His mouth tilted at the corners. “Like Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak?”
She rolled her eyes at his joke. “Only I don’t have what I need to cast the right spell—no black snake root, no blue crystals.” All they had was dust…
Her gaze flew to the caretaker. “Can we get into one of the caskets?”
His dark eyes widened. “Why you wanna do that?”
“We need to mask ourselves. Make them think we’re already dead. Can you open a casket?”
“Don’t know what you’re thinkin’. You’re crazy, messin’ with the dead like that.” Still, he lifted his keys with a shaking hand. “I’m gonna go to hell. Straight to hell.”
With the caretaker’s keys, they managed to get into the casket that had been there the longest. Opening the lid, they scrambled back and gagged against the foul odor that escaped.
Cait stood with her back against the door while the two men gathered handfuls of dust and dirt from the floor and sprinkled it over the rotting body inside. She had the men shake the casket until the dirt settled to the bottom, gathering bits of the disintegrating corpse.
Then, holding her breath against the stench, Cait reached inside and scraped together two fistfuls of dust, trying her best not to think about what she touched in the process.
Jason slammed the lid closed and punched the air. “Damn, that was nasty.”
“Don’t be a wuss.” Cait gave him a tight smile. “That’s not the worst. Get on your knees.”
With both men kneeling before her, she let dust sift from her hands onto Jason’s and the caretaker’s heads, and then onto her own. As she let it fall, she drew inside herself, finding that calm place where she’d learned to go when she was younger.
And like the flame that had burned the mojo bag in a searing flash, the spell erupted as well from a fragment of her memory.
“Elementals, hear me.
With this dust, I cover any trace of life within us;
I cloak our heartbeats, our breaths, our thoughts.
I draw darkness to shield us from view.
I summon silence to still our voices.
With this veil, protect us,
Turn all evil from our path.
As I command, so mote it be.”
Maybe she wasn’t a poet, but something felt right about the words. She straightened, emoting more confidence than she really felt. “When we go out, I want you to do something else.”
Jason grimaced as the ashes slid over his face. “Something worse than breathing corpse dust up my nose?”
“Spit over your left shoulder.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “I think I can manage that.” His eyebrows rose slightly, betraying a tinge of fear, the first he’d let slip through his carefree mask, haunting his eyes. “Sure this is going to work?”
“Of course not.” Squinting, she grinned. “I’m just going with my gut.”
The three of them stood huddled beside the door: Cait first, Jason, then the caretaker holding onto Jason’s shirt.
“Say your prayers now,” she shouted over the racket banging against the door. “When we go outside, we move slowly. No speaking. We’ll head straight to the cemetery gates.”
The two men nodded. The caretaker crossed himself and closed his eyes for a moment while his lips moved. When he opened them again, she gave the two men a nod and reached for the door handle.
The wind whipped it from her grasp, slamming it against the wall of nested coffins. Frigid air swept inside, picking up whorls of dust and spiderwebs.
Cait ducked her head, praying the wind tearing at her hair wouldn’t remove every speck of corpse dust, because the distance to the gates was long. She stepped out the door, past a barrier of cold that set her teeth clacking. As soon as she pushed through the barrier, only the gloomy sky above hinted at the tempest behind them.
She paused, angled to her left, and spit over her shoulder. Turning, she glared at the two men behind her until they did the same. A childhood trick to ward away evil, but she was ready to try anything to keep them safe.
They crept slowly through the rolling hills of graves and crypts, past statuary with blinking, hollow eyes and fluttering wings.
Jason’s hand tightened at the back of her shirt, and she almost smiled. She knew how mind-defying all this was.
She worried most about the caretaker, whose dark eyes grew wider and wider as they passed creatures crouching on pedestals, noses tipping into the air as though seeking their human scent.
For her part, she felt no fear. Just an edgy awareness. The spell was working. The preternatural creatures surrounding them sensed their presence but couldn’t find them. Like pepper tossed on a field to foil a dog’s nose as he set it down to search, they’d tricked the spirits. She’d woven a spell that actually worked.
Wouldn’t Morin be proud? The thought had her drawing a deep, sharp breath. The casting had come so naturally. Even though years had passed since she’d apprenticed with him, her first instinct was to run to the mage and brag about her success.
Only they weren’t safe yet.
The gates loomed before them, sunlight gleaming brightly just beyond the barrier.
Cait risked a glance over her shoulder. The two men paused and did the same. Behind them the dark-as-dusk graveyard teemed with activity. Figures leaped from pedestals. Lambs grew longer, with snouts pressed to the dirt to search. Angels with fierce, leering smiles swooped down the tarmac paths. All searching for their prey.
The caretaker moaned, swaying on his feet.
“Catch him,” Cait called to Jason. Between the two of them, they dragged his sagging body toward the gates, silence thrown to the wind.
They hustled with the dead weight between them, stumbling quickly toward the gate and the sunshine baking the pavement on the other side.
“Almost there,” she muttered.
Jason pulled the caretaker over his shoulder and shoved her toward the gate. “Run, dammit!”
Behind her, the wind whipped into a frenzied sideways arctic blast. She spat over her shoulder again, but the act didn’t stem the violent gusts. Perhaps that bit of childhood magic held no power because she no longer felt sure or strong.
Her breaths shuddered out; her limbs grew slow and clumsy. At last, she reached the barrier of sunlight shining through the gates. One last step, and they were through.
She shivered and dared another glance. The cemetery was once more peaceful and limned in sunlight, statues again on their pedestals.
“Seems back asswards,” Jason said, his breaths jagged. “Didn’t Buffy seek hallowed ground?”
“Spirits live there. Good and bad. Only a spark is needed to stir them up—like someone reading an inscription on a tomb,” she said, giving his shoulder a shove.
Jason went down on one knee and set his burden on the ground. Together they knelt beside the caretaker, Cait chafing his wrists. She didn’t know what else to do, and the action soothed her own skittering heartbeat.
Glancing at Jason, she laughed. Sooty dust grayed his hair, which stood up in spikes around his head. “That real enough for you?”
Jason’s expression turned grim. “We have to talk.”
“We do. But later.”
“You gonna tell Sam about this?”
“I suppose I have to. It’d be nice to have you there, because…”
“Yeah, Sam’s not the kind to go for this woo-woo stuff.”
The caretaker moaned. His eyelids slowly blinked open. He stared beyond them to the clear blue sky. “I need to find me another job.”
At Caitlyn’s request, she and Jason headed straight to Celeste’s shop. Jason needed no directions, so one question was answered.
Dressed in another of her colorful caftans, Celeste eyed them both. Her lips pulled up in distaste. “You bot’ smell of deat’. Did you find your answers in da graves?”
Cait didn’t bother asking what she knew. Celeste’s sight was always creepily accurate. “Just more questions.
We’ll have to see how a missing girl is related to the family buried in Edgemont.”
Celeste nodded. Her gaze slid to Jason, who gave her a sheepish grin and shrugged.
“Sorry. It seemed like the time to let her know,” he murmured.
Celeste arched a dark brow and tsked.
Feeling restless and angry, Cait brushed past Celeste and raked aside the lines of beads shielding Celeste’s reading room. The other two trailed behind her. Once inside, she flopped down in a seat at the round table covered in a silk scarf with a large crystal ball at its center.
The other two sat, eying her warily.
“So how long have you two known each other?”
Celeste waved a hand. “Since Jason’s brush wit’ a skin-walker.”
“A skin-walker?” A child’s fairy tale, or so she’d thought. But looking at Jason’s grim expression and Celeste’s steady gaze, she knew it was real. “Your shooting?” she asked Jason.
“Yes. The kid in the alley.”
“Not just a boy necking with his girlfriend?”
“A demon, drainin’ a girl o’ her life force,” Celeste said softly, smiling at Jason. “The skin-walker was vulnerable, let his mask slip.”
“His face…” Jason shook his head. “He was a monster, and about to slash her throat, although she wasn’t aware. I let the drug dealer go and shot the kid. I didn’t know killing him would release the demon. He escaped, slithering out of the boy’s body. The girl was hysterical. I tried to stem the bleeding, but he was already gone. And I couldn’t defend myself when I went before the board. I knew I’d look like a nut. So I lied. Then started searching for answers.”
Celeste gestured to Jason. “He wandered into my shop. The moment I held his hand, I saw everyt’ing what happened.”
“I’m not saying I believed her at first,” Jason said. “But since then, it’s like having a veil lifted. I see monsters everywhere.”
Feeling sick, Cait nodded. “Demons. Jesus. Morin said it was likely a demon commanding wraiths. How do we go on, Tante? I don’t know how to fight this.”
“You must determine the demon’s nature. Who he is, or was.”
“That’s helpful,” Cait grumbled.
“You followin’ da right path. Once you know more, go to Morin.”
Morin. Cait firmed her lips into a straight line. She didn’t like having to depend on him again. He’d let her down once before, when she’d needed him most. Wasn’t there some other sorcerer who could help her?
“There be no one else, darlin’.”
Cait glared. “I hate it when you do that.”
Her “aunt” smiled. “Someone has to see inside your head. So much goin’ on.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is it smart gettin’ so close to your ex again?”
A flush of heat filled Cait’s cheeks. Her relationship with Sam was not up for discussion. “Time to go,” she said, pushing up from the table.
With a graceful move, Celeste plucked a purple satin bag from a cupboard. “No time for me to read your cards?”
“We’re wasting daylight.”
Ignoring her, Celeste spilled the tarot deck into one hand and fanned them out. “Choose one. Let’s look ahead.”
Cait had never liked the cards. Never trusted them, because the meanings seemed to change at the reader’s will. And yet she found herself tapping the edges of the cards until she found one that felt right. She slipped it from the deck and laid it on the table, her finger holding it down. Her stomach knotted as she recognized the picture.
“La Roue de Fortune.” Celeste slid the card from beneath Cait’s finger. “Reversed. It’s not all bad, chérie.”
The Wheel of Fortune, reversed. It meant bad luck.
“A reversal, yes,” Celeste murmured.
Cait glared. “Misfortune. Failure. A dead fucking end.”
Celeste tilted her head. “But also a chance to test yourself. To find your inner strength.” Her gaze narrowed. “Were you thinkin’ ’bout the case or your ex?”
In playing along, Cait hadn’t been thinking about anything other than humoring Celeste. Or had she? Did some part of her, deep inside, really hope for a better answer? An omen that things—the case, her involvement with Sam—would somehow turn out all right? “I wasn’t thinking about anything at all.”
Celeste laughed. “Jus’ be sure you guard your heart, ma petite.” Her pointed look swung to Jason. “She needs someone who believes guardin’ her back.”
Jason nodded and stood. He bent to kiss Celeste’s cheek.
The medium gave his cheek a fond pat.
Cait shook her head and walked straight out the door without a farewell. She was too angry, too hurt to muster up a gesture, even though she loved Celeste like family.
Her PI job had been a total setup—something no doubt engineered by Morin and carried out by her mother’s best friend. Morin had looked out for her even after she’d spurned him.
Warmth spilled into her chest, but she didn’t trust the accompanying emotion. Too much hurt lay in her past, and she was far from ready to forgive.
Chapter Ten
Sam ran up the stairs to the Delta Detective Agency, heart pounding in his chest. Something in Cait’s voice when she’d called to say they had a development in the case set the hairs on the back of his neck rising. She’d been cagey about details. A little breathless. Said he needed to come. Just like that, he’d hauled ass to get here.
At the frosted glass door to the agency he paused, pulled on his neutral game face, and pretended he hadn’t had his heart in this throat. Then he reached out and turned the knob.
Inside, he strode through the tiny reception area where no receptionist had ever sat, down the tacky olive-green-carpeted, wood-paneled corridor, to Cait’s cubbyhole of an office. But he heard her voice, farther down, speaking softly in bullet-like gusts.
The words “wraiths” and “Worthen family” drifted through the closed door of Jason’s office. He rapped twice on the wood and then twisted the knob.
Inside, Cait stood behind Jason, who was seated at his desk, a Google screen pulled up on the computer. Her hand was on his shoulder, and she stood close staring at the screen. Closer than Sam liked.
Cait glanced toward the door. Her face was pale, her mouth set in a grim line. She was dirty and disheveled but seemed well enough.
Internally, he drew a deep sigh.
“You finally made it,” she muttered. A small frown drew her brows together.
If she could muster a complaint, she was doing just fine. “I’m kinda busy,” Sam said, his voice a deep grumble. “Murder investigation, you know?”
She sniffed and then held out a crumpled scrap of paper.
He took it and scanned the names of family members. “Worthen” was scrawled across the top. “What’s this?”
“A list we found in Lisa’s apartment.”
Anger tightening his shoulders, Sam shook his head. “You’ve been there? My team’s combing it now. You tamper with anything else?”
“We had her parents’ permission.” Cait shrugged. “We didn’t disturb a thing, other than taking this list and her day planner. We wanted a jump on the investigation, to get a head start finding her.”
He fisted his hands on his hips. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
Her head lowered. Her scowl deepened. “Guess I’m out of practice telling you every damn thing I’m doing.”
Why was it always like this with them? Simple, calm conversation was impossible. Caitlyn O’Connell was one stubborn, hardheaded woman. How’d he forget that? He blew out an exasperated breath. “You called. Said you had a development. This it?” he asked, waving the paper.
The fine lines at the corners of her eyes deepened. “We found them. They’re a family buried at Edgemont.”
“And?” Sam shook his head. “You didn’t call me down here to say you found some graves. How long have they been dead?”
“Around a hundred fifty years.”
Jason and Cait
shared a charged glance—she, aiming a glare and shaking her head. Jason’s eyes bugged as though telling her to spill.
Her shoulders fell, and she turned back to Sam. “It’s what happened when we got to their graves that was interesting.”
Interesting? He raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t drive all the way over here for you two to play Twenty Questions.”
Jason sat forward, excitement gleaming in his eyes. “Man, you should have been there.” His face turned a little red, like he knew how uncool he’d sounded. He shrugged and leaned lazily back. “We got chased through the cemetery by statues jumping off tombs and wraiths trying to freeze our asses.”
Sam forced himself not to react, although a tic began to pulse beside his eye. Part of him—the part that lived in the real world and wanted to ask what they’d both been smoking but had already seen more than he was comfortable processing—had him curling his lips. “Right.” He aimed a glare at Cait. “Does this mean another trip to your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Cait shoved both hands into her pockets. “I think it means we need to do some more old-fashioned investigation. The Worthens have been dead since the Civil War, but we don’t know how they’re connected to our case. Lisa’s parents said she was working on a dig. Jason and I looked up the archeology professor, Lisa’s dean, and we think he might help us connect the dots.”
Jason cleared his throat. “I’m gonna follow up with some of her friends from her Facebook page. You two should hit the university.”
Cait chewed her bottom lip. “We thought it would be a good idea—”
“We?” Jason drawled.
She wrinkled her nose. “OK, Jason thought it would be a good idea to keep you in the loop. Be more efficient. That way we won’t follow leads you’ve already determined are dead ends and vice versa.”
Sam nodded, eyeing them both and noting the hint of militancy in the hard set of Cait’s jaw. She wasn’t happy about it. He smiled. “Why don’t you give the professor a call and tell him we’re coming, Jason.”
Jason flashed him a grin. “On it. You two play nice.”
Shattered Souls Page 8
