Magick grew around me, seeping from my hands into the ground, before spreading outward in every direction. The ghosts that inhabited the cemetery drifted from their caskets and the spiritual netherworld toward me. By the time the spell ended, and the energy I imbued into it seeped away, close to 40 ghosts crowded around me.
I could have called out to them, asking them to appear, but this was a lot faster. And, since I’d summoned them, they couldn’t refuse to answer my questions, nor could they give false information. They would have to follow my orders, and after having my wards bypassed, I didn’t want the ghosts repeating anything I said to them.
Standing, I leaned against the marble statue and wiped my hands on my pants, brushing the dirt off. Looking around at the ghosts, I took a few moments to gather my thoughts.
Ghosts didn’t look anything like Hollywood portrayed them. They typically looked the way they perceived themselves while they were alive. The longer you looked, though, the more you realized it wasn’t how they really appeared. Their true form faded in and out of sight; it was something nebulous, nearly formless and void of depth. Ghosts weren’t meant to be seen by the living, especially mortals, regardless of their Magickal ability.
Being a necromancer, I’d seen a lot of ghosts; most of the time I didn’t pay a lot of attention to them, unless I needed information. Even then, I didn’t keep them around very long. Then I typically sent them on to their final rest.
This time, though, I had a specific agenda in mind—get information from the ghosts and then call Sterling to see if he wanted to go hunting with me.
“It’s been some time since a summoner came to our grounds,” the echo of a middle-aged male voice said. “Why are we called to serve?”
As I looked from left to right, trying to discern which of the gathered spirits was addressing me, two teenage ghosts caught my attention. They looked like they’d died in the 1980’s, judging by their hair and arcade themed t-shirts. One had curly hair and wore a PacMan ball cap. The other was gangly and not much taller. Both of them were smiling the way teenage boys smile at any female.
“Who cares?” asked Ball Cap. “She’s less mopey than the other girl who’s been
coming around.”
“Prettier, too,” added Too Thin.
“Show some manners,” the middle-aged voice said.
I spotted him this time.
He was a tall, healthy-looking fellow from the Civil War era. His short coat, peasant shirt, and trousers were distinctly from that time. His unshaven jaw line and long, brown ponytail were unexpected but handsome features.
“We are being nice!” insisted Too Thin, and gestured over my left shoulder. “The redneck is the one without manners.”
“Yer jus’ jealous ‘cause the ladies like talkin’ to me,” a voice with a very Southern accent said from behind me.
“Please dismiss the men. They will banter all night.”
A group of four women who looked as if they should have been in a graveyard in the heart of Victorian London approached me. The most severe-looking of them was speaking. Her hair was pulled back so tightly, my scalp hurt when I looked at the bun on her crown.
“I’m here about the lady who was taken by force not long ago,” I said. So far, they seemed pleasant and willing to obey my not-so-subtle commands. “She was a petite lady with auburn hair and blue eyes, and she wore a necklace.”
“Oh, the person who was abducted,” the gentleman said, as if he just realized something. “She owned the talisman, the object that compelled us toward her.”
The teenage boys giggled. The quartet of women looked at them scornfully.
“He doesn’t use ‘by force’ like we do,” Ball Cap explained. “Grandpa Yankee thinks the girls who wear black lipstick and get it on between the tombstones are being ‘taken by force.’”
The teens laughed harder. Gentleman Yankee cleared his throat.
“They moan and say dirty stuff,” Too Thin said between giggles, “and he and the ladies think the girls are being attacked!”
“Those young girls must be possessed or in great pain to scream like that, repeatedly,” insisted the lady speaking for the quartet.
The teens howled again with laughter, and the voice with the heavy Southern accent spoke up again.
“Poor ladies from long ago. They don’t know a good time when it’s right in front of ‘em.”
Biting back my own laughter, I somehow managed to keep the smile off my face. “I don’t care about the girls getting it on. I’m here about the woman who was kidnapped. Abducted. Whatever you want to call it.” I paused before asking. “What did she do when she came here?”
“She listened,” many of the previously silent ghosts said, almost like a sigh. “She listened to us.”
“Some of us wanted to believe she listened by choice,” the Leading Lady said with a sniff. “I and my sisters were not fooled. She only came here because the talisman drove her mad if she did not listen to us.”
“Whatever her reason, it wuz nice to have her here,” the Southern voice chimed in. I turned and saw a scraggly-haired and bearded man in his early thirties, wearing denim overalls, a wife beater, and hiking boots. He’d obviously been an avid eater in life.
“We don’t like the livin’ much,” he drawled on. “They’re too sharp, too…there, compared to everything else, which looks like a watercolor paintin’. And she was an elf or somethin’, so it was even worse. But that thing around her neck, it wuz all glowy and soft, and you just wanted t’ git closer to it.”
“Don’t do it, Emmett!” Ball Cap suddenly cried out. “Don’t go towards the Light!”
“Ah can’t hep it…it so purrrrrtyfuulll,” Too Thin wailed in a mocking version of the Southern guy, whom I now presumed was Emmett.
In perfect sync, both teens shook their translucent bodies and imitated the sound of a bug zapper delivering a jolt of electricity, then mimicked falling over. They began to laugh all over again.
“Ha ha…funny.” Emmett retorted, annoyed.
“Back to the topic at hand,” I said, amusement filling my voice. There was no keeping the smirk off my face, so I didn’t bother trying. “Althea, the kidnapped woman, came here to listen to you because of the amulet. What can you tell me about the people who kidnapped her?”
“Oh! Oh! The two guys!” Ball Cap cheerfully exclaimed. He was trying to bounce, but he had no physical body, so his feet disappeared in the cemetery soil all the way to the ankles before he came back up.
“Both were military-looking guys,” Too Thin commented, trying to play it cool. “The first one stepped up and asked her if she knew where the Mausoleum with the sculpture of Staunton Mourning Her Dead was, then the second one snuck up, injected something into her neck, and covered her mouth. When she stopped struggling, they carried her off.”
“They were fit and had their hair cut short, like right outta boot camp.” Emmett added. “They were wearing dark jackets and clothes and military boots. Oh, and they were clean shaved.”
Now we were getting somewhere! Maybe letting ghosts stick around was better than sending them off to their final resting place.
“Did you happen to see their vehicle?” I asked, trying not to sound overly hopeful and eager.
The four ladies, the gentleman and the teen boys looked away, and their bodies dimmed slightly. My hopes began plummeting.
“Black SUV, one of the newer, smaller ones. Made after my time.” Emmett finally said. “So, within the past fifteen years. Couldn’t tell you much else, except the license plate…if that would help?”
“Actually, yeah, that would help. A lot,” I replied in surprise.
“Ok. Didn’t know if you could do anything with the number,” he said, before rattling the number off to me.
I committed the license plate number to memory and made a note of it on my iPhone, then thanked them. I could do something with it, all right. At least, someone who liked me a great deal could, and that was enough.
&n
bsp; * * * * *
Chapter Four
A visit to the Department of Motor Vehicles is a universally unpleasant experience. Entertainment media has made all kinds of jokes at the DMV’s and its employees’ expense. Whether portraying the employees as sloths or aliens, harboring a government conspiracy, or the department as a gateway to Hell, the DMV had been immortalized in humor. I, however, liked going to the DMV.
Departed spirits don’t hang out there, ever. Beings that are not quite (or at all) human get as bored, stressed, and comatose as the people sitting or working there. Watching elves, fae, dwarves, minor demons, angels, humans, and all others, with identical, vacant or panicked expressions is comforting. We aren’t as different as we want to believe. I have it on very good authority that DMVs aren’t from Hell. The printers there, however…that’s another story.
Besides, one of my favorite people worked there. She’d paid her debt to me years ago but still insisted she had to keep doing things for me. That’s not why she was a favorite. Really! Clair Rivas was a genuinely good human, a bright soul, and she made me laugh like a child.
The building was fairly large and had a drive through in which several cars were waiting, probably with very impatient drivers, in two lines. There were several hiiri scampering about the bushes planted around the front and sides of the building. These hiiri fed on misery, and they reminded me of bobcats, only in shades of black and grays, and they had eyes that were endless pools of blackness. One ran up and began twining itself through my legs as I walked toward the door. I took a moment to scratch it behind its ears before sending it back to play with its companions.
I wasn’t surprised to find them at the DMV, since I couldn’t remember ever seeing many happy people there, aside from kids getting their learner’s permits or driver’s licenses, that is.
The older middle-aged man who ran the front desk had the tired, burned-out look usually reserved for the end of the work shift. He started the routine, “Hello, how can we help…,” then recognized me. “You’re here to see Clair. She’s at Window G.”
I was gone before he waved me on. Clair smiled as I approached her work station, despite the ‘closed’ sign on the counter.
She was that pretty girl next door who’d reached her mid-thirties more beautiful and in better shape than she’d ever been. Birthing four children and living around the world had nicely rounded her once gangly body and only added enough age to make her look wise. Her brilliantly white smile reached from ear to ear.
“Hey there, pretty lady!” she said. “Since you didn’t call or message me first, I take it today is business?”
“Yes, but I promise we will have lunch, dinner, or a girls’ night soon,” I said, smiling in return. “We can even go to El Puertos.”
“Really?” Clair’s brown eyes brightened, but her voice was cautious. “Despite the twelve margaritas, my karaoke performance, and using your Magick to make those two gringos face-plant repeatedly…you’d go again?”
I laughed a cheerful belly laugh. I really don’t do that often enough.
“It was six drinks—six delicious drinks—each, you sang like an angel, and they deserved it. Those boys didn’t want to hear anything other than ‘yes.’” I retorted. “We had a great time, one of many, and I’m always up for more.”
“Well…okay,” she said sheepishly, then flashed her wickedest smile. “I’ll see when I can get the boys a warden, I mean, a sitter.”
I laughed again. “The eldest two can take care of their younger brothers unless we pull another ladies’ night.” I thought for a moment, then added, “They could probably handle that too. They’re good boys.”
“I’m sure the boys would live through it. It’s my house that I’m worried about!” Clair said with just the right amount of seriousness. While I chuckled, she asked, “What do you need, Hon?”
I passed over the license plate information.
“I need to have this plate run. The information I have about the vehicle is written below the plate.”
Clair looked it over, her expression and body language all business. “I see that. Thanks for making it easier to verify what I find.”
She rapidly struck the keyboard and moved the mouse in short, powerful half circles. Her time in the military showed. While waiting, I glanced over her workspace and found the two constants in her universe. No matter whether she worked in a place for a day or a week, the picture of her four boys when the youngest was less than a year old and the last picture taken of her late husband were nearby.
Smiling, I pondered telling her that he was usually standing behind her, about four feet to her left. In fact, he was there while she looked up the plate number for me. I settled for a smile and a miniscule nod at his spirit, who returned the gestures with more aplomb.
“Thank you for doing this,” I said to Clair.
“It’s fine. I still owe you,” she said softly.
I opened my mouth to object, yet again, but she raised her left hand in the universal “stop” gesture before I could speak. Clair continued looking at the computer screen and working on the keyboard with her right hand.
“Yes, I paid you for the séance. Yes, I’ve done things for you before. After you learned about the savings account and college funds my late husband secretly set up, passwords and all, you technically finished your paid job. No, it’ll never be enough for the security and peace of mind you brought me and my boys. Deal with it.”
Holding my hands up in defeat, I relented with a grin. “Okay, okay, I give. But only if you agree to another girls’ night out after I finish this business.”
It had started out as a job, the usual ‘contact deceased spouse for answers’ referral from a mutual friend. I hadn’t expected to find out that Clair’s beloved grandmother was a minor witch and had practically raised Clair. Clair had been taught to respect the Art and those who practiced Magick. She had been one of those few people who had truly loved her husband and had been devastated by his loss. If it hadn’t been for her children, she probably would have joined him in death. We’d become fast friends who enjoyed going out to relax and have fun.
She was one of the very, very few people I considered an actual friend. I just wasn’t certain she realized or even acknowledged it.
“How long do you think this business will take?” she said, some warmth coming back into her voice.
“I should be free by the weekend,” I replied in a tone far more confident than I felt. If I wasn’t done by then, I’d probably need a break.
“Okay, then,” Clair replied, sounding more like her usual, cheerful, warm self. “Let’s make it Saturday night, eight o’clock, and bring an appetite.”
“It’s a date,” I promised.
“The plate is on a Dodge SUV registered to Universal Manpower, which has an office in town,” Claire announced. “Give me your phone, and I will type the address in for you.”
She held her left hand out, expectantly.
Smiling, I handed her my phone. A minute later, I walked out of the building. I decided a visit to Richmond to see my descendants the following day was in order. It was too late to visit tonight, but there were other things I could accomplish before the trip.
* * *
My home was Augusta County, and I had no neighbors anywhere near me. Forest surrounded my house, and I enjoyed the pleasant solitude, aside from the nymphs, the fairies, and a couple of dryads who didn’t mind me since I kept the hiiri that called the area home away from them.
This hiiri was a hunter. Hunters often resembled felines; this one was in the shape of a black panther, and, unlike most which typically looked skeletal, it was fat. I wasn’t certain if that was due to its age or the fact that it fed really well.
I caught a glimpse of the hiiri stalking through the trees and smiled slightly. After seeing a lack of them at the cemetery, I was starting to wonder if they were avoiding me for some reason.
Maybe if I hadn’t minded sitting in the DMV for hours, I could have mad
e more progress on the kidnapping. But there was no guarantee I would have been able to talk to Clair even if I went there, not the way they did the tickets. So, my best bet was to wait until the following morning and, until then, do a little digging elsewhere.
“Elsewhere” in this case meant my basement and the restaurant/bar I was planning to meet Sterling at later. So, after fixing a quick sandwich for lunch and pouring a tall glass of home-brewed sweet tea, I headed for my basement.
Most single-floor houses don’t have basements, but with dwarves, anything is possible. They don’t make a habit of building basements for houses, but I had taken care of a few nasties a local clan had run into while tunneling in the mountains. Instead of a monetary payment, they agreed to build me a large basement, one that would not only stand the test of time, but pretty much anything short of a volcanic eruption.
They had also apologized for not being able to guarantee my safety in case such an act of nature occurred, but it wasn’t a specialty of their clan.
Every good sorcerer, witch, or spell-caster had an idea of how a proper laboratory should look. Some decorated their rooms with dark curtains, chalices, goblets, and pretty much anything you’d expect to find in a cheesy rendition of a witch’s lair or wizard’s workshop. Others were more the white Magick type and had an altar with some sort of pentacle, circle, and something to represent each element, plus lots of candles and incense.
True practitioners who could do great, and especially terrible, Magick made certain the rooms they used for their experiments and spells couldn’t be found. Dark Magick-users definitely kept their activities secret with locked doors and wards.
Ventilation was also important, so my basement had multiple shafts leading to the surface, but not through my house. Though the penchant for Magick wasn’t as great in dwarven clans, the occasional Magick user existed. Thus, the dwarves weren’t stymied by my request and need for air to circulate. I had already drawn up a basic design, and I allowed them to take the idea and run with it.
The Fae's Amulet Page 3
