“I kept it locked in a box made from wood of the cross and holy ash. To be truthful, I ain’t never planned to look at it again, but the other day, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I was sure the devil was testing me. I resisted as long as I could, but then, well, I ain’t gonna go into the details, but something else told me it might be a good idea to have a look and then you showed up asking questions. Anyway, I better get back…”
“Thanks, Harry,” I said with a smile, though his nervousness was beginning to rub off. At least he didn’t stick around. As soon as his old Lincoln pulled away from the curb, I ran out the back door. Like I said, this book had power and I wasn’t going to risk reading in the house.
Back in the woods, I cast a protective circle on the glade before pulling up a stump to sit on. I placed the book on the stone altar and immediately felt the air around me thrum. I didn’t even have to touch the pages. A wind picked up, flipping open the cover and I saw that the spells were all handwritten with what looked to be sanguistone, a powerful compound made of mud, ash, and blood, hardened into a chalk-like writing utensil.
The pages continued to flutter until they reached the one that Harry had marked. It took me a moment to decipher the less than stellar penmanship, but when I did, I nearly fell from my stump. Laid out in easy to follow steps was the spell I’d been looking for. The spell to give worldly form to the incubi.
But as I read, my heart sank. Without the help of the coven, mom, and honestly, most of the mystic community, it was virtually impossible. And getting any of them to help was impossible. Hell, getting any of them to not commit me to the psych ward for even entertaining the notion was impossible.
And yet, there had to be a reason that Harry gave me the book. He had said as much himself. He was compelled to go against his very rigid set of beliefs to get that book to me. If that wasn’t a sign from the Goddess herself, then I don’t know what it was.
The sound of footsteps on crunchy leaves brought me out of my fevered thoughts. Mom stood just outside the glade. That she would show up here unannounced was no big deal. Mom often came to visit to make sure I was properly fed and clothed. It was almost endearing if you ignored the fact that she questioned my ability to be an adult. In fact, I would have been grateful that she saved me the trip out to her place, were it not for the grim set of her lips and the small silver box she carried.
The box was a relic that had belonged to Madeline Rose. Madeline had been a nun who was put to death for apparently breaking her vows. Except she hadn’t broken anything. She was the first woman of the Rose family line to become impregnated with the spawn of an incubus. The silver box was lined with the rust colored wood of a sapling that had been soaked in Madeline’s blood. The idea was to purify the blood by inlaying the box with silver, so that the daughter who survived would not be tempted to stray as her mother had.
What the church didn’t know was that because of the Discordant nature of the birth, they had created a very powerful relic that became even more powerful as each of the Rose women added their blood. Someday, when mom passes from this world, I will add my blood. I don’t like to think about that part, but the fact that mom had it out meant that she was shielding something pretty powerful, and that both scared and interested me.
“Permission for this humble soul to enter the circle?” she asked. I chose to ignore the hint of sarcasm. Mom was incredibly minimalist in her spirituality and didn’t put much stock in the ritualistic aspect of witchcraft despite her technically being a witch herself.
“All are welcome in the presence of the Goddess,” I replied, indicating the direction in which mom was to enter. You would think she’d remember this after however many years, but it was like she had a deliberate mental block. She made a hasty circle, barely giving proper respect to the quarters, but I forgave her because I too was on edge, wondering what was so pressing that she came out looking for me.
She placed the silver box on the stone altar and pulled up a stump to sit next to me. For a moment, she said nothing, taking instead a deep and cleansing breath as if gathering her thoughts. While her eyes were still closed, I deftly swept up the book of spells and tucked it off to the side. There was no reason she had to know about that just yet.
As mom’s silence dragged on, I had another lightbulb moment. Of course! I knew why she was stalling and I knew what she had come out to tell me.
“Mom? I know that Ethan was a shell.”
At first, she didn’t say anything, but the involuntary twitch told me that she heard me loud and clear.
“I um… came over yesterday and heard you talking to Desmond. I left as soon as you got up to go to Taffy’s. Sorry,” I added quickly. “I know that probably wasn’t fun either… Going to find your best friend dead…” I trailed off, uncertain, but mom’s weak smile told me she understood. I’ve always been super awkward about grief.
“I’m fine, Donna. Taffy was the one who let me know of her passing, as you might have guessed. But all things happen for a reason and I’m afraid that rings true now more than ever.”
Mom’s words, spoken in a measured and neutral tone, were at odds with the pained, almost strained expression and the tears that shimmered unshed in her eyes. There was grief, for sure, but I could sense that something else was eating her. Whatever it was had to do with the contents of the silver box. She followed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Before you open the box, I need to remind you that your beliefs prohibit you from speaking ill of the dead.”
Well, that certainly got my attention. With a nod, mom gave me permission and I picked up the box, marveling as always, over how lightweight it was despite the ornate silver outer layer. Without any hesitation, I lifted the lid, but nearly threw the whole thing away in revulsion when I saw what it held. Even though they had clearly been torn apart and taped crudely back together, there was no mistaking the stationary. At least, I noticed, after my heart stopped hammering, it wasn’t from Clyde.
“Are these from my... my sire?”
Mom nodded.
“Um…” I held the box away from me. “I’m not going to see anything too personal in here, am I?”
“They weren’t addressed to me,” she said with an indecipherable edge.
Well, that was certainly intriguing. I took the letters out and began to read.
“Oh!” I gasped. The first letter was addressed to Taffy. Ouch. She’d stolen mom’s boyfriend way back when they were younger, so this had to have hurt. Though as I read, I realized that the letter was of a different nature. Dear old dad wasn’t looking for a fling; he wanted revenge. Revenge on mom and revenge on me for breaking the curse.
“That bitch!”
Oops! I flinched as my words echoed through the glade and gave mom an apologetic smile. So much for not speaking ill of the dead.
“Your reaction was quite tame compared to mine,” she said with a wry smile. “You must read to the end of the last letter, Donna.”
I could only imagine. The letter I’d just read was from Taffy, back to dad, outlining a specific curse that she could place on me that would make me repulsive to all men. I quickly grabbed the next letter, in which my father gave Taffy specific instructions as to how she could obtain the power needed to fulfill her end of their arrangement.
It took me a moment to continue on. I was seeing red, but on the other hand, I was vindicated. Not only was I cursed, but all of the bad habits that everyone tried to pin on me were not my fault either. It was part and parcel for the particularly nasty hex that was brought upon me. Finally, with shaking hands, I reached for the last letter.
Taffy again. This one was difficult to read. Her handwriting, which had been neat and straight in the first letter, was more in line with what I’d come to expect from the Taffy of the last few years.
She claimed that she’d made a mistake. That she felt terrible and wanted to take back all that she had done once she realized what she had inflicted on me. I noticed the date. It was near the beginni
ng of Taffy’s decline into alcoholism and poverty. I very nearly felt bad for her. At least, I would have, if it wasn’t for the fact that she’d cursed me. It was also telling that the only reply she received was a transcription of the terms of the arrangement she’d made with my father.
“All right,” I said at last, letting out the breath that I had held long enough to go lightheaded. “So I’m cursed. I knew it. But that’s okay,” I said quickly when I saw mom’s concerned expression.
“Donna, it’s not okay. What she did is unforgivable and if there was any way to lift the curse…”
“That’s just it,” I said with a sly smile as I pulled out the book Harry had given me and flipped to the summons spell before handing it to mom. “There might very well be a way to do that.”
“You want to summon your father?”
“I want answers,” I said, keeping my face neutral. Not only might I lift the curse, but this also gave me the perfect excuse to set up the spell. Once the spell was cast, that was it. There was nothing stopping me from bringing over a second morphael.
Chapter 9
Curses, Confessions, & Cats
Myrna turned onto the rutted dirt lane that served as the main road for Blackbird’s one and only trailer park. I was immensely grateful that she had the good sense to slow down even if she did still ignore the posted speed limit of ten miles per hour. The late mystic’s trailer was easy to spot, even without casting out for magical energy. The markings over the door and circles drawn crudely in the dirt ‘yard’ were all but useless in the magical sense, but appeared menacing enough to keep away curiosity seekers.
The ridiculous and cartoonish hexes fit with everything Myrna had told me about the reclusive mystic. So much so that I was mildly surprised when the interior did not turn out to be the environmental disaster that I’d expected. Aside from a very strong smell of cat, the dwelling was reasonably clean and not stacked floor to ceiling with years of accumulated trash. There was, however, a very strong smell of alcohol and the beginnings of something unpleasant.
“I believe your friend is that way,” I told Myrna, nodding my head in the direction of the small hallway.
“Thank you, Desmond,” she said and braced herself for what she would find.
While she attended to the body and called the paramedics, I took a look around the small home. I wasn’t snooping, per se… just curious about the mystic. Spirit walkers were rare in the states. Most were either concentrated in the southern areas as practitioners of Voodoo or up in the northern regions of Canada and Alaska.
For the most part, it looked as if Taffy led a mundane life. Pictures on the wall showed a woman with wild black hair and heavy-lidded eyes who I assumed was Taffy. Nearly all of the pictures appeared to be wedding photos, each with a different man. This was curious, as Myrna had mentioned only two past husbands and neither were still alive. I had to wonder if Taffy hadn’t been using her abilities to bring about tragic accidents. Though if this were the case, I would question her motive. If it had been money she was after, her current living conditions suggested that she’d not been very successful, or at least, she hadn’t been successful in keeping any of it.
Beneath the strong odor of cat, I picked up the smell of something burnt and went to the kitchen to investigate. I had a bad feeling I wasn’t going to find a neglected pot on the stove. No, from the garbage can overflowing with fast food wrappers and pizza boxes, it was obvious that Taffy was less domestically inclined than even Seth was. The stovetop looked as if it had never been used.
The sink, however, held a different story. Wet bits of paper and ash plastered the ceramic basin and the smell was stronger. It was obvious that whatever it was that Taffy was trying to hide, she’d only done so in the last few hours. The only question was what she was hiding and whom was she hiding it from. I swept aside some of the ash, hoping for a clue from one of the wet bits that hadn’t completely burned and found more than I had bargained for.
The red and gold seal was mostly melted away and clung to the smallest of scraps of paper, but I easily recognized it as a seal used by the incubi. It was too marred to read clearly, but I had a pretty good idea of which house it had come from. Still, I carefully lifted the soft warm wax from the sink, placed it in a specimen jar, and sent it off to Arkady for analysis. A moment later, he confirmed my suspicions with a card that simply read:
House of Fa Be’yoh
As if I’d had any doubt. Now the only question was why?
I heard the bedroom door close, followed by a soft mewling and Myrna’s admonishment of the feline, who had apparently already gone to investigate its caretaker’s condition.
“An officer will be here shortly,” she said quietly, wearing a grim expression as she checked the cupboard. “There’s nothing to suggest foul play. Not that I expected anything of the sort. I’m sure Taffy would have told me if there had been…” she trailed off, frowning as she found an economy sized bag of cat food. “I told her to spend the extra dollar for the name brand. They’re going to turn their noses up at this sawdust. Oh good heavens! She could have at least told me how many cats she kept. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them all. The shelter is full…”
She trailed off, turning away from me under the guise of fussing over the cat food, but it was clear the death had upset her more than she had expected it would. I did not press the issue. Instead, I turned back to the sink and continued sifting carefully through the ash, looking for anything that might hold clues as to why the spirit walker was in contact with the incubus who impregnated Myrna. The task would have been much easier if I could have used magic, but more often than not, correspondence from the incubi had their own counter curses. I didn’t want to take the risk of not just destroying any potential evidence, but unleashing some nasty hex in the confined space.
“I hated her.”
I stopped what I was doing and turned. Myrna was sitting at the small table, one cat on her lap and another sniffing around the bowl of kibble by her feet. For a moment, I wondered if I hadn’t misheard, but then she spoke again.
“I hated her and yet, I loved her. There were times when I wanted to curse her with everything I had, but Desmond, I never did. Yet… I can’t think of any other reason for this…” she trailed off, shaking her head and gesturing around the small trailer. “The wasted, booze-soaked, husk of a woman lying in that bedroom is nothing but a shadow of the woman I once knew.”
“I thought you said you didn’t suspect foul play?” I asked, sifting more carefully now.
“In her death, no,” she said with a tired shake of her head. “Too much drinking and not enough concern for her own health is what killed Taffy, but what led her to this… Well, it’s been a slow decay, but yes, I suspect that something drove her to drink away her considerable savings.”
This was definitely interesting.
“I didn’t want to pry, but I couldn’t help notice the wedding photos.”
Myrna sighed.
“Taffy was a gold digger, plain and simple. She always had been. Leon, the man she snatched out from under me, was quite well off. Of course, I know now that Taffy or no Taffy, Leon and I were never meant to be. But by the time she got to him, Taffy had already earned the nickname of Black Widow. Leon was her fourth husband.”
“You aren’t saying she…”
“No,” Myrna shook her head. “Though she did indeed use her abilities. As a spirit walker it was a simple matter of looking for patterns. She could easily find men who were both wealthy and susceptible to issues of poor health and poorer decisions. All of her husbands, six in total, died of natural causes, leaving her a considerable estate. When Frederick died, going on thirty years ago, she didn’t bother looking for a replacement. She didn’t have to. She was already in the lap of luxury.”
“Is that when she began drinking?” I asked.
“No. If anything, she almost seemed at her clearest. She reached out to me and extended the proverbial olive branch. For a spe
ll, our friendship had returned. It wasn’t until after… oh, dear.”
Myrna put her hand to her mouth and paled visibly.
“Oh Desmond…” she sighed, hanging her head, shoulders slumped. “It was me.” Her voiced cracked and I noticed tears welling in her eyes. “I did this.”
“I don’t understand.”
Before she had a chance to explain, there was an insistent knock on the door. The police had shown up. I only hoped they would see Myrna’s tears as grief over the loss of a friend and not something else. I slipped out of the Cycle, but stayed where I was. No sense in causing any more suspicion than necessary, though the sudden hissing and spitting in my general direction was disconcerting. I’d forgotten that for reasons known only to the Creator, cats could see beyond the Cycle. Despite its claims to the contrary, I am certain the foul creatures are the bastard spawn of Chaos.
After the body was removed and Myrna had gathered up all of the cats she could find, she came back into the kitchen and informed me that the officers were gone. I popped back into the Cycle just long enough to tell her that I would meet her back at her house, using the excuse that I did not want to raise suspicions in the event that any neighbors saw me. In all honesty, I simply didn’t want to spend the next fifteen minutes dealing with both Myrna’s driving and a car full of cats. Unfortunately, I think she knew this.
* * *
As soon as the cats were settled in, Myrna and I once again sat in her sunny yellow kitchen, a glass of tea in front of each of us, and the silence hanging awkwardly. I did not want to upset her by bringing up our unfinished conversation, yet I found my curiosity was winning over tact.
“Myrna, you were-”
“Desmond-”
Rise of the Discordant: The Complete Five Book Series Page 63
