House Of Bones (Cast In Shadow Book 1)

by A J Brahms

  "Which are?" Julie asked as she grabbed a pitcher of what looked like tea from the fridge. I'd been in her house several times in the two years I'd known her. The first invitation had been from her husband. His presence still lingered in this house, but it never felt or seemed malevolent. Just…protective.

  "I think for now it would be wise for Ren to shower and change out of that clothing. Though I suspect the blood is purely his, these are not items we wish others to appropriate."

  Luke shook his head and sighed. "Aby—"

  "Don't call me that."

  "You are one proper guy, aren't you?"

  Aberdeen's right brow lifted as he pointed me up the stairs. At the door of the bathroom, I turned to find Aberdeen had followed me. I jumped just a little and then caught his expression. "What?"

  "That cross…the one you touched at the morgue? Detective Meehan let me see it."

  I searched his stalwart expression, very sure he was upset, but he was hiding it well. "And?"

  "Ren…in the Order I served, we often fought against the Night Walkers, back when they were less civilized and a bit more aggressive in their…recruitment attacks. We would search out their chosen victims and give them the Third Sacrament of the Host."

  "There are three?" I knew the First Sacrament was the Divine Blood, or in laymen's terms, holy water. This was the Sacrament blessed by the Gargoyles, the protectors of the world. And now I find out there are more?

  "It's not something we discussed in our Order because we only used it as a last resort, when we knew the transformation into a Vampire was beyond our power to stop." He looked away for a second. When he continued, his voice dropped. "The Third Sacrament doesn't cure the victim of the Vampire's blood, Ren. It utterly destroys the blood in their body, and unfortunately, kills them as well."

  "In their body?"

  "It's something placed inside, yes." He pursed his lips. "An item."

  I took a step back. "Perhaps…a silver cross…"

  "Swallowed. Either before or after they had ingested the Devil's Seed…that's what we called it. The symbol and the pure silver neutralizes the blood, turns it to ash in the victim's stomach, but it also causes massive seizures and eventual death. It guaranteed someone would never become a Night Walker by giving them the ultimate death."

  Words weren't usually something I couldn't find. Until now. I knew so very little about Aberdeen's Order, other than they were like a hit squad, commanded by the Pope, to wipe out the Devil in all his guises. They worked above and beneath the law, and they worked in secret successfully, until one of their Order betrayed them, and only a few of them were cursed as Gargoyles.

  "Aberdeen…" My brain was moving as fast as it could through the paths of logic. "But if that's why they forced her to swallow it, that means she was chosen to become a Night Walker. And whoever did this knew it ahead of time."

  "Or whoever knew about this arcane ritual believed this deeply enough to unleash the power of that exorcism on her." Aberdeen leaned against the door. "There's also one more thing. Our Order minted the silver crosses, which were all kept in large barrels of the Sacrament. That cross is one of those used by my Order."

  I set the soap on the counter of the bathroom. "I think it's time I had another talk with Jedediah Talmadge."

  Ten

  Aberdeen had also found a lot of good information on Cimitir Hall. Built in 1920, it was originally the house of Markenon Durby, a human with a penchant for government activity. He liked being in the middle of it, without actually serving office. And he had a lot of money, enough he could use to wield things to his way if he so wanted it. He could have anything he wanted. So he built a castle in the center of town and originally named it L'Acre de Dieu, which translated into God's Acre.

  But what he wanted was a local senator's wife. She was young and fresh from New York, a Yankee in a town where Yankees were often not welcome. But society had welcomed her and embraced her, and Durby wanted her. The only thing known at that time was that Durby made advances, and her husband took offense. They had a duel and her husband was killed.

  Because there was money involved, Durby was never prosecuted and the woman disappeared. A decade later, on the eve of Durby's first wedding, he mysteriously went missing. Right out of his house, and not long after that, a fellow by the name of E. S. Talmadge bought the house and moved his family in. Not another word from Durby. The Talmadges have owned the property ever since, officially renaming it Cimitir Hall. Developers have offered quite a bit of money for it, because of its prime real estate, but the Talmadges swore to never sell and have kept the property up ever since, generation after generation.

  Aberdeen regaled me with this information as I drove to the Hall itself. I'd been able to make arrangements to meet with Jedediah Talmadge, supposedly alone, but I wanted someone like Aberdeen…perched and ready.

  Just in case. I was still a Ghoul, and there were more Night Walkers that viewed me as property than not.

  "You think any of that ties in with what I'm looking into?"

  Aberdeen shook his head as I parked the car in the spooky parking lot under the bridge. "Not at all. But I wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Talmadge knew what became of Markenon Durby."

  "Indeed," I said as I grabbed my bag, still carrying Carson's things because I hadn't had a chance to go through them. I was pretty sure using a camera wasn't going to happen, but they were like my security blanket these days.

  It was close to three in the morning, and the southern night was cold. Aberdeen ducked around the back, and within minutes I saw him perched atop the building, looking inconspicuously conspicuous. Winds blew more leaves over the Hall's front yard as I climbed the steps. The door opened and one of the sidekicks I'd met the night before stood in my way. He didn't say anything, but he also didn't move.

  Aubrey wasn't dressed in the club leather he'd been in the other night. His hair was short, and he wore casual clothing, a shirt and slacks with a suit jacket. His loafers had tassels. Cute.

  "I'm here to see Jedediah."

  The guy didn't move. The longer I stood there, the more I could feel him reaching out to me, exerting what Night Walkers called their essence to investigate me, sniff me over like someone would look over an item. And as he examined me, the whispers started again. Very soft at first, sounding a lot like the leaves moving across the grass on the lawn behind me. They grew louder as I stared down this numb-nut and finally yelled out, "Jedediah…can you call off your dog?"

  "How dare you?" Aubrey hissed. It was low and guttural and full of menace. Yeah…this one hated me. Yay.

  The Patriarch appeared behind the goon and snapped his fingers. Aubrey winced and awkwardly moved out of the way, as if yanked back by an invisible hand. When he disappeared behind the door, Jedediah beckoned me in. "Come, Mr. Grainger. I will make sure Aubrey doesn't menace you again."

  I came in and noticed Aubrey closing the door. I also felt his dagger eyes boring into the back of my head. Yep. I had the ability to make people hate me by just breathing. Nice.

  Jedediah was also dressed causal, in khakis, socks, a nice shirt, and a sweater. All in basic blue. Did wonders for his white hair, throwing in a blue highlight here and there. We moved into the back and then up a flight of stairs, into what I could only assume was a study of some kind. I had always wondered if the Talmadges lived in this house. I was starting to think a few did, including Jed here.

  The room was all dark wood, well-polished, with aged pictures hanging on the wall. Some were of Atlanta in the late 1930s, and others more recent. There was even an Olympic photo to the far right. He gestured to a seat by the fire and took the one facing it. A small, low table bearing a chess set separated us.

  I set my bag on the ground and offered him my hand. He hesitated and then took it. "You are indeed brave, Mr. Grainger. I haven't fed in a few days and it is said a Ghoul's blood is delicious. Especially one as aged as you."

  "I'm not that old," I said as he sat and then I sat.

&n
bsp; "For a Chevalier, you are a remarkable age, Mr. Grainger."

  "Have you not had a Ghoul's blood?" I didn't expect him to answer me.

  He slowly shook his head. "No…but I have known Ghouls, Mr. Grainger. Ah, you look surprised. No histories of them in our Family." He held up a finger. "And there is a reason. The same reason Ghouls are no longer allowed. But, that is a story for another time." He lowered his hand. "I was in service to my Sire for two centuries before he created his first Ghoul. A Chevalier. No one could touch her, and she had absolute run of the estates." Jedediah shrugged. "My Sire's reaction to drinking that blood is still very fresh to me."

  "You could have taken blood from her. Ghouls are property…sometimes communal."

  "Not Chevaliers," Jedediah said. "And you know this first hand, Mr. Grainger."

  "Call me Ren."

  "No."

  Fine.

  "Why did you wish to see me? I hope you've found whoever left that girl's body here in our Repository?"

  "I can say with confidence that I don't think Conway and his followers had anything to do with it." I reached into my jacket pocket and brought out a small velvet bag. Holding the item inside through the velvet, I turned the bag inside out to reveal a small, silver cross, identical to the one the ME extracted. Aberdeen had possessed this one. When I displayed it in my palm, resting on the velvet, I watched Jedediah's face. And it was there. Subtle. Just a hint of a reaction when he looked at it. I was playing with fire doing this. You never show a cross to a Vampire 'cause you never know if it's going to bother them or not. The older ones fear them more than the young ones, meaning just the symbol itself and what it represents in their past still held power. The knowledge it was forged with the Sacrament and is made of pure silver was what terrifies the young. "You recognize this."

  He looked at me. "Where did you get it?"

  "One like it was found in Tonya Mulberry's stomach, the woman whose body was left here the other evening." I continued to watch him. "Her boyfriend claimed that Conway gave it to her, before he was murdered by creatures made of mist and shadow."

  His gaze narrowed. "Creatures of mist and shadow…you mean Brownies?"

  Brownies? Now it was my turn to react and frown. "Brownies? You mean like Fairy Brownies?"

  "Mr. Grainger, you have a lot to learn about the Fairy peoples. Their truths and their myths, many of which were created to throw off humans from learning too much about them. Because if you did…you would discover these creatures are far more terrifying and unyielding than we are." He put his hand to his chest. "We were once human. Fairies have never been human. They don't understand concepts such as love or compassion. They know only fair and not fair, and what is fair to a human is not fair to a Fairy."

  I got what he said, and I'd been told that before. My encounter with Fairies had been minimal, like with Jazzi. She and I had a good relationship. And she never wanted commitment, which was fine by me. She just wanted to win. All the damn time. Even at who got to the bathroom first.

  Covering the silver cross back up, I returned the velvet pouch to my pocket. "Tell me about Brownies?"

  Jedediah stood and walked to a drink caddy. I noticed a few of the decanters were filled with red liquid, but two were filled with amber colors. When he unstoppered one, I smelled whiskey. He poured himself a glass and offered me one. I shook my head. He took the glass to the fireplace and looked at the flames. "The older you become, the easier it is for your stomach to tolerate the old vices. And a good whiskey neat was always one of mine." He sipped it and hissed. "Popular culture tells us that Brownies are these little figures that fix things in your house. They make shoes or repair furniture, clean up, and they never ask for compensation." He pointed at me with this drink hand and index finger. "Except for the donation of milk and honey. But the truth of this is…Brownies are the assassins of the Fairy queens. They are their own brand of mercenaries. They are born of the strife living in a household. Abuse, whether sexual or physical, creates them. The stronger the abuse and hate, the stronger they are, until they become full grown Brownies and join their brothers…or sisters. Sex has never been established about them because no one I know of has ever survived an attack by them."

  I wet my lips. "Except me."

  Jedediah's brows arched high on his forehead. "Add another miracle to your reputation, Mr. Grainger."

  I stared at the fire. "I only survived because of my partner."

  "The stone man." He pointed up. "The one watching and listening to us from the roof."

  Mild panic set in because I'd always assumed the Night Walker Families didn't know about the Gargoyles, but it dawned on me in that moment…of course they knew. They had to have known where the church got their Sacrament.

  "Don't worry, Mr. Grainger. Your stone man is not a threat to us. He seems righteous in all the right ways. And he's fair. He's only there to protect you, not to destroy us. Though he doesn't trust us."

  "No. He doesn't." The whispers had found me finally and reasserted themselves into my ears like an earworm. Only I couldn't make out the lyrics to whatever song they were singing.

  "He's the one who gave you the silver cross." Jedediah didn't wait for me to answer and held up his hand. "I know about their means of preventing our turning of others. I was turned before the Vatican was founded, Ren. I visited there, to meet with the long extinguished Light of Truth, your own order created to vanquish the soldiers of the Pope bent on destroying…what they saw as evil. I saw what those crosses did to our young recruits. It's not a pleasant death, Chevalier. It's a horrific end to what could be a rich and long life. They killed thousands of people whose only choice to life was us. They came to us with illnesses that could not be cured, maimed limbs, blindness, deafness, and our blood cured them. And then the church killed them." Jedediah took another sip of whiskey. "I had hoped never to see those foul crosses again. A few years ago, I learned that Conway had appropriated a large box filled with these crosses."

  "You mean he stole them."

  "Yes. From us. When their Order was destroyed by infighting and the use of Black Magic, we raided their headquarters and took as many of the crosses as we could find. One of our caches near Montgomery, Alabama was burned down. After the fire, we discovered the crosses were gone. We knew Conway had stolen them. And he was using them as symbols of his cause to stamp out everything he doesn't understand."

  Now I knew how Conway had come by the crosses. But… "Jedediah…these Brownies…you indicated they were mercenaries. Meaning for hire. Who could hire them to kill these members of Church of Paths?"

  A whisper caught my attention and I looked at the door. It was that same loud voice…the one I'd heard the other day. Filled with rage…and pain…and injustice…

  Jedediah finished his whiskey and set the glass on the mantel. "Anyone who knew of their existence. They'd just have to ask the Mórrígan to hire them. Though I'm pretty sure the price was steep."

  "The Mórrígan?" I'd heard the name from Jazzi before. Some big-name bad ass in the Fairy traditions. She was supposed to be a Goddess. But since I'd never met one, I couldn't say.

  Again, the whispers came and I stood this time, walking to the door. So many voices…a few ringing in my ear. "They follow her?" I said absently.

  "They work for her. If you want to know who hired them, you'll have to ask…her." He was suddenly beside me, and the whispers stopped. "Ren…do you hear something? Is it the ghost of that girl?"

  "I—" I wasn't sure what to say. I looked from him to the door and then at the floor. "It's nothing."

  "What…do you hear?" He didn't use a commanding voice—as I wasn't his Chevalier, he had no real control. But he was paying too much attention to me now. And I wasn't comfortable with it.

  "Nothing."

  "Are you hearing voices?"

  I looked at him. I wanted to lie. But the voices reasserted themselves and I knew they didn't want me to lie. "Yes."

  "Where?"

  "Everywhere. I can't mak
e out what they're saying most of the time. It's a jumble of words."

  "Interesting." Jedediah was a little too close and I was backed against the door. "If you allow me to drink…I could hear them too."

  Hell no! I dropped down and twisted away from him in one of my more smoother moves. "No thanks."

  "I don't want to awaken your link, Ren. I promised you I wouldn't."

  "Yeah, but if it's all the same…no thanks. I hear things all the time, remember? I take pictures of ghosts."

  Jedediah looked disappointed for a few seconds before he nodded and went back to his chair. "I understand," he paused. "There were stories, about a Chevalier who could Whisper to the Ancients."

  "Ancients?"

  "Those of us who no longer lived." He smiled, but it looked wrong on his flawless face. "You see…a Night Walker's essence…our soul…is fettered to this world, Ren Grainger. When we die, whether by fire or sun or by the removal of our heads, we are still here. We no longer possess physical form. And if we are…nurtured in that state of decay, then we can speak wisdom of things gone before. We can live again through our participation with the living. But only a few Night Walkers, and one Chevalier, have ever had the ability to hear the Ancients."

  The thought my Master could still be around in some spiritual form, floating around me at that moment, made me shudder. That had to be the worst thought I'd ever experienced in my life. "So…you don't have these Whisper Vamps anymore?"

  "No. The last one we had was killed. His name was Ellery Talmadge. My predecessor." He smiled. "And my Sire. So…" He turned and moved to the desk by the open window. "In order to see the Mórrígan, you're going to have to have a writ of entry. Which I can give you. Ask her who hired these Brownies, and tell her I will pay your toll." He took some soft, thin paper from the drawer, and to my surprise and delight, opened an inkwell and retrieved an actual quill from a drawer and started writing as he sat down. Then he stopped and turned to me. "And Ren, whatever you do, don't let her convince you to pay your own toll. If you do, she'll never let you go."