Witch on Third (A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 6)

by Juliette Harper

  “You’ll love Fiona,” Chase said. “It’s impossible not to.” Then he added sadly, “And you’d have liked Pete. He was a good guy no matter what Jinx says.”

  “Do not fault Jinx for her vigilance,” Greer advised. “That should be as much a part of the nature of the Quercus de Pythonissam as blood hunger is my own birthright.”

  Chase set his jaw stubbornly. “I still say Pete was a victim. If the Strigoi did kill him, I don’t want him to become what they are.”

  “An understandable and justified sentiment,” Greer said. “My vampiric state comes naturally, therefore choices are available to me, but the Strigoi mort blasfematoare live enslaved to their hunger. I would not wish such an existence on any friend of mine.”

  “Exactly,” Chase said. “If they’ve turned Pete, I’ll behead him myself.”

  “Let us hope we can accomplish that deed long before he awakens,” Greer said. “Shall we engage in the crime Tori calls ‘breaking and entering?’”

  “Hold on,” Chase said. “Maybe I can make the job a little easier for us.”

  The air around him shimmered and his form sank toward the ground. Now, looking up with the glowing green eyes of a cat, Chase could clearly discern Greer’s outline in the darkness.

  “You, sir,” she said, “are a handsome fellow in fur. You remind me of your father in his prime.”

  Chase’s whiskers pulled back in a smile. “Don’t let the old man hear you say that. He thinks he’s still in his prime. Would you stash my clothes for me? I’ll need them before we head back.”

  “My pleasure,” Greer said, “but what are you planning to do?”

  “I’m going to see if I can get us inside and skip the whole breaking and entering part,” he said. “Wait here. Will you hear me if I call to you?”

  “I will, and you won’t even have to raise your voice.”

  Glancing left and right to make sure the street was deserted, Chase darted across to the funeral home lawn and disappeared down the driveway. To Greer’s surprise, only two or three minutes passed before her keen ears heard, “Follow me. Down the drive.”

  She found Chase at the rear of the building staring at an open back door.

  “Did you find it like this?” Greer asked.

  The cat nodded. “Not a good sign, eh?”

  “I should think not. Let’s have a look.”

  They entered a long hallway paneled in dark, cheap wood. Fake LED candles flickered in brass sconces on the wall. Stick-on black letters marked the third door: Embalming Room.

  Greer opened the door just enough for Chase to dart inside. When he scratched on the door signaling the all clear, she followed him inside. Sinister silver equipment filled the sterile room, which smelled of death and chemicals.

  They found the answer they sought on the back wall where a four-door morgue cooling unit hummed quietly. One of the stainless steel doors stood open, hanging at a crazy angle on bent hinges. The tray for the body was pulled out, and a green sheet lay crumpled on the floor. Nearby, a discarded dry cleaner’s bag and hanger had been tossed atop the wreckage of an overturned clothing rack.

  “What do we do now?” Chase asked.

  “We look for a reanimated corpse dressed in a dead man’s suit,” Greer said drily, “and two pieces of Transylvanian trash.”

  Irenaeus Chesterfield materialized inside the pizzeria. On a Wednesday evening, the restaurant should have been filled with people. Instead, the room was dark and silent. Seraphina and Ioana stood waiting for him with cheeks and eyes no longer sunken and hollow from hunger.

  “You are looking quite restored,” he said pleasantly. “Shall we discuss . . . ”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Chesterfield sensed a sudden motion. He reacted instantly, disappearing in a rush of pale smoke only to materialize several feet away. He was no longer smiling. Pete stood in the spot the wizard had just vacated. Dressed in a suit at least two sizes too small, the risen man flailed wildly, his hands contorted into claws, jaws snapping.

  “I am deeply disappointed, ladies,” Chesterfield said. “I specifically forbade you to create an acolyte. Did you really think your puppet could destroy me?”

  Seraphina hissed, curling back her lips to reveal sharp fangs. “Kill him,” she ordered.

  Pete launched himself toward Chesterfield, who casually sliced through the air with the flat of his hand. The shambling corpse stopped, his hands reaching for his neck. A thin line of blood appeared across Pete’s throat before his head separated neatly from his body and fell, end over end toward the floor, landing with a sickening thud. The eyes rolled toward the Strigoi, the mouth struggling to voice a silent plea. The headless corpse fell first to its knees, then slumped forward, coming to rest alongside the head. At the same instant, both turned to dust.

  With a sweeping motion, Chesterfield raised the remains from the floor and funneled them into a waiting flask. The vessel stoppered itself and levitated toward the wizard’s outstretched hand. Sliding the bottle into his breast pocket, he returned his attention to the Strigoi.

  “That was a very bad idea,” he said. “I have one question for you. Take care how you answer it. How did Peter break into your temporal cage?”

  “He was our servant,” Seraphina said haughtily. “We had complete power over him. He strained and strained against that which he could not see until the force of his loyalty overcame your barrier, and he joined us.”

  “Thank you,” Chesterfield said. “I should have wondered about that most interesting detail. Now, as I have complete power over you, payment will be rendered for your treachery.”

  “Wait . . .” Ioana cried, but the entreaty died in her throat. Where the Strigoi had stood there now rested two black caskets wrapped in silver chains.

  Crossing to them, Chesterfield removed his watch, adjusted the dials, and clicked the crown. He disappeared, taking the trapped Strigoi with him.

  Festus slapped at the collar he wore with his hind leg activating the RABIES beam. “This better be good,” he muttered. “You woke me up out of a sound sleep.”

  He moved the light around the deserted pizzeria dining room, halting when it illuminated a gray image of Pete dressed awkwardly in a black suit clawing at the air before him.

  “Damn,” Festus said. “There he is. What is he doing?”

  Greer walked closer to the image. “Look,” she said, “his fingers are striking something solid.”

  “I don’t see anything there,” Chase said. “What is he hitting?”

  “An invisible barrier of some sort,” Greer said. “Ah, there it is. Look.”

  Pete’s arm disappeared through the air in front of him as if he’d punched through a hole. On the other side, they could just make out a dim echo of his hand and fist.

  “Why is it flickering like that?” Festus asked.

  As they watched, Pete used both hands to push the edges of the hole open, wiggling and straining to get his body inside. The air began to reform and smooth over, but before it finished, Seraphina and Ioana appeared, and Pete fell to his knees before them.

  “What did we just see?” Chase asked.

  “I believe,” Greer said, “that we watched Pete break into some kind of temporal holding cell to reach the Strigoi Sisters. Only Chesterfield could have put them there. I do not think, however, that the young ladies are willingly assisting the Creavit wizard.”

  Festus slapped the silver disk and shut off the beam. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because had they been allowed to turn Pete,” Greer said, “he would not have had to fight to get to them.”

  “But how is that even possible?” Chase said. “He just ripped a hole in time and stepped through?”

  When Greer looked at him, Chase saw the stirring of green fire in her eyes. “You cannot imagine the power of the blood hunger,” she said. “When first turned, the human must return to his maker and drink first from his master’s veins. I believe the Strigoi counted on that hunger to help them escape from C
hesterfield.”

  “What’s up with your eyes?” Festus asked.

  “There is blood in this place,” Greer said, “and death magic. I do not know what happened here, but I do not believe your friend Pete still walks the earth in any form.”

  “And the Strigoi?” Pete asked.

  The fire in Greer’s eyes danced again. “You cannot hear it, can you?” she asked.

  Chase frowned. “Hear what?”

  “The screaming,” she said softly. “The cries of the damned.”

  26

  Connor allowed the weightless sensation of floating to lull him into a complacent state. Everywhere he looked, something new and intriguing caught his attention — iridescent creatures on the seafloor, the kelpies dragging construction materials to the city, and the playful dolphins emerging from the open portal.

  Nothing that he’d imagined matched the true appearance of the underwater gateway. The circular channel, at least 30 feet in circumference, created a steady influx of fresh ocean water. Because he’d never worked with aquatic lifeforms, Connor’s job was to monitor the salinity meter in his hand. If the needle edged into the red, he was supposed to alert the head of the work crew.

  Completely aware of the importance of maintaining a proper environment for sensitive creatures, Connor paid close attention to his assignment, but he couldn’t keep his eyes from flicking back and forth from the screen to the scene around him. As the last of the dolphins passed into the Sea of Qynn, the chief signaled the workers that the portal was about to close.

  No longer concerned about salinity, Connor allowed his attention to linger too long on the shimmering water that receded and changed directions before his eyes. When he felt the pull of the suction against his body, it was already too late. He was being pulled into the portal.

  Fighting to remain calm, Connor struggled against the force, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He saw the other workers gesturing frantically to him. The message was clear. “Get out of there!” Connor would have liked nothing better than to do just that, but already fatigue threatened to claim his remaining strength.

  Then, in the distance, he saw a gray speck rushing toward him growing larger and larger. A single dolphin rode the current, swimming toward Connor at full speed. As the creature approached, it called to him in a high-pitched voice. “Grab my fin and don’t let go!”

  The dolphin sped past. Connor reached out and caught hold of its dorsal fin, pulling himself into alignment with his rescuer's streamlined body. The dolphin swam straight for the center of the portal, matching the speed of the rushing water. The pair broke through a membrane of resistance, angling sharply upward as the dolphin leaped out of the water.

  The instant Connor saw blue sky, he let go and found himself bobbing on the surface of the ocean. Land masses lay on either side of him, but neither was within easy reach.

  To his left, the dolphin’s snout popped up out of the water, breaking into a toothy grin. “Hi! That sure was a wild ride, wasn’t it? I’m Capensis, by the way.”

  “You saved my life!” Connor blurted out. “Thank you!”

  Cackling happily, Capensis said, “Oh, sure. No problem, but we’re not quite done with the saving part. We need to get you to dry land.”

  “That would be great,” Connor agreed, “but which land?”

  “The island over there,” the dolphin replied. “Fewer people. You’re in the human realm now. It will be hours before the portal opens again. By then, your breathing potion will have worn off. You won’t be able to breathe underwater anymore, so you can’t just dive back through.”

  “Will I be safe on the island all by myself?” Connor asked.

  “Oh,” Capensis said, “you won’t be by yourself. There are some lovely wild horses over there. They’ll keep you company.”

  For the first time since he felt the current tugging at him, Connor relaxed. “Horses?” he said. “That sounds perfect.”

  “Grab hold, I’ll get you as close to the beach as I can.”

  Reclaiming his grip on the dolphin’s dorsal fin, Connor allowed himself to be pulled through the water until they reached the shallows and he was able to stand on wobbly legs.

  “Get ashore and stay hidden,” Capensis said. “When I can get back to Qynn, I’ll send someone for you as quickly as I can.”

  “Thank you again,” Connor said as he waded toward the beach. “Maybe we’ll see each other in Qynn?”

  “You bet,” the dolphin chirped happily. “Looking forward to it!” With that, he jumped playfully and disappeared under the surface.

  Connor emerged from the water and stood on the beach wringing out his clothes as best he could. In the distance, the sound of pounding hooves made him look up, only to stand rooted in place by the majestic sight that rushed toward him.

  The wild horses ran just at the edge of the surf, their nostrils flaring in the salt air, manes flying behind them. Connor never thought to move out of their way until a pair of strong hands landed on his arms and jerked him backward.

  The herd thundered past without breaking stride leaving Connor in the company of a glaring, bushy-bearded old man wearing a sailor’s cap. “Were you just going to stand there and let them run you down?” the man demanded. “What’s wrong with you? Are you touched in the head?”

  Connor blinked in confusion. “Touched by what?” he asked. “And why would the horses run over me? We haven’t even been introduced.”

  The man shook his head. “That’s what I thought, touched. What your name, young’un?”

  “Connor, sir. Connor Endicott.”

  “Well, young Master Endicott, folks around here call me Captain Mack,” the man said. “Any particular reason you were swimming around in the ocean with all your clothes on?”

  “I, uh, fell in,” Connor said uncertainly. “What are you a captain of?”

  “My own destiny,” Mack said jovially. “Come on before you get into any more trouble. My place is just over there. Let’s get you out of those wet duds.”

  “Duds?”

  Shaking his head, the captain said more slowly, “Clothes. We need to get you out of those wet clothes.”

  “Oh,” Connor said, “thank you. That would be nice.”

  He fell in step behind Captain Mack who led him to a rundown cottage just above the dunes. Odd pieces of driftwood littered the yard along with colorful glass bottles, fishing buoys, and tattered nets.

  “Are you a fisherman?” Connor asked.

  “Hmm?” the old man said, following Connor’s gaze. “Oh. No. The guy who lived here before me had all this stuff. I just left it where it was. Come on in.”

  “But I’m wet,” Connor protested.

  “The bathroom is right inside the door,” Mack said. “Have yourself a nice shower, and I’ll find some clothes for you. Lean into the hot water handle. It sticks.”

  Not anxious to appear that he had no idea what his host was talking about, Connor went into the tiny room and closed the door. A curtain on a rod covered the interior of what appeared to be an open tank. Experimentally twisting one of the silver handles on the wall, Connor was rewarded with a stream of cold water issuing from a spigot near the ceiling. When he twisted the second handle, the water warmed.

  Ah! A system for bathing!

  Stripping out of his soggy clothing, Connor stepped into the tank and drew the curtain around him. He picked up a bar of green soap sitting in a small recess and lathered his hair and body, rinsing away the salt, and warming himself in the process.

  When he finished and drew back the curtain, Connor found a pair of pants and a shirt waiting for him, both made of a faded blue fabric he didn’t recognize. The clothes were a little big, but they were soft, clean, and above all, dry.

  In the main room, the old man stood in a makeshift kitchen heating something on a stove that leaned precariously to one side. As soon as Connor smelled the food, he realized he was starving.

  “Well, hello there!” Mack said. “Thought you migh
t like some of this leftover beef stew.”

  “Uh, thank you,” Connor said, “but I don’t eat meat.”

  “No worries, lots of nice vegetables in here. You’re not squeamish about potatoes are you?”

  “No, sir.”

  Mack ladled a steaming portion of stew into a bowl and set it in front of Connor with a plate of bright yellow squares. “Help yourself to the cornbread,” he said.

  “Bread made from corn?” Connor said. “I’ve never had that.”

  “You’ve never had cornbread?” Mack said. “Then you haven’t lived. Here, let me show you. Take your knife and cut the piece like this, so you’ve got two layers, top, and bottom. Slap a bunch of this sweet butter on the bottom and put the two back together. Try some.”

  Connor carefully raised the buttered cornbread to his mouth and took a bite. “Oh my!” he said, as melted butter dribbled down his chin. “This is good! Can you teach me how to make this?”

  “It’s from a mix,” Mack said.

  “What’s a mix?” Connor asked.

  Leaning back in his chair, the captain said, “Son, where are you from anyways?”

  Not wanting to lie, but realizing the absolute truth would be a bad idea, Connor said, “A valley a long way from here.”

  “Tell me again how you wound up in the ocean?”

  “I was helping some friends, and I fell overboard. I got caught in the current before they could help me.”

  “Current’s not that strong between here and the mainland,” Mack observed mildly.

  Hesitating, Connor said, “It wasn’t a normal current.”

  “Did you get caught in the place where the ocean boils?” Mack asked. “I’ve seen it happen more than once these past weeks. Everybody around these parts thinks I’m seeing things, but I’m not. It happens.”

  The old man didn’t seem to want to hurt him, and the portal did create turbulence on the water’s surface. “Yes, sir,” Connor said. “That’s exactly what happened.”

  “Do you need to get back in the water when the ocean boils again?” Mack asked, watching him carefully.