by Sara Hanover
I dropped my voice to a barely audible whisper.
“Unauthorized visit. Unknown location. You’ve been manipulated into getting me out to . . . wherever . . . so someone can take a closer look at the maelstrom stone. This isn’t going to be pretty.”
She twitched a look at me. Her lips had paled to nearly the unnatural washed-out color of her skin. She gave a bare shake of her head to steer me away from trouble. It didn’t work.
I put a hand on her arm. “I got this.”
I have no sympathy for bullies. Never have had, and even more so after what I went through in high school when my father disappeared, thought to have been killed. Now that I was adult, I knew how to fight back even better. I slipped my gloves off my hands and put my palms together, to feel the stone warm up. My bracers warmed as well.
I murmured, “Ready.”
I knocked on the driver’s partition. It lowered slightly. “Pull over. I’m going to be sick. Spent too much energy.” My voice wobbled convincingly.
Sophie rolled an eye at me. I shrugged.
The window came down all the way. “Sick?”
“Seriously, pull over unless you want puke all over this back seat!”
The car slowed quickly and headed toward the berm. I muttered to Sophie, “Run as soon as you get out.”
I don’t know if she trembled or shook her head in acknowledgment because I was throwing open my door and getting myself onto the street.
The driver moved also, quickly, and I found the two of us nearly toe-to-toe. I’d thought the driver female but that mostly definitely was not the case. Maybe half elven, but he glared at me over the collar of his long coat, and I caught a gleam in his eyes. I knew dark elves when I met them. I reacted with a low growl that would have made both the professor and my dog proud. The driver retreated two or three steps quickly, one hand up in the air as if to forestall anything I had planned.
Or get off a blistering magical attack.
I put up my own hand, letting the stone deploy my shielding. It spun out in a golden disk, covering not only myself but also Sophie who’d run all right . . . directly behind me. Bite me, but I still didn’t know if I could trust her.
I spun my defensive shield out a bit more as I faced the driver. “Thigpen, I presume?”
“What’s in a name?” His lips twisted, and his long face pulled a bit to match the sneer, lanky brown hair hanging down from what passed for a chauffeur’s cap. The suit, however, was both too fine and too outdated to be a uniform. And he had, heaven help us both, a Confederate flag pin stuck on his lapel.
Now, because my mom is from the North (and west), we’ve always been considered Yankees here in Virginia. It’s a thing. Unfortunately, it’s become more and more of a thing in the last few years and I have worries for the future. But that’s in the big scheme, and—frankly—I have enough to worry about with me and my mom and our close friends . . . and Aunt April. The rest of the states need to get together to take care of themselves. All the same, I can feel the prejudice and so can she. It might even be one of the reasons the university is holding back on her finalizing her dissertation for her doctorate. We don’t know. It’s not always obvious. But she will always be a Yankee.
I raised an eyebrow at him as he curled the fingers of his left hand about that self-same pin. I caught, for a brief second, the bitter copper tang of blood and thought he’d cut himself on the stupid thing before realizing it had been intentional. That was no ordinary pin. Dude was about to send some dark, dark blood magic at me through his charged relic.
Anger surged through me. “Stealing power? Not got the spine to learn it on your own? You think you have to rip it out of someone? You’re not getting anything from me or Sophie. I’ll take you down first.” And I would. I was a fighter and had earned my scars the past few years, mostly on the field hockey grounds, but I didn’t intend to roll over and let this ugly string bean of a being take the stone from me. Over my dead body.
Which might be exactly what he intended.
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re not powerful enough to do this on your own. Who’s pushing you?”
“Shut up,” Thigpen said. “Give it over. You will save yourself a great deal of pain if you do.” His gaze shifted to somewhere behind me. “Or save her. You can’t control the power you think you have to stop me.”
“You haven’t got what it takes. You’ll have to scamper back to . . . could it be Judge Parker . . . and admit you failed.”
“I won’t fail! You’re as good as dead! I will have it one way or the other.”
The stone coughed. Or hiccoughed. Neither of which it had ever really done before, and I prayed it wasn’t staggering to a powerless halt. I didn’t feel fatigue, but maybe the magic Thigpen had begun to drum up had closed off my connection with the maelstrom. I felt an icy coldness wrap about me, gripping tight. My arms and legs went half-numb, tingling with pins and needles. I stomped both feet to restore sensation as I advanced. Another two feet and I would be within kicking or punching distance.
If I could make it that far. Despite my vows, the power he summoned fastened around my chest and then my throat. I had my arms up in hope the bracers could block it, but they didn’t. Whatever he cast pulled the breath from my lungs and blocked me from getting a new gulp.
The spell he coiled against me wrapped around my throat, getting tighter and tighter, and I suddenly, desperately, needed air. I fought it, afraid to drop my shield and expose Sophie to the attack, and I doubted she had the power available right now either. I wrenched myself a step forward even as my lungs began to scream to breathe. What air I did have was sucked away from me, and I could see from the glitter in his eyes he didn’t intend to stop. If I could get closer for a good kick, I’d drop him to his knees.
But my own knees threatened to give way, my limbs shaking from lack of oxygen. Black spots danced in front of my eyes. I wanted to claw at my throat, but I needed to keep the shield up. If I did drop it, I didn’t know if it would protect me or if we’d all be at Thigpen’s dark magic mercy. He laughed, but I barely heard it. My blood pounded in my ears. My left leg buckled, and I went down on that knee.
“Not so brave now, are you? I am moments away from taking everything you have. Your stone, your life . . . even that mongrel family of yours. As for Sophie, she won’t remember a thing.”
I couldn’t find what I needed to answer, but I knew the anger flashed in my eyes. Then, slowly, I saw the Eye of Nimora awaken in my palm. I wasn’t about to give up or give in. White spots joined the black ones dancing in my vision, and I swiped at my eyes with my right hand. Still wordless, still gasping in hope for air.
The stone coughed again, then I saw it burp out that pewter-gray ingot it had swallowed, courtesy of Archer. It hovered in front of my nose and practically danced into my free hand. I grabbed it out of midair and wrapped my numbed fingers around it, wondering if Thigpen had seen it. Hopefully not. I levered myself back onto two feet, two legs. It hurt yet, at the same time, felt incredibly numb and unfeeling. Did I have asphalt, the edge of the berm, under my feet or what? I stepped forward. Well, truthfully, it was more of a collapse against Thigpen as my vision threatened to black out entirely. I felt his hands grab my elbows as he gave a triumphant crow. Then I jammed the nullifier against Thigpen’s lapel and bloody pin. It sucked at him greedily.
Air rushed back into my body like the surf at high tide, carrying feeling and strength with it. Not all my faculties yet—but enough. I twisted slightly out of his hold and put my knee where ladies were told never to hit a man. Crude, but effective. Thigpen yelped and toppled, hands cupping himself. His eyes rolled up, and he passed out from the magical and physical attacks.
My shield collapsed. I slipped the nullifier into a pocket while I stepped back and shook Sophie loose from my protection.
“I’m s-sorry. I didn’t want to.”
Anger st
ill burned throughout me, and I think Sophie saw it because she scuttled to the far side of the car, watching me from behind the fender.
“You know who he is?”
She gave a slight nod, before adding in a burst of words, “Not well. He’s just an elder, and I don’t get lessons from him, and I would have avoided him if I’d known what he was going to do.”
“I take it his actions aren’t exactly sanctioned by the Society.”
She shook her head abruptly. “Never. Archer will be furious.”
“He a friend of Judge Parker?”
“I don’t know.”
I scanned her face a moment before accepting what she said. I didn’t like myself for being skeptical, but I could almost hear the professor inside my head, repeating what he’d always said: the Society was not to be trusted.
I motioned to the car. “Get in. I’ll get you home.”
She hesitated. I shrugged. “Unless you want to stay out on the road with him.” I scanned the roadway. We were slightly west and north of Richmond, in the country, with little traffic. She might have to wait a long time for a ride, and I could almost guarantee Thigpen would awaken before that.
She hopped into the front seat. I slid in and checked the dashboard. Yup, he’d left the keys in the car. No imagination.
When we were all buckled in and headed back, I told Sophie what I wanted her to tell Archer and made her repeat it back to me until she got it perfect.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SHELL GAME
I DROPPED HER off where she said her home was. I don’t know if I quite believed her or not, but we’d debate that some other day. Then I drove my borrowed transportation to the downtown rideshare lot and left it, calling Steptoe to come and pick me up. I strode up and down the lot to keep warm. The fleeting memory that I thought I’d recognized Sophie before actually meeting her tickled my thoughts. Where? How? At the far end of the lot, I could see the beginning of the cobblestone street that led to the trendy yet old part of Richmond, where the Butchery awaited its nightly collegiate crowds. At the thought of it, I fought for breath again, Sophie’s mystery fleeing out of my grasp entirely. This was the last place I wanted to be. What if my stalker still lurked, searching for me? Where was my car?!
Simon didn’t drive that often, but I knew he could find me. I waited around, a trifle uneasily, until he pulled up in my little red car, his elbow hanging out the window as if the coming storm on an ever-frostier midnight didn’t bother him one whit. Scout hung out the other window.
Getting in, I realized why the windows had been down.
“You were smoking one of your stinky cigars in here!”
“Never.” But his apple-red cheeks got redder.
“You know I hate those things.”
“I smoke maybe one a year, ducks, on account of you lot. Nobody else was home, I thought I could indulge. I was outside the whole time. Well, until I was in here.”
Scout sneezed heartily as he flopped across the backseat.
Simon put his other hand in the air. “I will divest the vehicle of its aroma when we get home.”
“Promise?”
“Indubitably.”
I settled back in my passenger seat, enlarged to hold a much heftier rider—the car had belonged to the professor once; the person accompanying him most often would have been Morty. A bucket seat had to be substantial to hold an Iron Dwarf.
I filled Steptoe in on the Society happenings, and we tossed some ideas around before pulling up in the driveway. Scout snored lustily in the back.
All those ideas fled as I got out of the car and saw the side door to the house swinging wide open in the breeze.
“It’s a broken latch, is all,” Steptoe announced after inspecting the door jamb as I bounded inside to see what might be disturbed and what might not. He produced a screwdriver out of midnight and a shiny new latch. “I’ve got things put to right.”
The house rested, cool and quiet, my mother already tucked away in bed upstairs, and a note on the kitchen counter: chicken and dumpling casserole in fridge. Nothing seemed amiss, but it had been a dreadful night so far, and I didn’t trust it to get any better.
He patted me on the shoulder. “I’ll run a patrol, me and the pup. You eat something. I don’t read auras much, but yours is waving a flag. You’re about all used up.” With that, demon and pup disappeared.
I couldn’t deny I felt ravenous.
Eating sounded heavenly. I microwaved myself a hearty portion and sat down. I’d polished my plate halfway before I got up to get myself a drink, bypassed the ever-present decanter of sweet tea, and opted for a non-caffeine soda.
Steptoe called out, “All good. I’m for bed,” as the mudroom door clicked shut.
I sat down and dragged my fork across my plate, thinking. I juggled around the problem of getting the stone to regurgitate the nullifier permanently and realized I would be on borrowed time if I couldn’t. Maybe I could approach it from a self-defense angle. Return the Society relic, or I get terminated. Would the stone recognize the peril in that scenario? Would it care?
It wasn’t until I sat back that I realized Scout hadn’t shown up to help partake of the festivities of dinner. My ever-growing pup believed in bottomless food dishes and showed extreme disappointment in us that we hadn’t provided such a thing. Here I sat having eaten a late-night dinner—demolished, was more like it—and he hadn’t made a reappearance. He and Steptoe had finished searching, finding everything had been in its proper place. Except the dog himself. Highly irregular.
Pushing my chair back quietly, I got up and rinsed my dish in the sink, leaving it there to load in the morning. Then I set about finding my dog.
Scout looked like a typical Lab mix, with a golden hide, big paws he’d yet to grow into, intelligent brown eyes and a mega ton of energy. Because of the “mix” in his heritage Carter strongly suspected, he’d probably live to be thirty or forty. Accordingly, his body matured in time with that longevity. How and why the species mingling had occurred, neither of us had any idea, but he hadn’t bonded with his former owners (the police department) and had with me, so that was that.
Except he was gone.
I went through the lower level of our aged home. Compared to the house we’d lost, the current habitation was far older, creakier, and more difficult to deal with. Plumbing could be cantankerous . . . even fickle. I think we’ve just about persuaded Aunt April, the owner of the place, to invest in a new hot water heater. As for the rest of it, well, it was just the way it was. At least, it was ours for the moment. I searched through all the rooms on the first floor, looking for my dog. The floor creaked a little on certain steps over the wood or rug-covered surface, the doors opened and shut smoothly on well-oiled hinges, the windows stayed locked, and even the mudroom door seemed to be bolted as it should be.
I looked through the upstairs as quietly as I could, not wanting to disturb my mother. I expected to find Scout sprawled across my bed but no.
That left the cellar.
I went down the steps cautiously because a cellar is . . . well . . . below ground and historically creepy, but also because a good many of the professor’s remaining possessions were stored there, in a somewhat ordered heap of boxes. And I had no wish to interrupt my father again in whatever metaphysical state he might be in.
The cellar carried a vibe; it always had, but most of that had calmed since Hiram brought a crew in and remodeled it extensively. It didn’t smell old and musty or have leaning bookshelves filled with creepy glass jars of who knew what-all floating in them. That had been the old cellar, before remodeling. I don’t think my father’s ghostly self added to the atmosphere as he had little enough essence to spare, but it might have. Maybe a touch of his despair or loneliness. Personally, I blame the cardboard boxes for the leakage of disturbing effects.
I paused halfway down the stairs.
I couldn’t be certain, but it looked as though the stacks of boxes had been reordered, somehow. The one box that always had a trail of blackish powder from one of its loose-seamed corners remained on the bottom as it always had, but the box above it and the third one on top of that . . . I stared at them. Yes. They had been shuffled about. The top one had been in the middle and two stacks over. The middle one had been on the top in the back.
Someone had been rifling through the professor’s goods.
Only Carter and Steptoe had free access to our home. And Aunt April because she owned it and probably had an extra set of keys. Hiram could have gotten in, if he wanted, but I knew he wouldn’t without asking solemnly for permission first. We knew the professor wasn’t to be found in Richmond or even the state of Virginia. So, then, who had?
And why?
The idea that it might have been a Society member tickled through my thoughts. Tonight could all have been a nasty diversion, even the kidnapping before and after. It seemed a little contrived to be believable, but it sat in my mind uneasily anyway. I peered at the tape shutting each and every carton, but nothing seemed to be opened. Someone had just decided to arrange them? Of what use would that be? No use unless someone had been interrupted.
Then again, Simon had been home alone until I called. Mom had come home sometime after, defrosted a dinner, and gone to bed before we got in.
Steptoe seemed the likeliest suspect from that perspective. There were those who did not think his lesser demon personality had truly switched from the dark side, but I wasn’t among them. I didn’t want evidence I could be wrong. I sighed . . . and heard an unlikely echo.
I tiptoed around the end of the stacks to find Scout sitting, his ears on alert, watching the backside of the stored goods. His head swiveled about when he saw me, and his mouth stretched in a goofy grin which left little doubt in his delight on seeing me. He’d been concentrating so hard that he’d failed to scent or hear my presence. His tail thumped on the floor in sudden recognition.
