by E.J. Stevens
In the cases of sacrifice involving mistletoe, the victims were force fed the plant then subjected to a three-fold death. The first death was caused by blows to the head with a blunt instrument. The second death involved strangulation, hanging, or breaking of the neck. The third death was secured with a blade to the victim’s carotid artery. Got to love that human sacrifice.
“This three-fold death thing is disgusting,” I said.
I pointed to the sketch of a victim succumbing to each stage of death. The drawing was worse than the diagram of stomach contents.
“The number three is significant to humans and the fae,” Kaye said, shrugging. “At least the victims ate or imbibed the mistletoe first. That was a kindness. The sacrificial lamb would hallucinate and die from poison before realizing the horrors of the first beating.”
Kaye seemed unfazed by the stories of sacrifice. Had she taken part in such a ritual in her past? I shook my head. No way. My friend may have a practical approach to magic and its uses, but she wouldn’t step over that line. Kaye had given her life to protecting humans. She wouldn’t go around using them as spell components.
“So mistletoe is a poison and a part of murderous rituals,” I said. “What else?”
I had a feeling that Kaye knew most of the wisdom found in her library.
“Mistletoe is a magical amplifier,” Kaye said. “Adding the plant or berries to almost any magic, good or evil, will increase the desired outcome of a spell. The mistletoe that grows on oak trees is the most powerful, but any type will do.”
“Great, this stuff acts like a shot of energy drink to casters,” I said. “Is that it?”
“Just a question, dear,” she said. “Was there anything else at the scene? Perhaps something that could indicate what magic, if any, was being used.”
I thought back to my conversation with Forneus. According to the demon, the only thing left at the crime scenes, once the bodies disappear, was mistletoe and blood. I ran a gloved hand through my hair and voiced the idea that came unbidden to my lips.
“Blood,” I said. “At every scene there was blood. I assumed it was from the act of murder itself. But…”
“It could be something else entirely,” she said, nodding. “Blood magic is powerful, hostile. Mistletoe may amplify the outcome of a spell, but blood amplifies both the magic and the emotions of the caster.”
“Let me guess,” I said, giving Kaye a mirthless smile. “That doesn’t usually end well.”
“No, it never does,” Kaye said. “Blood magic ends badly, indeed.”
“Could someone be using this kind of magic in Harborsmouth without you knowing?” I asked, staring at the books that lined the walls.
I couldn’t meet Kaye’s eyes. She worked hard to spread her awareness over our city, like a magical security blanket to protect innocent humans from harm. But like any hand knit afghan, Kaye’s awareness spell had holes. She had tightened the magical threads that detected demons, but that didn’t mean something else couldn’t slip through.
I darted my gaze in time to see my friend’s shoulders slump. Kaye’s head dipped to her chest as she let out a sigh. Kaye was a tough old bird. That sigh said it all.
“I’m not getting any younger, dear,” Kaye said. She lifted her head to meet my eyes, but a bleak look had replaced the fire I was used to seeing reflected in their black depths. Kaye raised a hand, wiggling her fingers. The bell sleeves of her blouse fell back to reveal a mass of twining tattoos. “My magic comes at a price. I do what I can, but yes, someone could be practicing blood magic without my knowing.”
Since the each uisge attack, I’d been lucky. Business was booming and Jinx and I had settled into our daily routine. I was courting an immortal kelpie king, and my witch friend, with the aid of every magic user in the region, had cast a spell more powerful than anything I’d ever seen. For the first time since becoming aware of the monsters that walked our streets, I had felt safe.
I was a fool.
Now I was taking another job from a demon, Ceffyl was away negotiating water fae treaties, someone was killing faeries like they were mosquitoes, and my all-powerful witch friend was admitting that she wasn’t all-powerful after all. I ducked my head, feeling vulnerable. I felt like someone had attached a bull’s eye to my back—right next to the “kick me” sign and “world’s biggest idiot” post-it note. For most people, letting their guard down is a healthy thing. In Harborsmouth, it will just get you dead.
“Okay, what can I do?” I asked.
“Visit the murder scenes and see what else you can find,” she said. “The sooner we know what we’re dealing with, the better. And Ivy? Don’t forget your plan to stock up on protection herbs and amulets. I’ll call the front desk and inform Arachne that you aren’t to be charged for today’s purchases.”
“Um, thanks,” I said.
“Yes, of course, dear,” she said, waving me away. “Now go. After my call to Arachne, I will contact the Hunter’s guild. They should be made aware of the threat to the city. Hunters may have vowed to protect humans against supernatural forces, but they won’t take kindly to someone murdering fae without their permission.”
“Are you sure a Hunter didn’t make these kills?” I asked.
“There have been no sanctioned kills or banishments in over two weeks,” she said. I raised an eyebrow and she sighed. “I may be retired from active duty, but I retain an honorary seat on the Hunter’s council. They keep me apprised of guild activities within Harborsmouth. Now go.”
Kaye pulled a phone from her multi-layered skirts, effectively ending our conversation. I hadn’t known about Kaye’s involvement with the Hunter’s council. My gaze darted to the tattoos covering the hand holding the phone to her ear. In fact, there was a lot I didn’t know about my friend. But now, as always, wasn’t the time to ask.
I spun on my heel and left the room.
Chapter 5
The Emporium was nearly as cluttered as Kaye’s office. The only place in the building that wasn’t full of stuff preparing to topple over and smother me to death was Kaye’s spell kitchen. That was because A) Hob would never tolerate a mess near his hearth and B) One speck of the wrong ingredient in Kaye’s pot would spell KABOOM. The shop, however, belonged on an episode of Hoarders.
Plastic skeletons and foam reaper scythes battled for space alongside straw brooms, and faux spider webs. At least, I think the webs aren’t real. I ducked lower, avoiding a basketball-sized spider with its plethora of beady eyes. That thing had to be fake, right? I sighed and shook web from my hair. You never can tell at The Emporium.
I dodged pointy hats, Styrofoam gargoyles, and overflowing cauldrons. Unlike the spell pots in Kaye’s kitchen, these cauldrons were made of black plastic. Prettily labeled packets of herbs, mostly benign, spilled over the rim of each cauldron and onto tables and shelves.
I dipped the fingertips of one gloved hand gingerly into a nearby pot and withdrew small packages of wolfsbane, hellebore, mandrake, and agrimony. Most of the herbs at Madame Kaye’s Magic Emporium were mundane, not all. These plants, and the salt in my pocket, would provide some protection against black magic. The rowanberry, stale bread, nails, and iron shavings I’d brought from my office stash would be my backup against faeries.
I grabbed a handful of glitter-topped wooden pencils from where they protruded from a grinning skull. Those were for any vamps that got in my way. Who said stakes can’t be pretty?
I carried the goods to the front counter where Arachne hunched over a box of rubber bats, pricing gun at the ready.
“Hey,” I said, setting the items on the countertop. “Kaye said these were on the house. Do you still want to ring them up?”
“Thanks, Ivy,” Arachne said. “Keeping inventory around here is like trying to count grains of sand in an hourglass. Just give me a sec.”
“Sure thing,” I said.
“Need a bag?” she asked after ringing up the goods. Arachne held up a paper bag with the store logo across the front.
“No thanks,” I said.
I scooped up the herbs and dumped them into the inner pocket of my coat. I tucked the pencils into the back of my belt, careful to keep my shirt between the wood and my skin. Most of my visions came from touching items with my hands, but that didn’t mean the rest of my hide was safe.
“You heading back to the kitchen?” she asked.
“Just long enough to tell Marvin I have to bail on our candy run,” I said. I sighed, not looking forward to that conversation. “Later, Arachne.”
“Safe travels,” she said.
I shambled back to the rear of the store, not eager to disappoint Marvin. The bridge troll was one of the few people who I cared about in this town. Oh well, nothing I could do about it now. Kaye had pressed the issue of time, which meant I couldn’t be wandering off to the candy store with Marvin. Not today.
I needed to visit the crime scenes and see if there was any evidence of blood magic. Maybe knock on doors and find out if there were any fae witnesses to the attacks. That kind of legwork might be safe enough if I was looking for a lost necklace or a runaway bugbear, but this time I was searching for a stone cold killer. There was no way I’d risk taking the kid with me.
It was the right decision, but that didn’t stop the guilt that gnawed away at my insides. I pressed the button that unlocked the rear counter and pushed through the bead curtain into the hallway at the back. With a sigh, I knocked on the kitchen door and stepped inside.
I hoped that Hob wouldn’t want another gift, this soon after my last visit, but if he required it, I’d give him one of the pencils in my belt. The pencils were as long as his stumpy legs, but at least they were shiny.
“Hi Hob,” I said, looking around the kitchen. “Where’s Marvin?”
Hob was dusting the large mantel that hung about the hearth. The wood shone, but Hob rubbed at the mantel like it was covered in grime.
“Up n’ disappeared!” he said. Hob continued to rub at the wood, but moisture shone in his eyes. “I only ducked inta me hole for a second. I swear eet. But when I returned, da wee mite was gone.”
A pile of cloth and fur sat on the floor, the costume Marvin had changed out of. The kid wouldn’t just leave a mess like that on Hob’s floor. He was smarter than that. My heart sank and a chill entered the hollow pit of my stomach. I stared at the discarded clothing and let the importance of Hob’s words sink in. A serial killer who was targeting fae was out there somewhere and now Marvin was missing. My hands tightened into fists, making the leather of my gloves creak.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll find him. But Hob? Make sure Kaye knows about this and have her call me the second anyone learns anything.”
“Find ‘im, lass,” he said.
Hob didn’t look away from his polishing as I spun on my heel and sprinted to the door. I ran out of the kitchen, through the shop, and onto the street. I needed to find those clues, and the killer, now more than ever.
Chapter 6
The old brick buildings pressed together like whispering neighbors, creating a narrow alley that resembled a badger hole, effectively blocking out the night sky. I strode forward and stopped beneath a rusty fire escape where Forneus claimed the merry dancer had met her demise. I rubbed the back of my neck and kicked at a piece of soiled newspaper. Not a pleasant place to die.
Wind whistled down the alley carrying the rotting tang of garbage and the copper scent of blood. What if Marvin lay crumpled in an alley like this? Was he alive, dead, or injured? The kid had been through so much already in his short life.
I jumped as a hand settled on my shoulder.
“You shouldn’t let people sneak up on you,” Jinx said.
I gasped and stepped away, letting my friend’s hand drop to her side. Crap, Jinx had a point. Nobody should have been able to approach me unawares. Not only had Jinx, a human, entered the alley without my knowing, she’d gotten close enough to touch me. I shivered against the cold. My worry over Marvin was a potentially fatal distraction.
“And you shouldn’t be here,” I said with a shrug.
“Someone has to keep you on your toes,” she said. “You sounded like a crazy person when you called the office. So I decided to close early and meet you here. I know how much the troll kid means to you.”
“When I phoned to tell you I was coming here, it wasn’t an invitation,” I said. “Anyway, I’m working the case. If I find Marvin in the process, all the better.”
“Face it,” Jinx said. “You have a soft spot for strays.”
“I do not,” I said. I turned away from Jinx’s knowing gaze and examined the ground at my feet. I had moved a nest of pookas into my old tree house and a family of gnomes into my parents’ garden, but that had been necessary. Helping to relocate the homeless fae had been the practical thing to do, in both cases. “I just don’t like seeing kids get hurt”
“Sure, you just keep telling yourself that,” she said. Jinx moved closer, leaning forward to look over my shoulder. “You find anything?”
“Looks like blood,” I said. I grabbed one of the pencils from my belt and scraped at the ground. A layer of red ice broke away from the dirty pavement and I swallowed hard. “Kaye thinks our killer may be using blood magic.”
“Well that’s not disturbing or anything,” Jinx said, pointing at the red, ice covered slush. “You’ve successfully ruined frozen strawberry margaritas for me.”
“I didn’t ask you to be here,” I said. I let out a sigh and stood. I turned in a circle, scanning the brick walls and shadowed doorways. “Come on. We might as well find out if anyone saw anything.”
“That could be a waste of time, especially since humans can’t see through glamour,” she said. “Isn’t there a faster way to get clues?”
I ran a gloved hand through my hair and let out a shaky sigh. My eyes cut to the frozen puddle of blood. Sure, there was a faster way, but it could also turn me into a raving lunatic. I usually put off touching the remains of dead things as a last resort.
I shoved my hands into my coat pockets and hunched against the wind. Something small and hard hit the tips of my gloved fingers, and with a crinkle of cellophane, I pulled the item from my pocket. A honey flavored candy sat on my gloved palm.
Damn. I wiped at my face with my sleeve as the chill air tried to freeze the tears that soaked my eyelashes. I should have been buying candy with Marvin. Instead, I was considering touching a frozen puddle of blood in a dirty alley, and Marvin was missing.
Happy freaking holidays.
“Yes, there is a faster way,” I said, shuffling forward. “But I’ll need your help.”
“Sure, what do you need?” she asked.
I unwound my scarf and handed it to Jinx.
“If I start screaming, shove that in my mouth,” I said. Her eyes widened, but Jinx nodded. “And if I don’t stop screaming, pull me away from the blood…and wash it off my hands.”
“Got it,” she said.
Jinx forced a brave smile to her lips, but I could see the fear in her eyes. She knew what I wasn’t saying. This method may be faster than pounding the pavement and rattling some cages, but it was much more dangerous. There was no guarantee that removing the blood would break the connection.
I looked down at the candy in my hand. The decision was a no-brainer. If the vision got its hooks in me deep enough, I wouldn’t be coming back. But if we didn’t find Marvin soon, neither would he.
I knelt in the filthy slush of the alley, ignoring the ice cold water that seeped through my pants. It was time to find our killer, and bring Marvin home.
I took a deep breath and pulled my gloves off, one finger at a time. I felt naked and was glad for Jinx’s steady presence at my back. If anyone had to see me like this, at least it was the one person I knew I could trust.
I stared at my bare hands and the frozen red liquid just inches away. What was about to come next wouldn’t be pretty. Hopefully, Jinx would keep me quiet enough to avoid any curious cops or passerby. If
we were up on Joysen Hill, where vamps and other beasties routinely hunt, screams from a dark alley would be commonplace. Too bad we were on the edge of the Old Port. The last thing we needed was a tourist stumbling in and witnessing my bizarre investigation methods. I shook my head, banishing thoughts of screaming bystanders and police interrogations. I’d just have to put my faith in Jinx.
I plunged my right hand into the ice and gasped at the cold as it burned against my skin. I closed my eyes against the image of frozen blood touching my hand. Seconds later, the black of my eyelids was replaced with the image of a dying faerie. I had shifted from reality to a vision and the images were coming in full bloody Technicolor.
And the vision was coming from the perspective of the killer—oh goodie.
Warm liquid ran over my hands from the slashed neck of a merry dancer. I held a ceremonial knife to the faerie’s throat and whispered guttural words in a foreign tongue. Scarlet threads of power rose from the body in radiant tendrils to twine up my legs and arms. I felt drunk on the rush of power as I drank the faerie’s remaining life essence.
I staggered to my left, leaning against the brick wall of the alley. I steadied my hold on the faerie and the ritual blade in my blood slick hand. My eyes flicked down to the skeleton bundled in my cloak, resting in the shadows.
“Soon my beloved,” I whispered.
I continued the incantation, careful to guide the stream of blood along the blade into the bottle nestled in the palm of my hand. The crystal bottle gleamed red and gold with an inner fire and thick black and scarlet smoke rose from within to swirl around the bottle’s mouth. The magic was working.
Blood dripped into the bottle as I chanted, filling it to the brim. With a satisfied grin, I used the stopper to seal the bottle tight. But my spell was not the only thing that required blood. It was time to leave payment for those who serve me.
I shifted the weight of the body in my arms, letting the head loll back to expose the drying wound. I drew my blade across the faerie’s throat, making a second incision. A small trickle of blood flowed and I held the body out to dangle above the icy ground. Blood dripped and pattered onto the cold pavement, forming a steaming puddle.
