Falls the Shadow (Sparrow Falls Book 2)

by Justine Sebastian

  In the distance, Tobias heard the sound of sirens and knew that back-up had been sent for. From the grave site, he heard a crash followed by a chorus of shrieks and some laughter. He knew the deceased had once more been knocked for a loop, but a peek over the hood of the hearse showed the coffin was still intact, its occupant no doubt rumpled, but this time unexposed to the world. Then the real hollering started and Tobias grimaced at the shrill outrage of those cries even as more laughter bubbled in his throat.

  “Somebody get me outta this got-damn hole!”

  Tobias saw Chet lean over the open grave to peer in just as the widow whipped around him and dove into the grave with a screeched, “Huzzy!” instead of Geronimo! It must have been the mistress in the grave then. Tobias snorted once then ducked down again to laugh in peace.

  Back-up arrived a few minutes later and a while after that, the majority of the funeral party was hauled away in handcuffs either to the parish jail or to the hospital where they would be treated for minor injuries including bruised egos and wounded pride. Because some of the violence had taken place at the funeral home and because he was a witness to all of the hijinks throughout the day, Tobias was asked to come down to the station and give a statement. He did, albeit reluctantly, but it didn’t take as long as he had thought it would. Lenore perched on a windowsill and cawed at the people inside, put out by the refusal of the authorities to allow her into the building.

  On his way out, Tobias noticed that his father was in his office and started to go tell him hello then thought better of it and left him be. Mitch didn’t hate him, he knew that, but he also suspected his father didn’t like him very much no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

  There was some cleaning to do at Greene’s. The funeral party had been a particularly sloppy one and while he straightened up the refreshments room, he regretted telling Dawn Marie he could handle things on his own. He finally asked Gary to help him out since there was no one there to see what was going on and Gary had the juice to do such things. While they worked, Gary serenaded him with Christmas carols. There was nothing like listening to “White Christmas” while the thermometer outside read 98 degrees. He bid Gary a good evening, turned on the radio for him and left to the sound of Gary singing, “Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg…” while in the background, Pearl Jam played on the stereo.

  At home Tobias went straight to his office where he kept his laptop and began more futile attempts at researching what was happening to him. Not a single thing he found mentioned spontaneous, unwanted teleportation. He didn’t even know if what happened to him qualified as teleportation to begin with. He did find more information about crystal energy and how he could learn to harness it for himself, for a fee, of course. He clicked through sites advertising the sale of “faery” dust that looked like plain old glitter to Tobias’s un-magical eyes. He snorted and closed out the window, went back to the search engine and stared at the blinking cursor in the search field. The search for answers was both tedious and frustrating because he had no real idea what he was looking for. He’d found information about shadow people (which he would allow were creepy) and demons and nightmares and sleep paralysis; accounts of which included at least a handful that mentioned being dragged from their bed. He was badly in need of the perfect keyword, which was not forthcoming from the mystical ether, so he was left stumped and glaring at the hateful cursor..

  “None of this is what I want or need,” Tobias said to the wall. He knew what was happening, but not where to start so he could make it stop. Tobias knew the paranormal when it came to ghosts, he understood a little about precognitive abilities, but he knew nothing about… What? What was the thing he didn’t know about? If he could figure out that part then he could probably find something useful to research.

  After another fifteen minutes staring at the wall it did finally occur to Tobias that there was someone he could ask. A real, live person, not some stranger lurking around on a message board who probably just made shit up as they went along. Wesley Panzram was a walking encyclopedia of all things weird and strange; he could at least offer some insight into what Tobias was dealing with. He would not, of course, tell Wesley he was asking about himself though. It was a delicate situation and one best presented as a hypothetical.

  Tobias made Wes uncomfortable, but if Tobias kept it brief though then he didn’t see the harm. What was happening to him was actually more important than sparing someone’s nerves a bit of jangling. Wes might not like it, but Tobias thought that just for once in all his life, someone could damn well get over it and cope for a little longer. Tobias had business to attend to and once his mind was made up, he was never one to be easily dissuaded from any course. He didn’t slow until he reached the storm door on Wes’s back porch. Tobias rapped on the frame and when Wes opened the back door of the house, he stared at Tobias. His eyes were a little too wide and he tensed, but still managed a smile.

  “Good afternoon, Wesley,” Tobias said. “I need to have a word with you.”

  “Oh no,” Wes said, smile falling off his face. “Have I done something wrong? Gosh, I hope we can work it out whatever it is. If it’s… um… about the noise the other day, I’m really sorry about that and I… Golly.” His face was beet red as he bit his lip and shuffled his weight from foot to foot.

  Tobias shook his head; he didn’t want to think about that. He’d heard plenty of noise from Wes’s house during his time living there (Hit me! Harder! HARDER!) but this particular time he didn’t know what Wes was talking about. Nor did he want to know.

  “What? No,” Tobias said. His overly formal way of speaking led to this kind of alarmed confusion more often than he cared to admit. He’d tried to be more casual about things in the past and had even gone through a brief phase where he simply said, ‘Sup? That had felt unnatural and wrong, so he’d stopped. It hadn’t seemed to help much anyway. “I need to speak with you about… I have some questions concerning… The occult, I suppose is the best thing to call it.”

  “Neat,” Wes said. He relaxed against the door frame. “What do you want to know?”

  “It’s only hypothetical, mind you, but lately I’ve grown curious about a couple of things,” Tobias said. “Namely, is there any way that magic can be used to… I’m not sure how to put it… Hmm… Is it possible to transport people by magical means?”

  “Like riding broomsticks and stuff?” Wes asked. “Golly, no, that’s silly. Witches that thought they were doing that were only high. Hallucinating, you know? They used some kind of ointment, at least that’s the theory. Flying cream or something like that they called it. It had fly agaric in it, which is bad poison, but maybe not if you just put it on your skin. I’m not sure and really, neither are the people who—”

  “I’m not talking about broomsticks,” Tobias said. “Not even close.”

  “Then what are you talking about?” Wes asked. He inched out of his doorway and toward the center of the porch, drawn by his own curiosity. He was wearing one of Nick’s shirts, which hung down to his knees almost, over a New Orleans Saints t-shirt. Apparently Wes had gone full-on local in his appreciation for team sports. “Tobias?”

  “Yes, right,” Tobias said. “I should tell you what I’m talking about.”

  Wes’s smile was small, but amused when he said, “Yes, I think that might help.”

  Tobias nodded, took a deep breath and then began telling Wes his story.

  “Yikes,” Wes said when he was done. He had lost the over shirt and during the course of Tobias’s story, he had made it to one of the chairs that went with the white wicker table on the sun porch. He still had not invited Tobias in.

  “Do you have any idea what that might be?” Tobias asked.

  “Well, kinda,” Wes said. “At least I think I do. I don’t know a whole-whole lot about witchcraft or anything. I know a little though and I think what you’re talking about sounds like a spell of election. Those are like summoning spells on steroids. The way summoning spells usu
ally work is to compel people; the witch does his or her spell and if it goes right the person it’s intended for just gets this… idea… that they should really go to such-and-such place or go visit so-and-so. This is like a step or five above those kinds of spells though. A spell of election doesn’t compel. It targets a specific person or thing and demands. Commands. Then it takes. Does that make sense?”

  “Take,” Tobias said softly. He liked that part least of all. He was not some tchotchke to be collected or owned. Or stolen. The idea that someone would want to see him so badly they felt it only prudent to drag him to their doorstep made his simmering anger flare bright. It went right back to Tobias taking great exception to being fucked with.

  “Take,” Wes confirmed with a nod. “If it was that kind of spell then I’d think the person casting it or calling it out or… Okay, I don’t exactly know how those parts work. Like at all, really. I messed around with Wicca when I was younger, but then my mama found out and— Sorry, I’m babbling. Anyway, what I mean is that a spell like that is possessive. Covetous, right? And kinda desperate, maybe. Or despotic. Maybe both. Is that even possible? Desperate and despotic? Despotically desperate? Yeah, maybe it’s that.”

  Tobias stepped down one riser and shook his head; Wes fell silent with a mumbled apology.

  “Thank you very much for your time, it is much appreciated,” Tobias said.

  “You’re welcome,” Wes said brightly. “I’m glad to help. Why’d you want to know anyway? Are you writing a story?”

  “Trying to finish one, actually,” Tobias said.

  “That’s great!” Wes said. “Can I read it when you’re done?”

  “Sure,” Tobias said as he went down the rest of the steps. “Have a good evening, Wesley and thank you again for the help.”

  “Bye-bye!” Wes called.

  He sounded cheerful, but as Tobias walked away, he thought there was a thin thread of relief in his voice, too. Maybe he had just grown paranoid about himself over the years, subtly self-conscious.

  He had something to work with now. Something did occur to him though and he stopped to turn back and look at Wes still sitting on the porch, picking dead leaves off the fern that sat in the middle of the wicker table.

  “Wesley?” he called.

  Wes jumped and looked around at him. “Yes?”

  “How powerful a witch would the person have to be to pull off such a feat?”

  “Oh, really powerful,” Wes said, bobbing his head up and down in a nod. “Even if such a thing is possible, I don’t think many people could do it because something like that’s not easy. So, yeah, I’d say super strong, like some kind of real life Sauron or Voldemort. You know. Or well, really, it’s about will, if I understand things correctly. Anyone who could actually drag a person from one place to another would have to have one hell of a will. Not like iron, but like… diamonds. Strong.”

  “I thought as much,” Tobias said. With another nod, he walked away and left Wesley in peace for real that time.

  Now that he knew the general idea—in theory anyway—his next act of business was to figure out why someone would be so “despotically desperate” to try and drag Tobias, of all people, to them.

  22

  The days following Dr. Helen Miller’s disappearance were a madhouse. She was a prominent and well-liked member of the community and her family had more affluence than some—and they were also well-liked and respected. Her brother, Mathias, Jr. (Thias for short) was on the Sparrow Falls town council. The mysterious death of her sister Analise had become something of an urban legend. The Greene family was known and because they were known, people noticed when Helen Miller disappeared. People were upset. She’d been treating the crazies of Sparrow Falls since she graduated with her doctorate degree and came back to hang up her shingle.

  Word of her car being found abandoned in the shallows of the Pearl River spread like wildfire from the local newspaper all the way to the television stations in New Orleans, Baton Rouge and Hattiesburg. People came with dogs and diving gear, boats buzzed up and down the river, search crews clogged the local eateries and the baying of dogs resounded through the woods around the river. The seconds, minutes, hours and days felt like one tense moment drawn out toward infinity in which Jeremy waited for the police to come knocking on his door. He had been a patient of Dr. Miller’s and he didn’t know if doctor-patient confidentiality still held when the doctor in question was not present and accounted for. They didn’t know if she was dead though and that might be holding them up; without a body, they had little to go on, after all. If they snooped in her patient files and it turned out she wasn’t dead, the authorities would be in for a world of hurt with multiple lawsuits once she returned.

  Jeremy watched Mr. Greene on the five o’clock news one day a week after Dr. Helen’s disappearance. The man was pleading for his daughter’s safe return if someone had her then he pleaded for Helen to please call home if she had disappeared herself. He said, “Baby, if you’re in some kind of trouble, call me and your mama. Let us help you.”

  The old man’s heart didn’t really seem to be in it though. It was like he already knew better and he probably did. Helen Miller was not irresponsible, she didn’t get into trouble of any sort. As far as Jeremy knew, she lived a normal, clean life with no real extravagances or vices. Maybe she had a glass of wine with her dinner, but he’d have bet good money that she stopped with one glass; two at the most. She wasn’t a druggie. She didn’t have a gambling habit.

  Dr. Helen Miller was a good person and an upstanding citizen.

  It was why Jeremy expected the police to start looking at her patient records any day now because foul play was suspected. Cars didn’t just end up in the river for the hell of it, especially not cars that were otherwise undamaged and didn’t have a body in them. The tracks in the sand to the water’s edge had been straight, no weaving whatsoever (Jeremy regretted not dolling that up a little bit, honestly). The Jaguar hadn’t sustained any other kind of damage to suggest that maybe Dr. Helen got loaded and went for a joyride.

  To anyone just looking and not thinking coply thoughts on the matter, it appeared as though she had very deliberately driven her car into the river far enough that the water would have been around knee-deep when she stood up. Her shoes were found in the backseat, as though she had taken them off and set them aside. There were no footprints in the sand, but that meant nothing. She could have swam across the river to the grassy shore on the other side and just… disappeared (that was exactly how Jeremy did it). It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing a person had ever done, not just in Sparrow Falls, but anywhere. Sometimes people simply snapped and that was all there was to it.

  One of the detectives on the case took Mr. Greene’s place and offered to answer a few questions. One of the reporters asked the obvious: “Do you have any suspects, Detective Tageant?”

  “Not at this time,” Tageant said. He was a tall, handsome Creole man with thick, reddish brown curls cropped close to his head. He ran his hand over them once then realized what a nervous gesture that was and stopped before he finished the pass. “We’re exploring a few lines of inquiry, but I’m sorry to say we have nothing concrete at the moment.”

  “Have you questioned anyone at all?”

  “Yes,” Tageant said. “A couple of people, but there’s been nothing promising.”

  “What about her ex-husband?”

  Tageant frowned at the reporter who asked the question and Jeremy wondered why. Of course they would know about Helen Miller’s ex-husband, brother of the late Josephine Miller. Josephine’s mutilated body had been found dragged halfway into the forest and torn to shreds. The mainstream media hadn’t gotten hold of that information initially; Sparrow Falls kept its secrets far too well for much to escape the fishbowl of silence that most of the town and outlying rural communities swam around in. But Jeremy would bet they knew now and before they could start asking questions about the dick-faced upstart that had tried to best him at his own ga
me Jeremy clicked off the TV.

  He needed to move, needed to do something. Since the night he buried Dr. Helen in the barn, wrapped in a sheet like a mummy, he’d stayed in the house and brooded. Mooncricket had taken to keeping his distance from him, made wary by Jeremy’s strange mood. He’d learned the hard way that when Jeremy was in a shitty frame of mind he was more likely to get hit. It didn’t matter how hard Jeremy tried not to do it, he still failed some of the time. He had not hit Mooncricket in a while, hadn’t touched him in anger a single time since the night he kicked him for bugging him about a damn missing lighter.

  The thought left a nasty taste in Jeremy’s mouth and a churning in his gut as he got up to go seek out his little Mooncricket. Maybe they could go out and do… something vague. Jeremy wasn’t big into Out of the House Experiences, so he was a little unsure what the protocol was unless it was going to see a band play. He’d already decided weeks ago that he wouldn’t take Mooncricket out to a show like that though. Shows were for hunting, not date night with the boyfriend and that was exactly what Mooncricket had become. Jeremy had only meant to fuck him for a little while then ditch him again—maybe even make an offering out of him—but he liked Mooncricket. He wasn’t always sure why he liked him, but it didn’t change the fact he did.

  Mooncricket was sitting on the floor of Jeremy’s studio flipping through one of his sketchbooks. When he heard Jeremy come into the room he flinched like he’d been burned and closed the sketchbook immediately. Then he laid it on the floor and pushed it away from himself with the tips of his fingers.

  “Right, I didn’t see a thing,” Jeremy said. He walked into the room and picked up the sketchbook.

  Mooncricket stayed on the floor, legs still crossed Indian fashion as he looked up at him, big tanzanite blue eyes dark with worry.