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

by Phaedra Weldon

  "So is the spell he used on me for these," Dags held up his hands indicating the circles that were now invisible, "in the front of the book—the grandfathered stuff?"

  "Yes. But you're not going to like it." She pursed her lips as she looked at him. "He made you a component of the Shadow Door."

  Everyone stopped and looked at her.

  The what?

  Rhonda licked her lips. "The what?"

  Mom held up the book so everyone could see a full-page image of a person being sucked through a portal in the air. I shivered. Tim pointed at the book. "That's just wrong."

  "A Shadow Door is a man-made doorway into the Abysmal Plane. Sometimes they're created by Coyote Flame."

  "That's neutral magic," Rhonda said. "That's not right—not even in the ceremonial world. You don't learn that stuff and then write it down for other people to use—you have to go through years of discipline and training to ever learn that level of magic. I mean, if I understand what I'm seeing, this spell actually pulls or pushes someone physically into the Abysmal Plane. What in the hell would you use that for?"

  "Well, to enter another plane, or to make someone disappear. Great way to get rid of someone so the authorities never find them."

  Everyone grew quiet. Finally I erased my board and scribbled. WHAT HAPPENS TO SOUL WHEN BODY IS SUCKED?

  I held it up. Dags grinned. I looked at the board, scowled, and added IN to the last word.

  Jemmy finally spoke up. "That's a good question there, Zoë. No matter how bad you asked it. My opinion on that would be their souls would remain in the Abysmal after the body dies."

  "But remain as what?" Rhonda asked, looking at Jemmy.

  The elderly woman had a very sad look on her face as she slowly shook her head. "Shadow Folk."

  •••

  Apparently—and I don't pretend to understand any of it—from what everyone read out of Maureen's journals—Alice Bonville confided in Maureen about having stolen a box from her old house, believing it contained her grandmother's china—something she hadn't wanted the bastard to have. The box sat in her basement for several weeks unopened.

  But then he arrived one night on her doorstep, demanding the box back. She'd had to call the police to have him bodily removed and put a restraining order out on him. She'd called Maureen that night, and the two of them went through the box.

  It wasn't full of Grandma's china.

  More like a box full of gitchie-goomies from hell. Candles, parchment, black ink with a foul smell (Rhonda figured it was blood), as well as the book and a folder full of the papers found in the restaurant loft. Maureen described finding jars of things with odd labels and smells, a bag of incense sticks, and a manila folder.

  The folder was what freaked both of the ladies out—inside the folder were four glossy pictures of four different people. Maureen recognized two of them—both working at the restaurant. Alice recognized the other two as having worked at the hospital.

  Rhonda looked up at Dags, who was leaning back on the sofa. I was in my usual perch in the papasan. My arm and thigh were aching, and I really just wanted to curl up and sleep. "Your name is listed as one of the photos."

  Dags nodded. "Well, if Bonville is Fafner, then it stands to reason that he probably has pictures of each of the Guardians. Four pictures. It also explains why Maureen took a keen interest in me and what I was doing when I wasn't at the restaurant."

  "You think she knew what all the stuff was for?" Rhonda said.

  Mom spoke up. "No, but I'm sure Alice knew." She didn't have one of the journals in her lap. but instead, she had the Big Book of Everything. "The Cruorem are mentioned in this book as being one of the largest and most powerful Ceremonial cults in the New World—and it was believed they were responsible for the disappearance of over 800 people in that time. They also are associated with the appearance of Shadow Folk."

  "You're kidding," Rhonda ditched the journal, leaving it where she'd been on the floor, and moved over to Mom in her wicker chair. "I didn't see that in this book."

  "You didn't look under the 'Rumors and Really Scary Tales' section."

  Rhonda smirked. "Yes'm." She looked down at the book. "Wow…it says here that the Cruorem were untouchable—especially when it came to the law of the land. Many occult groups—including one of the larger influential Wiccan covens in England—tried to stop them."

  Dags said, "I take it they failed?"

  Rhonda looked at him. "They vanished."

  I swallowed and eyeballed Dags. And you joined these assholes? You let them mark you?

  He looked at me. "So like you've never done anything boneheaded in your life?"

  Uh. Well. Hrm. I wasn't gonna pursue that one. I know when to pick my battles. Or so I fooled myself into thinking. But what I wanted at that moment was to call the hospital and see how Daniel was doing. I'd tried to get Mom to do it earlier, but she said Cooper had called and told her there was no change.

  But Daniel was in the same hospital that this wacko practiced in—and what if said wacko figured out who I was? And what if he did some mean ho-jo to my man?

  Well—I'd kick his ass, that's what.

  Zoë...

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I thought I heard my name.

  Come here Zoë...

  I sat up. There it was again. And I knew on some weird level that it wasn't anyone in here.

  "...somewhere in the past fifty years or so, the Cruorem lost their power," Rhonda was saying as she read over Mom's shoulder. "It is believed that within the family line, several known believers were born and protested that the family 'business' of cursing and running amok was a bad idea. When Nora Wynne took over as the head of the family, she obliterated the group in one night—and over twenty core members vanished. She was deemed a hero by the locals and went on to settle in North Georgia and became an entrepreneur."

  I have the answers...

  Shit! That was my voice! Sort of—it had a distinct male timbre to it.

  "So how does Alice Bonville figure into this? Why do you think she knew about it?" Dags said.

  I promise not to bite...

  And abruptly I felt a sensual gnawing along my neck. And much to my unhappy thoughts, it made me bothered in all the wrong places.

  Mom sighed. "Because Alice is Nora Wynne's daughter. Alice is the inheritor of the Cruorem."

  Rhonda's jaw dropped. "So—if Alice is the head of the Cruorem—what the hell is Allard doing?"

  "My assumption is that Alice was following in her mom's footsteps—by putting the whole magical thing behind her. And it was her husband that dredged it all up. From the reaction that Maureen talks about," Mom shook her head, "I'd say either Alice did know what Allard was up to, or she was turning a blind eye, until the reality was right in front of her."

  I looked at the windows. The wind was blowing, and I didn't have to be outside to know it was cold out there.

  —even though you like it.

  That did it. I knew who it was—and I was both terrified, as well as a little curious to see for myself. But there was only one other being in the world who had my voice besides me.

  "Nona—" Rhonda said. "This could be bad. Do you think Allard used this door to get rid of Maureen and Alice to get to the Grimoire?"

  Mom nodded.

  "Oh…damn. I'm not feeling so good. You think he knows we have that book now?" Dags sat up.

  They're all wrong but I can give you the answers—you want to protect your little cop, don't you?

  I moved out of the Botanica. I somehow knew the voice—my voice—was outside. And I also knew I needed my coat. I grabbed it out of the closet in the kitchen and slipped it on.

  "Where are you going, Zoë?" my mom called out.

  I walked back into the Botanica and pointed outside and mouthed, "Need air."

  "Need air?" Rhonda frowned at me, and I noticed Tim was looking at the windows. "It's freezing out there."

  I waved at them and stepped outside.
/>   Frigid wind slapped me in the face, and I was somewhat happy that I had my hair down—though it was up and whipping about. The front of Mom's place is a classic porch that wraps around the house, and she'd decorated it like every other Southern woman in Georgia would decorate it—she'd put white wicker chairs to the right of the door and a table between the two.

  In the shadows outside I could see him, sitting in one of those chairs, rocking slowly back and forth, his long coat splayed over the armrests.

  Trench Coat, TC, aka, The Archer, smiled at me, and a cold, icy shiver raced down my back. "Hello, Zoë. Miss me?"

  -9-

  The cold outside was nothing compared to the paralyzing fear that abruptly gripped every inch of my body. It was different—thinking of him when he wasn't around. And maybe in a small way, romanticizing his almost—almost—knight-in-shining-armor emergence that helped me defeat the Symbiont in Rollins.

  Romantic? A small part of myself—you know, that little mother look-a-like that sits on your shoulder with the wings—growled at me. You cannot be serious.

  I flicked it away like a stray piece of lint. I didn't want that kind of grief right now—this wasn't the time.

  You said something about protecting Daniel?

  He cocked his head to the side and smiled again. "You need to act fast—destroy the Betrayer."

  Why should I believe anything you say?

  He shrugged. "Because as you misfits sit around in there and eat your food and talk, the Betrayer has already discovered who you are—and what."

  The icy feeling along my back froze my entire body solid. Fear like nothing I could remember before had me in its grip. You mean Bonville knows what I am?

  "Would I lie to you?"

  In a New York minute.

  I wasn't in the mood to argue who had what minions at that moment. I took a step closer—and he backed up. I mean the spook literally vanished from the chair and reappeared behind it.

  Wha—?

  His expression didn't tell me anything about what he was thinking. But—was he afraid of me?

  TC held up the index finger of his right hand. On it he wore a silver ring with a skull on it. Typical. "Cautious."

  Stop reading my mind.

  "Stop thinking so loud, Wraith." He held out his hands, palms up. "Do you want to hear how we can be mutually beneficial to one another?"

  Gimme back my voice first.

  He shook his head. "No can do, lover. Are you open to hearing my offer?"

  His use of the word lover just pissed me off. And I knew he was goading me on purpose.

  And then something dawned on me. I'm usually the first person who will admit to being a secret blond—I don't always follow the obvious. And sometimes I see things no one else sees, which has irritated the hell out of Rhonda on more than one occasion.

  As I looked at TC, and I mean really looked at him, I realized he didn't seem to be as menacing as he had been before. He seemed almost diminished—like there was a vital piece of him missing. Had it been my Wraithy Wail that did this to him? Or something else? Making the deal with me—had he broken some—

  You're in service again, the thought came unbidden, but I knew I was right.

  The look on his face told me I had nailed it. TC the badass Archer wasn't an independent anymore, but a Symbiont in service to the Phantasm. Just like he'd been in the beginning before his encounter with me had set him apart.

  What's wrong with you?

  He straightened up and seemed to grow in size. "There is nothing wrong with me!"

  When I didn't move or flinch, standing on the porch with my hands in my pockets, he calmed down. "When our connection was made, the Phantasm wasn't aware of it, and I was able to separate long enough to grow strong."

  Ahhh...but when you made the deal with me, the Phantasm knew he was there.

  "And he took advantage of that," he looked away, and I could see his profile. Yep, Vin Diesel. "I have been in his service ever since."

  And you think by me helping you—

  Hunh. Helping him what?

  He looked at me and took a step closer, his duster flaring out about him and he clasped his hands behind his back. "The Betrayer is the same as before—not in identity but in greed. They sought a contract with the Phantasm—wishing eternal life and wealth. And as you know, the Phantasm can grant such things."

  Yadda, yadda.

  I made rotating motion with the index finger of my right hand. Speed it up.

  TC glared at me. Like that was new? "They were given a Symbiont and a contract set. Only the Betrayer wanted even more. So the Phantasm offered them eternal life—"

  He can do that?

  "Ever heard of the undead?"

  Never mind.

  TC moved to the edge of the porch and looked up at the moon. It was full and cast his face in a blue hue. I realized then he wasn't wearing his shades.

  Wait…where did the moon come from? And where had the wind gone? Too late I realized everything around us had calmed. Still. As if frozen in time. I couldn't hear the others, either.

  "But eternal life comes at a price—four souls. Each one taken simultaneously during the Fain-Dun ritual of the Seventh Black Seal."

  I glared at him. Did you make that up? 'Cause that totally sounds made up.

  "The Phantasm has a love of the theatrical. The ritual was created to transfer eternal life—and during it, the four sacrifices are killed, and the Phantasm increases his power by giving the fool an undead existence," he turned and looked at me. "Seven out of ten undead go insane after the first 100 years. They never last for eternity. And the Symbionts return the souls to the Phantasm anyway."

  Four sacrifices. Four initiated idiots. I thought of Dags. Are these sacrifices marked?

  "Might be. I'm not the ritual expert." He turned completely from the moon and crossed his arms over his chest.

  What happened?

  TC nodded. "One of the sacrifices didn't work—like plugging in a bad Christmas bulb. Made everything else short circuit. To cover up the blunder, the Betrayer used a forbidden spell to shove the physical bodies of the sacrifices into the Abysmal Plane."

  Oh geez…the other Guardians. Did he only put three in?

  "Thirteen."

  Thirteen? I thought there was only supposed to be four?

  "They were overcompensating for their blunder."

  Shit. Now I know for sure where all those people went.

  "Wraith—placing a physical body inside the Abysmal is like befouling the most holy of holies." He arched an eyebrow. "Imagine pouring menstrual blood into the sacramental chalice in the church."

  Oh god…the very thought turned my stomach.

  "Physical bodies in the Abysmal Plane cannot survive—and so they dissolve. Painfully. And the remaining soul is tainted—neither living nor dead. Neither Abysmal or Ethereal. They're like gunk in the pipes. They're a cancer in a healthy heart."

  Like nuts in a brownie?

  And to my surprise, he nodded. "Like this, they are no use to the Phantasm. You call them Shadow Folk—Shadow People—we call them irritants. And they only can be destroyed by one means."

  And somehow I knew that was me. And this is where I come in. So the Phantasm told you to contact me to get rid of the Shadows?

  "I'm contacting you because we can help each other. We can destroy the Betrayer, and I can retrieve the contracts."

  I thought of the contract in the house, the one the Shadow People had showed me.

  "They'll be drawn to you and your power—"

  Oh great.

  "—and then they can be destroyed by your hand. Once they're gone, I can take my revenge—" he paused and smiled. "The Phantasm's due on the Betrayer."

  I wasn't all that happy about delivering up the soul of any human being to the Phantasm. But then—Bonville had done some pretty awful things to innocent human beings. I thought of Dags and wondered if those marks on his hands would ever go away—or could they be removed at all?


  It also scared me how close he'd been to falling bodily into the Abysmal Plane.

  And I really didn't believe this asswipe.

  What's in it for you?

  He looked shocked.

  Oh get off it. Y ou don't do anything unless you benefit from it.

  He held out his hands and bowed deep, actually bending on one knee. "Ah—I must once again marvel at your complexity."

  Asshat.

  "And your vocabulary. Yes—there is something I get out of it. But that something shall remain mine to keep if you want your dear cop protected."

  I actually didn't want this bastard anywhere near Daniel—my love was in this pickle because of the Archer. This creature was the cause of all the wackiness in my life since I first saw him murder William Tanaka.

  We have a maybe.

  TC bowed again.

  So when do we do this?

  "You'll know—at the appointed hour."

  Something banged like a door slamming. "Zoë!"

  I blinked. And TC was gone. The night sounds of nearby traffic on Euclid returned, as did the cold wind. I turned and saw Rhonda standing in the doorway looking at me.

  "What's up? Why did you come out here? And what the hell were you staring at?"

  It was obvious she hadn't seen TC, which I'm sure he arranged. Part of me wanted to tell her what'd just happened—but for some reason, I just smiled and nodded before following her back inside the cozy shop.

  Everyone was still in place, though Tim was absent. Where had Steve gone?

  "Honey," Mom said before I sat down. "What were you doing out there?"

  I pointed to my head before I stripped off my coat.

  "You were thinking?"

  Geez, Mom…you don't have to look so shocked.

  I found my board on the papasan where I'd left it and erased it as I sat down. After I was done scribbling, I held up the board. CAN SYMBIONTS EAT SF?

  Everyone gave me a blank stare on that one. Mom's lips flattened. Uh oh. I got her thinking. That could be bad.

  "Zoë," Rhonda frowned at me. "Why do you want to know that?"

  I didn't want to tell them about TC just yet, so I needed to make something up really quick. I erased and scribbled, trying to write smaller to fit more on the board. WHEN I SEE DUDE AT HOSP. I HAD FEEL OF SYMBIONT.