Blood Legacy: Adult Urban Fantasy (The V V Inn Book 5)

by C. J. Ellisson

  “A wizard doesn’t have that issue. We’re only limited by the knowledge we possess. Occasionally an air witch will hire a wizard more proficient in water magic to get a specific job done. But I’ll be honest, they don’t hire us much as they can normally find an expert in another element right in their own coven.”

  Dria sits on the couch, near the wizard’s chair. “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘never turn a witch’?”

  The young wizard contemplates her question before answering. “No—what’s it mean? Never turn them into a… what, a frog?” He shakes his head. “That doesn’t seem very clear.”

  “Never mind, just wondered. Could a witch call up these ancient creatures—the invunche and the hombre gato?”

  “I don’t know. But if a wizard could, I bet they could, too. On the whole, they don’t really like to share knowledge with us—like I said, too many think the use of magic by people not born with the gift is ‘bad,’ and that’s a crock of shit.”

  “Well, a witch was the first victim. Maybe we should try and talk to the local coven.”

  “The local coven?” the wizard says with raised eyebrows. “Try the half-dozen local covens. This city is a hot bed for the supernatural.”

  “If that’s the case, then why are we surprised creatures are appearing out of thin air and killing people?”

  “Whoa now—did you say the invunche you saw came out of thin air? That sounds very odd. Not like he came through via thinning of the barrier, near where the imbalanced spell was worked. The legend said the invunche were guards to a wizard’s cave. Maybe since we’re not in caves anymore the creature hides near the wizard’s home? Like in alleys and doorways. Where did you guys say you found it?”

  “In an alley, off of Nine de Julio Avenue.”

  “Hmm… I know a wizard who lives in that area. I wouldn’t think he’d create an invunche to protect his spell lab, but anything is possible.”

  Jon raises a hand to halt the conversation. “Am I the only one who doesn’t know what the hell he means by ‘thinning of the barrier’?”

  “It refers to the imbalance we spoke of before. If the imbalance is not corrected, then the barrier between our world and ‘beyond’ is thin, allowing whatever’s on the other side to pass into our world.”

  “What’s in the ‘beyond’?” Jon asks.

  Justin shrugs. “I don’t even know if that part is true. It’s just something I remember from my training. We’ve already established I’ve never felt an imbalance when I’ve worked a spell, so maybe I’m not the best person you should be talking to.”

  “Give us the name of the wizard who works near Nine de Julio.”

  He snorts. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. So you can charge over there and question the guy? It may be him—there’s no certainty, and I sure as hell won’t be the whistleblower that got the guy in hot water for no reason.”

  “All right then, let’s try a different track. Is he the same one you know who uses animal blood in his rituals for payment?”

  “No, he isn’t. That’s Bart, short for Bartholomew. He’s older than me. Not sure by how much. He knew my mother.”

  “Your mom? She’s a wizard, too?”

  “Was. She got me started on the path when we moved here from the States, taught me most of what I know. She died six years ago.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. Is it common for wizards to pass on knowledge to family members?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. Can’t vouch for what others do, only what my mom did. She was a practicing Wiccan for years. But only when we moved here did she get involved with strong magic. Before that, she’d created a few herbal potions and tinctures, not ‘real’ magic, if you know what I mean. Once she discovered how to control real magic, through intricate rituals and payment of blood, she was like a sponge, absorbing everything she came into contact with on the subject.”

  “And how did she die?” Dria asks, concern in her voice. “She couldn’t have been too old.”

  “She wasn’t. We think a spell backfired. Officially the police ruled it as a kitchen fire.”

  “How horrible! Was she your only family?”

  “In the area, yes. I haven’t seen my brothers or father for almost two decades.” He shrugs, clearly accepting of the loss after so many years. “Wouldn’t even know where to start looking for them.”

  “Where does Bart live? We’d like to talk to him about his magic and see if there’s even a slight imbalance when he casts.”

  After much back and forth, reassuring him we weren’t going in to kill the old guy, Justin finally gives us both addresses—Bart’s and the one to the wizard who lives near where we saw the invunche.

  My wife raises another topic before we leave. “One last thing—we want to hire you.”

  Surprise crosses the wizard’s face. “Me? Why?”

  “You can make a tracking spell, right?”

  “Yes, practically in my sleep. Who do you need to track?”

  “Do you really need to ask? The same person we asked you to arrange a meeting with: Rolando. Rafe hasn’t seen him enter or leave the Tribunal in the past weeks and we need to find him.”

  “Do I want to know what you’ll do to him when you find him?”

  Dria’s face shuts down. “No. You don’t.”

  Justin sighs. “Normally I wouldn’t take a job like this. I find it much safer to stay out of personal vampire feuds. But…” he drags the word out. “I owe you after the shit Coraline pulled with using me to abduct you. Don’t tell anyone in the Tribunal I did this for you, okay? I’d rather not piss off my best client.”

  She nods once, agreeing to his request. “How much?”

  “Would you consider an ounce of blood?”

  “Whose?”

  “Yours.”

  “Done.” She extends her hand for a shake. No doubt or hesitancy when she agrees. “I’ll give you the ounce when we find Rolando.”

  “Fair enough. Give me your cell number. I’ll get started on the spell and call you when it’s ready.”

  We travel to Bartholomew’s and stand silently on the empty street for a few minutes. Before we left, Justin gave a final suggestion to try listening near the older wizard’s home, using the same senses that ‘heard’ his ward spells near the Tribunal. It’s a stretch and we aren’t sure the idea has any merit, but Dria did sense the invunche before we saw it, so we give it a shot.

  All three of us stand on the sidewalk, looking like we’re waiting for a sign from God. It’s days like this I wonder what the hell we’re doing with our lives.

  When we finally ring the man’s doorbell, it’s near midnight, and I think we’re all a little frazzled. Probably me the most. A short, stout, wrinkled man opens the door. Thick glasses perch on the end of his nose, and he’s wearing mismatched clothes with clashing patterns. I’d say he reminded me of Mr. Magoo, but he has a more important air about him, despite his shabby appearance.

  Before any of us can say hello to the round little fellow, a laugh bubbles up my chest and spills out. Dria shoots me a glare, and Jon raises an eyebrow while I stifle my amusement at looming over the frail old man.

  “Can I help you?” the man asks in a heavily accented voice, a loud sniff of insult aimed my way. He sounds like he could have lived or grown up in Russia or one of the newer Slavic nations.

  “Are you Bartholomew?” my wife asks him.

  “Yes. Bart for short. What’s this about? Are you looking to hire?”

  Quick on her toes, my wife replies. “Yes, we are. We’d like to ask you a few questions first, may we come in?”

  “You think I’m inviting a vampire, a werewolf, and a rude, large human into my home who I don’t know? You’ve got another think coming.”

  This time Jon laughs. Glad it’s not just me having a hard time keeping it together.

  “Dude,” he nudges me. “He called you rude and large. Nailed it in one!”

  I resist the urge to shove Jon. It’s difficult, but I ma
nage.

  Dria extends her hand in greeting. “I apologize for the intrusion and any fear our appearance may be causing. We’ve been referred to you by a wizard named Justin, who has done extensive work for the Tribunal of Ancients.” The older man takes her hand and shakes. “We came by to ask for your expert advice on ritual magic, blood payment, and a possible magic imbalance from various causes.”

  Bart looks up and down the street, a nervous look on his face. “So, no job, eh? Come in, come in.” He stands aside and ushers us in. “I try not to talk about this kind of stuff within earshot of a neighbor. Wouldn’t want to give them a reason to hate me even more. Even though it is late enough that most of them are asleep. ”

  We enter his cramped dwelling, making me wish immediately we were back outside in the clear night air. Choking incense fills the small cluttered space. I feel like a bull in a china shop, one wrong move and I’ll knock over a glass jar or run into a piece of furniture. Bookshelves and flat surfaces full of items covered in dust make my nose twitch worse than the overpowering odor.

  Jon sneezes. “Man, that’s a lot of patchouli you’ve got going on in here.”

  The small man doesn’t respond, but rushes past us to another room deeper in. “Come in, come in. The kitchen is where I prefer to do business.”

  We follow him to a room that doesn’t look like it’s in the same house—bright, airy, open, organized, and the air smells clean and odor free. If I hadn’t walked the short distance myself, I’d swear it was two different homes.

  “The front room is a decoy, isn’t it?” Dria asks. “Nice illusion.”

  Bart nods and climbs up onto a high stool next to the kitchen island. “It works wonders at helping to preserve the doddering old-man persona. Most guests leave within a few minutes, overwhelmed by the clutter and stink.”

  “Smart.” Dria joins him at the counter, taking the only other stool. Jon and I exchange a glance and remain near the doorway.

  “If I didn’t know better,” she says, “I’d say this was a witch’s home.”

  Bart bobs his head, glancing around at the copper pots and row upon row of books. “Yes, it would easily pass. They might not admit it, but witches and wizards are like cousins in the same family.” He sniffs again, this time in derision. “Although they make us feel like dirty whores for taking jobs they deem beneath them.” He motions around him. “Magic is magic—whether you have it in your blood, or you study for years and learn to harness that which is not freely given.”

  “Speaking of work—you’re still a wizard for hire? I would have thought after a time you’d retire.”

  “Hmph. You sound like the local coven. Retiring means dying.” He looks her hard in the eye. “What would happen to you if you stopped taking blood?”

  “Are you saying your magic keeps you alive, like blood for a vampire?”

  “Not really the same way, but after a fashion, yes. When I use magic, it enters me, too. Preserving the shell of my body a little longer. I’m one hundred and forty-seven years old. Don’t look it, do I?”

  Jon coughs, a sure sign he’s going to say something he probably shouldn’t. “If you mean you don’t look dead, then no, you don’t. But dude, you look wicked old.”

  “That’s enough helping, Jon, thanks,” Dria says. “How about I talk with Bart for now?”

  Jon looks at the floor, clearly annoyed at being chastised.

  “So you keep working to have a longer life—got it. When did you start using animal blood instead of your own?”

  His face scrunches up. “Damn Justin. He told you that part too, eh?” He folds his arms over his chest, and slumps. “He’ll see what it’s like someday… to lose…”

  “Yes?” my wife prompts, eagerness in her tone that we might be getting somewhere.

  He shakes his head, a faraway look on his face. “When you do too much magic, when you don’t shore up your soul and sense of self… well… eventually your blood isn’t enough payment. You’ve diluted it with your greed. Then, you have to seek purer blood, blood untainted by magic usage. I use animal blood because I refuse to harvest from humans like they used to do in the old days.”

  “I would think such a practice would be frowned on nowadays.”

  “Oh it is, you bet your pretty little head it is. But that doesn’t mean someone, somewhere, isn’t doing it.”

  “Do you think another wizard in the city is using human blood to pay the price? And if they were, would that cause an imbalance?”

  “Ahh… so that’s where you’re going with this. You think a magical imbalance could have caused the recent killings I’ve seen in the news. Now that’s a thought, young lady. Normally I’d have said no, especially if you’re looking my way,” he says with a wink. “But there have been a lot of strange things seen lately.”

  This is the first we’ve heard of seeing strange things, and Dria leans forward in anticipation. “Sightings like what?”

  Bart looks under his bushy eyebrows at her, well aware he’s got her on the hook now. “I heard of a witch beaten to death. My first thought would have been one of your lot,” he gestures to Jon, “but the witches who found her were positive it wasn’t a Were. And honestly, I wasn’t sure they were barking up the right tree.” He looks to Jon and grins. “Pun not intended. It doesn’t take a supe to beat someone to death. Just strength.”

  “Agreed,” my wife says, her expression showing deep thought. “That was the first murder, as far as we know, but not a sighting like you mentioned a moment ago. Did the witches see something and tell you?”

  “That’s not my story to tell, you should ask them direct. Here,” he says, grabbing a scrap of paper and jotting down a name and address. “This is the name of a witch I’m glad to call a friend. She’s the one who helped me perfect my formula for using animal blood over my own.”

  “And how did she do that?”

  “I use blood purchased from the butcher over in Monserrat. The animals die for a use, rather than being wasted to serve only as fuel for a spell, but because of that, the ‘weight’ or value of their collected blood isn’t strong enough to be a true payment. If I infuse the blood with certain herbs, add blessed water, and perform chants of power, the blood becomes something more. It transforms into exactly what I need it to be: payment for a spell, with no life lost.”

  “Why don’t the witches utilize the practice for their spells, too? Why would they need to hire a wizard?”

  “Some witches do—or else I never would have had one who could teach me. But it’s harder than it sounds. I made the ritual sound easy, in reality it’s quite time consuming, taking a few days to complete. And most magic users want instant results. Even witches. If they have the contact and can get a wizard to do a task for less or faster than what they would charge, they’ll do it.”

  Dria looks down at the paper in her hand. “Gwendolyn will talk to us? And it’s not too late to see her tonight?”

  “Yes. I’ll call her when you leave so she can expect to hear from you.”

  My wife rises from her seat, extending a hand to Bart. “You’ve been a terrific help. Thank you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Jon

  We hustle out of the strange little man’s stinky house and make our way to the car. I’d offer to drive, but one look at Rafe’s face tells me there’s no way he’d agree. Man, he’s looking tense and anxious. Too bad the basement apartment of ours is so tiny, I’m sure the couple could use some alone time to work off that stress.

  Who am I kidding? If they decide they need to rip their clothes off to release stress and sexual tension, they will, whether I’m behind a paper thin wall or not. I swear, it’s like they’ve got no respect for the sidekick.

  My mind drifts to Candy and our last night together. She was so sexy and carefree with stating her desires. It’s refreshing to be with a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it.

  And yet, I’m risking it all by dabbling with Magda to possibly learn how to
half-shift. Could I forgive Candy if the shoe was on the other foot?

  Dria opens her car door and slips into the front seat, tension vibrating from her body. If I had to wager a guess, I’d say she’s bottling up a lot of frustration over our inability to find Rolando on our own, and this current distraction of figuring out who is responsible these killings isn’t helping.

  “Do you really think it’s possible someone is behind these murders or could they be more random?” I ask the couple when I join them in the car. “This whole magical imbalance crap seems rather convenient.”

  Rafe pulls away from the curb while answering, “Finding the right connection is what we need to do. So far, we’ve got two South American mythological creatures who sprang into being and started killing people—for no apparent reason. Or a reason we’re still unaware of.” The car speeds down the silent streets. “Were those people targets or victims of bad luck?” He takes multiple turns, not needing a map since the two know the city so well.

  “I vote for a killer behind the deaths,” I say, happy to play devil’s advocate.

  “I think it’s this magical imbalance we’ve heard of,” Vivian says.

  “Really? And these things just poofed into existence?”

  “We saw it ‘poof’ into existence, Jon,” Vivian says, irritation showing in her tone. “And then kill. Were they summoned by a spell? Did the victims have an item on them that made them a target?”

  I edge forward in the backseat to angle myself closer to the couple in front. “So either way, we’re thinking the deaths are related to magic, right? No chance it could be another supernatural occurrence, like a curse has been triggered, or a bunch of individual incidents?”

  “All happening within the tight timeframe of a few days?” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t make sense. I know we’ve got at least two different causes of death for four victims. Rafe is right, the next logical step is to discern how they’re related.”

  “A curse?” Rafe asks. “That thought never occurred to me. A magical curse put in place, who knows when, and recently triggered? What do you think, liebling?”