Vendetta (Deadly Curiosities Book 2)

by Gail Z. Martin

  “Yikes. As in making hell freeze over?’

  Teag nodded. “Yep, and that’s how he seemed to look at it, too. Not much of a sense of humor. When he rode into town, people got out of his way, especially demons and dark magic types.”

  “I can imagine that he made an impression.”

  “He passed himself off as a traveling preacher who did exorcisms. A lot of the magical community doesn’t remember him favorably. Apparently, he was known for double-crossing more than one ‘colleague’ whom he considered to be a little too close to the dark side for his taste.”

  “Wow. A real fun guy.”

  “That’s just it. Some people questioned whether Josiah was really playing for one side or the other, or both ends against the middle. He shows up doing some sketchy jobs for the Family, and then helps out the Alliance. No one liked or trusted him, but he was good in a fight, so he kept getting asked back to the party.”

  “What kind of magic did ol’ Josiah have?” I asked, sipping my coffee. “That might be important.”

  “He seemed to have a knack for cheating at cards,” Teag replied, “but mostly, he liked freezing things.” He raised an eyebrow. “One more thing, Cassidy,” Teag said as I rose to check my email. “About Mr. Thompson at the nursing home? He’s a direct descendant of Josiah Winfield, right down to the magic.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “That old guy was a supernatural hit man?”

  Teag nodded. “More of a paranormal soldier of fortune. Kinda like Josiah. Jobs done, grudges settled, no questions asked. Depending on who you talk to, Josiah was either a tarnished hero who took care of problems no one else wanted to touch, or an enforcer for powerful society folks who got in a magic-related jam.”

  “Or a bit of both,” I mused.

  “Either way, he was a dangerous man in his day. And even though he’s dead, we have no idea what he’s still capable of doing.”

  I took my coffee cup to the sink and rinsed it out. “Do you and Anthony have plans tonight for dinner?”

  Teag shook his head. “No. Big court appearance tomorrow, so Anthony’s holed up preparing.”

  “Want to hang around and we’ll get something to eat? I’m wondering if we can find out more about Josiah.”

  “Sure,” Teag said. “And for the record, I poked around a little – gently – on the Darke Web about Daniel Hunter. Yeesh. One nasty son of a bitch.”

  “We kinda knew that.”

  Teag shrugged. “Then consider it validation.”

  We grabbed a bite to eat and settled back down to see what more we could uncover. It didn’t take long for Teag to hit pay dirt. Images of newspaper articles and obituaries came up on screen. I was quiet for a moment, speed reading through an old article that mentioned Mr. Thompson.

  “Edwin Thompson did exceptionally well for himself in the stock market,” I mused. “That was his profession – stock trading. His clients had above-average returns, too – consistently enough to get noticed. There were allegations of insider trading and cheating, but no one could make the charges stick.”

  “Numbers magic,” Teag replied. “Like the guys who can count cards in Vegas and win every hand, only beyond mortal skill. Josiah was a card cheat, remember? If Thompson’s magic helped him see patterns, he could get ahead of the sequence, beat the market.”

  I nodded. “Which wouldn’t be out of the question as a relation to Winfield,” I said thoughtfully. “Like with FBI profilers, it’s all about finding and predicting patterns.”

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  I was about to say no, then two old newspaper clippings caught my eye. “Hold up,” I said, eyes widening. “Now that’s interesting.”

  “What?”

  “Didn’t you say Thompson was supposed to have some sort of deep freeze magic, like Josiah?”

  “That’s what I heard on the Darke Web.”

  “Well according to this, several people around Thompson died in fatal accidents involving ice.” I met his gaze. “In and around Charleston.” In Alaska, that might not be strange. Charleston didn’t get much ice.

  “What happened?”

  I scrolled down. “One of his business partners, whom Thompson was in the middle of pushing out of the firm, died when his car slid off the road on a patch of black ice.”

  “We get a few cold days. There can be slippery spots.”

  “Uh huh. Then two years later, Thompson’s ex-wife, who was about to get a big divorce settlement, slipped while walking down a flight of stairs – in front of witnesses – and died.”

  “Okay,” Teag said, drawing out the word skeptically. “That’s a big coincidence.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “And here’s the kicker. The District Attorney back in the Eighties was convinced there was some kind of improper trading going on, and he dogged Thompson. Until he died, of a sudden, massive heart attack.”

  “I wonder if a guy like Thompson could freeze someone’s heart,” Teag mused, and I knew he was on my wavelength. “Or maybe cause a clot with ice?”

  “Which no one would ever look for before it melted,” I replied.

  Well what do you know? Old Mr. Thompson wasn’t just a curmudgeon and a wizard. From what I’d just seen, it looked like he was also a stone-cold killer.

  I turned to Teag. “Anything else?” He nodded.

  “I did discover something that Sorren didn’t tell us.”

  I looked up. “Oh?”

  “According to the legends, Watchers don’t bother destroying ghosts. They take people they believe need to be judged,” Teag said soberly. “And they’re fond of feeding on wrong-doers who didn’t get punished ‘enough’ by their standards.”

  “I wonder if that has any connection with the people who have disappeared on the staircases,” I said. “Do you think you could find out?”

  Teag grinned. “Haven’t met a police database I couldn’t hack. But don’t tell that to my sweetie,” he added with a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, don’t you, that Sariel hasn’t really done his worst yet?”

  “I know. And we’re going to be at the center of it, when he does. I just want to be as ready as we can,” I said. Nice thought. But I had no idea how to make it happen.

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE people pay good money for ghost tours to bring them down here,” I said.

  “They’re getting entertainment,” Teag replied. “You’ve had too much of the real thing.”

  He was right about that. It was close to midnight, and we were in Philadelphia Alley, a short, straight side street with high, mostly windowless walls that earned its nickname, Dueler’s Alley, in blood. Not coincidentally, there’s an archway that used to lead directly into St. Philip’s cemetery. Convenient, in a macabre way.

  “I can’t believe dueling still happened into the late 1800s,” Alicia Peters, our medium, said. She shivered, and rubbed her hands on her arms to warm up although the night was a pleasant temperature.

  “It went on longer than that, in secret,” Teag said. “Lots of men died. It was a stupid way to settle an argument.”

  Now that we were here, the whole trip seemed like less of a good idea than it had during daylight. Teag carried Josiah Winfield’s dueling pistols in a duffle bag that included his martial arts fighting staff and a variety of protections against supernatural bad guys. I wasn’t taking any chances tonight, so I had my athame and Alard’s walking stick, plus my agate necklace and the old Norse spindle whorl that helped me focus my magic.

  “Let’s see if we can make contact with Josiah,” Teag said. Alicia found a spot she favored in the alley, and Teag made a protective circle with salt around her, then for good measure, made one for the two of us as well. Salt alone won’t hold off the worst supernatural predators, but it keeps most of the general nasties at bay.

  Being careful not to smudge either salt circle, I passed one of Josiah’s pistols to Alicia as a focal point. I kept the other one. They were both loaded. I had questions for Josiah, but I wasn’t entirely certain that if he di
d show up he would be pleased to see us, so I viewed the loaded pistols as a form of insurance.

  Alicia began to sing quietly, swaying back and forth. The alley grew colder, and wind stirred on what had been a still night. I’ve seen plenty of ghosts who had the power to show themselves or the will to become visible, but my magic can’t contact ghosts like Alicia’s. Watching her work always made me awestruck and a little frightened.

  The air felt thick around us, and I heard a man whistling a jaunty tune. The ‘whistling doctor’ was one of Dueler’s Alley’s more famous ghosts, but I was sure that tonight, with Alicia calling to the spirits, we had standing-room-only for haunts. But was one of them Josiah?

  “Josiah Winfield,” Alicia called quietly. “If you are present, make yourself known.”

  A handful of pebbles rose into the air and hurled against the alleyway wall. I’ll take that for a ‘yes’.

  “We have your pistols, Josiah,” Alicia continued. “And we’d like to have a word with you. The enemy you fought has returned. We need to know how you destroyed it.”

  The air in the alley had grown cold as a winter’s night. I could see my breath, a decidedly rare occurrence in Charleston. Gooseflesh rose on my arms and the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. I didn’t need Alicia’s gift to know that the narrow alley was chock full of ghosts, and it felt like more were coming by the minute. In the dark corners, I could see wisps of fog, spirits manifesting, waiting to see what would happen next.

  Boot steps sounded in the darkness, growing closer. I caught a whiff of bay rum and leather, and knew that Josiah was with us.

  “Josiah Winfield. I need to know what you discovered about the Reapers and Watchers you fought,” I said, partly addressing Alicia as the conduit to Josiah, and partly addressing thin air. “They’ve returned, and I think you found out something I need to know.”

  I give Alicia credit for brass-plated balls, figuratively speaking, because she doesn’t just talk to spirits, she lets them get inside her head. I saw the change come over Alicia as Josiah’s ghost responded to our call. Her stance became more masculine and arrogant, her expression took on a look that was not her own, and one hand caressed the dueling pistol as if it were a long-lost lover.

  “I’m here.” Alicia’s voice became harsh and throaty as Josiah’s ghost spoke through her.

  “You fought Nephilim,” I replied. “You knew my boss, Sorren. We’ve got problems, and I think you found out something you never had a chance to tell anyone before you died.”

  Alicia is a few inches shorter than I am, and you could drop her into any society tea party and she would fit in without missing a beat. So it was jarring to see her give me the once-over like a truck driver, have her gaze linger noticeably at chest level, and then grudgingly rise to meet my gaze with a level prove-yourself glare.

  “So that Dutch vampire bastard is still around?” Winfield said. “Figures he’d outlast me.” I waited out his stream of profanity and when I didn’t pale and didn’t flinch, I saw some grudging admiration in his gaze.

  “Something is drawing Nephilim to Charleston,” I continued. “Reapers and Watchers, too. People go down stairways and disappear. Is it Sariel?”

  Instead of answering my question, Winfield looked at the pistols. “You’ve got my guns.” Josiah Winfield’s voice had a wistful quality, the kind most sane people reserve for lovers or children.

  “You weren’t using them anymore,” I replied with a shrug.

  “True enough,” Winfield replied, and Alicia absently petted the gun she held as if it were a lap dog. “Reapers and Nephilim, huh? Bad stuff. What did you say about stairs?”

  “People go down stairs and never get to the bottom.”

  “People with something to hide, or old secrets, maybe a past they’d rather forget?” Josiah’s rough cadence was jarringly at odds with Alicia’s usual way of speaking.

  “Yeah,” I said. Josiah chuckled, and the sound sent a shiver down my back. “That’s the Watchers. They’re like enforcers, hired guns.” He gave a hoarse, strained laugh. “Like me, only worse, and they play for the other side.”

  “What’s so bad about Watchers?” Teag pressed. He stood a few feet away, keeping a lookout on the alley entrance and exit so we didn’t get surprised.

  “Reapers eat regular ghosts. Watchers eat tainted souls,” Josiah replied, with a hint of condescension. “Gives them power. But they don’t show up by themselves. They’re brought across, like the Nephilim, by someone more powerful. Where there are Watchers, there’s gonna be a Judge.”

  “What do I need to know to stop the Watchers and the Judge?” I was desperate to get answers before the connection was broken.

  The overwhelming guilt washed over me before Josiah could answer. I saw Teag’s face as it hit him, saw him blink back tears and set his jaw to hold his composure. Alicia was silently weeping.

  I shook off the guilt, desperate to free the others before we were attacked. “Teag! Alicia! Snap out of it! The guilt is a trick. It’s what the Watchers do. It’s not real.” I couldn’t tell if I was getting through to them, but all hell was about to break loose and I couldn’t handle it by myself.

  Movement warned me that we were about to stop talking and start shooting.

  Two unnaturally handsome young men were headed toward us from one end of Dueler’s Alley, while two more came from the other entrance. One for every taste: blond, dark, ginger and bald. Teag had pulled himself out of his funk and fell into a defensive stance, his staff in one hand and a magical dagger in the other. Runes blazed at the top of his staff, and the braided cords fastened to the staff juiced up its power with his Weaver magic. I jangled the collar on my left wrist, and Bo’s ghost appeared by my side, ninety pounds of spectral, pissed-off golden retriever.

  I had the walking stick in my left hand, and one of Josiah’s pistols in the other. Alicia still held the second pistol, though I doubted she had any idea how to fire it. I couldn’t tell whether she had heard my warning, or whether she was still paralyzed by guilt. That meant Teag and I had to protect Alicia as well as try to get out of this alive, and it was four to two. Lousy odds.

  I shot first. Fire surged from the old walking stick. The heat raised sweat on my forehead, and the blast of fire hit Baldy square in the middle of his Italian designer shirt. The beast inside roared as the force of the strike threw him back toward the mouth of the alley, his clothes aflame, flesh burning.

  Bo’s ghost was already in motion, bounding down the alley at Ginger, who looked like the answer to a Scottish bad girl’s wildest dreams. Bo leaped, managing to get three feet of air under him, and tackled Ginger like a lineman. Bo’s teeth clamped down on Ginger’s shoulder, and his front claws raked down through a black silk shirt that probably cost as much as most people’s monthly mortgage payment.

  Teag moved in fast while Ginger was down. He’s earned every one of his martial arts trophies, without using magic. Now, I heard him chanting under his breath, raising his power. Ginger tore loose from Bo’s grip, losing a chunk of flesh in the process, and was halfway on his feet before Teag hammered him with his staff. The crack of wood against bone echoed, followed a split second later by a flash of light. Ginger went down like he’d been Tasered, only Teag’s bolt of power carried a magical jolt.

  Bo went low; Teag went high. Bo lunged and caught Ginger in the left calf, as Teag used his staff as a fulcrum and leaped, planting a boot with silver-tipped cleats right in the Nephilim’s chest. Ginger dropped like a rock, and Teag smashed the butt of his staff down through the pretty-boy’s face, following it up with another wallop of magic that made Ginger convulse once and then lie smoking and still.

  Blondie was heading my way, while the dark-haired Nephilim hung back as if he was going to let his friends do the heavy lifting. He had coal-black hair and sharp features that made me think of a bird, so I mentally nicknamed him ‘Crow’. If he thought he was going to get out of this without rumpling his Armani jacket, he had another think c
oming.

  Half way toward me, Blondie broke into a run. I had spent the afternoon practicing with Josiah’s dueling pistol, and I knew its range and expected its kick. I’d used normal bullets for practice, and saved the silver-tipped, holy-water-blessed shot for tonight.

  Just a little closer. The damndest thing about dueling pistols is that they were made for short-range fighting, not distance, and they only had one bullet. That meant I had to hold my one shot until Blondie was within forty paces, which was too damn close for comfort.

  That’s when Crow charged.

  I heard a roar behind me, and knew that Baldy had managed to regroup. Teag had his hands full. I had a split second to get off a shot at Blondie before he went for my throat. Alicia was between me and Crow, which meant I couldn’t fry him with my walking stick without getting Alicia, too. As fast as Nephilim moved, it looked like both of them were going to hit me at the same time.

  A thick fog came out of nowhere, coalescing between me and Crow. Not fog, spirits. I caught glimpses of faces and shapes, hazy gray. Josiah isn’t the only dueler who never left the alley. Though the ghosts of dead duelers looked insubstantial to me, they had enough supernatural heft to slow down the dark-haired Nephilim, making him fight his way through the fog to get to us. Bless you, Alicia, I thought.

  Alicia’s ghosts bought me the few seconds I needed. I took my shot at Blondie, and got him in the gut. The impact of the shot stopped his momentum, and put a big bloodstain on his abdomen. But I knew what really hurt was the silver and holy water combo, since his veins lit up through his skin from the inside-out and he went down screaming as his whole body started to smoke.

  “Alicia – move!” I shouted. The alley ghosts were doing their best to slow the fourth Nephilim, but he was strong enough to fight his way through, tearing free from the spectral hands that snatched at his clothing and pulled at his arms and legs. Crow was almost on her, half transformed. I had seen what those claws could do. I dropped the gun and raised my walking stick, but I still couldn’t get a clean shot.