by Sharon Joss
“Hey!” I’d never bothered to fill in anything more than just the barest phone number or email of any particular contact. Blix had found links for some of them—to websites and network connections.
“Good boy--.” I said, and then quickly corrected myself. Rhys had been coaching me in the correct way to speak to and behave toward a djemon. “You have done well, Blix.”
The little djemon positively beamed at my properly-worded praise. He leapt to the table and stamped his little feet as if to say, follow me!
“What?”
He scampered into the parlor, where Madame Coumlie’s personal computer sat, unused since Henri left because I’d forgotten to ask him for the password.
But that hadn’t stopped Blix. He seated himself on the desk in front of the keyboard and entered a password, then began to manipulate the mouse, selecting the file he was looking for. He opened a spreadsheet and then a text file. His fingers fairly flew over the keys, his nails making little clicking noises against the keys as he typed.
It was Madam Coumlie’s client list, something Henri and I had been meaning to get to, but hadn’t. There were hundreds of names and email addresses here. All in alphabetical order. “Excellent work, Blix.”
He opened yet another file, which had links to all of the various media accounts of Lou’s hit and run accident. And somehow, he’d managed to hack into the hospital’s database and upload the file of Lou’s medical records. There was even a file folder with newspaper reports on the death of Lou’s former partner, Nate Briscoe, a decade earlier.
“Holy crap.” I sank into the desk chair, intrigued. In the final file was a profile piece dated yesterday. An interview with Sheriff Reynolds. When asked about the hit-and-run accident in Penfield, Reynolds had declined to comment. Investigation continuing. Right.
“Good heavens, Blix, well done!” I couldn’t believe he’d accomplished so much. My mind raced at the possibilities.
“Can you speak, Blix? Say something.”
His entire body slumped. He emitted a sound that was part gurgle, part whine, part chirp. He looked miserable.
My first instinct was to pick him up and rub his belly, but I caught myself. Instead I ignored his failed attempt and gave him something else I was certain he could do.
“Well, keep working on it. In the meantime, I want you to find out everything you can about the Penfield witches, er, cult. I want to see anything you can find. Especially any newspaper articles, clippings, or photos. I want to know who they are, and whether there have been any charges filed against them in the past.” I thought for a moment. “And while you’re at it, see what you can find out about witchcraft in general. And spell layering. And occultists. I want to know about them, too. And while you’re at it, see what else you can find on Nate Briscoe’s murder.”
Blix quivered with excitement and began to tap at the keyboard.
Gee, I’d never had an assistant before. This could work.
CHAPTER 10
MASTER FOO HAD me using a bamboo pole for my Qhua Bei practice—my first weapon. It wasn’t a blade, but at least I was making progress. I soon discovered that the pole, as light as it was, got heavier with every minute of practice. In Qhua Bei, the movements must be precise, and as I struggled to keep my arms and elbows up, my footwork deteriorated.
But when I practiced my Qhua Bei movements to Mr. Maestro’s dance mix, everything changed. The music seemed to awaken energy reserves I didn’t know I possessed. The urge to move to the music was irresistible—and the footwork Mr. Maestro had taught us translated well into the movements of Qhua Bei. Moreover, the music made my solitary practice not so deadly dull. Actually, I’d gotten the idea from Henri, who always practiced to the sound of his beloved Wiley Willy and the Rogues album.
I brought Mr. Maestro’s dance mix CD along when Rhys and I went to Master Foo’s practice on Saturday morning. As usual, the Master observed my practice without comment I gave myself over to the music and it moved though me, guiding my movements. I didn’t even have to think about it. The backbeat gave me confidence in my footwork and every movement of my body felt natural. It was a great workout, and I was breathing hard when I finished. But for once, my arms and legs weren’t trembling with fatigue.
Master Foo nodded, his expression every bit as dour as usual. I didn’t care. I was onto something here, and this was the best practice I’d ever done for him.
But instead of telling me what to work on, he beckoned me out into the practice yard. “Bring the music with you, Missy.”
I followed him out to the practice ring where Rhys was doing his warm-up. I set the boom box on the ringside table.
“You two together,” Master Foo said. He positioned Rhys and I so that we were standing back-to-back, each in our ‘ready’ position—Rhys in a two-handed grip on his sword, and me with my skinny green bamboo pole.
Rhys caught my eye over his shoulder and gave me a little wink. I’d convinced him to give it a try the previous night and we already knew what was coming. Rhys been practicing in silence for centuries, but he liked Mr. Maestro’s music—and it was a whole lot better than what Henri listened to. It hadn’t started as foreplay, but--.
Master Foo hit the PLAY button on the boom box and the sounds of Cab Calloway’s intro to Hi De Ho filled the air.
Rhys and I moved through our exercises together, and the connection between us snapped into place again, just as it had the night before. It was like we shared the same mind and body. We turned together, step for step, and moved away—separate, yet undeniably connected. I could hardly believe it—for the first time ever, I was actually practicing martial arts with my boyfriend! Every time we happened to face each other, his eyes held mine and I couldn’t stop grinning.
The music shifted to a Stray Cats tune, and the spark between us grew—we were in perfect sync. Rhys’s feet hit the ground exactly the same time as mine. Even though I’d already gone through my entire practice for Master Foo, the music sent new energy to my tired muscles. The weight of the bamboo pole grew feather-light. I felt sexy, dangerous, and powerful. Rhys looked good enough to eat.
We were both sweat-soaked and grinning like a pair of love-struck fools when Master Foo turned off the music. Rhys grabbed my hand and kissed it; the look in his eyes telling me that if not for Master Foo’s presence, we’d already be naked.
“Much better. You understand now, Missy.” Master Foo gave me one of his rare smiles. His whole face crinkled up with it. “You have learned.”
“This was all Mattie’s idea,” said Rhys. He draped his arm across my shoulders. “She’s a warrior at heart. I wish I’d learned this sooner.”
Master Foo gave me a small bow. “The warrior has always been within you, Missy. Today is but the first step.”
Praise from Master Foo was a new experience for me. I didn’t even mind the embarrassment. “The dance lessons helped.”
Master Foo pointed at me. “The music teaches the student what this Master could not. Mind, body, and spirit are one. With practice, you shall learn to do it naturally, so that you can call it to you whenever you need it. You felt the connection today, yes?”
“Yes,” I glanced at Rhys. “It gets better every time.”
“Trust is the key,” Master Foo said. “In battle, a trained warrior acts on instinct.”
His rare praise had me beaming.
On the short walk home after practice, Rhys and I walked arm in arm—like an old married couple. As badass as Rhys looked, sometimes, he could be pretty sweet, too.
“The druids don’t have much use for modern music,” he said. “But the music Mr. Maestro teaches is different—primal. I feel it in my bones.” We’d reached the front porch. He led me to the swing and I sat beside him. The noonday sun was warm. The sky, a brilliant turquoise. “You are that music, Mattie.”
I punched him playfully. “Cut the mushy stuff. You’re embarrassing me.” From anyone else, I would have melted into a puddle of love right there, but this was dangerous territory. We
both knew that sooner or later, this wasn’t going to end well.
“You must know we’re onto something really good here. I feel it when we’re dancing—you’re completely in the moment and everything is sure and right and I love seeing you like that. And then at other times, I feel you pulling back. Master Foo is right. Why don’t you trust me?”
And there it was. Somehow it always came back to trust; or at least my inability to give it.
“Rhys, I do trust you. I asked you to move in with me.”
“That’s right, you did.” He stood and scooped me up into his arms. “I don’t think we’ve properly marked the occasion yet.” When he wiggled his eyebrows he looked like Groucho Marx.
I giggled. “It’s not even noon.” But I wrapped my arms around his neck and let him carry me upstairs.
Much later, I lay beside him, watching the shadows on the walls lengthen into late afternoon. Somehow, Rhys had become far more to me than the word boyfriend could imply. I could not imagine my life without him anymore. And I knew Rhys felt the same about me.
This was what Master Foo had been trying to teach me. We were stronger together than apart. Rhys would never willingly hurt me. Something had changed between us.
Okay, so yeah, he was immortal and I wasn’t, but nobody’s perfect. Every relationship had challenges, right? Why couldn’t I just accept his immortality and go with the flow? Live in the moment, as Rhys so often told me.
The warm skin of his muscular back felt like velvet beneath my fingers. He stirred and rolled over to face me, and the smile in his eyes erased my doubts.
For a while.
CHAPTER 11
A WEEK PASSED, and no arrest had been made. Lou was still in intensive care, in an induced coma because of the swelling in his brain. The story hadn’t even made the local news. I couldn’t stand it.
After I got off work, I rode the Vic over to the Monroe County Sheriff’s Department in downtown Rochester. In spite of the recent stretch of warm fall weather, October’s chill came on quick after sundown. I was glad to step inside the warmth of the building.
The office closed at 5pm, but I was pretty sure Jim Reynolds would still be there. When I got off the elevator, the suite looked empty, except for the Sheriff. I could see him in his glass-walled office, working at his desk.
Jim Reynolds is a fit, good looking guy in his late forties. He’s a straight arrow, and in spite of the fact that he’s arrested me more than once, I ‘m pretty sure he kind of likes me.
He made a face when he saw me. “Oh no, you don’t. Not another step, Blackman. Whatever it is, I want nothing to do with it. You’ve burned down enough buildings in this town; I don’t want the Sheriff’s office to be next. You’re nothing but a pain in the ass, dammit.”
He wouldn’t say that if he meant it. “Hey, it wasn’t my fault, and you know it.”
“Don’t give me that, I can always tell when you’re lying. Besides, Roper told me you deliberately started that blaze at the amusement park.”
The memory of the ballroom attic erupting in flames as the lighter ignited the spider’s silk wiped the smile right off my face. I ran my hand through my still-too-short hair. “Well, okay. Yeah, I guess I did.”
He waved me toward an empty chair across from his desk. “He said it was the bravest thing he’d ever seen.” His glance flicked to my blackened hand. “You knew you were going to die, and you didn’t hesitate. You saved those kids.”
I couldn’t imagine Roper saying anything of the sort. “Yeah, well, that’s not why I’m here.”
He glared at me over his glasses. “I’m busy, Blackman. What do you want?”
I hesitated. Reynolds could very well kick me out of his office for asking. “I want to know what’s happening with the Lou Scali hit-and-run.”
He snorted. “Don’t waste my time. I’ve got a handful of witnesses, including you, with no ID on the driver. The limo was stolen from Wayne County and hasn’t been found yet. It’ll probably show up in downtown Rochester, meaning it belongs to RPD. You can figure out the rest on your own. I’ve got other fish to fry.”
Three different jurisdictions would make the case a legal nightmare. I tried to look at the case from Reynolds’s standpoint. Nobody had died, and insurance would cover everything. Unless the driver turned himself in, the case was a loser. And so was Lou.
“Lou’s a cop.”
“Retired. Working the other side now. Chances are it was the angry ex-husband of one of his clients. I talked to him myself a few hours ago. He knows the score.”
“He’s awake?”
He nodded. “As of about ten this morning.”
“What about the Penfield cult angle?”
He gave me a disgusted look. “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. Every time something happens at Growlers, those were-folk blame the occultists. And every time someone trespasses on coven land, I get a call saying it’s those rabid werewolves. Far as the Sheriff’s Department is concerned, they’re a couple of gangs who happen to share the same territory and can’t get along. We’re Switzerland here, unless someone comes forward with evidence I can use. If you suddenly remember the name of the limo driver who ran down Scali, I’d be happy to have one of my deputies to take your statement.”
This was going to be harder than I thought. “Lou is not a were. That hit-and-run was not some neighborhood dispute. You know Lou has been on their shit list for years.” I debated telling him about the ritual we’d seen, but of course he’d tell me the same thing Roper had—Lou and I had been trespassing. But I had to find a way to convince Reynolds not to quit on the case. “Maybe he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see.”
“Look, I have your statement. Lou’s given me his—and he swears he has no idea who would want to run him down. He doesn’t think he was targeted, so why would you? Unless you have new evidence, we’re done. You’re not one of my deputies. Hell, you’re not even a private investigator. You don’t belong here.”
“Halloween is coming,” I blurted. “They must be up to something.”
“For cryin’ out loud, Blackman.” He rolled his eyes at me. “Halloween is their national holiday. Now get out of my office, before I arrest you for disturbing the peace.” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out an aspirin bottle.
“No, I mean, yes I know. I mean, we saw them practicing. Some kind of ritual. Out in the middle of--.”
“Out.” Reynolds pointed to the door.
“Okay, okay. I’m going.” I knew when to back off. By the time I reached the elevator, he’d already popped a couple aspirin. He was probably just having a bad day. I knew he didn’t mean anything by it.
Sheriff Reynolds likes me.
CHAPTER 12
WHEN RHYS AND I arrived at the hospital, Honey was already there, sitting in a low chair next to the bed. Lou gave us a little wave when we came in.
Lou’s blackened eyes and ghastly road rash had already begun to fade. Easy to see they’d be gone in another day or two. He’d told me he was a fast healer, but it was more than that. His healing abilities were more like mine, but that didn’t make what had happened to him any better. He could have been killed. It pissed me off no end that whoever had done this would probably get away with it.
“How’s the leg.” Rhys asked.
“No idea. I’ve never broken anything before. I hate being laid up like this.” He patted Honey’s brown hand. “Honey has offered to help me out at home until the cast comes off. The doctor says several weeks, but I sure hope not.”
“The Sheriff told me they already took your statement,” I said. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I don’t remember anything that happened after I got to the Pub. Honey told me you guys saw the whole thing.”
Rhys and I told him what happened. I held up the coin he’d given me. “Do you remember giving me this? You said we were cursed.”
He waved it off. “Keep it. I kept it as a good luck charm more than anything. You’re o
n their radar now, same as me and Honey. Watch your back.”
“So you know who they are,” said Rhys.
“It’s a partial list. Of the original Penfield Eight, only Honey is still alive. The cult membership has grown a lot in the past decade. I only care about the ranking members. John and Liddy aren’t the only sorcerers anymore. There are business owners and local politicians who’ve acquired enough power to participate the rituals. Now that I’ve got some license plate numbers, it’ll be easier to identify them. I underestimated them in the past, and that got Nate killed.” He winced. “You can see what a good job I’ve made of it.”
“Stop blaming yourself, Lou.” Honey patted his arm. “It was Nate’s idea. He could be so bull-headed at times.”
“I shouldn’t have let Nate talk me into going to that restaurant. It was owned by one of the sorcerers in John’s inner circle. Nate was determined to show the Fewkes he wasn’t going to back off, and I wasn’t about to let him go on his own. We wore our uniforms, so they’d be sure to recognize us.” Lou said. “Dumb, dumb, dumb. I’m more careful now. But they’re also a lot more dangerous. Jim Reynolds is right to leave them alone--I’d like to keep him and his people out of it.”
Lou took a sip of water. “A week after Nate died, the restaurant owner committed suicide. Case closed, even though the gun used in the suicide had been fired twice.”
“A cynic would say that wasn’t suicide,” I suggested.
“Fewkes has a way of making people come around to his point of view.”
“So why come after you now? After all this time”
“Whoever it was who saw us that night must’ve known my car. John Fewkes has been biding his time, I think. Waiting for the right moment.” Lou said. “Based on what we saw, they’re preparing for a major summoning. They’ve got the circle laid out and they’ve layered protections around it. They’ve stored up far too much power to be anything harmless. Something tells me they’ve been planning this for a very long time. They’ll need a blood offering--maybe even a sacrifice.” He looked worn out.
