I slid her a look. Xia’s intuitiveness could be downright scary, at times. I wondered if the word “partner” screamed at her from my aura.
“Maybe something is, maybe something isn’t,” I grumbled. “Since you know me so well, Xia, you should be able to tell I’m in a very uncommunicative mood tonight. Even more so than normal.”
“Blessed be, of course I can tell. I just thought sharing would make you feel better.”
“Feel better? Oh, I see. You think sharing my troubles would relieve me of my mental burden?” I tipped my head back, let the beer burn a trail down my throat. “I don’t think so.”
“I disagree.” She expelled a giant sigh. “You used to be such a chatterbox, don’t you remember? Once you started talking, you didn’t stop for spit. As a matter of fact, you used to share everything with me before—“
“Before what,” I snapped as she paused. “Oh, let me finish the sentence for you. Before ‘the incident’. Oh, wait, even better. The damned incident, as everyone refers to it, right? Right?”
Xia leaned toward me, her blue eyes large and round. “Oh, hell, Morgan,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge up old wounds.” She picked at the hem of her tunic with the edge of her fingernail. “I know you still carry guilt over what happened, but you shouldn’t, not really. It wasn’t your fault—“
“How can you say that? Damn to Hades, of course it was!” I slammed the bottle down on the porch so hard it cracked. Golden liquid streamed out and down the steps, forming a little pool at the bottom. I grunted, reached for another. “What a waste,” I muttered.
“Do you mean the beer, or your life?”
I shrugged. “They’re interchangeable. Pick one.”
“See, that’s what I mean.” Xia folded her hands across her chest and glared at me. “You make these little veiled references, then clam up. For pity’s sake, if you’d just talk about it…let it out…”
“Stop!” I yelled, and passed a hand across my overbright eyes. “Let it go, Xia. I did all my talking to the unit psychiatrist, who pronounced me cured, didn’t you get the news flash? Since it happened well over a year ago, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t have.”
Xia clucked her tongue. “A mite defensive, aren’t we?”
I slumped down further on the steps. “Can we change the subject, please? What did you do today, Xia? Buy any new cauldrons? Learn some new spells? Did you and your buddies hold hands and recite some new chants?”
Her perfectly arched brows drew together. “You’ve never even tried to understand our Dianic Wicca. Maybe if you came to a meeting…”
I shook my head. “No thank you.”
“Sure, I forgot. You’ve got better things to do than embrace your Wiccan heritage.”
“Half-Wiccan.”
“Okay, half.” She threw me a glare and continuted, “Some of us are thinking of getting into Faery Wicca,” Xia continued. “Lily gave a brief talk on it today, and I had to admit it sounded fascinating. We’d work specifically with nature spirits, you know, fire, air, earth, water.”
I raised my eyebrow. “No pixie dust?”
“You know, you ought to quit after just one of those,” she pointed to the almost-empty pack. “After three your sarcasm level gets unbearable.”
I slumped further down the steps as a fresh wave of guilt washed over me. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, hanging my head. “I don’t know what gets into me sometimes and makes me act this way. It’s like some demon force takes over.”
Xia’s hand shot out to cover mine. “I’ve been on the receiving end of your moods more than once, and it’s a good thing I’ve got thick skin.” She cocked her head, studying me. “You know, Morgan, whether you want to admit it or not, you aren’t cut out to be a lone wolf.” She rose with a sigh. “I imagine you’re right, though. I should know by now to let you work your moods out by yourself. I’m sorry I bothered you.”
I scrubbed at my face with my palms. “You didn’t, not really. It’s just—oh, what’s the use?”
I felt her arm go round my shoulders, and then my face was pressed into her chest.
“You know, Morgan, you’re not the first cop, or person for that matter, to make an error in judgment. April had a choice to make, too. You don’t have to shoulder all of the responsibility for what happened. The sooner you come to terms with it, and find your own personal Summerland, the better person you’ll become.”
I raised my face up to hers, felt the sting of hot tears at the corners of my eyes. “I want to be a better person, Xia. Honest. I do.”
She smiled as she brushed away the lone tear that had found its way down my cheek. “I know you do, Morgan. I know.”
We sat like that for a few moments, quiet in the chill night air, and then Xia finally pulled away and walked up the steps. When I heard the door close I dropped back on the top step, leaned my head against the railing and closed my eyes. “Why do I act like this,” I muttered. “Why?”
I knew the answer.
If only things had happened differently…if only…if only…
Later, much later, I slipped into the house and went directly to the kitchen. The refrigerator door groaned as I opened it; one of these days we were going to have to invest in a new one. I rummaged through it, finally deciding upon some leftover ham and Gouda cheese. I carried my prize to the sideboard, then fumbled to open the breadbasket. There I found a loaf of day-old rye, not my favorite, and some Wonder bread that had definitely seen better days. Not being a big fan of green mold, I opted for the rye. I slapped some ham and cheese on the bread, slathered it with Gulden’s hot and spicy, and carried my meal down the hall into the room set up as my office.
I loved this room—hands down it had to be my favorite in the house, probably because there were absolutely no trappings of Xia’s lurking anywhere about. The desk was a beautiful pale oak, bought for a song at a flea market. My computer system was state of the art, of course, the end product of my first Christmas Bonus check from the Department. Last year, Xia’d surprised me with a real leather desk chair. Wall to wall bookshelves were near to overflowing, with everything from a How-to handbook on autopsies to the classics Xia loved to read, over and over—Little Women, A Tale of Two Cities, Kidnapped. She’d even managed to get me interested in a few of them, and reading had never been high on my list of favorite hobbies. On a low table just under the window sat a collection of framed photographs. I walked over, selected the one in the brass oval frame. My face and the face of a girl with red hair and laughing green eyes smiled up at me.
April. No matter what anyone says, it was my fault. I know it. I got too cocky—thought I knew too much.
I’ve found in my experience people who aren’t cops can’t understand the special bond between partners. When one dies, it’s like a part of you dies right along with them.
In my case, I’d operated for the last year and a half with no more than an empty shell.
I looked at the photograph for a long time, before I carefully set it back on the table. As the moon rose in the sky, a pale orb, I flopped down in my chair, let its rays wash over me as I dropped my head into my hands and, for the first time in a long time, let the tears flow.
***
The chamber was dark, musky, shadows slithering along the bare wall. The only light came from the flames spearing above the black candles set in gleaming tripods on either end of the thick slab of marble. In the center of the marble slab lay a naked woman. Her hands and feet were bound, her eyes covered by a black silk scarf. A bowl of sacrificial blood rested between her thighs.
A door at the far end of the room opened, and a dark figure entered. Clad in a dark robe with a hood totally obscuring its features, the figure knelt before the altar, murmured a few words in a long-dead dialect. It rose, bent over the woman, and pulled the scarf away from her eyes. They widened as they rested on the hooded figure.
“Wa—water,” she murmured, through dry, cracked lips. “Please.”
&nb
sp; The figure crossed to a small table, poured some water into a goblet from a pitcher. It tipped the cup to the woman’s lips, and she drank deeply.
“Who—who are you?” she asked, as the cup was taken away. “Why have you brought me here?”
The figure lowered the hood, and she bit back a scream. The person facing her wore a boar’s head mask.
“I worship the one,” the figure said in a deep, guttural tone, so low it was impossible for her to discern whether a man or woman lurked behind the mask.
Her eyes widened. “Is this a Black Mass—is this why I’m here?”
The masked figure reached beneath its robe. The girl caught a flash of light and raised her eyes. The dagger, bright and shiny, seemed to float above her chest.
“No,” she whimpered. “No, please…”
He rested the point of the blade directly between her eyes. “There is a way you could save yourself,” he growled.
“What?” she gasped. “I’ll do anything. Anything—just spare me.”
“You were given a book by someone.” He paused. “I want it.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I—I have no book.”
He pressed closer. “I think you do.”
She clamped her lips into a straight line and glared.
His hand caressed her chest. “Well, you had your chance. Now, your witch’s blood will make one more link in our chain.”
“Witch’s blood?” she gasped. “But I—I’m not a blood—“
He lashed out, backhanded her so hard her head bounced against the marble slab. “Silence.” He raised his eyes upward. “Another point in the star. Pain as well as pleasure. For the greater good. Mawinba.”
The knife slashed down, sending splotches of red in circular patterns against the wall. The woman’s screams faded into silence as the life drained out of her. Fingers opened her lifeless lips, slashed again.
The figure stood back a moment, regarding its handiwork. It wiped the blade on the edge of its sleeve, turned on its heel, and left the chamber.
Chapter 3
“Woo-hoo, Morgan? What’s the special occasion?”
Shift change was in full swing the next morning when I arrived at Headquarters. My alarm had failed to ring on time, what else was new? I’d dressed as quickly as I could and slipped out. Xia was still asleep. I’d hoped to make it to Gilley’s office without incident, but I hadn’t counted on Leo Petrie working a double shift. I’d never gotten along with the bull-faced patrolman, whose IQ matched that of a gnat, in my humble opinion. He ogled me with something between a leer and a grin etched on his thin, pinched face, making me sorry I’d worn my good suit.
“No special occasion,” I attempted to push past him but he sidestepped me, effectively blocking my path. “Why, don’t I always come to work like this?”
His gaze swept me up and down, from the tips of my high heels to the comb holding my bangs in place. He pursed his lips and gave a low whistle. “Honestly…no. You usually dress like a gravedigger about to start in on a fresh hole. So, I repeat…what’s the occasion?”
I moistened my lips, leaned in closer. I got a whiff of garlic and decided Leo must have had spaghetti for dinner last night. Brushing teeth and gargling, apparently, wasn’t one of his morning ablutions. “Nothing special. Just an appointment with Gilley.”
His eyes narrowed into slits. “Ooh, an appointment, you say. With the chief? What’s up, Hawkes?” He leaned closer. “You doin’ him?” he hissed in my ear.
The hiss turned into a squeal as I grabbed his wrist and bent it backward.
“Listen, you oversexed sack of shit,” I whispered. “Keep your dirty suggestions to yourself. What business I have with the Chief is none of yours, got it?”
“Who died and left you in charge?” he shot back. He squealed like a stuck pig as I applied more pressure to his wrist. All in all, Petrie had about twenty pounds on me, but I had the element of surprise on my side.
“It sure wasn’t you, asshole.” I released him and flung him back. He banged against the wall and stood for a minute, rubbing his wrist.
“Yeah, well, we all know who died, don’t we?” he shouted at my back. I froze in mid-step, turned slowly. My lips quirked slightly as his face paled. He took two quick steps backward.
“Yeah, we all know,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. I closed the distance between us with two long strides and the next instant I had him in a hammerlock, my arm around his throat. “So I’d like it…really like it…if you didn’t mention it again.”
“Okay,” he squeaked. I released him again and he half-backed, half-ran, down the corridor in the opposite direction. “Touchy today, ain’t we?” he flung over his shoulder.
Damn you. “You just can’t resist being an asshole, can you?” I started after him, stopped as I felt pressure on my arm. I looked into Danny’s blue eyes and sighed.
“He really needs a good whipping,” I muttered.
“I’m sure you’d prove more than a match for him, and quite frankly it’s an event most of us would pay to watch, but....” He released my arm and grinned at me. “Some people are just assholes. You can’t fight all of them.”
I tugged at the lapels of my jacket and smoothed it over my hips. “Wanna bet?” I muttered.
“Hell, no. I lost the last one, remember?”
I let a smile touch the corners of my lips. “Hell yeah. And you still owe me, as I recall. So—“ I moistened my lips, “Gilley’s not too upset, is he? I mean, I know I’m late…”
“I called your house, but your cousin said you’d already left. And you still didn’t get a battery for your cell, did you?”
I flushed guiltily. “No. What’s up?”
“Your appointment’s been rescheduled to two this afternoon. The person you’re meeting with apparently had a full morning.”
“Oh.” I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Well, that frees me up. Anything on the roster?”
“As a matter of fact…” he whipped a sheet of paper from his pocket. “This call just came in. There’s a slight disturbance out in the Hammond section. Iglatz daemon sighting. Up for it?”
I snatched the paper from Danny’s hand as I cantered back down the hall. “Hell, why not? Tell Gilley I’ll see him at two.”
***
Hammond was at the south end of Central City, in a section often regarded as the “seedy” side of town. It was ruled by rogue weres, vamps, and yes, daemons. Most of the dilapidated houses at one time belonged to the various supernaturals before they’d gone onto meet their Maker. There was a small part of it, however, at the very tip just before it morphed into rundown buildings and dark corners, where some respectable yet poor families of mortals resided. Their part of town was usually protected from the rogues that might choose to invade it by an ancient gypsy challa, or spell. Some at that very tip, though, were sometimes vulnerable to some daemons who were not only former residents, but impeneterable to gypsy curses and sometimes liked to wreak havoc with poor, unsuspecting mortals. This was one of those times.
I parked my convertible in front of a low, stucco house that would have definitely passed as an upper-middle class residence in any other Central City district. There was a small crowd of people gathered near the stoop, and I made my way to them, pulling out my badge as I approached.
“PSI,” I said as I scanned the group. “What’s up? We’ve got a report of an Iglatz daemon?”
One woman, dirty and unkempt with ratty, carrot-colored hair, pushed forward. Two equally ratty youngsters, a boy and a girl, clung to her faded skirt. She pressed them closer to her as she answered, “Aye. It’s my house he’s in. Said it’s his, and he wants it back.”
I tried to give her a reassuring smile. “It’s not an uncommon practice,” I said. “Especially with Iglatz. They’re quite pushy.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Tell me about it! Been threatening for a week, and just this morning his force broke through. Now he’s taken
up residence in the basement. Says it’s his, and we all have to get out.” Her face mirrored fear. “Missy, we’ve nowhere else to go. That’s our home.” Tears started to form in her wide eyes. “What’ll I do—how can I take care of my children? Everything we have in the world is in that house.”
I looked into the little urchin’s faces and my heart went out to them. I reached out, touched the girl’s face, patted the little boy’s shoulder and then turned to the mother.
“It’ll be fine. Just, no matter what you might hear, don’t go back inside until I tell you to. Please, stay out here.” Then I squared my shoulders and went inside.
Inside I found the door leading to the basement and descended the rickety stairs slowly. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see nothing, but I distinctly felt another presence in the dank area with me. “Hello?” I called. “Is there an energy here? Speak?”
No answer, but out of the corner of my eye I caught a flash of shadow and quickly turned in that direction. I felt the barest hint of dark energy. Male. Evil.
“Who’s here?” I called again. “Speak.”
It came at me, a low rumble, barely discernable. Leave, bitch. This is my territory.
I took a deep breath and reached out with my energy. A jolt seared through me and I staggered backward, caught momentarily off guard. Something rammed my chest with such force that I flew backward against the wall, head snapping off to the side as I struck and slumped down.
You don’t listen very well, do you? This is my territory. My ancestors founded this gateway. Those humans have no right to live in my space.
I clawed my way to my feet. “Oh, quite the opposite. They have every right. Hammond is their district, now, and you belong in another plane. Let me help you get back there.”
No, you are wrong. I belong here.
I was getting nowhere fast. I glanced at my watch. I had to be back at headquarters in less than two hours. What I had thought would be a simple exorcism was quickly turning into a full-blown event.
No Rest for the Wicca Page 3
