anymore that he was a killer, but did that make him a bad person? Could Rhys be the Night Shark? Could it have been there all along, and I missed it?

  No.

  He had been the first to think the killer was a large djemon. He’d gone to inspect the seal in the caves to make sure. I flashed on the image of his little-boy face gazing up at me from the caves. Nah. Rhys might be a murderer, but he wasn’t the Night Shark.

  “Earth to Mattie. Hell-ooo.” The impatient smirk on his face decided me. Why do I find myself so attracted to men who are so irritated by me?

  I blushed and climbed in.

  CHAPTER 26

  Rhys followed me from room to room, as I tore the my apartment apart, searching for the journal. I hunted everywhere, but all I found only a gleam in Rhys’ eyes as he considered my unmade bed.

  “The journal isn’t here. I must have left it at Lance’s.”

  “No problem.”

  We arrived at Lance’s house in minutes. I unlocked the front door to discover the place had been ransacked. All the cushions had been pulled off the couch, the furniture had been moved around, and drawers and cupboards had been left open.

  At first I thought Hector had come back. My heart pounded as I raced from room to room, to no avail. The journal wasn’t in the living room, the kitchen, or Mina’s bedroom either.

  “It’s not here.” Rhys handed me a search warrant. “The FBI took the journal with them. It’s listed right here on the receipt.”

  I stamped my foot in frustration at my own stupidity. “Oh man, I can’t believe I left it here. We’ve got to get that journal back.”

  Rhys pulled out his cell phone. “Maybe Frank can help us out.” He dialed, and put the phone on speaker so I could hear.

  “You’re out of luck.” Porter was adamant. “That journal is the smoking gun the taskforce needed to get the arrest warrant for Lance McNair. That diary is hot property. Nobody is going to get their hands on it anytime soon.”

  “What are you talking about? She wrote the journal decades before Lance was even born. It doesn’t have anything to do with him.” I looked to Rhys.

  “I can’t say anything specific, other than the journal talks about a series of murders back in the thirties. We checked, and the journal entries coincide with the newspaper accounts of the time.”

  “They should, we’re the ones that told you about it.”

  “Well, the new theory is that the journal gave McNair the idea for using a demon as a murder weapon. When you start looking at the body count, the feds are now talking about a weapon of mass destruction. The paranormal branch of the counter-terrorism task force has been asked to step in. I am now officially assigned to the case.”

  Rhys grimaced. “They think Lance is the demon master.”

  #

  “He knew several of the victims.”

  “Oh come on, Frank. This is a small town. Everybody knows somebody dead here.”

  “He was hiding from law enforcement.”

  “No he wasn’t. Not really.” I ran my hands through my hair. “This is all my fault.”

  Porter wasn’t finished. “There’s nothing more I can tell you, other than to say your brother is in deep shit. They are even talking about bringing in the National Guard to quarantine the town. I want you both down here in less than an hour for a formal interview.”

  Rhys hung up. “If the taskforce is going after Lance, they’re coming after us, too. At the very least, they’re going to want to lock us up in a room somewhere for hours of interrogation. We can’t spare the time.
We’ve got to get out of here.”

  I hesitated. Never in my life had I disobeyed a law officer, but Rhys had the right idea. The only way to take suspicion off my brother was to find the demon master ourselves, even if we had to ignore a direct order from Porter. This was definitely crossing the line.

  “Okay, let’s go.” I already knew where. There were a lot more journals at my great-grandmother’s house, and no one would think to look for us there.

  Rhys parked the truck around the corner from the big Queen Anne, and I followed him through the alley toward the back of the house. To my surprise, he had a key. He opened the door and we went in. I followed him through the darkened kitchen, sniffing the air for licorice, but smelled nothing more than my own little posse; the big djemon was long gone. Rhys turned on the lights in the front parlor while I closed the curtains. We immediately turned to the journals, and Rhys started flipping through one of my great-grandmother’s green diaries. After a moment he put it down and started flipping through another.

  “A lot of these are written in French. You don’t read French, do you?”

  “No.” I gazed around the cluttered parlor. The room such a strong reflection of my great-grandmother’s personality, I could almost feel her presence. I wanted to stop and examine every photo and read each framed certificate, but the journals were waiting.

  I sank down to my knees and began paging through the closest leather-bound volume. Sure enough, most of the cramped entries were written in miniscule French script. The woman had been a prolific writer. Just looking at the pages made me sleepy. I flipped the book closed and checked the date on the spine, which said 1922.

  “There is no way we can get through all this tonight, Rhys. I’m so tired I can’t see straight. What if that big djemon comes back?” Rhys ignored me, totally engrossed with the journal in his hands. I threw a pillow at him.

  “What?” He glanced at me, then back to the journals. “Oh, sorry. Until the other day, I didn’t know about these. If they are what I think they are, they document the entire oral history of her family tree, going back generations. This is an incredible find.” He began to page through another volume.

  “Earth to Professor Warrick. We need to focus here, remember?” Being a mage, I imagined these old dusty journals appealed to Rhys as much as Lucky Charms appealed to me. I picked up a later volume, dated 1940. “Hey, this one’s in English. Where’s 1931? We should start there.”

  “I’ve got it right here. A good bit is written in French, but most is English. I think I’ve got someone who can do this translation for us.” His voice was distant. He was already deep into reading the entries.

  I found 1932 and turned to the first page. Sure enough, the entry had been written in English. The room was stuffy, my eyes heavy, and the penmanship tiny and perfect. All the lines jumbled together, and I closed my eyes for just a moment, but that was all it took.

  CHAPTER 27

  I woke up in the morning on the floor of Madame Coumlie’s parlor, surrounded by stacks of journals, Blix and Larry, and at least two dozen djinn. I groaned and shut my eyes and wondered about the time. A tantalizing aroma wafted in from the kitchen; something pungent and familiar, which overpowered the newly-tamed stench of djinn. Aah, coffee. Rhys had to be around here somewhere. I got up and followed the smell of fresh coffee into the kitchen.

  The note next to the coffee maker said:

  Back soon – R

  Hmm. I checked the refrigerator and found some cheese, a half-empty bottle of red wine, and a half-full carton of whipping cream. Vive la France. I poured two fingers of cream into a clean coffee cup and filled it to the brim with the fresh brew. Oh yeah. I gave my silent appreciation to my great-grandmother for having such excellent coffee on hand.

  Bit by bit, the events of the day before caught up with me. Lance must be going bonkers, I thought. Would he ever forgive me? No doubt he blamed me for his arrest. How I would I ever be able explain that I hadn’t ratted him out to the FBI? First thing I had to do was get hold of Fontaigne for the name of the lawyer. I turned my cell phone on. I needed to make a list, I decided. I wandered into the parlor, looking for paper, and noticed Rhys had taken about half of the journals with him. Even if we split up the reading, it would take us weeks to get through them all.

  Maybe we should just go the cavern and, I don’t know, wing it. If my great-grandmother and her husband were able to dispatch a horde of djemons with a couple of hammers, how complicated could it be to herd a bunch of djinn back into the cave? I contemplated my growing crew of djinn, but decided against considering them as helpers. I didn’t want to accidently turn one into a djemon.

  Still looking for paper to start a list, I picked up the1932 journal. We might get lucky and find something right away. I was still scrambling around for paper and a pencil when my cell phone rang.

  “Did you forget our date, or did I get the time wrong?” Garlan’s voice was warm and teasing.

  “Oh no, I am sorry, Garr. There was a death in the family last night. It completely slipped my mind.”

  After a long pause on the other end of the line, I thought the call had been dropped.

  “Hello?”

  “Of course. Allow me to express my condolences. Was this someone you were close to?” His voice sounded odd. Stilted.

  I hesitated telling him. The Russ family had victimized my great-grandmother a long time ago; who knew what their relationship had been like recently. I decided not to mention her name.

  “I only recently discovered we were related.”

  The back door opened, and I turned to see Rhys come in with a big white bakery bag. He’d showered and changed. His sexy grin was back, and I beamed right back at him.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Something about Garr’s voice sounded forced.

  Rhys started pulling chocolate croissants out of the bakery bag, wafting them in front of my face, making it impossible for me to concentrate.

  “Um, can we do this another time?” I needed to get off the phone.

  “How about that sunset cruise out on the lake? Just the two of us.”

  I blushed. He had a rich baritone voice. Persuasive; almost on the edge of pushy. Tempting as Garr’s invitation sounded, I found my loyalties wavering. Of course, the coffee and chocolate croissants Rhys had just brought weren’t helping, but I didn’t feel right talking to Garr with Rhys’ wafting pastry under my nose. I slapped his hand away. The delicious scent of chocolate was making me crazy, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to be pretty busy for the next few days.”

  “Of course.” Garr was not a man who liked to be disappointed, I could tell. “Perhaps another time.”

  I hung up, sensing something off-kilter about the whole conversation. Karen might be right; maybe he was too old for me. My thoughts were interrupted by Rhys, who swooped in and pulled me to him, inhaling deeply as he kissed my neck.

  “You are absolutely irresistible.” He whispered into my neck. “I could just eat you up.”

  I slipped away from him and grabbed a pastry.

  “That’s the chocolate talking. Don’t come any closer. We’ve got work to do.” I took a huge bite, and oomphed in ecstasy as the warm dark chocolate filled my mouth. I held up the croissant to Rhys and he took a monstrous bite. He devoured it, his emerald eyes glittering at me with unfiltered hunger. Oh my.

  “And I need to get cleaned up. I mean, you’re all clean, and I’m not, that’s all.” Without a word, Rhys stepped into me, and pinned me against the kitchen sink.

  “I don’t care.” He put his hands on me, and I closed my eyes and leaned into him; feeling quite the femme fatale for this hour of the morning. His hands slid down my back and pulled me towards him, hips first. He smelled of clean man, and coffee and chocolate. Mighty good. I lifted my head and he kissed me.

  All thoughts of responsibility fled as his tongue explored my mouth. I let him, giving back as good as I got, with inte
rest. His lips were a novel experience. Firm and incredibly soft, his mouth pulled sensations from me I hadn’t experienced before. My body tightened and I savored the feelings his hands aroused as he stroked my nipples and kissed my neck.

  Madame Coumlie’s wall phone rang, and Rhys answered.

  “For you.” He handed me the receiver. He mouthed the words ‘Funeral Home’ to me and wrapped his arms around me; putting his head on my shoulder to listen in.

  “Ah, well, Miss Blackman, so glad to be able to track you down. Gerard Fontaigne suggested you might be staying at the house. Norm Saunders here. I’m just calling to assure you that all the arrangements for Madame’s service are in order. Visiting hours will be held the day after tomorrow, beginning at three o’clock. Would that be satisfactory?”

  “Sure, I guess.”

  “Madame selected one of our high-end packages. She requested cremation, of course, but also understood the needs of the community to say farewell, and agreed to an evening viewing. Lillies, white gladiolas, and orange blossoms, a lovely combination, I must say.”

  “Um, nice. Do I need to do anything??”

  “Traditionally, we prefer to have a family member host the viewing. I have not been able to reach any other family members yet.”

  I wondered who the other family members might be. “How long does this thing last?” I’d never been to a funeral before; not even my own mother’s. I wasn’t sure if attending would be such a good idea. What if Porter showed up?

  “A few hours. Your presence is all that is necessary; and to accept the kind wishes and condolences of her friends and the community. Your great-grandmother was one of a kind. If you like, you may bring a few mementos of her life. Perhaps a photo?”

  “For what?”

  “She was an amazing woman. A legend, if you will. We’ve already received a tremendous number of calls regarding the viewing. Based on the number of queries, I decided to move her into the Founder’s Room. I tell you, we haven’t needed the Founder’s Room for years,” he bragged. “Normally, it’s more expensive, but I am certain your great-grandmother would be pleased to know how many people wish to attend and pay their respects.”