by Debra Dunbar
“No, I’m in Baltimore.” Before she could scold me, I rushed right into the topic at hand. “Tempest and Oak are dead. They were summoning a high demon named Innyhal in order to kill a list of twenty-five Baltimore area mages. Innyhal got out, killed them, and is on the loose.”
I heard her sharp intake of breath. “Oak and Tempest are dead?”
“Yeah. And now there’s a demon running around DC. What the heck is going on, Raven?”
“A feud between Haul Du and the Baltimore group. I can’t tell you the details, but it’s gotten ugly and people have died.”
“And what started this feud? Because it needs to stop before any more innocent people get killed.”
Raven made an impatient sound. “That’s what some of us are trying to do. Your interference won’t help, Aria. And you’re liable to get yourself killed in the crossfire. Just go visit your parents and let us handle it.”
That stung. I might not be an adept in the magical community, but I did have my skills. And honestly, these mages hadn’t been doing a great job at handling the situation so far. “Oh, so more get killed like Tempest and Oak? More Baltimore mages and junkies get their souls ripped out by an angel? More people are sacrificed in a death magic ritual used to contain some really scary thing that, frankly, I’m a little afraid to conjecture on? Raven, you guys are in over your heads.”
I felt her frustration through the phone. “Maybe we are, but this is an internal matter. I’m sorry it—wait. Did you say an angel was ripping the souls out of people?”
Yeah, I’d had a hard time believing it, too. “Araziel. He killed one of the mages that was on Tempest and Oak’s hit list, and two junkies on the barrier where the sacrifice took place. So now there’s a demon running around loose, an angel equally loose, Baltimore mages killing people, and Haul Du members summoning higher level demons to kill others. And summoning them badly. Did I mention they got themselves killed?”
“I gotta go.” Raven sounded distracted, like she hadn’t heard half of my rant. “I’ll call you later.”
“Raven, you need to tell me—” Too late. She’d hung up and I got the feeling she wouldn’t answer if I called again.
Oh well. I’d done my duty—more than my duty. I’d called to give her the heads-up. I’d told her what was going on. She could go to Dark Iron, the head of Haul Du with it all. I didn’t care. He’d be in a better position to protect them from a loose demon than a marked, not-a-Knight Templar.
After my call with Raven I tip-toed around the edge of my living room so as to not step in the drying floor leveler, and crashed on my bed for a much needed nap. It seemed my head had barely touched the pillow before there was a knock on my door.
“I’ll be right there!” It took me a while to negotiate my way around the floor leveler, then some gymnastics to figure out how to open the door without planting my foot in it. It probably wouldn’t have mattered right at the edge, but I wanted as large a space to work with as I could manage.
“What the hell?” Tremelay stared at the floor, then at me perched against the wall like a tight-rope walker. “Is that cement? What are you doing?”
“I can’t properly delineate a circle on plywood with huge gaps between the sheets, and there are times when I need to do magic. It’s floor leveler.”
The detective took a step inside, gingerly making his way around the edge to the kitchen. “You’re never getting your security deposit back. You know that, right?”
My hopes for ever seeing my security deposit had long vanished. “Any more deaths happen while I was catching some Z’s?”
“Not that we’ve discovered. I did find out that Bethany Scarborough knew one of last night’s deceased. It seems she’d worked on a burglary claim Benton Leigh filed last winter.”
It was a weird coincidence, but I still filed it away in my noggin. It was a connection, the only one we had. Could Oak and Tempest have been involved in the death magic ritual that killed Bethany? It didn’t seem their sort of thing, but I’d been wrong about people before, and Shade had mentioned a stranger who was involved. Perhaps there had been a double cross of sorts going on. Raven did say it was an internal matter. Maybe there was more to this feud than just two rival magical groups who employed different methods in their practice.
Although if Oak had been involved with the Baltimore mages, why would he have chosen an insurance adjuster as his victim? Unless he had a reason to be pissed at her and was killing two birds with one stone.
“Any details on the claim? Did Benton Leigh receive money from the insurance policy?”
Tremelay consulted his notepad. It had been rapidly filling up in the last few days. “Yeah. Says the claim paid out. Television, some DVDs, artwork and jewelry. Not a huge amount was taken. Seems like the normal steal-what-you-can-pawn robbery.”
Okay, so no grudge against the insurance adjuster, then. I yanked my hair back into a ponytail, rubbing at the sheet marks that I was sure were on my face. Then I followed the detective out, grabbing my purse and my sword before locking the door behind me—both with the deadbolt and with a magical hex. It wouldn’t do to have the landlord waltz in unannounced and see my unauthorized modifications.
Tremelay sighed, staring pointedly at my sword. “Front seat out of view, and please keep it sheathed unless a lion-headed monster attacks.”
I hid a grin. “Gotcha.”
“One more thing,” he said after we’d both climbed in and were on our way. “The two dead junkie guys? Cause of death was obviously due to the removal of organs essential for life, but both had enough heroin in their systems to kill them.”
I shook my head, thinking what a tragedy it was that most addicts were on a short road to overdose.
“It’s still murder,” he added.
“Well, then let’s arrest this angel and throw the book at him.” It wasn’t nice of me to rub in the fact that he would probably never be able to see the killer brought to justice, but I was more than a bit on edge after my close call with the demon last night.
“I’m trying to figure out how I can arrest the person who summoned the angel,” he snapped back. “The angel is a weapon, just like a gun.”
No, not exactly. “Let’s concentrate on the death magic for now and decide how to handle the killing by angel and killing by demon later.”
Chapter 17
SETTING SUN WAS the type of shop you went to if you wanted scented candles, ornamental potpourri holders, or decorative primitive figurines. Farther back in the store you’d find essential oils, dried herbs and tea blends, and a variety of generic protection and divination materials. Through the back curtain, past the meditation/yoga space was a door. It looked like your standard emergency exit door with a push bar and shiny gray paint. The difference was what you would see when you went through. And the fact that you could push on that bar all day but the door wouldn’t open without a key.
Staff had the key, and it wasn’t on a keychain. Plus they wouldn’t open that door for just anybody. There were reasons spells beyond the simplest of charms required difficult-to-get materials and very specific incantations. The world would be a frightening place if everyone could throw curses around or summon demons with a few days practice and a handful of grass from their backyard.
Of course, the world was a frightening place when skilled mages were bold enough to sacrifice a woman and use her body and soul for dark magic. Or when mages summoned demons and angels into this world without proper skill and know-how. And yes, I was including myself in that category, given my botched summoning last week.
The guy behind the counter smelled of patchouli and had a shock of fire-engine red hair that stood out to each side of his head from a center part. The woman he was ringing up made a joke about the weather, and he laughed. It was a squeaky, high-pitched laugh that reminded me of a Muppet.
Once the customer left, Elmo approached us smiling. “What can I help the two of you with?” Before either of us could reply, the smile left his face. “Wai
t. I know you. You’re that Templar girl.”
Seriously? I’d never been in this store or met this guy. I’d covered my tattoo with the wide leather bracelet. Was there a wanted poster out with my picture on it? Curses shall rain down on those who speak or sell candles to this Templar?
Thankfully Tremelay stepped up. “Yes, she is. And I’m a cop.” He flashed his badge and Elmo winced.
“Fine. You can buy candles. She can’t.”
Racist pigs. “I’m working as a consultant with the police department about a series of murders in Baltimore.”
“The murderers killed people with candles?” Elmo was being deliberately obtuse. It annoyed me almost as much as his freaky hairdo.
Tremelay took over the interrogation. “No, the murderers performed a magical ritual in which they sacrificed a woman. Now, I know you sell more than candles here, and as the nearest shop carrying ceremonial magic supplies, it makes sense that the killers might be customers of yours.” The detective put away his badge. He was amazingly calm given the clerk’s hostility.
Fear tightened the clerk’s face. “What exactly do you need?”
The detective looked over to me and I motioned for him to continue to take the lead. He was getting more information with his cop-talk than I would as a Templar.
“We’re trying to find out who bought dog bones in the last month.”
Elmo gave an exaggerated shrug. “Lots of people. Dog bones are top of the list when you’re doing magic that involves a psychopomp.”
Spiritualists sometimes used them. Although not your run-of-the-mill ghost chaser with their pocket EMF and motion sensing cameras, or even priests. The only ones who tended to use dog bones in clearing a haunted room were those with skills in necromancy. I knew of only one necromancer in the Baltimore area, and although I’m sure Russell did have dog bones, he would have shelled out the extra for a skull rather than use these dinky toy-dog leg bones.
“These people do death magic,” I said. “They buy dog bones in sets of four, along with blood chalices and knives for sacrificial work. These aren’t necromancers.”
Elmo looked around the store then began twisting his hands together. “That’s pretty much every mage in Baltimore. You know that. You used to hang with Haul Du before they kicked you out. They go straight to the source in Baltimore.”
I suddenly felt like someone was sitting on my chest—someone who weighed over four hundred pounds. “Source?”
The clerk swallowed hard. “Source. I mean, I don’t do that sort of thing. I don’t ask my customers what they’re doing with the stuff they buy. It’s not my place to judge.”
He couldn’t mean what I thought he meant. I glanced over at Tremelay, who was staring at the pair of us as if we were suddenly speaking an alien language. “They all do soul work? All of them?”
“No! Well, not usually. You need a soul trap for that sort of thing. They can take decades to put together, but only if you’ve got the specific skill-set to make your own. Existing ones aren’t easy to come by. Cheap ones are a couple thousand, but if you’re going to go to the effort to kill someone and take their soul, you want to maximize the energy output. A good soul trap can be fifty grand, if you can manage to find one for sale, that is.”
“Sell one lately?” Tremelay asked.
Elmo’s eyes bugged out. “You kidding? We deal in basic magical supplies, not high-end stuff like that. I don’t even remember the last time I saw one for sale.”
“But someone in Baltimore has one,” I told him.
The clerk nodded. “I heard the rumors, although I think it’s a recent acquisition.”
This whole thing was making me ill. Fifty grand so you could murder someone and use their soul to power a ritual. “I know the mages in Baltimore do death magic, but usually that’s just animals, not humans and souls. That’s… sick.”
“And summoning demons isn’t? Where do you think demons get their power? This is just cutting out the middleman. It’s safer.”
Safer except for the victim being sacrificed. Yes, demons took souls, but that was with the consent of the human. There were deals, an exchange of sorts. What we were talking about was murder.
He must have seen the horror on my face, because he quickly backpedaled. “I’ve never seen it. That’s just what people say. It’s probably just a rumor. I doubt they’re using anything more than chickens and rats.”
“We need a list of who bought dog bones, blood chalices, and sacrificial knives.” Tremelay wasn’t buying the guy’s sudden ignorance any more than I was.
Elmo shook his head. “I can’t. They’ll kill me. It’s not just one or two mages, it’s a lot. I’ll be ruined if word gets out that I gave up that kind of information.”
“You’ll be ruined if I have to subpoena that information,” Tremelay told him.
The guy set his jaw. “All you get is a list of customers who bought candles. You don’t seriously think those guys pay by credit card or personal check, do you? They don’t even use their real names. I honestly can’t help you.”
I pulled out a picture I’d downloaded off the internet of Ronald Stull. “This guy one of them?”
Elmo took a step back and swallowed hard. “I can’t remember.”
I was about to get my sword to see if that would jog the guy’s memory a bit, but Tremelay had a different idea.
“Okay, then what do you remember? Help me out here, buddy so I don’t need to get your shop shut down for trafficking in human remains and illegal, endangered-species animal parts.”
Elmo winced. “Look, ever since they got the soul trap, the Baltimore group does soul work. They’re all involved with death magic, but in the last few months they started sacrificial magic. I think their group is twenty to thirty mages. They call themselves Fiore Noir.”
Ugh. Never trust a magical group whose name mixes romance languages. I waved the picture at Elmo once more. “So Ronald Stull was part of Fiore Noir?”
The clerk chewed his lip. “Breaker. That guy… he’s got a reputation for revenge. You gotta understand, I say anything and I’ll be the next guy bleeding out in their circle.”
“He’s dead. Is he part of Fiore Noir and can you describe any of the other members?”
Elmo practically slumped with relief. “Yeah, he’s Fiore Noir. He isn’t their leader, but I got the feeling he had a lot of influence and was in charge of some of their major magical workings. He was the one who came out to buy supplies. I don’t know any other mages who I can specifically say were in Fiore Noir, but Breaker had a friend. This guy made Breaker look like a saint. Big guy, mid-fifties, I’d guess. One look and you knew not to cross him. I didn’t even want to meet his eyes, you know? Anyway, from what I hear, he’s the one who loaned Fiore Noir the soul trap.”
The stranger. Unfortunately big, mean-looking mid-fifties guys weren’t a rare occurrence in Baltimore.
“Anything else you remember?” Tremelay asked. “Names, even magical ones? Dates or times for their rituals? Locations?”
Elmo thought a moment then nodded. “I overheard Breaker last week on the phone. From what he said, I think they were doing their rituals near Security Boulevard. There’s a big park there with a stream running through it.”
“Dead Run,” Tremelay mused. I had no idea where that was, although I’d driven by signs for Security Boulevard a few times since I’d moved here. “It’s a narrow winding park, but there are some spots where there’s nothing nearby beyond the highway. That area’s mostly businesses. Perfect place to conduct midnight activity unseen.”
The clerk nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. Something went wrong last time, so they moved to a spot with lots of abandoned buildings.”
Old Town Mall. The detective and I exchanged knowing looks. Was it wrong to be this excited? It was a decent lead, even if we didn’t have names and addresses of the mages involved. From what Elmo said, Bethany’s sacrifice had been the first in the Mall, but, like Janice had suspected, it wasn’t this Fiore Noir gr
oup’s first death magic ritual. I got a feeling that a search of Dead Run would reveal signs of an abandoned ritual space, and possibly the remains of previous victims. Unless the group had some mass disposal site, they probably had left the bodies there. Transporting dead was risky. It would have been easier to dig a giant hole and toss them all into it.
“One last thing.” I pulled another picture out of my pocket. “Do you recognize this woman?”
Elmo looked at the picture of Bethany Scarborough and shook his head. “No. I’ve never seen her in the shop before.”
I didn’t get the feeling he was lying. We had some forward momentum on the mages who’d killed her, but still no clue as to why they’d chosen Bethany. I was still in the dark as to why Benton and Alban had wanted to kill a list of people—the entirety of the Fiore Noir mages it sounded like. And then there was that angel. What role did Araziel play in any of this?
And one more thing. “How did you know who I was?”
Elmo smirked. “Haul Du made a big deal when they threw you out. Yeah, it was kind of embarrassing that you’d fooled them for eight months, but they were more interested in making sure you didn’t gain entry to any other group than preserving their dignity.”
Great. “So you’re not allowed to sell me anything? Or are you supposed to report me to someone?”
He sniffed. “Both. There’s a price on your head. Normally I’d be all about collecting that bounty, but it’s not enough to risk pissing off a bunch of Templars. I don’t need that kind of hurt coming down on me. Besides, it’s like five hundred dollars. Chump change.”
I was so shocked I could barely wrap my brain around his words. A price on my head? Me? “The DC group put a bounty on me? Dark Iron put a bounty on me? Like a dead or alive bounty?”
“Someone in that DC group would be happy see you dead, and they’d pay for it, too. The Baltimore group, Fiore Noir just wants you out of town. Forever.”
Chapter 18
YOU THINKING WHAT I’m thinking?” I asked Tremelay as we climbed into his car.
