House Of Bones (Cast In Shadow Book 1)

by A J Brahms

  Did Julie feel the same about me? No way to tell. No way I'd ever know. She and Luke knew I was different—they didn't know how different, meaning I'd never really related much about myself. They knew about Occam. They knew I'd been touched by a Night Walker. But I had never confided the conditions of my existence. Just…never came up much. That and most of those in the know about Night Walkers didn't know much about Ghouls, much less the conditioning of a Chevalier. As I mentioned before—they don't make us anymore. Not allowed.

  And I know the next question—why weren't Ghouls allowed anymore? Like I said before, I really wish I could tell you, but no one'd told me either. And don't think I haven't asked.

  As I approached I also slowed down because I could feel other Night Walkers nearby. I didn't know if they were Talmadge or not. Night Walkers didn't have a signature scent per Family. I just knew blood suckers were around.

  And close.

  Occam echoed my apprehension. I asked her to keep a lookout for me. She swooped down and landed on my shoulder for a second before she took off again. Just touching base.

  I came to a stop in front of the building. It was impressive, a small castle right here in the heart of Dixie. It had a long and sordid past, one that predated the Talmadge Family. Nothing I knew a lot about. It was made of stone on the outside, but I wasn't sure if that was real or a facade. There were three towers with rounded tops and on each sat a small gargoyle where the water ran off the roof.

  Narrowing my eyes, I counted three towers and four gargoyles…

  "Hey, Grainger!"

  Julie's voice interrupted my thoughts as I turned to her. She was striding purposefully toward me. She was as gorgeous as ever. Mocha skin, long dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail, and soft amber eyes. Exotic. Smart. And sweet smelling. She was a dream to me. An unreachable goal.

  And I'd do anything for her.

  "I hope no one ever shoots that bird of yours." She put her hands on her hips. Julie wore an APD windbreaker, her gun in her shoulder holster, jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers. Beautiful.

  "Me either," I said as I walked past her to Luke. I wasn't really sure if anyone could shoot Occam. She wasn't exactly real, by conventional definition. And not everyone could see her. I was always surprised that Luke and Julie could.

  We shook hands. Luke was taller than me, but not by much. His dark hair was cut severely short and it looked like he was attempting a goatee. I pointed to my own chin and made a skeptical face.

  "Like it?" Luke gave it a stroke. "It'll get there. Not sure it'll reach the sexiness of yours, huh?"

  "Nope." Yes, I had a beard…of a sort. Nothing full, like those duck people, just something to make me look physically different. "So what's up?"

  Luke gestured for me to walk with him to the front of the building where a few people were gathered. "Female, approximately twenty years of age. No ID on the body. She was found by one of the society workers returning from lunch. The place shuts down from noon to one, so whoever placed the body there did it within that hour."

  "Placed?"

  "Yeah, she wasn't killed here. That was obvious. ME's already transported her to the morgue to check for time of death."

  "Why do you think she was killed elsewhere?"

  Julie snorted as she joined us. "Because she was drained of blood."

  That stopped me in my tracks. "Drained of blood?"

  "Yeah," Julie and Luke looked back at me, but it was Julie who kept talking. "No blood here at the scene, and she's got two puncture wounds on her neck." She sighed. "Which is why we called you. It looks too obvious to be real Night Walkers."

  "And we'd rather know for sure before we go knocking on Night Walker doors," Luke said as we walked up the steps.

  We move past a few men in uniforms and a few in suits, and I took a long look at the outline where the body had been found. As I stared at it, I started hearing…

  Voices.

  Or it sounded like voices. More like whispers just on the edge of my hearing. I tuned Luke out for a few seconds as I looked around and tried to pinpoint where the voices were coming from. The opening of the Hall was more of a foyer, with a spiral staircase to the left and a dining room to my right with a fireplace. Stained glass depicting Civil War battles covered most of the windows. Ahead of me was a hallway, and down past there I could just see the bottom of another staircase, this one heading straight up.

  "Hey…" Julie touched my shoulder, which immediately brought me back to reality. "Are you not listening?"

  "Sure, yeah I am," I lied and turned back to face them. "Where do you want me to take pictures? I mean, the body's already been moved…" I narrowed my eyes at them. "Which means the GBI photographer has already been here."

  Luke nodded. "She has. But I wanted you to take your special kind of pictures." He looked around and then stepped close to me. "Can you do that?"

  By special pictures, he meant the ones with the ghosts in them. "Sure…is there a way for me to get a bit of privacy?"

  Luke nodded. Julie rolled her eyes. But both of them asked the other officers nearby to clear out for about a half hour. I'd have preferred a much longer period alone, but a half hour would have to do.

  Ghouls, once fully changed by their Master's blood, have enhanced senses. There were the basics, such as I said before. Better eyesight—I can see in the dark. We're stronger, faster, and have keener hearing. We have heightened sensitivity to the supernatural, much like a medium. Again, just the basic for Ghouls.

  But when the magic that makes a Ghoul is deepened, a Chevalier is created. No longer a mindless automaton destined to be ruled by the whim of their Master forever. But a stronger, more finely tuned puppet.

  Chevaliers developed skills. Or as my own Master had called them—Gifts. Though I'm pretty sure toward the end, she had more colorful metaphors for them. Especially mine.

  Vampires all had different skill sets. Some were clairvoyant, some possessed magic abilities, some could hear thoughts and read minds, others could fly, while the more powerful could actually shape-shift. These skills weren't based on age, but more on whatever it was in the blood that enhanced their more human essence. Often enough over the decades, I'd heard the phrase that a Vampire's blood only makes you more of who you are at your base. And…I'd seen this happen. A lot. If you were meek and terrified, as a Night Walker you became little more than a recluse who sent their Ghouls out to bring home the bacon. If you were an asshole or a bully…well…yeah.

  The Vampire's power, which increased with age, was more evident in the Chevaliers they produced. Not many Night Walkers made it to a ripe old age, like Jedediah. So even if Chevaliers were still allowed, there wouldn't be a flood of us out there. We developed our gifts based on the strength of the blood of our Masters. Some made by a Night Walker over a hundred years old developed a single skill, usually some variant of their Master's. Such as, a one-hundred-year-old mind-reading Vampire would produce a Chevalier who could sense emotions but not entirely read minds. A three-hundred-year-old mind reader would produce a Chevalier with equivalent mind reading talents. And so on.

  Vampires also gained Gifts by killing other Vampires, even though this practice was banned somewhere around the turn of the century. Nowadays, to kill another Night Walker was to commit suicide. A blood hunt would be called and it was a rarity that such a marked Vampire would survive.

  My Master was such a Vampire in her day. She never destroyed another of her kind once the ban was imposed, but the stories I heard from her Childers would make my hair stand on end. Seven Vampires, seven skills, all possessed by my Master. And since she was well into her fifth century by the time she made me, her only Chevalier…I was doomed to be a prodigal child.

  I possess three known Gifts, and one I keep hidden. So much a secret, even my Master's Childers never knew before they died. Hell, they didn't even know their own Sire possessed it. I never understood how these Gifts passed to me, and not her Childers.

  She didn't tell me everything. Th
at much I figured out later.

  Of my Gifts, seeing and communicating with the dead was one of them. It was a Gift I developed later in my life as a Chevalier, something she wanted me to cultivate. She was a Sorceress before she was made, and she believed in the power of a foci, something tangible that I could use to focus my Gift with.

  I've been a photographer since I first handled a camera at the age of ten. It seemed fitting that a camera would show me, through its lens, the tragedies of the living.

  And so as the others filed out and the door of the Hall was closed, I set my bag on the floor by the staircase and reached into it. I kept several antique cameras with me, having found that the older models delivered the best images on older film. So far, I could still find film for them. I worried on occasion that today's modern .jpg and higher pixel cameras would eliminate film entirely.

  And then I'd have to find another way to capture the images. Digital images weren't as clear as film and weren't as reliable.

  I chose a Polaroid Land 101 and made sure it was loaded. Inside the bag were also an Asahi Pentax and a Zenit-E.

  Flash photography was strictly forbidden. I'd learned that the hard way.

  "So," I said to the empty room, very much aware of the whispers in the back of my mind. I always talked to my subjects, hoping to make them feel comfortable, and as I talked, I took pictures, pulled the individual pictures out of the Polaroid, and set them on the steps of the spiral staircase to develop, jotting down my question on a notepad after each one. Each cartridge held about eleven shots…give or take. "My name is Ren. Unfortunately,"—snap—"I don't know your name. I'd like to know your name"—snap—"so I can help you. I'd like to know who did this to you"—snap—"and maybe I can bring them to justice." Snap. "Would you like that? I know I would."

  And so it went through the entire cartridge.

  Once I finished with the Polaroid, I sat on the steps and carefully peeled away the white backing on each of the photos, gently turning them over so the wet side, the picture, faced up.

  The first three were blank, but the fourth one…where I asked if she'd like for her killer to be brought to justice, held the image I was looking for.

  She was young. I'd have guessed she was closer to sixteen. She had long hair and very large, expressive eyes. Ghosts always appeared alive on Polaroids. Like you and me. In color and completely visible to me in the shot.

  These were the pictures I rarely let anyone see. These were the ones that carried the raw emotion of the ghosts, either their anger at having their life stolen or their horror and panic, and even their agony and sorrow.

  Private moments.

  She was there in three more shots, standing where her body was placed. And in the last shot, she was pointing to the door, the way out. I checked what question I'd asked on my list. I'd asked her, who killed you? She was pointing to the street.

  A presence once again brushed the perimeter of my senses. Only this one was as familiar to me as my skin. "Can you pull out the Pentax while you're standing there?" I turned. "Make yourself useful."

  His name was Aberdeen Windersham. No joke. That was his Christian name, so he said. He'd been a priest in a much simpler age, born in Sussex and moved to Rome where he served in the Vatican…until he was cursed by one of the dark priests of the Renaissance and turned into a creature forever bound to protect the world and the church from evil, and gifted with the ability to create the Holy Sacrament.

  Before me stood the fourth Gargoyle I'd spotted on the roof. Of course, he didn't look like a Gargoyle now, but a man, dressed in an expensive suit, with graying hair and Italian shoes. Aberdeen only imagined the finest of clothing covering his human form.

  He gave me a withering look, but then he always did that, and retrieved the Pentax camera from the bag for me. And then he tossed it. I caught it, but I really, really hated it when he did that. These cameras were in excellent condition, but they were antiques. My antiques. The tools of my trade. I returned his look, turned the camera on, adjusted the focus, and started taking pictures.

  "There are Night Walkers outside." Aberdeen had a very proper English drawl and a voice to match. Reminded me a lot of Jeremy Irons. Kinda looked like him too.

  "Mmmm."

  "Talmadge."

  "Mmmm. This their building. It makes sense they're here."

  "Ren, please tell me you're not involved with Night Walkers. You know how dangerous that is for you."

  "Okay…" I moved to the staircase and took a few shots. Then I moved past Aberdeen to the hall…and the whispers returned.

  "Okay, what?" my old friend said as he followed me.

  But I wasn't moving anymore. I was listening to the voices. It was like being in a room with thousands of people doing stage whispers, fake shushing noises that delivered a barrage of white noise. I put my left hand to my ear as I held the camera with my right.

  Every now and then I could make out a single whisper, a word, a phrase, even a name.

  Help, punishment, not dead, can you hear us, devil's work, it's all lies, lies, lies, lies—help me!

  "Ren!"

  I blinked at the slap and looked up into Aberdeen's wizened features as my free hand touched my stinging cheek. He was also holding onto my arm and his thin lips were set into a frown. "Can you see me?"

  "Hell yeah I see you. What the hell did you hit me for?"

  He released my arm and stepped back. I rotated my arm at the shoulder.

  "You weren't here, just then," Aberdeen said. "You'd nearly turned to stone yourself. I've only seen that in a Ghoul when they are paralyzed by their Master's voice. Did you hear something? Was it a conversation? Are there others in this building?" Gargoyles held strength and stealth and the ability to become stone, which added to their greatest gift, which was to become invisible if they wanted to. Not because they refracted light, but because no one notices a statue. Well, except that time he turned into an angel with her hands covering her face. He had a laugh, but it caused all kinds of crazy downtown during Dragon Con.

  "No. We're it. Why are you asking me that?"

  "Because you weren't here. Literally. You were staring"—and he pointed to the hallway—"that way."

  "I was?" I looked down the hall and heard the cacophony of whispers again. I shook my head, brought my camera up, and took a few pictures of the hall. "I don't…I heard something. I mean, I'm hearing it now. Lots and lots of whispers."

  "Ghosts?"

  "I don't know."

  "You didn't answer me, Ren. I know this is a Talmadge building, but they're observing you."

  "Because I'm doing a job for them," I said and went back to the steps and started stacking up the polaroids. "And one for the APD."

  "You're doing a job in this house."

  "Yes."

  "The Talmadge Repository."

  I turned and nodded. "Yes."

  He crossed himself and leaned on the stairway's banister. "Dear God…what have you done now? Do you want them to re-Ghoul you, Ren? Do you really want to be a puppet again?"

  The door to the Hall opened and in came Julie, Luke and two uniformed officers. Apparently, this wasn't one of the times Aberdeen wanted to be invisible.

  Julie stopped and pointed. "What the hell is tall, spooky and Jeremy Irons doing in here? And how the hell did he get in?"

  "It's called a door, Detective." Aberdeen clasped his hands behind his back. I noticed he was no longer wearing his expensive suit, but a nice shirt, jeans, loafers, a suit jacket with patches on the elbows, and a nice-looking scarf. He looked like a professor. "You should look it up on your Internets."

  Julie opened her mouth, but Luke stepped past her and offered his hand. "Good to see you again, Professor Windersham."

  Professor was what Aberdeen was by day, a professor at Emory University, specializing in Religious studies. And what better teacher than a man who lived through quite a bit of historical, religious turmoil, and was himself, a relic of those times. Then again, the way he looked. Gah… And
that haughty British accent…

  The two shook hands. "Always a pleasure, Detective Meehan," Aberdeen said in a more pleasant tone. "And I came in the back. It was unlocked. Ren said he was here."

  "It's all right." Luke looked at me. "You got your pictures?"

  "Yep," I said as I packed everything away. I rarely gave them a blow by blow of my sessions. It was hard to explain ghosts to the living. And given everything that'd just happened, including the voices coming from the house itself, I was thinking it might be a good idea to get a bit more information first. "I'll give you a call if something shows up."

  "Appreciate it."

  With Aberdeen at my side, I walked past the two of them, aware of Julie's eyes on me as we strolled down the path and then veered into the grass to the sidewalk. "My car's down here." Occam soared up at that moment and landed on my shoulder with a caw. She was happy to be going home too. Apparently, she didn't like this building. Wanted to peck it to death.

  "Good. I don't feel like flying home."

  "How'd you know I was here?"

  "Why do you always ask me that?"

  He was right. Aberdeen always knew where I was because we were linked. I'd saved his life one night in Rome. I'd given him freedom from his life of stillness.

  And he'd…well…Aberdeen saved my life as well. We were friends. The only friend each other had.

  "So…care to tell me why you're working for the Talmadge Family?"

  As we approached the car, I hit the remote to unlock it and put my bag in the trunk before climbing into the driver's seat. I cranked the car and sighed. "Dead girl. Drained of blood. But now I want to know why there are ghosts in the walls of that house."

  Three

  Luke Meehan called while we were heading home. I took the call through the car's Bluetooth. "Identified the ring we found."

  "You found a ring?" I didn't try to keep the surprise from voice. No one had told me about a ring.