Bare Bones

by Debra Dunbar

  “That’s not Bradley.” The woman pointed dramatically at her brother. “He hasn’t been himself since yesterday. A job interview? Oh, please. Bradley hasn’t looked for a job after he got fired from the Crab Shack last year. He doesn’t eat meat, but I caught him eating a twelve ounce filet last night. I saw him doing the laundry this morning.”

  Poor Bradley. What a control freak he had for a sister. I folded my arms across my chest, continuing to think some very uncharitable thoughts about this woman.

  Janice was busy taking notes. I looked over her shoulder and saw something about dietary changes and personality disorders.

  “Bradley? What do you have to say to this?” The priest wiped a hand across his sweaty brow.

  Bradley slid the backpack off of his shoulder and dropped it onto the crimson and black bedspread. “Seriously? After all the complaining she’s done since I quit college, I finally get my act together and she calls in the church?”

  He had a point. The situation was looking less like an exorcism and more like a reality show episode. Crazy Housewives of Canton: Sisters Who Nag Their Younger Brothers.

  “He’s a demon,” the sister shouted.

  “You’re crazy,” he shouted back.

  This was getting tedious. It was time for the priest to do his thing so Janice could get her story and I could get back to…whatever it was I needed to do on a Saturday afternoon.

  “Why do you think he’s been possessed by a demon?” I asked the sister. “Has he been involved with the occult in the past? Has he been ordering books on summoning and black magic off the internet? Is he drawing sigils in a binding circle in your basement?”

  Now everyone was looking at me instead of Bradley.

  “Nooooo,” the sister said, eyeing me as if I was the one needing exorcism. “But there was the blood. And I overheard him talking to some friends in the driveway about killing people.”

  “Blood?” All of us asked at once. Well, except for Bradley, who looked rather irritated at this point.

  “There was blood all over his clothes and on his body. It was last night, right when he started eating meat and doing this whole job-search thing. He came home covered in blood, tried to sneak into the house. When I saw him, I felt afraid. It wasn’t just the blood. He looked… I don’t know, he looked swollen and was moving funny.”

  “Oh for fuck sake, Amanda!” Bradley threw up his hands and paced a few steps. “I was in a fight. Some guy jumped me in an alley, stole my wallet and beat me up. Of course I was swollen and bloody. And I was sore. And I was limping. And yes, I probably said I wanted to kill him. Do you blame me? Shit woman, get off my back.”

  Amanda winced. I narrowed my eyes, wondering if this was the talk of a young man who’d just had enough of his meddling sister, or something else. I could see having this kind of argument with Roman. Well, without the profanity, anyway. Obsessive sister. Fed up brother. Poor Janice. I wasn’t even sure she could get a story on mental health services out of this family drama.

  Except Bradley didn’t look all that worse for wear today. If he’d been beaten up enough last night to be bloody and swollen, then he’d sure healed up quick. I would have at least expected colorful bruises and a few bandages. The guy looked fresh as a daisy.

  “I’m going to suggest some family counselling,” Father Bernard interjected, stepping between the two siblings. “I’d be happy to provide weekly sessions, or I can refer you to a few secular therapists who specialize in group sessions.”

  Amanda and Bradley glared at each other around the priest. Neither seemed particularly happy with the idea of weekly therapy.

  Father Bernard turned to face the sister. “In the meantime, I’d like Amanda to work on holding back a bit, giving Bradley the room to grow and change. Unless he’s doing something that endangers himself or others, he should feel free to try new foods and explore different career options.”

  Amanda gave a short, grudging nod.

  “And you.” The priest turned to point at Bradley who took a wary step backward. “Your sister has given you opportunities most young men never have. She deserves to be spoken to with respect, her concerns heard. Can you do that?”

  Bradley’s nod mirrored his sister’s.

  And there we were. Another episode of Drama in Canton.

  Janice tapped her pen against her lip. “Father, can you do the exorcism anyway? Just in case?”

  I choked back a laugh. Always the reporter, Janice was determined to salvage something from this story. There might not be demons or psychiatric issues, but even if nothing came of it, Exorcism in Canton would make a better story than Family Drama in Canton.

  Father Bernard raised his eyebrows. “But there’s no indication that demonic possession is in play here. I honestly believe with a month or two of weekly counselling sessions, Amanda and Bradley can resolve their differences.”

  “I think Amanda might be able to accept that and be more receptive to group counselling if she could put these ideas of demonic possession to rest.”

  Janice was good. Really good. Next time I had to go before the Elders, I was taking her. The woman could negotiate like a boss when there was something she wanted.

  The priest thought for a second and nodded. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt. Amanda, would that satisfy you? Will you agree to let your brother have space to grow and change if I can show you he’s not possessed by a demon?”

  The sister hesitated then nodded. “Yes. I’ll even start buying burgers if you can guarantee that he’s truly my brother and not some monster that’s taken over his body.”

  “Then let’s proceed.” Father Bernard walked over to his bag and began removing supplies.

  Bradley exploded in anger. “No. There’s no way I’m standing here while this guy throws holy water at me. This whole thing is stupid.”

  “But it will get you to your job interview in time,” I interjected. “And it will get your sister off of your back. Ten minutes, tops. Splash some holy water, say a few words in Latin, and you’ll be on your way.”

  Janice turned to Amanda. “This is going to satisfy you, right? If Father Bernard does the exorcism and no demon comes flying out of your brother, will you admit that this is Bradley and not some doppelganger?”

  Amanda swallowed hard a few times and nodded. “Yes, I’ll admit I was wrong.”

  “Fine.” Bradley threw his hands outward in exasperation. “What do I do? Let’s get this over with so I can get out of here.”

  The priest asked him to lay down on the bed, shifting the backpack to the floor. Then Bradley closed his eyes and placed his hands on his chest as Father Bernard began chanting, and flicking him with water. I looked at my phone and moved out of the doorway, my foot hitting the backpack. It squished slightly like it was crammed full of sopping wet clothing or Jell-O or something. Yuck. What the heck did he have in there? I grimaced, wondering briefly if there was more bloody clothing in the bag. Was it really a job interview that Bradley was so desperate to get to, or was he involved in a little extracurricular illegal activities? If he’d pissed off his supplier, then that would have explained the beating and the blood, although not the remarkable healing abilities he seemingly possessed.

  The holy water was flying thick and fast by this point, making me think it was a good thing the white plush carpeting had ended in the hallway, and that Bradley had hardwood floors in his bedroom that matched the oak furniture.

  “I’m going to need to change my clothing,” Bradley complained. “Probably throw the bedding in the dryer, too. Can’t you use less of that stuff?”

  The priest ignored him and continued. I’d never been to an exorcism before, but this certainly didn’t seem to bear any resemblance to the ones I’d read about. There was no screaming. Bradley’s body remained on the bed instead of levitating above it. I’d hoped for at least a few vehement phrases in arcane languages, but no. Bradley just lay on the bed, complaining. Janice, and Amanda, were going to be disappointed, because I got the feelin
g that Bradley had most definitely not been taken over by a demon.

  The priest evidently had reached the same conclusion. He stepped back, shaking his head as he put the leafy sprig and water back in his bag. “He’s not possessed. Will you now believe, as he said, he’s just become motivated to get a job and do his own laundry, and decided to eat meat?”

  Bradley snorted, flicking holy water from his hair and face as he rose. Without a care for those of us in the room who were complete strangers, he began to strip off his shirt and shimmy out of his pants. Before I had a chance to turn my head, he’d re-dressed himself and draped the wet clothes over the edge of a laundry basket.

  I felt a bit sorry for the guy. How embarrassing to have your sister call in a priest just because you ate a steak and had a job interview. Reaching down, I picked up the backpack and handed it to him, noticing that it was really too heavy for my bloody clothes theory. What did the guy have in here, bricks? Squishy bricks?

  “Thanks.” His eyes darted to my tattoo and narrowed. “You’re the Templar.”

  I was a Templar. I wasn’t the Templar. His choice of words was really odd. Suddenly my sympathy was gone, replaced by suspicion. Yes, some people did recognize the mark. Rob at the records office had. Some of the LARP people had. Occasionally I’d served a latte to a history buff who had. But this was a twenty-one-year-old guy who, up until last week, hadn’t done more than lay around the house, eat tofu, and listen to Rabid Rabbit.

  “Yes, I’m a Templar.” I might be the only one living in Baltimore, but I wasn’t presumptuous enough to call myself the Templar.

  “Cool.” He reached out to touch the tattoo on my wrist and I jerked my arm back. There was a limit to my politeness, and letting a strange guy feel up my tattoo was way past that limit.

  “A Templar.” Father Bernard seemed impressed, nodding and smiling at me as he put the rest of his gear away. “God be with you.”

  “And with you, also,” I replied.

  Bradley stepped closer, well into my area of personal space. “Can I buy you dinner tonight? Or drinks? Or a cup of coffee?”

  What? Seriously? The guy had just been through an exorcism that had left him drenched with holy water and now he was asking me out—a stranger who’d witnessed the humiliating event. Bradley seemed to have forgotten all about his job interview and was giving me what was clearly his best attempt at a sexy come-hither, smoldering look.

  “No. I have a boyfriend.” Zac wasn’t a boyfriend, but he made a good excuse not to go on a date with this creep.

  “You sure? I know a great brewpub downtown. They’ve got a good menu. Farm to table with local, grass-fed beef.”

  That did sound yummy, but not with Bradley. “No, thanks.” I looked pointedly at my watch, then over at Janice. “We really need to get going. I’ve got a million things to do.”

  I didn’t, but I did want to get out of here before Bradley made me even more uncomfortable than I already was. Janice grimaced in sympathy, exchanged information with Amanda and we hotfooted it out the door to her car.

  “What a bunch of weirdos,” she said once she had the car in gear and was backing out of the driveway. “How about that sister? And what was it with the white carpeting?”

  “I know. In my house that would have been stained with wine or mud in about five seconds. And Bradley? Just as I was starting to feel sorry for him, he turns into a creeper. Think he has a white van in the garage?”

  Janice snorted. “I think he’s probably got bodies in the garage.”

  Chapter 4

  I KICKED OFF my sneakers, threw my keys on the table, and placed my sword gently on the kitchen counter before plopping down on my sofa. It was still early. I had hours before I needed to meet Dario.

  Never did I think I’d feel bored again. The first six months here in Baltimore had been lonely. I’d spent my time at work or harassing Dario in downtown pubs, trying to find something to entertain myself that didn’t cost money.

  August had been a whirlwind of activity and sleepless nights. The job with the vampires. The necromancer. The demons, and angel, and death mages. I’d found friends. I’d lost one of the best friends I’d ever had. I kinda started dating a guy. But right now, I had nothing to do and it was driving me nuts.

  Actually I had research to do. Gah. I never thought I’d be tired of paging through manuscripts and magical texts, but I really wanted to do something today. A month of scouring every reference I owned on demon marks had left me with nothing beyond the notes Raven had made before she died. I needed to find a way to get this mark removed, but I’d run out of ideas.

  Dark Iron had a ritual that he’d given to Raven, but he was dead and I wasn’t sure what my friend had done with the information before she’d died. Had Dark Iron taken it from her? Had she left it in the car or her purse? Who knows where those had ended up after she’d died. And honestly, I wasn’t sure that Dark Iron hadn’t given her a bogus ritual as a red herring.

  Although Raven would have known. She was skilled enough to have scented out a fraud. That ritual was the only hope I had right now of getting rid of this demon mark, and I had no way to find it either among Raven’s effects or Dark Iron’s. I couldn’t exactly call Haul Du and ask to see their grimoires without arousing suspicion. Besides, none of those mages would speak to me, let alone hand over a former member’s magical diary.

  So, as futile as it might be, I was going to take yet another look through my reference books and hope that some miracle jumped out at me from the pages. I flicked on the television, reached down to the coffee table to pick up the Lemegeton that Raven had given me, and knocked something over. It was the fox figurine. Again. I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck as I picked up the resin object and turned it over in my hands. It was warm, and I wasn’t sure if the ruby eyes were reflecting sunlight from the window or if they were glowing.

  Glowing or not, this figurine had been on the shelf when I’d left. And now it was sitting on top of my copy of Peterson’s Monsters of the New World. Was someone messing with me? I’d warded my doorway. Dario was the only one who could get past the deadbolt and the magical locks, but it was daylight, and even he should have triggered the spell that would alert me someone had been inside my apartment.

  All the other figurines that my great-grandmother Essie has sent were still on their respective shelves, gathering dust. What was it with the fox? There was only one way I could set my mind at ease, and I was looking for an excuse to procrastinate on my magical research anyway, so I picked up the phone and dialed my great-grandmother.

  Essie had a cell phone. And she made very good use of the internet for a woman over a century in age. No one was really sure how old she was, and it would be terribly rude of us to ask. I’d never known my famous grandfather, Tarquin Ailpean Ainsworth, who’d died when my father was only seven, but his birthdate, marriage date, and date of death were all recorded in the family bible. If I were to conjecture, I’d put Essie’s age at between one hundred and twenty and one hundred and thirty.

  And the woman didn’t look, or act, a day over eighty. Of course, Tarquin hadn’t just brought home a raven-haired beauty from Hungary when he’d married Essie, he’d brought home a talented witch. I fingered the Lemegeton by my side, hoping that I’d inherited more from Essie than my dark hair.

  “Hello?” Essie shouted into the phone. “Aria? You okay girl? Any more demons or angels you need to get rid of? How’s that hot vampire of yours?”

  Essie was obsessed with Dario, more so than even I was. “We’re just friends, Gran. I’ve gone on a few dates with a human named Zac. He sells medical equipment.”

  I heard a grumble from the other end of the line and knew Essie thought a human sales person was quite a step down from the sexy vampire. Of course at her age, dying from blood loss after a wild three to six months of amazing sex wasn’t really a deterrent.

  “Gran, I gotta ask. What’s up with the figurines? I mean, they’re cute and I love that you send me stu
ff like that, but is there something else about them I should know?”

  “They’re vessels. Lelek raktarban.”

  Vessels I understood, but vessels for what? And Lelek raktarban sounded like something really tasty for dinner.

  “Lelek. For the holding of souls.”

  I felt a wave of cold at her words. Last month I’d helped take down a group of death magic practitioners who had crossed the line from icky animal sacrifice to using humans and using their souls. It had involved a very expensive soul trap that had been stolen from a mage in Argentina—a soul trap that I still had, hidden away in the back of a kitchen shelf. I still shuddered to think of the thing, buried behind fifty packets of ramen noodles. I didn’t want it, but wasn’t sure how to get rid of it without implicating myself in Dark Iron’s death. Plus the idea of it falling into the hands of someone who might wind up using it made me feel sick. I didn’t want the soul trap. And I wasn’t sure I wanted these Lelek either.

  “Umm, what am I supposed to do with them? I don’t do that sort of magic, Gran. And one of them, the fox, keeps moving.”

  She laughed. It sounded eerily like a cackle. “Oh excellent! A wayward spirit has found a home in one. And the fox too? This soul is there to help you, to share his knowledge with you. That’s why he’s chosen to live inside the fox.”

  I was getting the idea that these soul vessels weren’t like the soul trap hidden behind the ramen, or like the ones used in necromancy. “Chosen? So this is like a familiar only not furry and not likely to violate the no-pet clause in my lease?”

  “No.” Essie made an impatient noise. “Familiars are non-human spirits who choose to inhabit an animal body and attach themselves to a human who had proven worthy in magic. They serve to store energy and to act as a catalyst for spells. These lelek raktarban are vessels. They are objects that have been magically enhanced so they are attractive to wandering souls.”

  I still didn’t fully understand this, but the fact that my great-grandmother had gone to the trouble of buying all these different figurines, then painstakingly spelling each of them meant the world to me. Essie was cagy with her magic. None of us had ever seen her spell books or knew where she did her work. Most of the time she just seemed like an eccentric, elderly lady, until she flicked her wrist and sent a tennis ball plowing into someone’s stomach.