by Debra Dunbar
The necromancer opened the lid, unfolding the board and placing the triangular planchette in the center.
“A Ouija board.” Obviously this wasn’t something we’d ever had in our house growing up. I’d never seen one while in Haul Du either since all the mages in that group studied Goetica. Ouija was a tool of mediums and divinatory mages, of necromancers and those who dealt with the spirit world. The hair on my neck stood up just looking at it.
“It’s a tool, just like a pendulum, cards, or a scrying mirror.” Russell sat and laid the fox figurine on the plastic pointer. Then he reached across the table and took my hands in his own.
“Aren’t we supposed to put our fingers on the thingie?” That’s how I’d seen it done in the horror movies.
“What, so one of us can accuse the other of moving it ourselves?” he scoffed. “If the spirit can’t manage to move the indicator on its own, then I’m afraid he might not be of much help to you. I even placed the figurine in direct contact with it, to give him a little additional assistance.”
I looked down at the Ouija board, my heart sinking. My little fox was game, but he hadn’t been able to do much more than fall over and roll across the ground. I wasn’t sure moving a pointer was within his abilities. Hoping for the best, I closed my eyes.
The lights dimmed. Russell’s soft chanting was barely louder than the hum of the refrigerator. Magical energy sparked along my skin and I shivered. He was doing all he could to help my little fox communicate. It was hard to believe that a month ago I’d regarded this man as an enemy, although a sympathetic one. And here he was helping me.
“The spirit is very frustrated that he can’t speak,” Russell announced. “I get the sense that he’s determined and not about to give up. That’s good. Now, let’s see if he’s strong enough to move the planchette and tell us his name.”
I opened my eyes and stared, disheartened. The fox and the planchette were exactly where they’d been before. Nothing had happened. I got the feeling nothing was going to happen.
“Patience.” Russell gave my hands a squeeze, his eyes practically willing the pointer to move.
It jerked to the side. I caught my breath and watched while the poor fox trembled, jerking the planchette one tiny fraction of an inch at a time. Finally it stopped.
Russell sighed and released my hands. “That’s it. He’s either gone where he wanted to or he’s too tired to continue.”
We both stood, looking down at the pointer. It had paused over the letter” “V”.
“Victor? Vinny? Do you know anyone no longer living whose name began with a ‘V’?”
I shook my head. “Maybe it’s ‘V’ for vampire?” There had been quite a few who had died at the hands of Russell’s specters last month before both sides had called a truce, but I really didn’t know any of those vampires well enough to think they’d stick around to help me.
The necromancer shrugged. “Could be, although these vessels are generally only available for human spirits. I can’t think a vampire spirit would be able to use one. I’m not even sure there are vampire spirits. I’ve never encountered any who hung around after death, but it’s not like I’ve been asked to communicate with any of them. I just get the feeling they go straight to their final destination once they die.”
Which would be hell. It was the ultimate price paid by vampires for their immortality.
I tucked the little resin fox into my purse and left after thanking Russell for the tea and the help. It was nice to know someone in the magical community who didn’t regard me as a pariah, although necromancers were highly specialized. So were Goetic mages, though. I thought again about Reynard’s unexpected visit. That was a friend I needed to cultivate. We both cared about Raven, and he’d opened the doorway to communication and an exchange of information. Maybe, in time, he’d be able to put me in contact with someone who could tell me how to remove this demon mark.
In the meantime, I had a hodge-podge of friends that included a necromancer, a reporter, a detective, a vampire, and a group of gamers. And a three-inch fox figurine whose name started with a “V”.
Chapter 15
THE COFFEE SHOP was unusually busy this evening due to a special event at the Inner Harbor. I looked out the front door, craning my neck to catch what was going on down-street, but couldn’t see anything from the crowds of people.
Usually I was one of the day shift employees, since the 5:00 p.m. onward part-timers were the ones with regular day jobs. I missed Brandi and Anna, but was tickled to see I was working with Chalese. The middle-aged woman had an indescribable job at Public Works during the day, but claimed they didn’t pay her enough to cover the cost of her hair stylist. Then she’d gently pat her ’do, claiming that hair that gorgeous didn’t come cheap.
I believed her. The hair in question was meticulously curled and colored a warm honey brown, with extensions that brought the overall length to just above her waist. Beyoncé would have been green with envy. Heck, I was green with envy, self-consciously running my fingers through my snarled dark-brown mess and wishing I’d taken a bit more care this morning with my appearance.
Chalese was a blast to work with, and that wasn’t completely due to her careful grooming and wry sense of humor. The woman could work. I’d never seen anyone so quick on the machines. It was like she had six hands or something. And when she called out an order, I swear they could hear her all the way to Dundalk.
By nine that evening things had slowed down and we were both watching the clock, waiting impatiently for closing time. I was just about to start cleaning the pastry case when the door chimed. I peeked around the espresso machine and saw Sean Merrill heading my way.
Odd. He wasn’t with Janice, and I couldn’t recall if I’d told him where I worked or not. It could be a coincidence that he was here. I mean, some nights you just needed a latte, and from last night I’d seen that Sean liked his caffeine late. Yeah. It had to be a coincidence, because my friend’s boyfriend going out of his way to come to my coffee shop would have been kind of creepy.
“Hey.” I greeted him with my best, friendly smile. “Double shot with a twist?”
He grinned back. “Yep. I am a creature of habit. I’ll take one of those brownies, too.”
I relaxed and scooped a brownie into a white bag. No big deal. The guy was probably at the Harbor for whatever thing had been going on tonight, and just popped in for an espresso before heading home. I handed him his brownie while Chalese took care of the espresso, balancing a lovely lemon twist on the edge of the cup before handing it to him. He smiled and sat at a nearby table, grabbing a discarded newspaper and looking through it as he sipped.
“Friend of yours?” Chalese jerked her head sideways toward Sean.
“A friend of mine just started dating him. He’s a developer up in Harford County, but he’s in the city a lot for business. Seems nice.”
Too nice. There was something about him that bothered me. Maybe I just liked the bad boys and any nice, normal, non-vampire man seemed wrong.
“He’s too old for that body,” Chalese sniffed.
“What?” My heart stuttered. Sean wasn’t a vampire, but there were plenty of other creatures who looked human but didn’t age like one.
“You know. Some guys just seem old.” She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “Looks mid-thirties on the outside, but I’ll bet he’s all prune juice and bran muffins on the inside.”
Oh, she meant he was boring and old-fashioned. Maybe, but I think Janice liked that sort of predictable and Steady-Eddy kind of guy. I finished with the pastry case while Chalese cleaned the machines. It was nine-thirty and I went to lock the door, noticing that Sean still had quite a bit of espresso left in his cup. It was bound to be cold by now. Normally I would have assumed he didn’t like the drink, but Chalese knew how to make a double with a twist. Chalese knew how to make everything.
“We’re closing up,” I told him apologetically.
He looked up in surprise. “Oh. Sorry, I g
ot sucked into this article about the occult murders last month. Do you know the one guy, Charles something, just got sentenced to twenty at Jessup?”
Chuck. I’d kind of actually liked him. “I’m glad they caught them. It was pretty horrible, snatching people off the street and killing them like that.”
He tilted his head in surprise. “They? Janice said you were involved with the investigation, that you assisted the detective in charge and were responsible for the arrest of nine of the mages.”
Oh Lord, Janice had been talking me up. I squirmed. “I’m a Templar. I acted as a consultant, sharing information on ceremonial magic with the local police.” I also banished demons and killed a man. But that was better kept to myself.
Sean folded the paper, drinking down the rest of his espresso. “So what are your thoughts on vampires, demons, werewolves, and all that? Kill them on sight? Or do you think it’s possible for humans to co-exist peacefully with the paranormal?”
That was the weirdest question from a civilian I’d ever fielded. My gamer friends asked this sort of thing all the time, but they rolled dice and killed orcs every week, too. Fantasy was part of their lives. I hadn’t expected it to be part of a developer from Harford County’s life.
“Demons can’t be killed.” There. That was a good avoidance answer if I might say so myself.
“But the rest?” he persisted. “Let’s say there really are vampires and werewolves. Exterminate, or let them live?”
“It depends. I’ve got no prejudice against other creatures as long as their existence doesn’t threaten humanity. Ideally, they’d be judged individually by their actions. So unless they were predisposed as a race to slaughtering humans left and right, I’d give them the benefit of the doubt.”
“But you’d judge them. As a Templar, you’d feel comfortable making that judgement call and delivering justice?”
This conversation was edging out of hypothetical scenarios and uncomfortably close to my actions last month. “Only God should judge, but I find that I can’t stand by and watch my pilgrims die, killed by someone who has no sense of the value of human life. Templars may not judge, but I do.”
His eyes met mine and I got the feeling he was the one judging me, like he was trying to decide how he felt about me. I didn’t mind since I’d been doing the same thing to him the moment he started dating my friend.
“So say there are vampires, and they prey on humans. Sometimes they even kill humans. How would you weigh in on that?”
I hesitated, thinking of my anxiety-inducing indecision when it came to vampires. “I’d have to consider each case individually. Humans kill by accident, and we don’t subject those who are guilty of manslaughter to the same level of punishment as those who commit premeditated murder.”
He nodded. “So let’s say there’s a regular pattern of assault, one that supposedly has no lasting damage on the victim—in fact, maybe the victim isn’t even aware of it. That would be tolerated? How about the occasional accidental death where the human knew the risks and accepted them?”
Did he know about vampires? It wasn’t an impossible idea. They did reveal their presence to humans who worked with them in various enterprises. Perhaps the Balaj was involved in Sean’s development project. Or perhaps this guy was just feeling out my moral compass. Which was weird since I wasn’t the one dating him. Did he always screen his potential girlfriend’s friends in this fashion?
“I don’t know,” I admitted honestly. “I’m less worried about the assault with no damage than I am about the accidental deaths. I mean, can someone really give consent, fully understand the risks involved in such an exchange? What if there was some glamor involved on the part of the vampire? Or something addicting in the act? Drunk people cannot legally sign contracts. I’d presume the same here. No consent is possible if the human is impaired or under the vampire’s influence.”
Sean smiled and got to his feet, tucking the newspaper under his arm. “You should have been a lawyer. It was nice running into you tonight, Aria. Thank you for staying open past closing for me. And thank you for the interesting conversation.”
He left and I watched him go, well aware that I’d left Chalese with the lion’s share of the closing activities. Sean was an old man in a young body. He was smart, friendly, well-mannered. And I still didn’t trust him.
Chapter 16
I WOKE UP early, grabbing my phone and wiping the sleep from my eyes as I peered at my texts. I’d had one from Dario right around sunset last night that had informed me he was busy and off-the-grid. It was immediately followed by another one that I cherished like it had been a love letter.
Miss you.
I missed him too, but for him to say that hit right to my heart. It wasn’t the sort of thing you’d say to a business associate. Maybe something you’d say to a friend, but hardly one you’d only gone forty-eight hours without seeing. No, this meant something more. I just knew it.
The prior night’s sleep deprivation had caught up with me, and I knew how useless it would be to sit up staring at my phone when Dario said he’d be unavailable and unable to contact me. So I’d gone to bed and slept like the dead until morning.
And now I was panicking, worried that something had happened to him and, since it was daytime, I wouldn’t find out until nightfall.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw his last text, sent just before sunrise.
Okay and going to ground. Literally. I can’t wait to be home so I can spend daylight hours in an actual bed. Waking up covered in dirt and worms is not dignified.
I laughed, sending a reply before I even realized what I was doing.
Sweet dreams, my prince of worms.
So cheesy. And I was pretty sure vampires didn’t dream during the day. I remember Dario once telling me that he truly was dead at that time. I couldn’t imagine that, losing eight to fourteen hours each day, unable to be awakened at all, vulnerable to anyone who might drag me out into the sunlight and my true death. Was that life really worth immortality? Because it wasn’t really immortality when the slightest ray of sunlight could kill.
But this was just as philosophical as my discussion last night with Sean. And I couldn’t lay abed any longer. I might not have a shift at the coffee shop today, but I did have an exciting invitation that had come late last night from the good Detective Tremelay. Brian Huang had not been located. His family said he hadn’t returned home from the police station after the last interview. Tremelay didn’t have enough to scare up a warrant, but Huang’s family had asked to come in and speak with the police.
Finally, there might be some information that would give us—I mean the cops—motive and possible whereabouts for a man who inexplicably bore the same knee replacement implant as a dead body, who’d been seen in the company of a murder suspect. Hopefully there would finally be some answers.
Tremelay met me in the lobby, disappointed that I didn’t have cookies this time. The dude made more money than I did. Time for him to buy the cookies. Plus, as intrigued as I was about this case, I wasn’t his “subject matter expert” this time. I think he just liked bouncing ideas off me, and honestly I loved being involved. Templar. Barista. Wannabe detective. That was me.
The Huang family was in one of the larger interview rooms, extra chairs brought in to accommodate the fact that every single family member was in attendance. There was a woman I assumed was a wife, an older couple that could have been Huang’s parents. An adult male. Two teenage kids, their faces worried. The wife twisted her hands together, while the elderly couple stared stoically at the wall.
“The parents don’t speak any English. You wouldn’t know Mandarin, would you?”
I shook my head. My linguistic studies had been in ancient as well as modern romance languages. I probably should think about learning an Asian language, though.
We walked in and Tremelay made the introductions as we all bowed and shook hands.
“I haven’t seen Brian since he came here,” Lisa Huang state
d, her voice flat and emotionless. “He’s been strange since the day the body was found in the museum, though. It’s like that morning he woke up a completely different person.”
Tremelay glanced at the children, then back at the wife. “How was he different?”
She swallowed a few times, reaching out to touch her son’s shoulder. “He didn’t like his favorite foods anymore. His taste in music changed from classic rock to rap. He stopped spending time with the children. He used to love to go to Jack’s soccer games, but I had to drag him to the one this week.”
“He was sneaking out at night,” the girl spoke up, eyes glistening with tears. “I was up late texting some friends, and I saw him. I stayed up waiting for him, and he didn’t come home until close to dawn. Same thing the next night, too.”
“I saw him with this young guy,” the boy added. “College-age white guy. Backpack, baggy jeans, T-shirt from some local band. Twice I saw Dad with him, and once they were with a girl. She looked younger, high school maybe. Caucasian with pink and blue in her hair. Lots of make-up.”
Lisa put her head in her hands. “The Brian I married would never cheat on me, and especially not with a teenage girl, but the last few days he hasn’t been the Brian I married. When he came home and said they found a body at the museum, he seemed panicked. I mean, it’s got to be unsettling to have a murder at your workplace, but Brian was scared. I got the feeling he knew the dead man. Or maybe knew the man who killed him.”
The father spoke rapidly in Chinese, ending with an emphatic slam of his fist on the table.
Lisa winced. “Maybe these other two got him involved with the murderer. Maybe the murderer is a friend of his, and it’s got nothing to do with whether he’s having an affair or not. Either way, I’m sure Brian knows something.”
