by Sonya Clark
We went to his home office. I ignored the files to stare at the white board. “I never saw anything like this in real life. Just, you know, movies and TV.”
“Yeah. Guess I got a little.” He left it hanging in the air.
I picked it up. “Obsessed?”
“I thought she was asking me for help.”
“She was.” I crossed my arms over my chest, the poppet still in one hand. “He may have her bound but she wants free. If he did send her to you, looking to bring me back to town, I’d be willing to bet she saw it as an opportunity to get help.”
“It’s strange to think of a ghost as being able to think and feel.” He shook his head, breathing out a long sigh. “So what are we looking for?”
“Two murders, four questions. Who killed Britney Parker and why? Who killed Martin Holt and why?”
“Holt was killed because he falsified the autopsy report. We figure out who paid him to do it, we’ll know who killed him.”
“It’s probably the same person who killed Britney, but not necessarily. There’s no way for me to know if magic was used to kill her but it was definitely used to kill Holt. Which puts Andrew at the top of the suspect list.”
“You really believe Andrew when he said he didn’t kill Britney?”
I sat cross-legged on the floor, the poppet in front of me. “It seemed like this idea of continuing his magical family line was pretty important. He wanted control of her baby.” I began to carefully pick apart the poppet, laying the pieces to the side.
“That supposed to be me?” I nodded. He said, “Is it a good idea for you to be doing that? I’m not gonna fall apart, am I?”
“I would be able to feel it if there were any magic running through it. He just wanted to scare me. The thing we have to worry about is Daniel snacking on your blood. I want you to keep your distance until I talk to him. Then I gotta figure out what the hell’s going on with Stack.”
“This attack on him, whatever it is. Can it destroy him?”
That question had been in the back of mind since Stack appeared. All I had to go on was instinct. “I don’t think so. It might be possible for the link between us to be broken, but Stack isn’t a ghost or a demon. Exorcism probably wouldn’t work on him. I think he can be weakened, and the link between us interfered with, but I don’t think Andrew could destroy him.”
“Why is Andrew on your list of suspects but not Peggy? If they’re both practicing some kind of dark magic, wouldn’t they both be capable of all this?”
I considered that for a moment, not sure of how to answer. “I guess she just seems more like a victim to me, than an accomplice. I think Andrew sexually abused his daughter. Probably his granddaughter too.”
The combination of insanity and fragility I saw in Peggy’s eyes was what finally convinced me the suspected abuse had really happened. Even more so than the contents of Britney’s diary in the last collection of anonymously delivered pages. Her desperation to escape held the flavor of self-loathing that someone else had put there.
I didn’t want to think too much about that, lest it lead to thoughts too close to home. “I need to get back in that house.”
Ray gave me a dubious look. “Dinner and cocktails with Andrew? I don’t think so.”
“I was thinking more, we figure out a way to get everybody out of the house, then I get in and go looking for whatever he’s using to bind Britney’s ghost.”
“Let me talk to the mayor. He may be willing to smooth things over with my boss so I can bring Andrew and Peggy in for questioning. I bet that would bring the whole family down to the department in a flurry of righteous indignation.”
“Not to mention their lawyer.”
“I wouldn’t be able to give you long, but it might be long enough.”
“If you can do it right at dusk, I can have Daniel with me. That’ll make things go faster on my end.”
“I’ll talk to the mayor tomorrow night at the pageant. See what I can do about getting floor plans for the house. It’s on the county historical registry so there might be some records somewhere. How’s Monday night sound?”
I gathered the pieces of the poppet and rolled them into a ball. It would need cleansing and burning, the ashes scattered in running water. “Sounds good.”
“Okay. Let’s table discussion of the Parker family for the rest of the night and deal with our other issue.”
“What’s that?”
“I want you to move back to Blythe,” he said. “I want you back.”
Chapter 37
The convention center was slightly bigger than the high school gym, located between two motels that catered to fishing tourists. It took three hours and the last of Valerie’s white sage incense to bless and ward the place against spirits. I did such a good job, Daniel could barely stand being in the parking lot as we talked about his social life.
“I’m not saying you can’t go to the bars. I’m glad you’re making friends, really, I am. But somebody is slipping Ray’s blood into your drinks.” I kept my voice low, mindful of the families walking past us on their way inside.
“Don’t you think I would have tasted blood in my beer? Come on. That old man just wanted to scare you.”
“How much would it take? A drop or two in one drink, another drop or two in the next round. There’s been a lot of rounds, Bubba. You’re drinking a hell of a lot.”
Accusation twisted his features. “That’s what this is really all about. You don’t approve of my drinking.”
“Don’t give me bitch face. Just because it burns out of your system fast doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect you. Or the people around you.”
“You’re the one who’s being bitchy tonight. Have been all day. What’s your damn problem, Roxie? Because it’s not me and how much I drink.”
Someone called my name before I could turn his head into a flaming turnip. Over his shoulder I saw my cousin and her family, two girls dolled up in glittery pageant clothes and more makeup than I’d ever worn in my entire life. Trailing behind them was Nadine. Shit.
Daniel escaped while I was preoccupied.
“How are you, Roxie? I heard you were back.” Jessica didn’t offer a hug but rather a snide up and down appraisal of my faded jeans and old sweater.
“Fine. You?” Not that I really cared but I did occasionally still manage to mind my manners.
“Very well, thank you. We just renovated the kitchen and added on a sunroom. I’m sure as soon as you manage to get out of that trailer you’ll be excited to be doing your own home improvements.”
Bitch hadn’t changed a bit. “You bet. The trailer’s not big enough for the altar to Asmodeus of my dreams.”
Confusion dimmed the gleam in her eyes. The kids were staring at me, the little one in fear, the older one with a sneer. It might have been uncharitable to say so about kids but damn, they needed all the help cosmetics could give them.
The older one tugged on her mother’s arm. “Can we go? She smells weird.”
The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. I smelled like I’d been walking around in a cloud of sage for hours, which I had. All so this stupid pageant could go off without a hitch from the town ghost. Jessica mumbled something and left with her kids, the little one looking back at me over her shoulder. I winked, making her jump.
Nadine said, “You haven’t been by the house.”
I was in no mood for games. “I didn’t think I’d be welcome.”
“Your father would like to see you.”
“Maybe he should learn to use a phone and tell me so himself.”
“What has gotten in to you, speaking to me like this? To your cousin? We may not be close, Roxanne, but-’’
“But that’s the end of it. We’re not close. We’re never going to be close. You can’t stand the sight of me. I wasn’t the daughter you wanted, Jessica is, so go inside and cheer on her kids and pretend I don’t exist. You’ve gotten pretty damned good at that.”
“I could never pretend you d
on’t exist. What is this?”
“I lost my home! I nearly drowned. One phone call from you. One phone call. That’s all I ever heard from you. You sure as hell couldn’t be bothered to come see me, make sure I was okay. That I wasn’t sleeping in a shelter or on the street. As long as it wasn’t your house, you didn’t care where I was or what was happening to me.” Once the anger boiled over I was helpless to stop it. Things I’d been keeping a lid on for years threatened to come to the surface, old hurts and bad memories and all the resentment I’d built up.
The self-loathing in Britney I’d caught glimpses of in her diary was something I recognized. For her, it came from abuse and the charnel house of insanity that growing up in the Parker family must have been like. It manifested with promiscuity and substance abuse and no telling what all else she did to run from herself. Obliterate herself. The woman standing right in front of me taught me to hate myself. Because of that I’d run from my home, from the man I loved, from any sense of myself as a decent person worthy of respect. I wanted to scream at her, fling terrible wounding words as a sort of counter-curse to all the damage she’d done to me. I wanted her to know the pain I’d lived with, the pain of knowing that the one person who should always love you and protect you wanted nothing to do with me - I wanted her to know how it felt to have that carve jagged scars over your heart until you can’t even love yourself anymore, much less another person.
Nadine stared at me with her mouth hanging open and her eyes flashing. I’d never stood up to her, not once. Walked away plenty of times but never stood my ground and fought. In the movies this would have been the moment she began to respect me, see me in a new light. The reality was, she just looked disgusted. Nothing I said would ever make a difference. Years ago she had decided who I was and no one would ever be able to tell her different. As fast as it flared, the anger died. There was no sense wasting the energy, that much was clear.
“They’re waiting on you,” I said. “Just go.”
After one last scathing look she hurried away. I meandered through the parking lot, shell shocked. Unbelieving that I had worked up the wherewithal to speak to my mother like that. Ray’s truck was at the edge of the lot. He’d planned to talk to Mayor Carver tonight. He was probably already inside doing that very thing. I could find him, apologize for running out on him the night before. Apologize for running out on him years ago. Was there a statute of limitations for things like that? I owed Daniel an apology too, for taking out my bad mood on him.
I owed Blake an apology, for not being able to open my heart enough. For not loving him enough. Or maybe I didn’t owe him for that. I won’t be less than what I am. Not even for you. My words to him echoed in my thoughts. I’d meant them when I said them but it wasn’t until that moment, standing in the parking lot shivering, staring at Ray’s truck and still reeling from the venom I’d unloaded on my mother, that I really understood them. The days of running and hiding and telling myself lies were over. Running and hiding had done nothing to set me free. I carried my chains within me, everywhere I went.
It was time to break them, if I could figure out how.
I returned to where Daniel had parked the SUV, not sure if he’d still be there. He was, hunched down behind the wheel and sipping from a flask. Top forty country whined from the radio as I opened the door and climbed in.
“You must really feel like shit if you’re listening to that.”
“Girl, you have no idea.” He looked at me. “Well, maybe you got some idea. So what’s the plan for the evening? Patrol the parking lot with holy water and an EMF reader?”
“This place is sealed up tight. Britney’s not getting in.” I thought about my list of problems, wondering which one to tackle first. “I need to figure out what’s going on with Stack. Let’s go back to the house. Make some coffee. I’ll think out loud while you make fun of me. How’s that sound?”
He capped the flask and started the ignition. “I don’t get beauty pageants.”
“I don’t either.”
I turned off the radio as he pulled out of the parking lot. For a few minutes he hummed random snatches of music, then it turned into a specific song. Wayfaring Stranger was such an old ballad he would likely have known it when he could still walk in daylight. He had a habit of singing playfully, exaggerating his accent and just generally being silly. Every once in a while he’d drop the pretense and let his real voice shine through. It sounded like something out of time, imperfect, authentic, haunting. It suited the song like a hand in a glove.
We reached the lake house. As soon as he parked and I opened the door, the smell hit me. Rotting strawberries.
Daniel said, “What the hell is that?”
“Trouble.” I closed the passenger door and took off my glasses to see into the auric spectrum as best I could. No signs of orange and black or anything else.
Daniel climbed the porch and unlocked the house. “I learned a long time ago not to trust magic that smells bad.”
“Me too, Bubba,” I said quietly as I scanned the night. “Me too.”
Flares of red shouted into the spectrum as the door to the house swung open. I opened my mouth to scream, a large hand from behind cutting off the sound. A shotgun blast ripped open the dark, slamming into Daniel’s chest and sending him backward off the porch. I struggled against the arms that held me but they had help. A binding spell wrapped itself around me like psychic razor wire. A man stepped out of the house, a shotgun carried loose in his arms and a dead rose pinned to his jacket like a boutonniere. Peggy Parker followed, my old diary in her hands. With every step she ripped a page from it, leaving them scattered like leaves on the ground.
Daniel moaned. The man propped the shotgun against the porch and shifted a pack he carried on his back to open it, withdrawing a wooden stake. I screamed, fighting the spell that bound me more than the man whose hands held my arms. Cuts opened on my flesh as the invisible razor wire gripped tighter.
Peggy took the stake. The smell of rotten strawberries grew stronger as she gestured at Daniel’s prone form, manipulating his limbs into a spread eagle position. With a push of magic that felt like a kick to the stomach, she flung the stake at him. It pinned his left hand to the ground, through the palm. The burn of the wood tore a sound from him even worse than his rebel yells. Guttural. Feral. An animal trapped and in pain. He made the same sound each time as Peggy sent three more stakes into his limbs. The man with the pack withdrew a bag of blood, the kind used for donating. I didn’t need to be told whose it was. Peggy stood over Daniel, pouring the blood into his mouth until he choked. He tried to spit it out but his body needed it so badly with all the wounds. Instinct took over and he swallowed.
I struggled against the binding spell, lashing out with unfocused energy. All it did was make the barbs dig deeper into my skin.
The older witch stood before me, eyes dark and heavy lidded, mouth in a twisted smile. “I’ll not let him have you,” she said. “This ends tonight.”
Chapter 38
Peggy dragged me through the woods with just a gesture. Her men flanked us on the sides. The pungent smell of the lake grew stronger. Water. We were headed for the water. Panic clawed its way up my throat. It would take Daniel time to heal enough to get those stakes out of his body. Even once he did, would he come to my aid, or would the blood lust and his body’s needs drive him to find a meal? I didn’t want to think about what that bag of blood, and who it came from, might drive him to do.
I tried slowing my feet. The binding spell wrapped itself tighter, squeezing the breath from me. Wetness slicked my skin around the worst of the pain. Blood. I was bleeding from the incorporeal barbs created by the spell. Branches still devoid of growth snapped and bit as I was pushed through them. I tripped over something, hitting the ground hard. Sharp pain radiated from my knees up to my thighs and hips. A pair of hands tried to pull me up from behind. I fought, landing an elbow in soft flesh. A man cried out, then swore.
I had one foot on the ground and
was trying to push the other in place when someone hit me across the face. I tumbled backward, a stone digging into my back and my head ringing from the blow. Unable to see or think straight for a long moment, I lost momentum and was dragged up by the arms.
The water line got closer. Along this part of the lake shore there was no dock, no beach, no place people were likely to congregate, especially on a cool early spring night. Just woods and then water. Water higher than I was tall, and I wasn’t a strong swimmer. In fact I could barely swim at all, something I’d learned in the flood. I screamed for help I knew would not come, the sound of my voice tinny and flat. The older witch had placed some sort of muffling spell around us.
Indistinct shapes moved in the dark. My glasses were lost, probably when I wound up on the ground after being struck. Pockets of gray shimmered in the inky blackness. Orange and red streaks popped in and out like candle flames suddenly lit and just as quickly doused. The marshy stink of the water clogged my throat and burned my sinuses.
I could feel it under my boots when the ground became a mixture of hard packed dirt and the soft sandy earth deposited by the occasional rising of the lake. I pushed my will against the binding spell again, to no avail. It only cut deeper.
We left the woods, abruptly reaching the lake’s edge. Water lapped at the bottom of my jeans. I screamed, “Why are you doing this?”
Peggy came to stand to just inches from me. The smell of rotted strawberries blended with the lake funk. Tangled together with panic and fear, it was a wonder I didn’t vomit right then. She said, “Daddy can’t have what he wants. Not this time.”
“You’re not making any sense. I won’t be a part of his plan. I won’t have anything to do with him.”
“The card reader. The one who hides behind a veil of alcohol. You. The little girl who talks to trees.” Peggy looked out over the water. It was a moonless night. If not for my auric vision I might not have been able to see anything. An oily smudge of energy draped around her like a tentacle. “Those are the ones left. Touched by the same foulness.”
