Tales Of The Abysmal Plane (Zoë Martinique Short Stories) (The Zoë Martinique Investigation Series)

by Phaedra Weldon

"The who?" Jemmy said.

  Rhonda had already mentioned them today. Let's see what Mom was going to say.

  "A local Ceremonial group. Pretty much known more for their politics in the magical world rather than their works," Mom said. She was still looking over the documents. "Originally, they were more of a nuisance—you'd hear about these public rituals in North Georgia, and all the Wiccan groups would protest, going on camera to say this isn't what magic is all about."

  I pursed my lips. Okay.

  Dags looked from Rhonda to Mom. "How do you know about them like that?"

  "Because I was at a few of those protests," Nona said. "Anyway—they vanished about three years ago. I figured internal politics had rotted them from the inside out. But, apparently, Dr. Bonville is back in town, and I'm assuming he's their new leader." She looked at Dags. "And from the reaction you had in the hospital that close to him, unprotected, I'd say he's got a caller out on you, Mr. McConnell."

  I got up and found my dry erase board on the papasan in the Botanica and came back to the table. I scribbled for a bit and then held it up. WHEN I TOUCH HIM, WE GO TO MOUNTAIN TOP.

  Mom frowned. Rhonda grabbed up the Big Book of Everything and started flipping through it.

  "Was it a mountain top that overlooked ruins?" Steve piped up.

  I glanced at Dags. He nodded to the Ghost and cleared his throat. He looked a little better. A little. "Yes. But the sky was all orange, and there were lots of odd-shaped creatures coming up the side toward me."

  Mom and Steve exchanged glances before Steve said, "I think he's using some sort of spell to summon Dags to the Abysmal."

  Dags frowned. "The Abysmal?"

  Rhonda gave him a brief explanation of Physical, Mental, Astral, Ethereal, and Abysmal. Dags didn't look very comforted. "So you think Dr. Bonville is trying to draw me into the Abysmal—what the hell for?"

  "I don't know why—unless he's trying to get rid of you. If you weren't in physical form, it could be used as a jail," Steve said. "But since you are, and if you got yanked inside, you'd die pretty quick. The Physical can't exist in the Abysmal for more than say a few seconds before the lack of oxygen, lack of any real atmosphere, would cause your body to implode. My assumption? I think he's using it as a shortcut to summon you to him. Like, a portal between dimensions. A teleporting shortcut." He frowned. "Only with some very ugly side effects if the summon fails."

  "Side effects?" Dags squeaked.

  Steve nodded. "Yeah, that dying thing I mentioned."

  Dags looked like he was going to throw up.

  Finally, Rhonda asked the question. "So, what happens to Dags if he doesn't pull him out?"

  Steve looked irritated. "What part of die here are we missing?"

  Rhonda made a rude noise. "Touchy. Look, I'm just wondering—since there are four Guardians to represent the four quarters—have the other three already been pulled through? Or is he specifically after Dags?"

  Steve shrugged.

  Good point.

  Mom held up the brown papers. "These are contracts—and very much worded like the one you stumbled on with Hirokumi and the Reverend between the Phantasm and the Symbiont. Only these all have blanks in them, and there is a phrase here that talks about the Shadow Realm Walkers."

  "You mean the Shadow Folk?" Rhonda asked, looking up from the book. "Like the ones we just ran into at the restaurant?"

  "Oh I don't know if they're the same Shadows —but I think this is a contract between the Cruorem and —well —maybe the Brownies? I just can't be sure. The language is evasive."

  Aw geez. Erase. Scribble. SO WHY BROWNIE WANT US TO FIND.

  "Yeah," Rhonda said with a nod. "Good point. And I think we mentioned this to each other—but I got the distinct impression we —or rather Zoë —was dealing with two different camps in that restaurant."

  Mom shook her head. "What do you mean?"

  I nodded to Rhonda to talk. Easier for you, dude.

  "Like we said, when we got there, Dags and Zoë said they saw two of the little buggers who tried to trip us up the stairs—but then a third one showed Zoë where the papers were."

  Tim said, "You think there were two different pairings of Shadow Folk? Two different kinds?"

  I nodded. I definitely felt a difference in them. The first were nasty, and the second was nice. But I didn't scribble this down.

  Mom nodded. "It's possible, I guess."

  Dags cleared his throat. His voice sounded thin and small. "I have a really weird question—" he looked around. Everyone was listening. "You said earlier that Shadow Folk—or the kind we think of as Brownies—weren't originally human?"

  Mom shrugged. "That was the understanding. Although, according to the book, they could have been."

  "So," he shrugged. "If I'm understanding any of this—it is possible to turn someone into a Shadow Person?"

  Rhonda shivered. So did I. That thought was just—well—oogie.

  Mom shook her head. "I don't really know. The book says they're humans touched by the elements. I don't know how you'd do that. What kind of ritual or event would happen? But if there is a way to turn living people into Shadow Forms—" she made a face, "I think it would call for the death of the living victim. Since the Folk live somewhere on the Astral, Abysmal, or Ethereal."

  "Well, that would make sense if you considered the transmitter theory we had. If their essence resided on the Astral, Abysmal, or Ethereal Planes, then we don't have the filters to see their true forms. Thus, we get Shadows." Rhonda said.

  Jemmy grunted. "I say they're on the we-don't-go-there plane." She shifted in her chair. "But I'm curious, boy, why you asked that question?"

  Dags shrugged. "I think it's because—while we were upstairs—and Zoë was following that one shadow around—I got a really familiar vibe from it."

  "Vibe?" Mom said.

  Rhonda patted her hand. "He got a feeling from it."

  Mom shot Rhonda a "watch-it" look. Hey—now I know where I get that frown. The one Daniel said reminded him of an evil puppet.

  Sigh. Daniel.

  Tim spoke up. "So—and correct me on this since I'm trying to follow the conversation over a period of days—are you saying you recognized one of the Shadows?"

  Dags shook his head. "Not the first two. Those felt wrong, kind of like the atrium felt in the hospital, and the symbols immediately went active, and I blasted them," he held out his hands. "All kinda—"

  Scribble. OOGIE.

  Dags nodded and pointed to my board. "Yeah, like that. But afterward, when we realized there were more Shadows in the loft, that third one felt…calmer."

  "No, not calm," Rhonda said with a tap to her chin. "It felt like desperation to me."

  My stomach growled. I really needed food.

  Mom held up her hands. "Wait...you blasted the first two away? What do you mean by blasted?"

  Uh-oh. That's right. Mom didn't know about Mr. Bartender here and his freaky palm-powered talents.

  This should be interesting.

  I finished up my tea as Rhonda and Dags tag-teamed filling Mom and Jemmy in on his tattoos and light power.

  Mom's expression caught my attention. "Darren..." that was so Mom, calling him by his given name and not his nickname. She held out her hand. "Let me see them."

  Dags offered her his palms, face up.

  I watched her clasp each hand in her own, and then she rubbed her thumbs in the palms. The circles glowed a faint blue, exposing their details. Dags closed his eyes and winced as if he were in pain.

  "You do realize you're wide open," she arched an eyebrow at him as he focused on her face. "With these symbols cut into your skin—they're like an Open House sign for just about any unfettered creature."

  "Open House?" Dags swallowed.

  Jemmy nodded. "Boy—this Bonville? Sounds like he was planning on using all four of you Guardians as sacrifices."

  Rhonda sat forward. "For what?"

  Jemmy smiled. "That, my dear, is exactly what we have to
find out."

  Mom smiled. "Most of these gitchi-goomie cults or groups use their books like diaries, recording everything from spells to meeting minutes in them. I'll bet if we find their Grimoire, we'll know what Bonville's up to."

  Grim-who?

  Dags grinned at me as he took his hands from Mom. "It's kinda like Rhonda's book here," he pointed to the Big Honking Book of Everything. "Like a witch's Book of Shadows. It'll have all their spells and secrets in it."

  Oh.

  "Let's see if I can recap," Jemmy said with her hands on the table. "Zoë got a request from a hostess at a bar/restaurant in Roswell. Dags here actually works there as a bartender. One of the coworkers was tripped and ended up in the hospital, and the manager refused to pay. Dags is actually owned by this Magician's group, and they're trying to suck him back—and the Shadow Folk in the restaurant who are accused of tripping people and playing jokes actually helped you find these documents." She pointed to the papers in front of Mom. "Did I leave anything out?"

  Sounded about right.

  Mom spoke. "Jemmy and I will focus on why these documents are important. I can sort of decipher the first page, but the other pages are just gibberish without the secret decoder ring."

  Hehehehe. I love my mom.

  Sometimes.

  "I suspect that the missing wife, as well as Maureen and the others, learned of Bonville's fiendish plot—because you know Magicians always have fiendish plots—and he killed them or did something to them. Dags—let me and Rhonda do something about those tattoos. In here you're fine, but out there, you're done for."

  Dags blanched.

  Mom looked at me. "I need you and Rhonda to check out Maureen's apartment and see if there's anything in there that might lead us to where she went. But the big thing to do is get a hold of Bonville's Grimoire."

  All eyes stared at Mom as if she'd lost her mind. And I think she had.

  "Nona," Rhonda frowned. "Exactly how do you suppose we do that? I'm sure he's got it locked up in his home or where ever they do their mojo."

  Mom smiled, and I didn't like it. "I don't think he has that Grimoire anymore," she held up the documents. "These pages attest that it was taken or defaced in some way."

  "They do?" Rhonda said.

  "You think those pages are out of the book itself?" Jemmy askedd.

  "Yes I do," Mom said. "And if it was taken and these pages ripped out, my guess is either Bonville's wife," she looked at Dags, "or Maureen took it."

  "Which would make sense, from a motive standpoint, if he came after her," Dags said. "And you don't think he's found it?"

  "No. But rest assured," she grinned, and I still didn't like it. "If we can get our hands on it, he'll be coming after us as well."

  Oh. Hell.

  -7-

  The problem we faced—well, okay, we had several problems, but I'm gonna concentrate on one at a time—was that we needed Dags to come with us to look at Maureen's apartment (he had a key!), but if he stepped outside of the house wards, then he might get zapped.

  Rhonda and Mom moved into the Botanica while Dags and Jemmy talked about stuff in the corner. I decided to be useful, so I started picking up things and taking them back into the kitchen. Tim appeared there as well and was solid enough to open the dishwasher so I could load it.

  "You got any Wraithy feelings on this one?"

  I paused in the middle of putting a dessert plate into the washer. Uh—no. And what is Wraithy feelings?

  "You know—kinda like a Spidey sense?"

  I pursed my lips and shook my head before finishing up the dishes. Once that was done, I poured myself another glass of tea over my half-melted ice and looked at my little spooky buddy. I don't get this thing with Dags—the whole marks-on-the-hand thing. That's more Rhonda's schtick. But those things in that restaurant? I shook my head. There were two types of things—kinda like we were attacked by a set of apples, and then an orange helped. They were both fruit, but just different kinds of fruits.

  Tim laughed. "I'm not sure which is sadder—your analogy or the fact that I understood it."

  I blew him a quiet razzberry and sipped my tea. Mmm…sugary goodness. Oh shut up—I'm watching my sugar!

  "You think that the oranges and the apples were related?"

  I nodded. Yeah, just not in the way we think of as related. The apples felt—well pissed off. Angry. Irritated. I don't have the right word. But the orange was scared. Sad. Desperate.

  "Hey Zoë!" that was Rhonda.

  I saluted Tim with the tea and moved out of the kitchen and into the Botanica. Mom and Rhonda had cleared the coffee table of its magazines and had placed a flat square of wood on it—with a pentagram carved out of it. Oh geez…don't these two ever stop? Was the pentagram on the floor not enough that they had to make a portable altar thingie?

  I was shocked Rhonda didn't have it on my iBook. She could call it an iPentagram.

  Wait—iStar?

  iPentacle?

  Phhht.

  Jemmy and Dags were with them as well, all kneeling and sitting down around the board. In the middle of it sat Dags' silver bracelet. Upon closer inspection, I noticed it was a chain of little silver skulls—but they were stylized looking. Kinda like Day of the Dead skulls. That real silver?

  "Yeah," Dags said. "It was a gift from a shaman I met while I was in Mexico."

  Oh. Cool.

  "Yeah. He's dead. Bit by a snake."

  Well you're just full of cheery news, aintcha?

  "Zoë," Mom looked up where I was looming. "I need you to go OOB for me and then go corporeal."

  I stood up straight. I did manage to sign, "Why?" 'cause I'd seen that gesture enough.

  "Just trust me on this."

  You're not gonna hurt me are you?

  "She wants to know if she's gonna get hurt," Dags interpreted.

  Mom rolled her eyes. "Not yet. Just please—"

  Yet? Why the yet part? Oh all right. I moved past them and set myself down in the papasan and slipped out. Didn't take much to make me go all-solid. Just one thought of Daniel and poof. Here I am! I moved in closer—Dags was watching all wide-eyed.

  "How come you always have those on?"

  You don't like bunny slippers?

  He smiled. "Love them. But when they sprout fangs, I'm outta here."

  "Okay, Zoë. I need you to reach out and touch the bracelet when I tell you to."

  Oh—kay. So I held my corporeal hand over the bracelet.

  "No, the other one. The one TC touched."

  Argh. I switched arms, reaching out with my left one. This made the handprint even more visible to everyone. I was self-conscious about it. Dags was literally salivating over it.

  Mom lit four white candles around the table. She bowed her head. Then she nodded to me. I touched the bracelet—

  And found myself in the other room—on my ass.

  "Zoë!" Rhonda was at the curtain between the two stores and looked at me. "Are you okay?"

  I pushed myself up—and I was very lightheaded—to a point where I simply let go—

  And was back in my body before I knew what hit me. I could hear Mom, Dags, and Jemmy—and then there was someone touching my forehead. I opened my eyes and saw Rhonda bending over me. "Oohh…I'm sorry Zoë. I mean…I figured it'd do something, but not that. Are you okay?"

  Mom was suddenly behind her—and I saw worry on her face. "Can you get up?"

  What the hell did you people do?

  Dags translated.

  Rhonda looked sheepish. "Well, we used a little of your Wraith essence—as a sort of an invisibility cloak."

  I frowned. You did what?

  Dags said, "You did what?"

  Mom reached down past Rhonda and offered me her hand. I took it and let her help me up to a standing position. Oh man, was I wobbly or what. "Dags needs something that makes him invisible to what Bonville is doing. So we came up with the idea of using a bit of your Abysmal essence to make Dags seem to be made of Abysmal. It should protec
t him for at least twenty-four hours. Silver can hold a charge for a while, but it can't last. Now gold, that'd probably retain the blast a good bit better, but then—"

  I grabbed her shoulder and waited until she was looking at me. You took a piece of me to use in a bracelet?

  Dags translated. He had the bracelet on and now was standing up and walking to us. Rhonda pulled away from me. I could somehow tell she was a little upset—but at who?

  Whom?

  "No, Zoë," Mom looked a little fierce. "I took a piece of the Abysmal stuff that is the Wraith. That boy could die if he's pulled physically into the Abysmal, and this jackass Bonville apparently doesn't care about the lives he's ended." She took in a deep breath, and her boobs expanded exponentially. "I'm not sure how all this ties together, Zoë, but I am going to take offense to some asshat using power for personal gain at the expense of innocent lives. We don't have proof. But we will."

  And with that, she turned and walked out of the room.

  I looked at Rhonda and Dags. They were looking where Mom disappeared, their own expressions mirroring my own surprise at her reaction.

  And somehow—I had the impression I was watching a movie with half of it missing. But it was in a foreign language. There was something else there—something that had Mom pissed.

  It was closer to dinner by the time we got to Maureen's apartment. Mainly because we just drove around near the shop for a good twenty minutes to make sure Dags wasn't going to, like, get sucked into some Ceremonial Abysmal Hoover. When we were sure the bracelet was working, we headed out to Maureen's apartment.

  It was a nice one-bedroom in a complex off of Holcombridge Road in Roswell. Rhonda drove Mom's car again, and I stayed in the back. I wasn't really feeling all that spiffy—I was still lightheaded and a little nauseated.

  There didn't seem to be anyone watching the place—or nothing I could sense on the oogie radar—and Dags let us in. Rhonda went all CSI on us, pulling rubber gloves out of her coat pockets. I played along, as did Dags. Snap!

  It was like any other apartment I'd ever seen. Beige. The carpet. Beige. The kitchen. Beige. Just sort of…beige.

  Maureen had done a nice job of decorating it with pictures of mountain scenes—many of which Dags said she'd taken herself. He moved to the kitchen, and Rhonda came up to me and whispered, "I get the impression they were more than friends."