Bare Bones

by Debra Dunbar

  We had a lead, and I had somewhat vague ways that I might be able to catch these three. I just needed to get going on a rebound spell, coat bullets in a variety of ash, then memorize the kids’ names. The only problem with the name angle was that I had no idea which kid was wearing which skin, or if Gary really was Gary. Ugh.

  “So we’re probably looking for the skinwalkers to be impersonating whoever was dead in the bathroom,” I conjectured. “Becca is out of the picture at this point. It’s Gary who’s the focus, and as you said, Lawton is probably with him.”

  “One could be wearing rest-stop bathroom guy,” Tremelay added. “I’m going to assume this Gary is smart enough to ditch the Bradley Lewis skin. He’s got to know we’re looking for him as Amanda’s killer, and he won’t know we’ve ID’d the body in the cooler yet.”

  Three skins, two boys. Only problem was we had no idea how to recognize those three skins.

  “I’ve got a few ideas on how we can disable or restrain them once we manage to find them.” I went ahead and outlined the three methods Garza had advocated.

  “I’m not coating my bullets in ash,” Tremelay complained. Trust him to zero in on that one. “Do you know how much that’s going to gum up my gun?”

  “Only if you shoot it. Have a clip that only has ash-covered bullets and use that whenever we encounter the skinwalkers.”

  “And you’ve got a crystal ball to tell me when that is? Or am I going to be in the middle of a firefight, fumbling for whichever clip happens to have the ash-covered bullets?”

  “Well, I’m hoping not to shoot them at all,” I shot back. “I’d like to use one of the other methods to screw up their skinwalker abilities so you can prosecute them.”

  Tremelay made an mmmf sound. “Fine. Make sure they can’t poof out of a prison cell like Huang did, or we’re back to square one.”

  He had a point. Garza better be right about this name thing, or the skinwalkers would be slipping out of jail as a mouse or bird just as quick as they got in.

  “What happened to these kids?” Tremelay mused. “They went missing from their homes in South Carolina at six years old, only to turn up here ten years later as killers with the magical ability to assume their victims’ identities. What kind of sicko snatches three little kids and turns them into murderers?”

  Six years old. I thought of my nephews and felt sick. I’d watched enough crime shows to know that young kids didn’t always wind up dead in the woods after they were taken. I immediately thought of an adult skinwalker, wanting to pass his knowledge along to another—especially another who could be trained young enough to perhaps surpass him in skill. Kidnap three kids, groom them, train them. If that was the case then after we secured these three, I’d need to find the adult who did this to them.

  But why were they hitchhiking across South Carolina? Had their mentor died, leaving them hungry and adrift? It made me feel a bit sorry for these kids—even more so if they’d been brainwashed into this from a young age. But there was one more detail I needed to check.

  “So in Becca, Lawton, and Gary’s families, was there a murder in the last ten years? An unexplained death? Because in order to fully become a skinwalker, they’d need to kill an immediate family member.”

  “Crap, I forgot about that.” I heard Tremelay scribbling. “I’ll ask the feds. Tell them it’s a theory about an initiation rite their kidnapper may have put them through.”

  In the meantime, I was just going to assume they had, and that we were dealing with three brainwashed kidnap victims who’d developed magical powers and gone on a killing spree. Time to get started on a rebound spell. And to coat bullets with a variety of types of ash.

  “So, you wanna go see a band tonight?” There was a note of humor in Tremelay’s voice.

  “Um, I’ve got more research tonight, plus that spell to work on. Unless there are more dead bodies at the concert, count me out.”

  “You sure?” Yes, he definitely sounded amused. “Rabid Rabbit is playing.”

  Oh, hell yeah. “You found them? I thought they were a stealthy, impromptu rave kinda band.”

  “I knew I’d heard the name before and not just from the Bradley Lewis connection, so I sent a quick text to Norwicki. His daughter knows them. She’s on a text list and gets notifications when a concert is going down.”

  I wasn’t exactly prepared to take down two skinwalkers tonight. All I had was possibly their names, no way of telling which was which. Or if that technique even worked. Still…

  “I’m in.” We couldn’t pass up this opportunity. I’d need to wing it.

  I had a few hours to coat bullets and to see if I could come up with a quick rebound spell. Was a flak jacket appropriate attire for a Rabid Rabbit concert?

  Chapter 26

  ReMEMBER WHEN YOU said I could call with any questions I might have on spells?”

  My words were greeted with silence, making me think that Reynard had extended the offer in a burst of sentimental feeling for the friend of his dead girlfriend—a sentimental feeling that had faded over the last few days.

  “Yeah?” The word was drawn out and hesitant, like Reynard wasn’t sure he wanted to know what I’d gotten involved with this time. I didn’t blame him. After the mess with the Fiore Noir mages, he must think I was nothing but trouble.

  And I did get his girlfriend killed. It was in trying to help me out that put Dark Iron’s target on her back.

  “We’ve got three skinwalkers in town. They’re teenagers and on a killing spree. One is impersonating a vampire, but I don’t know who the other two are. I’m trying to figure out a spell to identify them.”

  I was cradling the phone against my shoulder, rolling bullets around in pulverized, burned chicken bones from dinner. Identification was my biggest obstacle tonight, though. I couldn’t exactly go around shooting every attendee at the Rabid Rabbit concert in the neck with ash-coated bullets just to see who suddenly lost their magical skills. It was slightly less impractical for me to shout names at every concert goer in hopes that I’d hit upon the right one.

  Basically, this whole night would be a bust unless I had a way to determine who the skinwalkers were, to set them apart from all the humans in the crowd.

  “I don’t know what skinwalkers are,” Reynard confessed. “You should be able to identify demons through holy water or a religious incantation, since you’re a Templar. Would that work?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. I was so used to looking for a magical application that I didn’t always think of Templar solutions. It wasn’t totally my fault. I hadn’t taken my Oath, and most of those prayers hadn’t been in use for over a hundred years. The Temple Guardians knew them, but I doubted any of them had actually used what amounted to a “detect evil” spell.

  “I could try that, but it’s more of a prayer to guard against evil intent. I’d really like to find something that reveals non-humans.”

  “You and everyone else,” Reynard complained. “Do you know how much I’d pay for something like that? I can never tell if I’m dealing with a vampire or not. I’ve got an amulet that lights up in the presence of demons, but it wouldn’t do squat for anything else.”

  At least I could sense vampires. I wish it was the same with other paranormals or with magic. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure a non-human detection spell would work. Technically skinwalkers were human, or at least they used to be. Maybe the evil intent would work? But only if one of them was actively plotting to harm someone. If they were just milling about, enjoying the concert, my “evil intent” prayer wouldn’t reveal anything.

  “Scan for magic? Something that shows the presence of an active magical spell?”

  “Hmmm.” Reynard was stalling. I could hear him paging through something in the background. “I do have an amulet for that but it only lasts for a few minutes. They’d need to be casting a spell pretty close to the time you activated it for the amulet to pick up on the energy. I’ve mainly used it to detect spells with long effects—like illusi
ons. It’s not a good choice if you’re looking to catch an attack before it comes your way. You need a ward with a wide range of effect.”

  Skinwalkers weren’t using illusion to change their appearance, they were actually becoming that person using their skin. Reynard was right. Unless I caught them in the middle of a transformation, that amulet wouldn’t detect anything.

  “The only wards I know how to do are to prevent people from entering a room, and to give me a heads-up if they break the ward and force their way in.”

  “The spell I’m thinking of is kind of like that,” Reynard explained. “It’s a broad area of effect without the ‘lock’ to keep people out. Basically residual magic would trip the ward. The only thing is I don’t know how much magic needs to be present for it to activate. Or if these skinwalkers have an ambient magical signature. Most mages don’t. And in that case, we’re back to the situation where it only triggers if you happen to catch them in the middle of casting a spell.”

  The chance they’d cast a spell at the concert was too slim to spend the time crafting the spell. I didn’t have much time. And with my luck the person who triggered it would be a teenage girl with a love charm.

  “How about an ownership spell?” I didn’t want to reveal too much, but I was thinking of what Chuck had done to trace the soul trap back to Dark Iron. “Maybe something that will reveal a disconnect between the skin on the outside to the person on the inside?”

  Reynard snorted. “An ownership spell will just reveal that the person on the inside now ‘owns’ the skin he’s wearing, not the former owner of it. Maybe something that traces the spirit energy. A violent death would leave previous spirit energy clinging to the skin that wouldn’t match with the spirit energy of the person, or thing, wearing it. But that’s way out of my area of expertise.”

  It was way out of mine too, but I knew a skilled Necromancer, and he knew a whole city of spirit workers. Someone had to be able to pull a spell like that off. The big question was could they do it in the next few hours.

  “Wish I could help you, Aria. Sorry.” He didn’t sound all that sorry. He sounded relieved. But as much as he might regret his offer to me, I knew Reynard would honor it. And I was going to make sure he did honor it, no matter how awkward these conversations might be.

  “No problem. Thanks anyway.” I hung up and immediately called Russell.

  “Well. People killing others and wearing their skins. I thought I’d heard it all.” Russell made a tsk noise. “And they think necromancers are evil. We’re not murdering people for our magic. We’re not stealing their souls or their identities. Compared to these mages, resurrecting the dead is downright moral.”

  I didn’t want to get into that argument with Russell. There were things necromancers did that didn’t sit right with me either—using spirits to further your need for revenge, for instance. And zombies, if that’s what he was referring to, were soundly on my not-moral list. Just because one magic was heinous didn’t make all the other black magic good in comparison.

  “The problem is these two could be anybody in the room and I won’t know,” I explained. “Is there something that will let me know a person has assumed another’s identity? Is wearing their skin? Reynard said maybe a spell that showed the disconnect between the residual spirit energy of the skin and the spirit of the wearer.”

  “Nope.” The reply was fast and definitive. “People have objects from their parents, grandparents, children. All of those hold residual spirit energy and they’d all show up. Half the people in the room would light up with that spell.”

  I was striking out here, and I had one hour before I was supposed to meet Tremelay at the concert site. “I’m desperate, Russell. Got any ideas?”

  “If those two boys were recently murdered, there’s a chance their spirits are still hanging around. They might be following the skinwalkers who killed them and stole their skins.”

  Ghosts. “Do you have something to detect their spirits and talk to them?” If so, those dead boys, those ghosts could show me who the killers were, even if they’d taken on other skins and identities. It was a great idea.

  “No, but you do. That spirit in the little fox can see and communicate with other spirits and act as a medium for you. Heck, he might even be able to tell who these skinwalkers are without ghosts present.”

  “She,” I corrected Russell. “We had a breakthrough and the spirit in the fox is my friend Raven. She overexerted herself a few days ago and hasn’t been able to communicate any further. My big chance to catch these guys is tonight. There’s no way she’ll be able to help me.”

  “Then you’ll need a medium who can sense spirits and communicate with them.”

  I had a vision of a dark-haired woman with a crystal ball, set up in the middle of an impromptu rave. “She’d need to be stealthy. This is a concert with a bunch of young people and loud music. So not the appropriate venue for a séance.”

  Russell sighed. “What kind of music?”

  “I’m thinking industrial? Grunge? Or something similar. The band is called Rabid Rabbit and they opened for Midnight Visitor last night but they usually play in old garages and warehouses.”

  “Could be worse,” he grumbled. “Okay, I’ll go. But you’ll owe me one Aria. I know you ain’t got money, so just return the favor when I’m in a pickle and need a Templar to give me a hand.”

  “Absolutely.” He’d helped me with the fox figurine. I couldn’t expect him to continue to be my on-call necromancer without being available to him in return.

  “Text me the address and I’ll meet you there.”

  “It’s in an hour.” I looked at the clock. “No actually in forty minutes, so you’ll need to hustle.”

  “Not a problem. If there’s a ghost there, I’ll find him.”

  I hoped so, because Russell was my last chance to find these guys.

  Chapter 27

  I DECIDED TO go for the battered military look, since I’d be sporting a less-than-figure-flattering flak jacket. I found an old pair of cargo pants in the back of my closet that had seen better days. There were unidentifiable stains in streaks and splotches along the sides, and several holes scattered throughout. A huge bleach stain decorated my left ass cheek. They were perfect.

  As was the threadbare, long-sleeve, Charlottesville Cheetah Run 10k shirt I wore under the vest—faded blue with a series of silhouetted big cats running across my chest. I completed my look with a canvas belt full of grommets, and biker boots. The only concession to my mission was the neat braid I’d bundled up in a granny bun against the nape of my neck, out of the way of grasping hands if I wound up grappling with a foe. I also kept the earrings to tiny, not-grabbable studs. With two nephews and a niece I’d learned the pain of having hoop earrings yanked from my ears.

  No jewelry besides that. I stuffed Tremelay’s Sig in a pocket of the cargo pants, wincing as it banged heavy against my thigh. Hopefully they didn’t pat us down, or have metal detectors. If so, I was relying on Tremelay to get me in the door.

  As I left I strapped on my sword, praying that the look-away spell would let me carry it within the club. Nothing I’d read said anything about swords being effective on skinwalkers, but this was my Templar weapon—my consecrated Templar weapon. I felt naked when I was without it.

  It was weird driving my car with the pistol pulling at my right pants leg and the flak jacket adding an addition twenty-five pounds to my weight. I needed to start running with extra weights to get used to it. Actually I needed to start running again. Outside of the LARPs and the occasional sword practice in my apartment, I was becoming woefully out of shape. I couldn’t afford a gym membership, but there was no reason I couldn’t do push-ups, planks, and sit-ups in my apartment. Or run a couple miles per day with a backpack full of rocks or something.

  The band was in an old service station nestled under a highway overpass. The convenience mart area had been demolished to make one open space with the four garage bays. The counter had become a tiny
bar with no seating and a limited variety of beer in tubs of ice. There was no line, no doorman, no bouncer, only a girl with half a dozen facial piercings snagging the five dollar entrance fee and packing us in like sardines.

  “You can’t bring that in.” She pointed at my sword. Others behind me looked at my back, perplexed. Drat this look-away spell. It worked ninety percent of the time, but there was always the occasion when someone saw me walking around with a huge bastard sword strapped to my back.

  I grudgingly trotted back to my car and stashed it in the trunk, making sure I activated the spell that would deliver a painful electric shock to anyone who tried to pop the trunk. Thankfully the woman collecting money didn’t notice the pistol nearly pulling my cargo pants off my hips, so at least I had one weapon in case things went really bad.

  The temperature in the garage was to the point where I was regretting the flak jacket. Sweat pooled under my braided bun and ran down my back. I wasn’t the only one perspiring. The dancers in the bay areas were soaking wet as they jumped around to the canned music. The band would start soon, if they started on time, that is. I was assuming at these informal venues, promptness wasn’t exactly necessary.

  Not that I could even see if the band was setting up. People were wedged in tight, making it difficult to navigate around. It was like trying to make my way through a maze. I looked at each person I passed, thankful that the crowded club meant I could at least get a close look at people. With the dim lighting and flashing strobe effects, it would have been impossible to recognize anyone at a distance.

  “Aria.” I hand touched my shoulder.

  I jumped, my heart racing as I spun around. Russell looked completely out of place in the garage packed with teenagers, but then again, I’m sure I did, too.

  “See anything?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I do see a spirit, but it’s insubstantial and hovering around the stage. I’m going to try to get closer and see if he, or she, will communicate with me, but it’s a long shot. When they’re blurry and gray there’s no distinct features to recognize. And ones that won’t fully materialize usually lack the presence to do more than float aimlessly around.”