Spells for the Dead

by Faith Hunter

  “Necromancer,” I said, trying the word on my tongue. That subject hadn’t been covered in Spook School. “So that’s what we call magic users who kill and then control dead bodies?”

  “That and dangerous, Nell, sugar. Dangerous as hell. But a better question would be, if the magic user was riding Cale Nowell, why?”

  Laine and the North Nashville coven leader waved us over to take readings on the psy-meter 2.0. By the time the government para hazmat team arrived, we had done everything we could without opening the vehicle doors and had peeled off our P3Es. We were waiting in the gray light of dawn, sipping coffee from paper cups poured from an insulated gallon container brought by a day-shift deputy. The PHMT team leader who got out and approached us was midfifties with brightly dyed hair in shades of green, purple, and dark burgundy, clearly a civilian, not a soldier. I had a wig in similar shades as part of an identity created by JoJo, for my one and only—so far—stint undercover.

  “Jamie Lee Frost,” she said, shaking first with me and then with Occam as we identified ourselves. “I’ve read your CBRNEP workup of the Ragel farm site.” CBRNEP covered chemical, biological, radiological/nuclear, explosive, and paranormal materials as causative agents. “Your team did good work.”

  “We’re not crime scene techs or hazmat,” Occam said, “but we try to not mess up your scenes too much.”

  Frost gave a half smile. “Update me on this one?”

  “Since the vic is tied to the Melody Horse Farm,” Occam said, “we think we can eliminate everything except paranormal as COD,” he said, referring to the cause of death. “There and here, we’ve given it a prelim classification as a type of death curse, which we’re calling death and decay, because it seems to be normal death and decomp process, but vastly speeded up. Nothing reads like witch magics, but we also have nothing to prove it isn’t being perpetrated by a death witch.”

  “If it’s a death working, that’ll be hard to close,” she said, while pulling on a uni. “I’ve worked up exactly one death working and it’s still open.”

  “How long ago?” I asked.

  “Four years, twenty-seven days, and counting. And I still can’t get the memory of the withered and desiccated body out of my mind and the smell out of my head. I smell it in my dreams. I had to burn my clothes. Thank God for the better unis. They keep the worst of the stench out. Excuse me,” she said, spotting FireWind.

  “Withered and desiccated,” Occam murmured to me. “Not what we have here.”

  It appeared that Jamie Lee Frost and FireWind were old acquaintances, if not friends. They fell into instant discussion, and the boss pulled T. Laine in. He left Occam and me out of the discussion. “He’ll be sending us back,” Occam said, “bringing Tandy from HQ again to deal with any interrogations. I’ll be glad when LaFleur and Racer get in from Chattanooga. And I’ll be glad to sleep a few nights in my own bed.”

  I got a text from Mud, who should be on the way to school. I called her back. “Morning, Mud. Is it spurting blood, roaring flames, or dead bodies?”

  “None a them. It’s worse. Esther’s gone home to her and Jed’s place. She’s got a gun.”

  * * *

  * * *

  After a night with only a couple of hours sleep sandwiched between too many hours on my feet, I drove past the armed guards and onto the church compound. As I drove onto the property, the church guards watched me with scowling faces that told me exactly how unwelcome I was. I ignored them, if not their shotguns.

  The fencing was being pressed outward by the vines and trunks of the vampire tree I had foolishly set to grow and guard the church, back when the tree was amenable to suggestions, and before I realized that it was truly intelligent and not just a plant I could push around like all the others I encouraged to grow.

  I was learning the hard way what I was, what I could do by act of will, what my blood did all on its own, and I had made mistakes. I hoped the tree was a mistake I could control. I hoped the mess I had set in play with Esther staying at the farm was something I could control. Or fix. Or run away from. I’d take any of the options that didn’t end up with me or one of my sisters killing someone we loved or ending up dead at the hands of the church folk.

  I motored down the road to Esther and Jedidiah’s place, aware of the scowls and anger on the faces of the church folk I passed. Mostly. It wasn’t easy, as the worst offenders were from the faction that had once wanted to see me burned at the stake. Still did. A big batch of armed menfolk were standing outside of Jedidiah and Esther’s house. As I eased into the short drive, they turned to face me, silent, accusatory. I parked, checked my weapon and holstered it, took a deep breath. Got out of the car. Wearing pants, a wrinkled store-bought shirt, and a man’s-style blazer. With a gun peeking past the lapel, under my left armpit, a weapon I didn’t try to hide. And carrying a stench that had in no way dissipated on the drive back.

  I walked toward the men who barred the way, standing in a line, shoulder to shoulder. Nine of them, a Lambert and a Vaughn standing with two McCormicks, and five more I didn’t recognize right off, all of them a little older than I was, all looking mean, staring at my legs and my chest, the way weak men did when they wanted to intimidate and remind a woman that she was a thing to be used. I smiled. I let the spark of whatever I was shine through my eyes, malevolent and violent and willing to feed the land with their blood. “Afternoon, boys,” I whispered. Two of the men flinched. Weak links. They’d run if things got bad. That was good to know. “Move aside. I need to speak with Jedidiah and his wife.”

  “Jed done divorced her,” a man said.

  “You’un caused this,” another said. “You’un created discord and discontent and brought anger unto this holy land.” The speakers were from the Jackson faction.

  “Move. Aside,” I said. I felt leaves curling from my hairline, beneath the wild curls, a tickling, insistent sensation as my body reacted to the unspoken threat.

  “Let her through,” Jedidiah called out. He was standing on the front porch.

  “She’s a law enforcement officer,” a familiar voice said from behind me. Sam, my brother. Backup. And I knew he’d be armed. I caught a breath, dropped my shoulders, and unclenched my hand, which had been lifting for my weapon.

  “She was called to deal with this,” another voice said from my other side. Ben Aden. The man who had wanted to marry me, who my entire family wanted to marry me, and who was engaged to one of my sisters. And whose brother, Larry, had wanted me and then kidnapped Mud, and who had—I stopped the thought, but it was the truth. I knew that. Larry had been eaten by the vampire tree. Mixed bag, but I’d take the backup.

  The men forming a line in front of me moved aside, just enough to let me through if I shoved hard enough. They’d make it a point to force me to touch them. To be touched by them. I nearly froze at that thought and my leaves rustled against my nape; I wondered if I had leaves growing from the front too. I strode toward the small opening. Two arms, wearing different shades of plaid, reached out from either side of me and shoved the men in front out of my way. Sam and Ben. They shoved them hard, tandem strength, sending the two men closest and the ones next to them stumbling, opening up a clear line for me. I didn’t even have to slow down. As if my backup had planned it.

  My heart beating too fast, I walked toward Jed, who was standing on his porch with a shotgun. I stopped at the base of the short stairs and took in the house with its newly painted green front door and shutters, the rocking chair to the side of the door, the windows open, and what looked like the barrel of a rifle in the front corner. Daddy had taught all his womenfolk how to shoot. I had a feeling I had gotten here just in time to stop a bloodbath. And blood on the land in my sister’s condition might be a very bad thing. “Jed,” I said, no emotion in the word.

  “Nellie,” he said back.

  “You planning to use that shotgun on Esther?”

  His eyes
narrowed and his mouth firmed. “You’un know better. I been protecting her from her own damn foolishness.”

  I raised my eyebrows in a noncommittal you don’t say gesture and waited. When a woman in pants, with a gun, didn’t talk to a churchman, it could be more effective in making him speak than when she cajoled.

  “She’s refusing to leave,” he said. “She thinks she owns this house.”

  I pursed my lips, thinking, remembering the moment that Esther had stopped talking when she and Mud and I had been discussing her future. Suddenly I wanted to laugh. “Esther,” I said, louder than necessary. “How much was your dowry?”

  “Twenty thousand dollars,” she shouted back through the open window.

  “What did he do with it?”

  “Jed used most of it when he paid for the house.”

  My laughter broke through, a single soft chuckle. Most houses passed through family lines. When a new house was needed, it had to be “purchased” from the church in a financial sleight of hand that worked out to a lifetime rental. Twenty thousand dollars was enough to purchase use of a house from the church. “Jed. You accused my sister of infidelity. You got proof? You see her with any other man? You catch her out? And don’t you lie to me. I’m an officer of the law and if I think you’re lying I’ll cart your sorry ass to jail.”

  Jed flinched at my use of the word ass. He looked at the small cluster of men standing behind me. His tongue flicked out and touched his lips, top and bottom, in what looked like a nervous tic. Quietly, for my ears only, he said, “Esther’s growing leaves.”

  Just as quietly, I said, “Yeah. This church has practiced inbreeding for two hundred years. Things from the old country, from the distant past, are beginning to break through, like the devil dogs. Like the leaves. That your kid in her belly?”

  Jed looked out again and then down. “Yeah.”

  Sam cursed. Ben spat.

  “Say that part loud enough that the men can hear,” I said. “Restore my sister’s reputation or I’ll let my brother rip your guts out.”

  Jed’s eyes whipped to Sam and away. Such lies were time-honored reasons for church families to go to war.

  “Say it,” Sam ground out.

  “Esther’s baby is mine,” he said loudly. “But I’m still divorcing her. She . . . she displeases me.”

  “Did she request marital counseling by a church elder?” I asked, just as loud.

  “I ain’t spilling my guts to nobody.”

  “I ain’t leaving,” Esther shouted. “And if them men try to make me go, I’ll burn the house to the ground.”

  Without looking away from Jed, I said, “Sam, you get that information about a portable sawmill?”

  “The Adens got one, Nellie,” Ben answered. “What you need cut?”

  “Wood for Esther’s new house on my land. As soon as Jed repays her dowry.”

  Jed’s eyes went wide. Esther gasped.

  “See, Jed,” I said, speaking loudly again. “God’s Cloud of Glory has a church constitution, one that could be used by men to support polygamy in spite of scripture. It was effectively buried about a hundred years ago, because it also gave the churchwomen specific rights and protections. It hasn’t been studied much in the generations since, but I’ve read it. And that constitution has wording suggesting that a man can’t divorce a wife married before the church and in the sight of God without scriptural reasons. Unless she wants to go. Which Esther doesn’t. Without cause, and without her consent, if you make her leave, you have to repay her dowry.” Technically the money went back to the girl’s father, but I didn’t bring that up. I had a really good feeling that Jed had never read the constitution. At the moment, he looked like a fish on the line, all googly-eyed, his mouth opening and closing on things he wanted to say but was thinking better of fast.

  “Esther,” I said. “If you get your dowry back will you allow the divorce, and leave the church?”

  “I want the money, all my furniture, all the dishes, the cookstove, and my chickens. And the henhouse.”

  “That ain’t right. I won’t h-h-have nothin’,” Jed stuttered.

  “You’un came into this marriage with nothing and you bought what you have with the dowry. Esther’s dowry,” Sam said. “Nellie’s right. The money she brought in goes with the unfairly divorced wife. You’ll have to move in with the bachelors or back in with your’un daddy.” Sam sounded mighty happy about that.

  “But . . . but . . .” Jed went silent, looking like he’d been mule-kicked.

  “You haven’t been married long enough to provide sweat equity equivalent to the dowry,” I said.

  “You can keep your truck and guns and personal things,” Esther said through the screen. “That should equal the sweat equity. And the dogs, you can keep them mangy things too.”

  “We’ll talk to my daddy,” Ben said, talking about Brother Aden. “I’ll go with you. The church will reimburse you for the house from the church coffers and return the money to Esther.”

  “You got an hour to make that happen,” I said to Jed. Actually, he had four weeks, according to the church constitution, but again, Jed didn’t know that.

  Sam’s expression told me he knew, but I just gave him my most innocent little-sister look. Sam exhaled hard. Ben handed Jed’s shotgun to Sam and took the newly divorced man by the arm as he led him away, leaving Sam to back me up.

  It all felt familiar and yet alien, a part of me and yet removed from me. Odd to be part of a family and have things happen around me, without my input, after so many years of being alone. Odd to step back into it all and know what to say and how to say it and to . . . and to not fall apart or have to draw my weapon. Odd to have a brother at my back, supporting me. I sent him a look full of love and thanks. He returned one filled with wry disbelief more than affection, but I’d take that too. And I was also proud, so proud, of Esther for taking a stand. “You can put that rifle away, Esther,” I said.

  “Nope. Not till them menfolk disperse.”

  “You men heard her,” I said. “Go on about your business.”

  Shooting me looks filled with murderous hate, which was infinitely better than shooting me with their weapons, the men shuffled away. When they were gone, I said, “Esther, I’ll sit a while on your porch and keep an eye on things. But I missed breakfast. You got anything I could eat?”

  “I’ll scramble you’un up some eggs. Make you’un some flapjacks. I got some Vaughn butter and church honey. And some coffee that ain’t been on the hob too long.”

  “I’d be much appreciative,” I said.

  “I’d love me some coffee, sister mine,” Sam said.

  “Comin’ up,” Esther said. I heard the pregger-shuffle as she moved toward the kitchen. She was getting big fast.

  “Who’s watching the back?” I asked quietly, because I knew he’d have someone covering the house there too.

  “Amos and Rufus,” he said, referring to our older half brothers. “Heavily armed and well hidden.” My brother rested his backside on the edge of the porch, his feet between the leafy fronds of bulbs my sister had planted when she first married. Totally without church inflections, Sam said, “I took Mud to school today. I took a yard of cut wood to your house yesterday. I did maintenance on your windmill while I was there.”

  I smiled. “Thank you, brother mine. Looking after the widder-woman?”

  “Until she marries a werecat, yes.”

  I felt as if I’d been gut punched. In the church, when brothers talked about their sister’s marriage, it was usually with an interest to control said sister. “Ummm.”

  Sam grinned and said, “You are mighty welcome, sister mine. Your fella says it’s up to you to propose or to ask him to be your concubine. A man as a concubine is a little modern, to my way of thinking, but I’ll support you if you decide to go the concubinage route. Though Mama might have kittens. S
he wants to see you in a wedding gown.”

  Sam’s words said he, too, was leaving this decision in my hands. That was . . . unexpected? Shocking? “Ummm.”

  Sam laughed, the tone kind, as if he was letting me off the hook, and tilted his head back to view me from the corner of his eye.

  I snapped my mouth closed, made a face at him, and said, “You’un’s teasing me.”

  “Only a little. Occam loves you. Don’t keep him waiting too long.”

  I made a harrumphing sound, a lot like Mama made, and scowled at him. “I have a feeling we’ll be here a while. Mind if I get my laptop and do a little work?”

  “I’m fine with a little peace and quiet.” He hesitated a breath and then asked, “You know you stink, right?”

  “I know.” I went to my car, retrieved my laptop, and took the rocking chair Sam had left me. He was sitting on the porch, his back against the porch wall, legs outstretched. I discovered an update on the single-vehicle accident, posted by Occam an hour past. It was official to the case file, so it was coached in officialese, but it boiled down to: The para hazmat team had vacuumed and collected trace evidence from Cale Nowell’s car and fingerprinted everything inside. The vacuum cleaner had been placed into two interlocking null bags for hazardous waste and null magic transportation and messengered back to the military’s new joint armed forces crime lab. It would be at least forty-eight hours before the evidence was analyzed. The military crime scene techs were in the process of sealing the entire car in oversized hazmat drop cloths and pulling it onto a trailer to be taken to the same location. Evidence in this case was moving out of PsyLED’s hands. This case was getting away from us, just like the Blood Tarot case had. The body count had been unacceptably high then and the discussions to include military intervention at certain paranormal crimes had gone into high gear. The military was entirely too involved. They had to be interested in how death and decay worked. An attempt to weaponize such energies couldn’t be far behind.