4 The Infernal Detective

by Kirsten Weiss

  Riga paled. “I didn’t... It wasn’t my fault.”

  Peregrine sat down beside Pen and patted the empty cushion on her other side. “Dot and our sister, Livinia, and I were always able to protect each other. That’s how the three of us stayed alive – and sane – for so long.”

  “Most necromancers have a short life expectancy. But together, we three sisters are tremendously powerful,” Dot said. “Like those girls on Charmed.”

  “But you on your own…” Peregrine cleared her throat. “Well, we needed a way to protect you. So we introduced you to Her.”

  “But then we learned She was gone, and thought it was time we took you in hand ourselves.”

  Riga’s life fell into pieces on the floor and she collapsed beside them into an empty wing chair. It made sense. All of it. The encounters with supernatural death entities, the bodies, the ghosts… “No,” she said clearly. “I am not a necromancer.” It was that simple. If she couldn’t be what she chose to be, then everything she believed about life was wrong.

  Dot tsked. “Denial. First stage of grief.”

  “Death of the old life,” Peregrine agreed.

  “Will you two… Just tell me what happened last night?”

  Dot inched forward on the couch. “Of course! Everything was going smoothly and then something interfered. The magic was torn, distorted.”

  “A black lodge interfered,” Peregrine said.

  “And instead of going inside that poor dead young man, the spirit of Donovan’s father went into Donovan.”

  “For a moment we thought it was a possession,” Peregrine said. “I hate those.”

  “And then that poor dead young man got off the floor and there was your Donovan. Right inside him! If Livinia had been with us it never would have happened. Her power combined with ours—”

  Peregrine’s brows knit together. “Yes, yes. But she wasn’t, and there’s no sense crying over spilled milk.”

  “Aunt Livinia…” Riga’s head was spinning. Livinia had always been so fun, so alive. It was Livinia who’d inspired Riga’s travels all those years ago. She’d idolized her wild, glamorous aunt. And now to learn she was a dealer in death… “She’s a necromancer?”

  “We all are,” Peregrine said. “Haven’t you been listening?”

  Donovan knelt down beside Riga’s chair, and put his hand on her knee. “I’m sorry, Riga. The risk seemed worth it at the time.”

  It was a big admission. Donovan wasn’t used to making apologies. But Riga was spoiling for a fight, any fight. “I don’t suppose they actually told you about the risks,” she snapped.

  “We didn’t know about the black lodge,” Dot said. “If you’d warned us—”

  “What’s a black lodge?” Pen asked.

  “A dark occult fraternity that engages in black magic and other criminal activities,” Peregrine said.

  “What sort of criminal activities?” Pen asked.

  “The usual. Drug dealing. Money laundering—”

  “Forget about the black lodge.” Riga stood. “Put Donovan back!”

  Dot gave her an affronted look. “Well, don’t you think we’ve tried? I’m sorry, Riga, but we’ve never seen anything like this before.”

  “It’s an abomination,” Peregrine said.

  Dot shook her head. “I’m afraid he’s stuck.”

  Chapter 11

  “He’s a CORPSE.” Riga kicked the study’s Persian rug in frustration. A log on the fireplace shifted, sending up a shower of sparks.

  Dot’s chin wobbled. “Now you’re just being irrational.”

  “Riga,” Donovan said, moving toward her. If she relaxed her vision, she could almost see him, the real Donovan, in spite of Cam’s lean form. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. We can fix this. They just need a third necromancer, your aunt Livinia.”

  “We would have asked you, but your magic is so unstable,” Dot said.

  “It wouldn’t have mattered if you did,” Riga snapped. “I’m not a necromancer.”

  “So you say, but it wouldn’t have mattered,” Peregrine said. “This requires a high level necromantic spell. Even if you are a necromancer—”

  “I’m not.”

  “Even if you were,” Peregrine continued, “you’d need to know what you’re doing.”

  “Fine. Where is Livinia?” Riga asked.

  Peregrine tossed another log onto the fire. “Romania.”

  “Hunting vampires, no doubt,” Riga muttered.

  “You’re not far off,” Peregrine said.

  Dot shook her head. “I’m starting to think Livinia’s more vampire than—”

  “That is neither here nor there,” Peregrine said, looking pointedly at Pen, who sat, wide-eyed. “The point is, we’ll get Livinia before the winter solstice, and the three of us will fix this.”

  “Why the solstice?” Pen asked.

  “It’s a day of high magic,” Peregrine said, “the solar turning point. After the solstice, the days begin to grow longer. It will be our best shot at returning Donovan to his natural state.”

  “My man in Europe is looking for Livinia now,” Donovan said.

  “Looking for her?” Riga asked. “Don’t you know where she is?”

  Dot’s hands fluttered. “Oh, you know Romania. Lovely country, but communications still aren’t what you’d hope. And Livinia’s so independent. We know her usual haunts though, so we’ll find her soon enough.”

  “And Brigitte?” Riga gestured to the motionless gargoyle on the shelf behind her. “Was that the black lodge as well?”

  Dot laughed politely. “Oh no, dear. That was us.”

  “What did you do to Brigitte?” Riga asked.

  “Well, we couldn’t let her go flying back to the house to tell you everything. We knew you’d overreact, didn’t we?”

  Peregrine nodded.

  “It’s just a temporary spell,” Dot said. “She’s unharmed.”

  “We wouldn’t damage valuable property,” Peregrine agreed.

  “She’s not property,” Riga said. “Put her back!”

  “Oh, very well.” Peregrine stood and joined hands with her sister. The two bowed their heads, muttering, and Riga felt a wave of cold energy surge through the room.

  With a grating sound, Brigitte stirred, shoulders hunching. “You two are… very bad ladies!” The gargoyle leapt from her perch, circled the chandelier, and soared out the open door.

  Dot shrugged, the loose fabric of her black gown rippling. “Other people’s familiars. There’s no reasoning with them.”

  Peregrine turned toward Riga. “Now, we have much to discuss.”

  “No.” Riga’s hands clenched. They’d lied to her – all of them – and Donovan’s betrayal hurt the worst. If she stayed she’d say something she’d regret. “No. You two made this necromantic mess. You fix it. I’ll be back. I… need to think.” She hurried from the room and across the foyer, grabbing her bag from the chair and slinging it over her shoulder. Viciously, she punched the elevator button with her thumb.

  “Riga. Wait.” Donovan strode toward her.

  She pressed the button again. Dammit. She should have taken the stairs.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Oh, now you want to talk?”

  The doors slid open and the security man stepped back, making room.

  “Sixth floor.” Riga said.

  Silent, Donovan stepped into the elevator behind her.

  They rode to the sixth floor and he followed her down the hall to Terry’s room. Watched while she knocked on the door. No answer.

  She pulled her stolen key card from her pocket, slid it in the lock. The light on the door turned green and she went inside.

  Donovan raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, closing the door behind them. His cheeks – Cam’s cheeks – were hollow, shaded by stubble. She’d read once that hair continued to grow after death and wondered if his facial hair did as well, if it was possible to shave that cold, dead skin.

  She went to
the desk, flipped open the laptop, booted it up.

  “What are you looking for?” he asked.

  “The reason Cam was murdered.” While the laptop hummed, ran through the start-up mode, she rummaged through the bits of flotsam and jetsam on the desk – receipts, travel brochures for Lake Tahoe, a matchbook with no cryptic message inside. She opened a thick manila folder and found a manuscript-sized stack of papers about Barbara Yaganovich, Terry’s other story.

  “We have bigger problems.”

  Head throbbing, she sat on the chair before the desk. “Yes, but I can’t do anything about your Freaky Friday issues, so I’m focusing on what I can fix.”

  “Riga, look at me. We need to talk.”

  She spun in the chair, hands clenching its back, her fury bubbling. “You lied to me. How could you? And necromancy? For… You’ve heard me talk about the necromancers. They’re the serial killers of the magical world.” Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes. Necromancy was the most despised of magical practices, foul and oppressive. “How could you? We’re supposed to be getting married in a week and you lied to me.”

  “I didn’t lie to you. I avoided you, because I can’t lie to you.”

  “Well, you did a rotten job of it.” She lashed out, wanting to wound. “Everywhere I looked there you were, lurking in the shadows.”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees. “Gregorovich had a man on you. I spotted him in the casino this morning, followed him to the restaurant.”

  Her breath left her in a rush, cold striking her core.

  “Attacking you in my casino was a stupid move,” he continued, “and Gregorovich isn’t a stupid man. He’s fixated on you, but there’s something else going on. And that worries me.”

  He was right. Vasily couldn’t have believed he would succeed in removing her from the casino. And if the mobster wanted her badly, there were smarter places for a grab. “He wanted your attention,” she said slowly.

  “He’s had it, ever since he took an interest in you. I won’t let him hurt you, Riga.”

  She bowed her head, raked a shaky hand through her hair. They both knew that if the mobster was determined to cause trouble, it wouldn’t be easy to stop him. In a low voice, she asked, “Why didn’t you tell me what had happened?”

  “Because I thought we could fix the problem quickly – we were up all night trying – and because I didn’t want you to see me in this body. It’s so… wiry and scruffy and look at my face! I’m hideous.”

  Riga rubbed the back of her neck. “You’re not…”

  “This has all been a bust.”

  “But why didn’t you come get me when my aunts proposed this? I was right downstairs!”

  His lips compressed.

  “You knew I’d object,” she said. “Try to talk you out of it.”

  “And I knew I’d do it anyway. I wasn’t afraid you’d talk me out of it. I was afraid you’d talk your aunts out of it.”

  “Not if it was what you wanted. Do you really think I’d go over your head to stop you? Is that what you’d do to me if you thought you knew better?”

  “Of course not. I just saw a chance and I took it.”

  Abruptly, her anger evaporated. Of course he’d go along with her aunts’ plan. They’d offered him a limited-time opportunity, and he’d never been a man to avoid a calculated risk. And he wasn’t going to ask permission, either. That was the sort of man he’d always been, and it was one of the things she admired about him.

  “Neither of us has been at our best,” she said slowly. “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now in another man’s body, or how you’re staying so calm.”

  “Don’t look so worried. Romania isn’t that big of a country. We’ll find your Aunt Livinia and I’ll be back to normal before the wedding. I promise.”

  Riga’s jaw clenched. Livinia. Her aunts were necromancers, and if they were to be believed, Riga was as well. It meant a life of conflict. No peace, no rest for the wicked. Wasn’t that how the saying went? And it had already begun, she realized. The attacks she’d thought were one-offs were part of a larger pattern, one that had been growing in intensity. How could she drag Donovan through that?

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Bitterly, she smiled, motioned toward the computer screen. “Password protected.” She couldn’t burden him with this now, not when he was trapped inside this cursed body.

  “Maybe this will help.” He stood, and reached into the front pocket of his jeans, and a small foil packet fell to the floor. In his palm, he held a thumb-sized computer drive. “I noticed it in my pocket this morning, but didn’t have a chance to take a look.”

  She took it, her fingertips brushing his palm, and he grasped her hand. The grip was cool, gentle, and her skin tingled from the contact.

  He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. And though they were someone else’s eyes, they held a familiar warmth. “Riga.” With his other hand he brushed the side of her face and instinctively she recoiled.

  Then, before she could see his hurt, she slipped into his arms, laid her head over his heart. There was no heartbeat, no rise and fall of his chest. She tightened her arms around him to keep herself from reacting, drawing back. And then a single heartbeat, as if from a great distance.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know it’s you, but…” She struggled for the right words, settled for: “It feels like cheating.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and stepped back, smiled crookedly. “I don’t blame you. This body would repel anyone.”

  Actually, it wouldn’t. But she suspected Donovan wasn’t in the mood for favorable comparisons. “It’s not that bad. Cam’s handsome… in his own way.” She pocketed the drive, shut down the computer, closed the lid. Riga bent, picked up the packet that had fallen from his pocket. A condom. She handed it back to him. “They say half of good photography is preparation,” she said lightly. “Looks like Cam was ready for anything.”

  He tossed it in the garbage. “Not for getting killed.”

  Riga took a last look around the room, checking the pockets of Cam’s coats in the closet, filing through the contents of the dresser drawers. Nothing.

  They slipped from the room, Donovan checking to make sure the door was locked behind them.

  A white-haired woman in a red kimono strode out of the room next door. She glared at them. “You two are old enough to know better than to argue with each other in a hotel. These walls aren’t exactly soundproof. How’s a person to get any rest? If you two raise one more ruckus, I’ll call the management again.” The woman huffed and strode off.

  Riga colored. Had she been shouting that loudly?

  “The walls aren’t that thin,” Donovan muttered.

  *****

  The warmth of the gloomy bar embraced her as she walked inside, alone. Through the windows overlooking the lake, the sun had set, its ribbons of gold turning to tatters across the darkening sky. She glanced in the restaurant, through a door in the side wall. Candles glittered on white-linen tablecloths amidst poinsettias and holly. She saw no one she knew. Alone at last.

  The bar was empty at this hour, as she’d known it would be. She slid onto a bar stool, and dropped her bag on the empty one beside her. A bored-looking bartender wandered past and she ordered a glass of Cab before he had a chance to abandon her. Riga knew she was being morbid, but she didn’t want to go home. Pen was at home. Her aunts might or might not be there. Donovan was holed up at the penthouse, staying close to his father. She didn’t want to see any of them. Or Terry or Annabelle or Dora. There’d be questions, small talk. Coy jokes about wedding nights. Absently, she thumbed the band around her third finger.

  The bartender placed the drink in front of her and she slid some bills across the damp wooden bar. He nodded, pocketing them, and walked away.

  Was Pen a necromancer too? The thought made her heartsick. In the past, Riga had barely been able to defend herself against the necromancers she
’d encountered. How could she protect Pen?

  The wine was cheap, sour. She let it linger on her tongue, the quicker to dull her taste buds. Felt its warmth spread through her blood, her bones.

  She could see it all crumbling now, the faint outlines of the life she’d planned with Donovan, disintegrating. Her aunts were right. Necromancers were always alone, largely because they were always trying to kill each other. There was no one to trust. Innocents got caught in the cross-fire. And Riga had once joked the necromancer on necromancer violence kept the population down.

  She was a monster.

  Her glass was empty. She ordered another, knowing she’d have to take a cab home. The thought of the house they might have shared sank her. The bartender slid the drink across to her. “You okay?”

  She pushed her car keys across the bar. “Leave the bottle and I will be.”

  He nodded, took the keys, and left her with the bottle. She sipped the wine, thoughtful. In twenty-four hours she’d learned a man had been murdered in her home, her fiancée was among the undead, and if her aunts were to be believed, she was a necromancer, the bad guy. She’d give herself one more hour of self-pity, and then back to work.

  “May I join you?” Vasily appeared at her elbow.

  “Christ!” She choked on the wine, coughing, her gaze darting about the bar. If Vasily’s gorillas were around, they were out of sight. And so was the bartender.

  Vasily laughed. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

  The mobster loosened the collar of his crimson silk shirt. There was a dark mark on his temple where she’d struck it with the chair, though this was nothing compared to the injuries Donovan had inflicted. One of Vasily’s eyes was swollen shut, and his lip was distended, cracked. At the sight, fierce joy erupted in her heart.

  Riga clenched her fist. “You pulled a knife on me.”

  “To free you from that strap before someone stepped on you. I would never hurt you, Riga.”

  “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls. Why aren’t you under arrest?” A bead of sweat trickled down her back.