Chaos Karma: Hand of Fate - Book Three

by Sharon Joss

  Charlie Crimmer, one of the park’s security guards, was on duty at the entrance to the big tent. “Hey there, Mattie,” he growled with the husky voice of a lifelong smoker. “Enzo just gave me the word about the band. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. I’ll make sure they get in alright. Be kinda nice to have some comp’ny here late at night.”

  Charlie is a psychopomp, and under my special protection. He escorts the souls of the dead through one of the portals to the underworld, which just so happens to sit beneath the funhouse at Heavenly Shores Amusement Park. He’s also a demon master, like me, albeit an unwilling one. I accidently tore a hole in his soul when he came to me to banish his djemon, and the only way I could repair it, was to plug in a new one. Annie, a djemon who’d been torn from her master’s soul, was dying when I brought her to Charlie. They’d healed each other. Yeah, in more ways than one, Charlie was one of mine.

  “Thanks, Charlie.”

  “You and Henri go right on in. Yer money’s no good here this week.”

  The unnatural history museum, was a bit of a letdown, but interesting nonetheless. The museum part was jars of specimens salvaged from old side shows and taxidermied creations like jackalopes, shrunken heads, and fish-tailed monkeymaids. Also collections of butterflies, insects, bird eggs, crystals, and a fascinating array of artifacts.

  Henri and I must’ve caught the old curator’s eye, because he came over and introduced himself. “Abe Leightner, at your service, Madame.” He took my hand and kissed it. “You are her, aren’t you? Madame Coumlie’s successor.”

  “How did you guess?” The old guy had skin like a well-worn saddle, cheekbones a model would kill for, and eyes as sharp and bright as a raven’s. When he smiled, I noticed his teeth were worn almost to the gumline. His head was shaved and his bald pate was tattooed in an oddly geometric pattern of lines and shapes which nearly matched the mahogany tone of his skin. I liked him immediately.

  “You are the spitting image of her as young woman.” His voice was deep and mellow.

  No lifeline, so whatever he was, he was one of mine. “You knew her?”

  “I been coming to Shore Haven every summer for longer than I can even remember.” He held up the palms of his hands and I recognized the rune symbol tattoos as nearly identical to Madame Coumlie’s. “You might say me and Celeste travelled the same paths from time to time. Oh, the stories I could tell, you. She always made time to see what old Abe had turned up in his travels. I’ve got something for her in my trailer. I guess it rightly belongs to you, now. Come by after the park closes tomorrow night, and I’d be glad to give it to you.”

  “I’d be glad to.” Easy enough to swing by after the viewing for Wiley Willy and Marjorie.

  “It’s a date, then." He gave me a wink, and then noticed Henri for the first time. “Well lookee here. What’s your name, son?” He reached for Henri’s hand and the two men embraced like old friends.

  “It’s Henri now. So glad to see you again, Sir.”

  Henri turned his head away from me, but not before I saw the gleam of tears in his eyes. Abe too, seemed overwhelmed for a moment as both men just stared at one another, each gripping the other’s hand.

  Abe spoke first, his voice suddenly full of emotion. “She would have been proud to see how well you turned out.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  For the first time, I saw how deeply Henri missed my great grandmother, and realized how much her absence must affect him. She had been everything to him.

  Henri took a deep breath, and re-centered himself, a technique I recognized as one of Master Foo’s. “By the way, Mattie. Abe here is just the person to ask about those dreamstriders you asked me about. He’s been a lot of places and seen a lot of things. If anyone, other than Rhys, knows about them, he would.”

  “Dreamstriders?” Abe rubbed his hand across his bald pate.

  “Yes. Someone who can enter dreams at will.” I hoped he didn’t notice my red face. “I want to know how to stop them.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell. Let me think on it and get back to you.”

  “No problem,” I answered.

  Something about Abe made me feel like he would have the answers I was looking for. I hoped so. I wasn’t sure I could hold Luçien off for much longer.

  CHAPTER 11

  The viewing for Marjorie Parry and her son William was held at Orpheus & Sons Funeral Parlor and Crematorium, a modest-looking yellow brick building located two blocks past the meat-packing plant in the Germantown district of Shore Haven.

  The law was unforgiving with regards to vampires. No human bites without a contract in writing. Any violation, and the hunters were called in and the vamp was staked. No excuses, no second chances. In spite of Juno Rockover’s assurances that the Hand of Fate was off the menu in vampire circles, I felt uneasy coming alone. I asked Lou to come with me, but he was on a stakeout for a paying customer, and Henri was too wrapped up in his man-crush on Juno and the band, so I was on my own. At Henri’s suggestion, I’d sent Blix across the ether to find out what the hell was going with Rhys on in Scotland, so I didn’t even have my little yellow-eyed buddy as back-up.

  The first thing I noticed when I walked into the viewing, was how few, um, live humans were in attendance. When Brunson said that Marjorie had a lot of vampire friends, he wasn’t kidding, and the tall, sere woman who greeted me at the door was one of them.

  “Mattie, welcome.” Her hands were cold, her smile warm. “I’m Neldene. So glad you could come.” She led me into the room, tucking my arm into her elbow. “Your great-grandmother Celeste and I were dear friends for decades. It was her fondest wish come true when you showed up.”

  The two coffins, both closed, were placed on pedestals in the middle of the room, each covered in a heavily-scented blanket of white lilies, tuberose, and jasmine. Unlike other visitations I’d attended, there were no chairs in the room, and visitors clustered in small groups while a harp, cello, and flute played sweetly in one corner.

  She introduced me to her husband, Enrique, the owner of Orpheus & Sons, and he too, seemed genuinely pleased to see me.

  “So glad you came, Miss Blackman. It’s an honor to finally meet you.” Enrique bowed over my hand. He was wearing an expensive-looking suit and two-toned shoes. “Were you and the deceased very close?”

  “Actually, no. I only met Marjorie once…” My voice trailed off. Better not mention that I was the one who delivered the news that—well, just better not say anything. “Mayor Brunson asked me to come.”

  Neldene and Enrique exchanged a look. Enrique pressed his lips together. “Ah well, I guess we should have expected that.”

  “He’s convinced we were the ones responsible for outing him as a paranormal in the election, doesn’t he?” Neldene asked. “Please believe me, the vampire community would never do such a thing. You must tell him that. Marjorie knew, but he refused to listen to her. Perhaps he will listen to you. We love Jimmy. We would never hurt him.”

  Maybe I didn’t know much about vampires, but both Neldene and Enrique seemed sincerely upset at the rift between them and the Mayor. “Marjorie said the same thing, but I think his mind is pretty well made up. He truly believes the vampires conspired against him and tried to force him out of the election.”

  “It wasn’t us,” Enrique said. “Let us prove it to you.”

  I followed them past the reception area and into a somewhat cramped office area lined with file cabinets and bookcases, and two small computer desks. Neldene slipped into the chair at one of the desks and double-clicked on the computer’s wastebasket icon. She then selected a file and sat back to let me read it.

  “This email was sent to a reporter at The Democrat and Chronicle from this computer, just before the election. It claims that the Mayor is an unregistered paranormal.” She then double-clicked on another file. “And this one was sent t to The Daily Register, saying exactly the same thing. She opened four more emails, all addressed to reporters of various news media outlets in
Monroe County, including the local news affiliate television station.

  I looked at the signature, which was the same on all the emails. “Who is Harvey Heller?”

  “Our son,” Neldene answered. Her eyes brimmed with bloody tears. “I was mortal when he was conceived. My mother was the park’s seamstress—she made costumes for all the performers, including Madame Coumlie. Eventually I took her place. Madame loved my work, and I made all her clothes for her until her death.”

  She clasped Enrique’s hand. “I met Enrique when he came to work as a roustabout at the park. We fell in love, and were about to be married when Enrique was made a vampire. I loved him then, as I do now. Harvey was conceived shortly after the wedding.”

  “So, Harvey was a Dhampir?” I asked. “And used your computer to send those emails to the press? Why?”

  “He was a selfish, spoiled child,” Enrique said. “We tried to give him every advantage, but he never forgave me for making his mother a vampire after he was born.”

  “Nor me for allowing Enrique to turn me. Believe me, we loved him the best we could, but he grew up a rebellious boy. Enrique even started up the mortuary business so that Harvey would have a stable home environment. We made it into a successful business, but Harvey would have none of it. He dropped out of high school to join the band and turned his back on everything we did.”

  “Although he came around often enough when he wanted money,” Enrique added.

  Both of them looked so miserable and upset, I don’t think they could have faked it. “Why would he turn against Jim Brunson? What did he ever do to deserve that kind of treatment?”

  “He was convinced that if Jimmy was elected, the band wouldn’t be allowed to play at this year’s Sprit Festival,” Neldene answered. “He thought that William Parry being the Mayor’s nephew would make it a conflict of interest. The band would lose out on the biggest gig of the year.”

  Enrique’s expression turned grim. “So selfish. James Brunson is a good man. He didn’t deserve it.”

  “We only found out he’d done this after the election was over,” Neldene closed the files. “What Harvey didn’t realize was that the band’s contract had been set up by the previous administration, and signed well before the election. There was no conflict of interest.”

  “By then, it was too late. James was already exposed, and forced to register as an Alternative Individual with the FBI, and he was convinced the vampire community had tried to sabotage his campaign.” Enrique put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Even though he won the election, Jimmy cut us out of his life completely. You must understand the dhampir community in Shore Haven is understandably small. They are, after all, our children. To lose even one hurts all of us. And now--.”

  I gasped as his meaning became clear. “Hells bells. Your son was Kid Harsh, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Neldene nodded. “All the band members in Wiley Willie and the Rogues were dhampir. When Harvey was found dead, the police said he’d been lying by the side of the road for weeks. We knew it wasn’t true, but couldn’t go to the authorities, and Jimmy wouldn’t take our calls. And then the Ramone boy disappeared. And then they found William, and Edward’s body was so badly burned, they just assumed he died in the fire. And now perhaps Jimmy will listen to you when you tell him that someone is hunting dhampir.”

  CHAPTER 12

  After promising Neldene and Enrique that I would speak to Mayor Brunson (although I could never imagine anyone calling him Jimmy), I drove over the amusement park. It was after midnight, and the park had already shut down for the night, but the cleaning crew was still around, and the familiar sound of Juno Rockover and the Rogues was already blasting across the park from the vicinity of the ballroom.

  I found my way to the gypsy camp were the vendor trucks and RVs were parked in the back lot, near the trailer part where Wiley Willy’s body had been found. The night was balmy, and most of the vendors were sitting outside their campers. I got the feeling that this crowd far preferred the night over the daylight.

  Abe’s trailer was easy enough to find—it was as big as a moving van, painted in bright colors and bold graphics like a lurid comic book in three dimensional letters:

  LIGHTNER ENTERPRISES PRESENTS:

  THE MOST AMAZING COLLECTION OF UNNATURAL ARTIFACTS &

  MYTHIC CREATURES

  THE WORLD HAS EVER KNOWN!

  MYSTERIES OF THE OCCULT!

  MAGICAL ANTIQUITIES!

  YOU WON’T BELIEVE YOUR EYES!

  SATISFACTION GUARANTEED!!!

  I found Abe seated outside his trailer in a rocking chair, telling stories to a group of spellbound adults, crouched around his feet like a bunch of little kids. He caught sight of me and nodded, telling the group there would be more stories tomorrow night. There was a round of applause, and several people came forward to shake his hand before returning to their own trailers. To my surprise, Henri was one of them.

  Once again, I was struck by my own reaction to Abe Leightner. I couldn’t help but think he might very well be the coolest person I’d ever met. Instinctively, I trusted him. This guy was the real deal.

  “Glad you came, Mattie. I’ve had this thing for Madame Coumlie in my possession for far too long, and let me tell you, it wants to come to you. Hang on, I’ll go get it.”

  He disappeared up the ramp into the back of the van, his body spry enough for a far younger man. There was a plush, if worn, oriental carpet spread out on the ground, and lanterns hung at each corner, bathing the campsite in a cheery glow. I followed Henri’s lead and took a seat on the carpet, near Abe’s rocking chair. A soft breeze off the lake and a couple of bug zappers kept the mosquitoes at bay.

  Abe returned a moment later, carrying a wadded up brown paper bag. He settled himself into the rocker, with the crumpled package on his lap.

  “Now before I give this to you, I need to tell you a few things. First of all, it belongs to you; or leastwise, your line. I don’t know how or why it was taken, but I think that once you take possession of it, you will not be able to part with it, even if you wanted to. So there’s a responsibility that comes with accepting this item, if it is what I think it is, and if it’s what Madame Coumlie asked me to find.”

  By this time, I was pretty curious. “What is it?”

  He gave me a stern look. “Listen to what I’m saying, young one. To me, it looks like one thing, but I’m betting that only you will see the true nature of this thing. And once you accept it, there is no going back. It will change you. It is the nature of these things.”

  As much as I instinctively liked Abe, I couldn’t help but be a bit skeptical of this bit of showmanship. I mean, the guy made a living from hauling his sideshow from town to town and charging people money to look at jars of conjoined cat fetuses floating in formaldehyde.

  “Understood.” I reached for the package.

  Henri put his hand on my arm. “Wait a second. Maybe you should think about this. Rhys says--.”

  “Hey, in case you haven’t noticed Rhys isn’t here.” Irritation heated my words. “If this thing was something my great-grandmother wanted, then I’m sure it’s something that it was something she needed. And Rhys is not the Hand of Fate, I am. It’s my decision, not his or yours or anyone else’s.”

  The shocked expression on Henri’s face stopped me. Even Abe looked surprised. “I’m just getting tired of everyone saying that Rhys wouldn’t do this or that. Well he’s not here, now is he? I haven’t heard from him, and he’s not returning my calls or emails. He was only supposed to be gone two weeks, and it’s been almost four. I don’t think he’s coming back.”

  “I didn’t realize this was such a sensitive subject,” Henri said.

  “Sorry.” I squeezed his fingers and felt a reassuring pressure in return.

  “What I was going to say,” Henri began. “Is that Rhys has taught me not to accept packages from strangers, no matter how friendly they may seem, without seeing what is inside first. Why don’t you ask Abe to
open the package before he hands it to you? Then you can decide if you want it or not.”

  Doh! I gave Henri a peck on the cheek. “That’s good advice. Thank you.” I took a deep breath. “And thank you, Abe for bringing me this item, whatever it is. Could you unwrap it and let me see what it is?”

  The old guy grinned and turned the package over in his hands, pulling at the paper. “That’s a good thought, son, but I don’t think it will make much of a difference, once she sees it.” He reached inside the bag drew out an oddly shaped bit of metal.

  He held it in the lamplight, turning it so I could see. It was an old, really old, pair of shears, formed from a single piece of brownish metal. Just two wicked-sharp bronze blades joined at the handle. When he opened and shut the blades, the whisk of sharpened metal rang like the song of my soul.

  They called to me.

  “What is it,” asked Henri.

  “If they’re what I think they are, these were owned by the very first Hand of Fate—used to cut the thread of life. They’ve been lost for centuries. Madame Coumlie had me looking for them for years, but last year, she thought she would need them, and gave me this mark.” Abe pointed to a glowing rune on the pad of this thumb. “All this time searching, and it only glowed like this when I picked them up.”

  The blades were covered with more runes, many of them similar to those on Madame Coumlie’s hands, and Abe’s too. I took them from him, knowing beyond a doubt that they belonged to me.

  The bronze metal warmed beneath my grip and the runes began to glow. A moment later, the instrument glowed like molten lava, but to my hand, felt comfortably warm. Like liquid, the runes slid off the blades and onto my skin, melting into my palm. As I turned the object in my hands, the glow receded, and so too, did the shears.

  My hand was empty.

  “Where did it go?” I asked. I rubbed my palms together. The new rune markings on the skin of my left palm were raised, like scars. I had no doubt they were permanent.