Tall, Dark & Dead

by Tate Hallaway

  I shut the book, feeling overwhelmed. Rubbing my neck, I decided what I needed more than anything was a shower and a nap, not necessarily in that order.

  * * * *

  I crept past Parrish to my bedroom. When I thought I saw him lift his head a bit, I hurried my step and slipped into the room before he could say anything.

  My door didn’t have a lock, at least not a physical one. Shutting my eyes, I allowed my magic to surface. Extending my senses outward, I found the elements I kept on the shelf altar in my room for just this purpose: a polished river pebble for earth, a goose feather for air, a book of matches for fire, a silver goblet for water, and a black onyx Nile Goddess statue for spirit. A tingle of power rose from my feet like water drawn up the roots of a tree. When I felt it cascade out from the crown of my head, I put my left palm on the door. My right hand I placed on my abdomen, over my womb. Normally, a Witch would hold her hand upward for the Goddess, but mine resided within me.

  “Unless I ask, none shall pass,” I said. “So I will, so mote it be.”

  I traced a pentacle in the center of the door, then pushed a thread of power into it.

  The thread appeared in my mind’s eye like gold wire. I wove it in and out of the deep purple pentagram, like a stitch. When I finished, the pentagram glittered with gold. I would be safe behind the door now. No one could enter.

  Since I was in magical mode, I grabbed my athame off the shelf and headed for the attic to perform my quickie protection spell. I always kept the door to the attic locked, though I left the key hanging on the knob. It was another reminder to me that I had left magic behind. I reasoned that if I had to go to the effort of opening the door each time, I’d be more conscious of why I was there.

  I had a twinge of guilt when I turned the skeleton key. I’d feel pretty darn violated if I discovered someone had rifled through my personal space. I had a book of shadows, a grimoire. I wrote down my rituals, spell work, and kept a kind of journal of my Witchy experiences in it. It was not unlike a diary, actually, full of secrets and personal observations about my Craft. Of course, mine was in English, and Sebastian could read it, if he’d taken it.

  I walked up the steep, dusty wooden stairs. Though I’d painted the walls to correspond with the directions, they were unfinished, exposed rafters. My landlord, who always started more than he could handle, had put a skylight into the south-facing ceiling, and a shaft of sunlight fell directly on my altar. Otherwise the dormers disappeared into darkness.

  My altar was a round, knee-high table, which was still draped in the green cloth I’d used for Oestre, Spring Equinox. A brass chalice I’d picked up at a church basement rummage sale sat in the center. The altar looked woefully empty to me. Often a Witch’s altar was a kind of collage of personal meaning. The altar I’d left behind in Minneapolis had overflowed with things I’d collected over a lifetime: images from books, statuary, tarot cards, curios, crystals, rocks pocketed in the midst of meaningful adventures, and even a favorite Valentine’s card from a friend.

  Though it looked sort of sad, I’d purposely left this altar bare. I could, of course, have purchased any number of adornments from the store. That would have been a cheat. Anything I bought would have been devoid of real meaning. I didn’t want to simply crowd up my altar for the sake of filling it. In a way, I used its emptiness to remind me of why I kept practicing when it might be easier to give up my Witchcraft all together. The bareness was a memorial to those I’d left behind, slain by the Order.

  I stood for a moment at the threshold. My altar sat in the center of a white pentacle I’d painted on the floor. I took a deep, calming breath before setting foot inside the circle. I loved having a permanent sacred space. At my apartment in Minneapolis, I hadn’t had access to the whole attic, not to mention the fact that my previous landlady was the only holdout Republican in the Seward neighborhood.

  I remembered leaving that morning after. Parrish dropped me off at my apartment, and I made a mad dash through my Minneapolis apartment, trying to decide what to take with me. Barney got stuffed in her carrier with only Grandma’s quilt for comfort. Into my duffel, I’d shoved my toothbrush, a bottle of vitamins, a comb, makeup bag, a pair of jeans, and as many shirts and tops as I could jam in. I had a shoe box full of photos I’d meant to organize one day, but even though I tore apart all of the closet space in the apartment, I never found it. In the end I decided losing it was for the best. If I remembered who I used to be, it would break my resolve, my heart.

  As I went through the traditions of casting the circle and calling quarters, I felt the outside world slip away. I was between the worlds now, in a space that belonged to the Goddess and me. Time stopped.

  From a banker’s box I kept under the table, I pulled out a large white candle and some matches. I lit the candle. It was unscented and had the image of two gold rings joined together. It was obviously meant for a wedding; I’d bought it from a factory outlet. I liked the idea of using it for a ritual, though, since in many ways ritual space was in that same place—the meeting of two circles, one anchored in earth, the other not.

  I rifled through my box for the other items I’d need: a flask of rainwater and a silver coin: a Mercury dime someone passed me at the store without realizing what it was. I took it thinking I’d use it for a spell someday, since it’s otherwise hard to find coins made from silver.

  I poured the water into the chalice. Previously, under the light of a full moon, I’d charged the water. That is, I’d poured my energy into it, consecrating it, making it magical by investing it with purpose. Pagan holy water. The Order would love that.

  Of course, I shouldn’t have been charging water at all. That was spell work. I was supposed to have given up all that. I’d just woken up one night with a craving. It was embarrassing; I was a serious magic junkie. No wonder Lilith continued to get stronger. I fed her constantly.

  I shook my head to banish the thought. I concentrated on the task at hand. Into the goblet filled with water, I dropped the silver coin.

  I held the cup up to the sunlight, which I imaged as the strong, loving arms of a protective, peaceful Goddess.

  “O Goddess Bright, hold me tight. Watch over me now, day and night.”

  I held my breath, waiting for Lilith to surface. I’d been purposefully vague in my request. I didn’t want to name another Goddess specifically, since I thought that might give Lilith a target for any jealous rage she might feel.

  Miraculously, Lilith didn’t stir. I’d been obtuse enough to escape Her notice. Although that probably also meant that the ritual failed on some level, since Lilith would likely be more ticked off to find Herself warded against.

  The sun felt warm on my face. I took a drink of the water, then set it aside to drain as a libation into my potted plants later. I fished the coin out of the chalice to keep in my pocket as a talisman. I thanked whatever Bright Goddess had touched this ritual with Her presence, which I felt as the heat of the light on my skin, and then began the unwinding of the magic. I released the quarters. Walking counterclockwise along the painted edge of the pentacle, I opened the circle.

  “The circle is open, but—” I started the traditional closing words, and then choked. I hadn’t been able to say the words as part of a ritual since that night. Hurriedly, I finished with, “So mote it be.”

  That finished, I went downstairs, locked the door behind me, crawled under the comforter, and slept.

  * * * *

  Sebastian’s grimoire figured prominently in my dreams.

  Numbers and symbols danced around in my head, making a jumble whose meaning lay always just out of reach. At first, in the way of dreams, I was somehow inside the pages, standing beside the words and images. In the next moment, I was outside, looking down at the pages, when a hand touched my shoulder.

  I looked around. Though I saw no one, I felt watched. The flutter of black wings against a moonlit sky skittered along my peripheral vision. When I glanced back at the book, the words had become Engli
sh. Over and over, it read: “I want my fucking grimoire back, you thieving bitch.”

  I woke up to the sensation that someone was pounding on my door. Tense, I waited to hear the sound again. “Sebastian?” I called, albeit softly. “Parrish?”

  No answer, other than a plaintive mew and a scratch.

  “Come in, Barney,” I said, standing up to unlatch the door. “I should get up anyway.”

  Barney wiggled herself inside. She sat upright on the bed and curled her tail over her paws. Once she was certain she had my attention, Barney sneezed.

  “I’m sorry, okay?” I said, picking up the ceremonial knife, the athame, from its spot on the shelf altar. I made a slashing motion at the door, effectively breaking the warding spell. Destruction was infinitely easier than construction.

  I’d slept much longer than I’d intended. A glance at the alarm informed me that it was already past seven. Outside, the streetlights flickered on in response to the encroaching darkness. Twilight. Parrish would be mobile.

  Changing out of Sebastian’s clothes, I rooted around in my closet until I came up with something casual and sexy. After a quick trip to the shower, I slipped into a black lace-up-the-front teddy and pulled on my most faded, threadbare blue jeans. From the pocket of the sweats I removed the Mercury dime and slipped it into the watch pocket of the jeans.

  Checking the look in the mirror, I decided I looked pretty good in a slutty sort of way, especially with wet hair and mascara-smudged eyes and the very faint bruise on my shoulder. Sebastian would approve, I was certain, and probably Parrish as well.

  Speaking of my new roommate, I found Parrish in the kitchen, reading Sebastian’s grimoire.

  Oh, crap.

  I felt so stupid that I’d left it out in the open like that. This was not good.

  Could Parrish possibly know how important the grimoire was? I told myself there was no reason to believe he could read ancient German any better than I. Maybe if I could act casual, Parrish would never suspect anything.

  How likely was that?

  Parrish had made himself a cup of tea. I saw it steaming by his elbow. While I watched, he touched the rim of the cup to his lips but didn’t drink—an affectation left over from a lifetime of consuming food and liquids. Parrish’s eyes scanned the page slowly. I suddenly realized he could read it.

  “Hey,” I said. “You read German?”

  He was so startled he nearly spilled his drink. “How long have you been spying on me?”

  I laughed. He was a fine one to talk, sitting there perusing Sebastian’s secrets. Of course, I had stolen them. My righteous indignation evaporated with a shrug. “Not long.” I pulled up a chair to sit beside him. “So, you can read it?”

  “Not really,” he said. He closed the book, sending the scent of dust and mold into the air. “Seeing the book made me nostalgic. It was new when I was young.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Next you’re going to say they don’t make books like that anymore.”

  “They don’t.” The teacup went to his lips again, and I watched as he breathed in the orange blossom scent of Lady Gray. “Where did you get it?”

  Leaning an elbow on the table, I batted my eyelashes innocently. “I stole it.”

  A smile twitched across his lips, as if a million snarky replies occurred to him, and he couldn’t decide which one to use. “Ah,” he said. “I see.”

  “Okay, fine,” I said, as if he’d refuted my claim, which, in a way, he had. I mean, his tone fairly dripped with I-so-don’t-think-you-have-it-in-you derision. “Lilith stole it.”

  “Lilith?”

  Right. I hadn’t gotten around to telling Parrish about Lilith and that night. Still, I found myself more frustrated by my apparent credibility gap. “You’d have no problem believing I can cut the throats of Vatican agents in cold blood, but you have a hard time picturing me taking someone’s book?”

  Parrish raised a finger as though to count off his first point. “Not cold blood. Passion.” Then, he flashed me the European “two,” thumb and forefinger. “This is clearly a rare book, Garnet. I can only think that the university’s special collection would have such an item, and I’m trying to imagine you pulling a caper that would involve scaling walls in the middle of the night.” He broke into a smile. “Though I can easily see you in a skintight cat suit. You’d make a lovely burglar.”

  “Thanks.” I got up to pour myself my own cup of tea. Parrish had, in the parlance of his people, left the kettle on. The gas flame glowed low and blue under the blue-and-black-speckled teakettle. Steam escaped through the spout. I pulled a mug from the cast-iron tree under the cabinets. The cup was a nondescript yellow, exactly like the one Parrish had. I’d bought them from the discount bin at the big department store on the edge of town on highway whatever. My favorite mug, a blue and brown glazed, hand-thrown pottery one made for me by my friend Frank out in Oregon, had been left with so many other important things in Minneapolis.

  “So,” he prompted when I didn’t offer anything else. “Did you use a grappling hook? Are you holding the book for ransom?”

  I laughed. “It’s not from the library. It’s—” I stopped myself. Was he fishing? Leaning against the kitchen counter, I fiddled with the box of tea bags as I tried to gauge Parrish’s expression. He’d folded his hands on top of Sebastian’s grimoire, and he gazed at me with a bemused expression as though still trying to imagine me in full thief mode.

  The overhead lamp radiated harsh light on Parrish’s pale white skin and cast a fluorescent halo around his auburn curls. I was struck by how unhealthy he looked compared to Sebastian, which was silly, considering that they were both equally dead. You don’t get any sicker than dead.

  “What?” Parrish prompted. “It’s what?”

  Turning my back to him for a moment, I poured water into my cup. Could I trust him? I wanted to. After all, he was the guy I called when I needed to bury bodies. He was good at keeping secrets. Plus, I desperately needed to ask an expert about Sebastian’s vampirism, such as it was.

  Pulling a spoon from the drawer, I stirred some honey into my tea and made a decision. “Have you ever met a vampire who could walk around in the daylight?” I asked, returning to the chair I’d pulled up beside him.

  He snorted a laugh. “How could I?”

  “Well, he can walk around at night. Anyway, have you ever heard of one?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Of course. Vampires love urban legends as much as the next fellow,” Parrish said, sniffing the contents of his cup again. “Since my conception, rumors have circulated about a mad scientist and a mystical formula. It’s the Holy Grail for vampires. Why? Have you found it?” He looked down at the grimoire lying underneath his hand. His face became serious. “Good God, Garnet. You’re not saying this is it?”

  I hadn’t really intended to say anything of the kind, but Parrish was always smarter than I gave him credit for. “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.”

  “Is he the one who bit you?” Parrish asked.

  I started to protest, but then I realized my choice in clothing had left Sebastian’s love bite exposed. I hadn’t really thought about covering it up because it hadn’t bruised as much as I expected, plus the puncture wounds were magically nearly faded. Now I felt a blush creep up my neck. “I…” I had no idea what to say.

  Parrish gave me a long, appraising look. “Impressive,” he said finally. “The rest of us have been chasing after a ghost for centuries, and you find him in Madison, Wisconsin. You haven’t even lived here that long.”

  “Are you jealous?”

  “No,” he said a little too quickly, and, moreover, the twitch of his jaw told me otherwise. Then Parrish affected a more casual air. “You know, if word of this were to get out, every vampire on the planet would be after you.”

  “Well, they’ll have to stand in line,” I grumbled into my mug, thinking of the FBI and Vatican agents. I started to take a swallow of my drink, then stopped. “Would that include you?”
<
br />   We both stared down at the grimoire. One of Parrish’s hands still rested casually on its tooled leather cover. “No,” he said. “Because I already have it.”

  A disturbingly good point.

  “It belongs to Sebastian, Parrish. I should give it back. He…” I wanted to explain that Sebastian needed it, but I hesitated. I didn’t think Sebastian would want another vampire to know about his weakness.

  “For someone who had no problem dispatching a half dozen Vatican agents single-handedly, you’re distressingly ethical,” Parrish said, his fingers tracing the gilt border.

  “It’s one of my charms,” I said. I held out my hand. “The book, Parrish. Give it back.”

  “Do you know what this is worth on the open market? There are vampires who would pay millions of pounds—or euros or whatever the hell—for the chance to walk around in daylight again. I could become a very rich man.” Parrish glanced at me. “Or we could.”

  Nice to be included. I shook my head. “It was never my idea to take it. I just want to give it back.”

  Parrish nodded slowly. “Then let me borrow it. I’ll take it to Kinko’s. We can sell the copy.”

  “Uh…” Okay, so there was nothing inherently wrong with the idea of letting Parrish walk off with the grimoire for a couple of hours, but I just didn’t think that if I did, I’d ever see him or the book again, and Sebastian needed the spell in that to survive.

  Parrish, for his part, looked completely unthreatened. He made no sudden move to run off with the grimoire, but neither did he remove his hand. Leaning back in his chair slightly, as though to get a better look at me, Parrish clearly waited patiently for my next move.

  What would it be? My little five-foot-something self had no chance of overpowering him physically. Not unless I called on Lilith, which was kind of an endgame, especially since I got the impression from the cold calmness in Parrish s eyes that he would fight me for the grimoire. I could feel Lilith rising to the challenge, but I held Her back with the thought and the power of the recently woven spell.