“Looking good,” John whistled. “Alright, follow me, and try not to tip him off.”
Ruby laughed. “Oh, believe me, if it’s the guy I think it is, he’s not going to be all that hard to trick with an illusion spell. Thick as a brick, I believe the phrase is.”
“It’s weird hearing your voice coming out of another mouth,” John said. He unlocked a heavy metal door. “Alright, he’s in here. Stay in character.”
With that John pushed the door open and revealed the face of the man who’d abducted Ruby at gunpoint.
Thirteen
“Yo, what up, baby?” The young, thin white man with braided locks said as he ran a lascivious gaze up and down Ruby’s body. Her illusory uniform was hardly tight. “Why don’t you and me leave this old guy behind and have a little fun?”
John settled into the chair opposite the thin man and stared at him long and hard. Her attacker possessed long, thin limbs. His white tank top put his numerous dark ink tattoos on display. He sat in a way that suggested he thought he was a king in his throne rather than a suspect in an interrogation chamber.
John didn’t say anything, he just continued to stare. Gradually, the man’s bravado fled. “W-what? What you staring at? Say something, already.”
“State your name for the record,” John said, turning on a tape recorder.
“I done told you, my homies call me Busta Kapp.”
“Your real name, not your stage name.”
“That is my real name, homes.”
John sighed, then spoke in a clear tone. “For the record, let it be known the second man on this tape’s full legal name is Trevor Blake Whitley.”
“But if anybody calls me that, I knock ‘em out,” Busta Kapp said, puffing up his chest.
“Uh huh.” John flipped through Whitley’s file. “Well, Mr. Kapp, it certainly seems you have an affection for law enforcement.”
“Why you wanna go say something like that?”
“You keep going out of your way to break the law. It’s almost like…a plea for attention.”
“What can I say? You got a few convictions; your album sells an extra million copies.”
Kapp leaned back in his seat and blew a wet kiss toward Ruby.
“An extra million? Extra?” John chuckled, closing the file. He fixed Whitley with a stern gaze. “That would imply there were a million sold in the first place. Turns out, I can’t find your albums for sale on any service.”
“Yo, I post them on YouTube. I don’t need no whack Barnes and Noble BS to drop some plates, you feel what I’m saying?”
“Yes, let’s look at your YouTube channel for a moment…” John scrolled through his phone. “Here we go, official channel of Busta Kapp. The Phreshest, Dopest Dude on the Street, Word Up. One love. That’s a rather long title.”
“Yo, it’s better than your YouTube channel.”
John laughed. “I’m sure it is at that. Especially considering I would never have such a ridiculous thing. Now, this little number at the bottom, that’s how many followers you have, right?”
John tapped the screen, then squinted at it hard. Whitley crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the concrete wall of the interrogation room.
“Wow,” John whistled. “You have two million subscribers! That’s really something…oh wait, that’s not two million. That’s just a two.”
“Yo, screw you man. I’m not going to sit here and be insulted. Either charge me with something or let me go.”
Ruby recognized his voice, his locks, and posture. It was definitely the guy. She enjoyed watching John play Whitley like a fiddle, getting him to open up without realizing it.
“We’re getting to that, Mr. Whitley. We’re getting to that…now, who are your fans, exactly? One subscriber…oh, that’s your account. And account number two is…Margaret Whitley. Is this your mom? Do you actually have your mom as your one and only real subscriber?”
“Hey, my music career is a work in progress, but you ask anybody, and they’ll tell you Busta Kapp is an OG. Somebody be frontin’, I don’t hesitate.” He made a gun gesture with his right hand. “Rat a tat tat. Just like that.”
“I bet a hard case like you has lots of guns.”
“You bet I do,” Kapp said. “I got the strap. Everybody on the street know that, too.”
“Do you have a snub nosed .38 revolver, by any chance?”
“I don’t know, maybe,” Kapp said.
“Like the one we found in the pocket of your hoodie when my officer took you in?”
“Yo, that was totally planted on me. I never seen that gun before in my life.”
“That’s interesting, Mr. Whitley, because—”
Whitley leaped to his feet so quickly he knocked over his own chair, sending it to skitter across the concrete floor. Ruby was taken aback in spite of herself.
“Yo, call me Mr. Whitley instead’a Busta Kapp one more time, see what happens.”
John maintained a perfect veneer of calm. “Sit down, Mr. Whitley.”
“Sucker, you better recognize—”
“Sit. Down.”
John’s voice reverberated through the interrogation chamber. Whitley’s mouth gaped open, his eyes going wide. He tried to form an amused sneer on his face, but it only lasted a second. Then he rolled his eyes as if it didn’t matter and scoffed audibly. John continued to stare, and his posture wilted.
“Yo, this is some Nazi BS,” Whitley muttered, taking his seat again.
“Thank you, Mr. Whitley,” John said without missing a beat. “The gun we found in your possession matches the description of one used in a crime the other night.”
“I got no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You didn’t hold a woman at gunpoint and force her down to the beach?” John cocked an eyebrow. “Because we have eyewitness testimony that refutes that claim.”
“Eyewitness?” He sneered. “Dey lying then. I was chilling at home in my crib.”
“Can anyone attest to that?”
“Uh…” Whitley cocked his head to the side like a confused dog. “Test? What test?”
John smiled, shaking his head as if incredulous at how dumb his subject truly was. “Can anyone verify your story? That you were at home that night…which night was it again?”
“Tuesday. I was chilling at home Tuesday night.”
John’s smile grew wider and Ruby couldn’t help but join in. “I never said the attack happened Tuesday night, Mr. Whitley.”
Whitley’s face fell. “Yes you did. You must have.”
“I can assure you, I did not, and the tape will back me up on that.” John leaned forward. “I know you’re guilty, Whitley. I’m not even bothering with an investigation. What I want to know is what is your connection to Roger Abernathy.”
“Roger who?” Whitley said, but his voice broke. “S-sounds like some whack dude.”
“Whacked, actually. He’s dead.”
“Oh, really? I’ll send flowers to his family, what you want?”
“I want you to tell me why you were so worried about someone looking into Abernathy’s death that you felt the need to commit a felony.”
“Felony?”
“Kidnapping.”
“Yo, I didn’t kidnap nobody!”
John cocked his head to the side. “What do you think a kidnapping is?”
“Like, duct taping somebody and throwing them in your trunk. All I did was walk the chick down to the beach. I was probably going to let her go…”
Whitley’s eyes went wide. “I want a lawyer.”
John smiled. “That’s your right. But I already had you cold on this, Whitley. That’s not why I’m taping you. I didn’t need your confession. I need to hear what your connection to Roger Abernathy is.”
“The only thing I know about Roger Abernathy is that cat got what was coming to him.” Whitley grinned ear to ear. “You understand what I’m saying?”
“Are you confessing to his murder?”
“Man, y
ou must think I’m stupid or somethin’.”
Gale couldn’t stifle a laugh. Whitley glanced her way, a frown creasing his features.
“Oh, I would never presume on your intelligence, Mr. Whitley. After all, anyone whose music video for Anthrax has over six views in the last…. two years?...must be a pretty clever dude.”
“Yo, you going to sit here and insult my music, or are you going to charge me with a crime?”
John smiled. “Mr. Whitley, you are under arrest for unlawful detention, threatening bodily harm, and possession of an unregistered firearm. An officer will be in shortly to process you.”
“Yo, I want my phone call.”
“You’ll get it. I suggest you call your lawyer. Maybe he can talk some sense into you. If I get what I want, and your lips get looser, then you might just walk on the weapons and threatening charges.”
“What about the kidnapping?”
“Well, you’d have to talk to the Feds about that. Not my call.” John turned to leave.
“Yo, wait. You said you had a witness, but I know nobody saw me. And that lady done got washed away by the freak wave same as me.”
“So?”
“So, the Constitution says I have the right to face my accusers.”
John laughed, but Ruby saw no reason not to indulge him. She let her illusion spell drop and leaned in close with a smile.
“Boo.”
Recognition glimmered in Whitley’s blue-eyed gaze. Just when Ruby was absolutely certain she had his full attention, she cast an illusion spell of such minor power it didn’t even require a chant. It was called the Masque of Death, and it turned her face—just for a split second—to that of a rotting corpse. Maggots danced in her empty eye sockets. Ichor-flecked teeth peeked out from behind the tattered, taut curtain of her flesh.
Whitley’s scream split the air, setting her ears to ringing, but it was so worth it.
“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” John said with a rueful smile.
“I’m trying not to be, but it’s really hard. Sorry.”
“You should apologize to my janitor. He’s the one who has to deal with the fact Whitely wet himself.”
Fourteen
Ruby straightened up, wincing at the spasms in her lower back. Still, a smile forced its way onto her face as she regarded the bowstring-straight symmetry of the pentagram scrawled on the floor.
The Cyrillic whorls and loops of the arcane glyphs formed a border around the outer side of the pentagram. The border enclosed the silver star within, forming almost a second structure in and of itself.
Rufus crept up toward the border and sniffed. “It smells weird.”
“There’s sulfur in the paint. Or as we witches call it, Brimstone.”
“What are all of these words for?”
Rumpus leaped down to the floor from the kitchen table with a heavy thud. The table had been pushed against the far wall along with all the chairs. Ruby reasoned the tiled kitchen floor would be the easiest surface to clean once they no longer needed the pentagram.
“You’re a familiar, Rufus. Read them and tell us what you see.”
“Looks like…numbers? Math! It’s all math.”
“Right. Those are the coordinates for this particular spot in the space/time continuum. The calculations have to be precise, otherwise your subject might end up materializing inside of a wall, or in orbit, or at the bottom of Long Island Sound.”
“Rumpus is exaggerating the risk. There are plenty of safeguards.”
“Your math has to be correct.”
Ruby put her hands on her hips and glared down at her familiar. “Hey, fluffy butt, I use Throckdwaddle’s Arithmetic Verification as part of the border code. See? My math literally can’t be wrong, or the glyphs would be glowing blue.”
She turned toward Rufus and her expression softened. “Witches and Warlocks have been using teleportation magic for thousands of years, Rufus. And ,to be honest, demons and daemons were using them for hundreds of thousands of years before that. It’s not completely without risk, but neither is, say, opening a door and walking to your car, if you really think about it. Blair will be fine.”
Rumpus twitched his tail. “You didn’t add in a recursive loop in case of demonic infiltration.”
Ruby cleared her throat. “I didn’t think it would be necessary.”
“Not necessary? You want a demon to hijack the teleportation spell and piggyback into our realm?”
“That can happen?” Rufus dove beneath her Uncle’s chair. “Let me know when it’s over.”
“Such a chicken,” Rumpus sighed. “He’s right to be concerned in this case, though. You should add in the D.I.R.L.”
“That will take another hour, and I told Blair to be ready at noon. That was twenty minutes ago.”
“Well, you should have woken up earlier.”
“Bite me, Rumpus. Look, the D.I.R.L. is mostly intended for static teleportation circles, that remain partially ‘open’ to facilitate speed and ease of travel. This teleportation circle will only be open for a few seconds, long enough for Blair and Felix to make the jump.”
“Those few seconds might be just long enough.” Rumpus’ fluffy tail twitched back and forth in annoyance. “Look, Ruby. You’re asking for trouble and we both know it. Eat your humble pie, call Blair and tell her about the delay.”
“Placate myself before a madwand? Besides, Blair probably doesn’t know what a Demonic Infiltration Recursive Loop is.”
“Um, I don’t know what a Dogmatic Inspiration…um, Demonic Investigation…you know, the Derp thing.”
“D I R L,” Rumpus said snidely. “It’s sort of the interdimensional version of what we did to Chief John the other morning. If a demonic entity tries to hijack our circle, it will be sent back to its own dimension. That is, it would, if Ruby would stop being lazy and actually sketch one in.”
“It’ll be fine, Rumpus,” Ruby said, losing her patience. “Now settle down and help me focus on this incantation. Rufus, you, too. When you get your forever witch, you’ll be called upon to help her in this way, too.”
“What do I do?”
“You know how sometimes you can tell what I’m feeling, even thinking? I want you to concentrate on that feeling and make it stronger.”
Ruby smiled as Rufus’ sweet, friendly presence tingled the edges of her mind. “Good, Rufus. Now, can you sense the words of the incantation?”
“I can see them! I can!”
“Excellent. Now, just mentally ‘read’ along with Rumpus and I. Our combined Intention and Intellect will shape the eldritch energy to the parameters defined by the spell.”
Ruby noted with pride that Rufus took his place at the edge of the pentagram without being prompted. Rufus formed an equilateral triangle with Rumpus and Ruby. They chanted together, voices combining into a single chorus which rang out the teleport incantation.
A beam of light formed inside the pentagram, conforming to its star shape. The light faded and a young, dark-haired woman stood in the center. Her gray skirt and charcoal turtleneck suggested an office chic. The white, fluffy cat curled around her shoulder was the likely origin of the white hairs maring Blair’s outfit.
Her eyes focused on Ruby. A smile broke over her face. “Ruby. It’s good to see you again.”
“Likewise, Blair. Welcome to Fiddler’s Cove. Specifically, the lighthouse.”
“Hello,” Rufus said to the white cat on Blair’s shoulder. “My name is Rufus. Nice to meet you.”
“Howdy Rufus, I’m Felix. You’re practically still a kitten, aren’t you? Well, no worries. Just watch what I do closely, and you’ll be a great familiar.”
“Hey,” Rumpus moved his great, furry bulk in between Felix and Rufus. “The kid’s already got a trainer. I don’t need you mucking it up.”
“Excuse me, Chubbs? Since when do you think you’re better than me? I’m the guy who usually ends up saving the day.”
“Except you weren’t around when Lucian Lightfoot al
most barbequed your witch.”
“Hey! That was a low blow.”
“So was fat shaming me.”
“Felix, be nice,” Blair frowned at the fluffy white cat as she stepped out of the pentagram. “We’re guests here, so be on your best behavior.”
“We’re not guests, we’re the cavalry,” Felix muttered, but he ceased his bickering with Rumpus.
“So, show me where you first encountered this apparition—”
A deep, throbbing growl drowned out the rest of Blair’s speech. All eyes in the room fell upon the pentagram, which was lit up now with a dark red light.
“It’s a Demonic Incursion!” Rumpus’ back went up, his limbs splayed wide in alarm. “What did I tell you?”
“Impossible, the D.I.R.L. prevents that from happening,” Blair said. She turned to Ruby. “Doesn’t it?”
Ruby swallowed. “I, um, neglected to inscribe one.”
“Are you crazy?” Felix blurted.
“Blair, we have to send it back before the pentagram gives out.”
Blair nodded. “Alright. I haven’t done much ritual magic, though.”
“It works better if we hold hands. You know Lucrecia’s Litany?”
“Know it? It’s my go-to banishment spell.”
“Even for minor demons? That’s like using a ball peen hammer when a flyswatter is required.”
A hideous, bloated face, like a pickled alligator zombie with its eye sockets stitched shut appeared inside the pentagram. The head rose up inside the column of red light, supported by a gently undulating serpentine neck. Its snout brushed the pentagram and a shower of sparks blossomed out. The thing hissed in anger and perhaps pain.
“Lucrecia’s Litany it is,” Ruby said, clamping her hand onto Blair’s.
They chanted together, free hands tracing a pattern in the air. A solid line of light stretched after their index fingers. Ruby felt as if she moved her limb through water. The demonic entity trying to enter their world emitted an anti-magic field, making eldritch endeavors that much harder.
Ruby could feel Blair struggling against it, too, which made her feel a bit better. Ruby strained to move her finger that last few inches and complete a triangle in midair.
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