Our Lady of the Various Sorrows (Voices of the Dead Book 2)

by Victoria Raschke

“I haven’t told anyone else. Not really. I can’t think about him being torn into nothingness. And Milo. I haven’t seen his shade since that night. I don’t know if that thing got his soul, too, or if he found his door, or if he’s just out there wandering around.”

  “Jo, your father’s soul, or spirit, could not be destroyed by a demon. This is superstitious nonsense. He is probably with the lost. Milo I do not know about, but I can find out.”

  She really needed a chair.

  Chapter 17

  Veronika struggled with the Latin; it was archaic even by Latin standards. The spell promised searing pain to the recipient. Pain would have to do, for now. The spells to kill were beyond her abilities and required things she couldn’t, or didn’t want, to get. And, besides, the drawings of the fatal spells made her insides crawl. Magic was a lot harder than wand-waving and saying made-up words out loud.

  She spoke the words, the best she could, over the bowl. The viscous liquid, filled with graveyard dirt and the rust scraped off iron nails, stiffened against the spoon and crystalized before shattering into a fine ochre dust. The instructions warned to be careful with this powder, as it carried the power of the emotions she had focused into the spell. Breathing it in would cause her the same pain as the intended target.

  She tipped the contents of the bowl onto a piece of waxed paper and slowly folded the edges together until the dust was sealed inside. She slipped the makeshift envelope into a black silk bag she’d gotten from Avgusta and tucked the bag into her backpack. Now she’d have to wait until Tuesday and their regular night at Renegade Tea.

  A knock at the door startled her. She covered her makeshift altar with a black cloth and slid it back under the bed. The room smelled like her magic and incense, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. Her aunt thought she burned it to cover up the smell of pot smoke or cigarettes. She plopped back on the bed and opened a book she was supposed to be reading for class. She grabbed her headphones off the side table and draped them over her shoulders.

  “Come in.” Her words and the second knock met each other in the air.

  The door opened a crack, and her sister Ana poked her face in. “Aunt Olga asked if you wanted any dinner.”

  “Sure.” She unwound the headphones and set them with the book back onto the side table. “Are we having anything good?”

  “Pasta. With cream sauce. Oh, and salad.”

  “That’s fancy.”

  Ana opened the door wider. She looked down at the floor near the bed and then back up at Veronika. “I asked for it special.”

  Shit. Was it Ana’s birthday? How could she forget that?

  “I thought it might cheer you up.” Ana looked down at her feet again.

  “That was nice of you.” She stood up and straightened the edge of the duvet. Working for Avgusta had made her a neat freak about her own stuff, too. “Let’s go eat.”

  Ana smiled up at her and turned to walk back down the hall to the kitchen.

  Veronika moved her backpack next to the bed in front of where her altar was hidden in the shadows. Had Ana been poking around in her room again?

  ——

  Jo pulled a brush through her hair. It didn’t make much difference; her mane had a mind of its own, and it wanted to be free. She was never one to change clothes multiple times before going out, but she had stood in front of her wardrobe far longer than usual, trying to decide what to wear on her “date” with Matjaž. She didn’t want to look like she’d dressed to impress, but she also didn’t want to look like she was going for impenetrable nun’s habit.

  After some thought, she pulled on her worn-thin Nick Cave tour shirt, a black skirt, and a heavy black cardigan. It was pretty much her uniform and a guarantee they wouldn’t end up someplace fancy and romantic. She was 100 percent okay with that.

  There was a light knock at the front door. Matjaž had texted to say he would swing by her place since he was going to be at the library doing research anyway. She wasn’t thrilled about having him in her apartment, but if he could get into her building it was a good indication he was, as Dušan had said, benign. She smoothed the skirt flat with her palms and opened the inner and outer doors of her entryway closet to let Matjaž in. He’d made it past the wards Goran set on the courtyard entrance. That was something.

  She smiled a hello and waved Matjaž into the flat. He reflexively ducked even though he wasn’t as tall as Leo and was in no danger of grazing his scalp on her door. Spending a lot of time in very old buildings probably meant he’d banged his forehead on low lintels more than a time or two.

  “I brought you these.” He handed her a small nosegay of hothouse flowers, an arrangement of subtle ecrus and yellows bound with a heavy, cream-colored ribbon.

  “Thank you.” She reflexively brought them to her face, knowing they would smell of nothing, like most commercial flowers. She pulled back in surprise. They carried the scents of old leather and freshly mown grass and something she couldn’t quite identify. It was a heady combo. “Wow. They smell really nice.”

  “I hadn’t noticed, but I’m glad you like them.”

  She did, but it was an unexpected gesture. He watched while she rummaged through the cupboard under her sink to produce a short vase for the blooms. “Shall we?”

  “What did you have in mind?” His eyes were so much like Helena’s. And come to think of it, they reminded her of Dušan’s pretend-people eyes as well. The thought made her a little dizzy.

  “I didn’t. I am hungry, though.” Lunch hadn’t happened. Food had been the farthest thing from her mind after her morning with Dušan and his revelations.

  “Do you know about the job training restaurant? I thought maybe we could have dinner there.” His gaze didn’t waver as he spoke to her, and it flustered her. She needed food; her blood sugar must have been low.

  “We hired our new dishwasher from there.” Was her head nodding a lot or was she imagining that?

  “If you’ve been, we could…”

  “No, that’s great. They have good specials.” She grabbed her coat and motioned that she’d follow him out. Her hands were noticeably shaking as she locked the door. Was she nervous about being alone with Matjaž? The stupid bird hex had been destroyed by Goran. She could make her own decisions, right?

  “I have to say I was surprised to get your phone call.” Matjaž poured more wine into Jo’s glass.

  The restaurant was small and relatively quiet on a weeknight. Each table glowed with a candle in the dim light. Her dinner companion’s face looked more angular in the shadows.

  “It was the middle of the night.” She feigned chagrin.

  “There was that. But I’ve had the distinct impression you’ve been avoiding me.” He took a sip of wine.

  “I haven’t been … okay. Yes, I have been avoiding you. I promised you an explanation.” She placed her knife and fork at the top of her plate and pushed it a few inches away.

  He didn’t look hurt by her confession.

  “I … you … Helena was your sister. You’re her brother.”

  “I am aware of my relationship to Helena.” He smiled. He was trying to make this easier on her, but his charm offensive only made it harder to let him down.

  “It’s just that it seems wrong to me.” She didn’t want to bring up Helena and Faron. Matjaž didn’t know, and she didn’t want to speak ill of the dead, at least not to the dead’s brother. “And now we are in business together.”

  “I admire your ethics, but we aren’t business partners. I’m a contractor, and technically the contract is with Olga and Gregor.” Were his eyes actually twinkling in the candlelight? What the hell was wrong with her?

  “Still. The brother-sister thing.”

  “If it’s any consolation, Helena would not have given that a second thought. As I mentioned, she thought you and I were more suited.”

 
“Yes. She has made that abundantly clear.” Shit.

  “What?” A shadow passed over his face, and any trace of twinkling in his eyes disappeared.

  Jo put her face in her hands. This was going to be way more of a confession than she had intended. “I think we need to go somewhere more private to finish this conversation.”

  He nodded and went to the counter to pay the check. He ushered her into her coat and out onto the cobblestone street between the gutters full of gray and brown slush.

  “I’d offer to make you coffee at my place, but I doubt you’re up for the drive to Škofja Loka.”

  “My place is fine and much closer.” She started off back toward the center.

  They walked along the river in silence. When they got to the Triple Bridge, she looked down into the icy waters of the Ljubljanica. Her trip into the mountains had made her realize that no matter what she felt about Achelous’ actions at the museum the night he’d scarred her chest, he had saved her and Faron from a demon. She had planned to make an offering to him on her return, but things had gotten complicated fast. It was still on her to-do list.

  Matjaž followed her up the steps to her flat, his footfalls echoing up through the courtyard as a counterpoint to hers. He stood close enough to her as she opened the door that she could feel his body heat. They took their wet shoes off in the closet entryway, and she offered him a pair of felt slippers. Slovenians feared cold feet and drafts more than they feared the Devil himself.

  He sat on her futon while she made coffee. She could feel his eyes follow her through the kitchen. It made her uncharacteristically nervous, and her hands shook again as she poured coffee from the ibrik into two cups. She crossed the small room and handed him one of the cups.

  He moved his hand, and she sat next to him on the futon and turned to face him. “Sorry, my place isn’t very cozy.”

  “It’s very …”

  “White?” She laughed.

  “I was going to say Spartan, but it is also very white.”

  “I spend most of my time at the teahouse.” Or she had before this hiatus.

  He nodded, and his expression settled into something more serious. “So, are you going to tell me why you referred to Helena in the present tense at the restaurant?”

  “Can I ask you a few questions first?”

  “I didn’t realize that’s how confessions worked.” He smiled again, but it didn’t go all the way up to his eyes.

  “It isn’t. Or at least I don’t think it is. I don’t know much about actual confessions.” She set her coffee cup on the deep window sill behind the futon. “How much do you know about your family?”

  “I assume more than you.” He was puzzled now, but there also was an inkling of realization behind his eyes.

  “I assume so, too. But I think I know a couple things you don’t.”

  He set his coffee cup on the sill next to hers. “I think I know where this is going, and I don’t think I like it.”

  “I can’t say I do, either.” She looked down at her hands. They were folded neatly in her lap, and they had stopped shaking.

  He was studying her face. “Did you know Helena was a witch?”

  Jo didn’t flinch. “Not until this morning. Did you know Helena’s spirit hasn’t crossed, and she is hanging around as my spirit guide?”

  He flung himself back against the futon, splayed his arms across the back, and looked up at the ceiling. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Her “no” sounded very small, even in the tiny flat.

  He took a deep breath, still looking at the ceiling and decidedly not at her. “And you? You’re a witch, too, aren’t you?”

  “Not exactly.”

  He looked at her then without any of the softness she usually saw in his face. “Not exactly?”

  “I’m a Vox de Mortuis. And a Portal.”

  It was his turn to bury his face in his hands. “Jo Wiley, you are in a great deal of danger.”

  Chapter 18

  Jo stared at Matjaž. “You know about Voices and Portals?”

  “Yes. And I know what happens to them when they bring someone back from the Inbetween or the Next.” He looked at her and laid his hand on the side of her face.

  “So you know about your father and all that?”

  He nodded. “And I had hoped to put all that behind me, but it seems we cannot escape who we are.”

  “Truth.” She took his hand and moved it from her face to her lap where she held it in both of hers. “Do you understand now why I avoided you?”

  He nodded. “You thought you were protecting me.” Realization dawned on his face. “And that’s why you told me you knew Helena was okay at the funeral.” He frowned. “I was awful to you about that.”

  “Please don’t apologize again.” She was torn between preferring a clueless Matjaž she could pretend to avoid for his own good and an in-the-know Matjaž who didn’t need to be protected from anything.

  “I take it from your earlier comment my sister has been ‘encouraging’ you to see me.”

  She nodded.

  “I’m surprised you finally called. You don’t seem to bend much to pressure.”

  She laughed. “Your sister is single-minded and relentless.”

  He didn’t laugh. “I don’t think it’s my sister you need to worry about.”

  “Dušan mentioned as much.”

  “Wait, Dušan?” Another flash of realization. “Holy fuck, Dušan Črnigad. Dušan the black viper. Why had I never realized that?”

  “Of course. Belak, the white to the black. Wait, does this mean you and Faron are related?”

  He did laugh then. “No. The white and black gods are each other’s shadows, but they are not brothers. Well, not really.”

  “You should know, Helena and Faron had a thing, too.”

  He didn’t look surprised. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize Mother had so much sway over her.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Since my father was killed, my mother has been hell bent for leather to resurrect him or to have one of us, Helena or me, take his place. Neither of us wanted the gig, so Mother came up with seemingly infinite schemes to make something happen. It’s part of why she and I are barely on speaking terms.”

  “That explains a lot. Dušan thought maybe Helena was trying to get pregnant by Faron.” Saying it out loud made her shudder.

  “It’s possible. It’s probably why she’s so keen for the two of us to get together. If Helena can’t produce a Belak heir by a Wiley, then maybe I could.”

  Jo laughed. “It never came up with Helena.”

  “What never came up?”

  “I can’t have any more children. I mean I wouldn’t want to, but I can’t. There were complications after Faron’s birth, and without going into gory detail …”

  “So much for that plan.”

  “Yeah.” She leaned back against the futon and closed her eyes, Matjaž’s hand still clasped in hers in her lap.

  “Does this mean you would reconsider?”

  She opened her eyes. “Reconsider what?” He was much closer on the futon, his face inches from hers.

  Jo sat up and put her hand on his chest. “Matjaž, it isn’t only Helena and Faron and all that white god, black god stuff.” She took a deep breath. The physical attraction was still there, but now there was Leo and the business with Henry to be finished. At some point in her old age, she was probably going to regret turning him down, but things in her life were already too complicated.

  Matjaž leaned back against the futon again. “Our moment’s passed, hasn’t it?”

  She nodded. “I think so. If it’s any consolation, I’m disappointed, too.”

  “Does this at least mean we can be friends now, and you’ll stop avoiding me?” He took her hand again, but the temperature of
his skin was noticeably different. “Your hands are like ice.”

  She shrugged. “I think we are more than friends. ‘Allies’ might be a more appropriate term.”

  “I’ll take that.” He sat up on the edge of the futon. “I should go.”

  She got up and took their cups to the kitchen. A wall of scent from the flowers on the table knocked her back. She was dizzy again, and her hands trembled as she placed the mugs in the sink.

  “Matjaž, where did you get the flowers?” The scent she couldn’t put her finger on had become the strongest of the smells. It was rapping its knuckles against the inside of her skull.

  “An old woman was selling them along the river between here and the library.”

  She plucked them from the vase, dripping water across the table and floor. “I think you should take them with you. I think you got more than you bargained for.” Her knees went wobbly.

  Matjaž was up and grabbed her by the waist to keep her from hitting the floor like a sack of potatoes. “You okay?”

  “No. The flowers. There’s something in them.”

  He took them away from her and smelled them himself. “They smell like flowers … and, shit, like my mother’s studio.”

  “I’m guessing your mother doesn’t throw pots in her ‘studio.’ ”

  “No.” He stood next to her, the flowers still in hand, away from both their faces.

  “It doesn’t make you woozy? The smell?” Her insides turned to custard, and she had butterflies in her stomach. The good kind, and all the warmth that spread through her chest and nethers with those particular flutters. As nice as the feeling was, it was distinctly separate from what she wanted. Apparently, the wards kept out bad people and shades but not bad things.

  “No. I think that was for you. Maybe to make you more receptive–”

  “If you tried to seduce me?” She laughed.

  “Something like that.” He didn’t laugh. “I don’t want to leave you like this, but I need to get these out of here. You should probably go to bed, alone, and sleep it off.”

  “You should throw them in the river. Vesna said that’s how Goran ended the bird hex.” She needed to sit down.