Vicious Moon

by Lee Roland

  I picked up the page that had so disturbed him last night, leaned back trying to make sense of it. As with the map, some of the symbols and words I recognized. Others looked familiar.

  “Can you read that?” Etienne asked.

  “Some. Can you read it? It seemed to . . . disturb you.”

  “Only some?” He ignored my question about why it disturbed him.

  “I can’t do everything. It’s a weakness, but I’ll admit it. I was born a witch, Etienne. I have certain innate powers that I can use. You saw some of them.”

  “The fire.”

  “The fire. Moving objects. There are a few others. I don’t like or use certain aspects of witchcraft. Casting spells, making potions, requires years of study. I’m too lazy, too . . . wild. When I was young, I didn’t want to devote my life to the required, all-consuming rote and ritual that makes a powerful witch. I still don’t.”

  “Why?”

  “That is the question every witch in Twitch Crossing wants answered. And if I ever come across that answer, I’ll let everyone know. I’ve always been . . . me. Restless, undisciplined.”

  I wanted to change the subject, so I turned to the paper in my hand. “I totally failed the class in Aradian. Maybe I can decipher some of this. It appears to be a list of objects. Objects used in magic. There are cups, cauldrons, statues, and . . .” I studied it closer. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Could I be reading this correctly?

  Etienne remained quiet beside me.

  I drew a deep breath. “This is a list of some of the most powerful objects in the world of witchcraft. The Cauldron of Aradia, Isis’s bracelet, and more. Powerful relics. Most have been lost, or hidden and forgotten. They’re in the history books.” I eyed him suspiciously. “You know who wrote this, don’t you?”

  “I’ve seen the handwriting. Oonagh. I told you. She’s dead.” His voice sounded flat and hard as the asphalt parking lot outside. Is that what caused him to run last night? Had this been such a powerful reminder of its author that it caused such panic in a man who obviously wasn’t given to such?

  “Did she actually have these things before she died?” I really needed to know the story of Etienne and Oonagh. As dangerous as this situation had become, knowledge was imperative.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Etienne, I need to know if this is an actual list, not just a glorified wish list.”

  “I retrieved certain objects for the witch.” His hands clenched into fists. “She considered herself a collector. I can’t tell you which ones they were.”

  “And where are they now? Those objects.” I suspected I already knew.

  “She hid them in Barrows in the truck that contains all that gold.”

  I leaned back and closed my eyes.

  “I take it that’s a problem.” He spoke with a light uncaring voice, but I heard the concern.

  I tossed the list on the table. “It’s a problem. Not the gold. Most witches usually don’t want or need gold, other than a small amount to work a spell. The objects, however, make a witch very powerful.”

  “What about you? Do you need gold?”

  “I don’t remember ever craving vast wealth. I don’t want to be, and have never been, dirt-poor. But I prefer . . . sensation to riches. Life, people, doing things.”

  “If witches don’t usually need gold, why did Oonagh want so much of it?”

  “It depends on what she was afraid of. Wealth can buy a security. Rich people have a tendency to be more afraid than everyone else. Mostly that fear involves losing the riches. Money buys high walls and gates. Enough of it can hire people like me and Darrow to protect you.”

  “She feared death. She was dying.” He spoke with certainty.

  “There isn’t enough gold in the world to protect her from death. She had to know that.”

  “She did. Madeline said she feared it so much she was willing to take a chance on destroying the world to gain immortality. She failed, thanks to Madeline.”

  “Why? I don’t understand. I love life, but returning to the Earth Mother is not to be feared. Death is only another beginning. An earth witch would know that.”

  Etienne leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Madeline told me Oonagh was hiding in the Barrows. Hiding from the Earth Mother. And the Sisters of Justice. She’d committed some crime . . . crimes. Those crimes were unforgivable. “

  I’d seen a lot of unforgivable crimes. There were other issues here, too.

  I had to explain. “The objects Oonagh collected are usually in the possession of individual witches. The Earth Mother forbids a witch from having more than one or two.” Which brought up another problem. “Did you steal any of them? From other witches. Did she help you steal?”

  Words might cause discomfort, but stealing objects of power from a witch could get him killed if the witch discovered his part in the theft. And witches have long memories.

  He shrugged. “Oonagh had most of them before I came along. I lifted a few, but focused on the gold. Guards disappeared, cameras and alarms shut off. Me and my men . . . we walked in and took what we wanted. What she wanted.” He rose and went to the kitchen. He watched me from across the bar. “Before she died, Oonagh had an object from another world in her possession. Madeline called it the Portal. That object is gone now, but if Aiakós could have laid hands on it, he might have been able to escape from the Barrows.” Those dark eyes of his focused on me. His next words carried gravity and warning. He pointed at the paper. “Would any of those objects let him do that? If he finds them?”

  I glanced down at the parchment in my hand. “These are some of the most powerful magical objects in the world. Odds are good that one or more might help him. But can he make them work? Do you know about his power? The source of his power?”

  “No.”

  I’d bet Marisol had been looking for the missing treasure truck. I’m sure she was interested in the artifacts and returning them to the Earth Mother for distribution to the witches where they would be safe. I was equally certain that she was not interested in the gold. Given the map and list, I now suspected that if I found the gold and artifacts, I would find Marisol.

  Chapter 25

  Etienne left the apartment. He told me he’d be back in an hour and not to go out until then. I nodded politely, then ignored him. I was hungry and needed to see if it was possible to have a bit of the communication I’d threatened to have with my familiar. Food first.

  When I walked into the dining room, breakfast was still available, but most of the troops had gone on to other things. Good enough. If I saw Darrow or Rocky, I’d remember Salvatore and start crying again.

  I had a chance to talk to the workers there, the food servers, compliment them on their work, even if they were suspicious of me. One thing I’d learned in my years abroad was to pay attention to the people considered less important in the grand scheme of things. It saved all our lives once, when a grandmother I’d befriended at a market came to warn us of an impending attack.

  Then on to find Herschel. The buildings around me, large and small, had nothing outside to let anyone know they were inhabited. I called Herschel’s name once and he walked from around the corner of one building. He fell in step beside me and I went back to the apartment. Etienne’s SUV wasn’t there, so I assumed he hadn’t returned.

  Once upstairs, I fixed another cup of coffee and Herschel immediately went to the bedroom. He returned with the thick arm bracelet Gran had called my heritage. The Dragon’s Tears.

  “What? Are you dressing me now? My backpack was closed. How did . . . ?”

  Herschel dropped the bracelet at my feet. Ew. Ick. I picked it up with two fingers and carried it to the sink to wash. When I returned to the couch, he sat patiently waiting. He had an air of expectancy, this dog who could not be a dog. Herschel, my childhood friend, my magical familiar. Gran told me familiars for witches were rare and he certainly surprised her. I guess she wondered why the Mother would give him to a half-assed witch lik
e me.

  “Okay. I take it you want me to wear this thing. I can do that.” I laid my hand on his head and gazed deep in his eyes—and saw fire. Distant but compelling, drawing me in, deeper, deeper. Fire surrounded me. I could feel its searing heat, but it did not burn me. Something moved toward me. Something, massive, ponderous . . . and it roared. The sound shook the earth, filled me, was me . . . until I snapped back into the world of the Barrows.

  I gasped for breath. Like I’d run up a set of stairs or been someplace where the oxygen was low. Herschel sauntered away. He dropped to the carpet with a weighty sigh, stretched out, and closed his eyes.

  I turned the bracelet in my fingers. I’d worn a tank top, leaving my arms bare. With care, I slid the bracelet on, up over my elbow to just below my shoulder. I thought it might fall off, but it remained. It was as if it tightened to fit me. Again, I felt the flame. Not around me, but in the distance.

  Etienne opened the door and walked in. He froze. He stared for a long time, then asked, “What happened?”

  “Nothing happened that I’m aware of.” I stood and faced him. He came closer until he stood within . . . kissing distance.

  “You’re different.” His fingers brushed my cheek and for a brief second, his eyes narrowed. Suspicious, always suspicious. He shook his head as if to deny the change he thought he saw. “Get your map and let’s go.”

  Chapter 26

  “Where to, witch?” Etienne asked as we climbed in the SUV.

  “The Goblin Den.” My plan was to go to each place Marisol had marked on the map in the numbered order she marked them. I believed that it was possible she found something at each location that led her to the next. I might find that, too, if she left me a sign.

  Etienne slid the key in the ignition without hesitation. “The Goblin Den has been empty for a year. Michael used to run it, but when they built the new Archangel, he closed it.”

  Herschel had followed me. He twisted and circled on the backseat, trying to find a spot he could sprawl without falling on the floor. He found it and flopped down with a sigh that blew bubbles of slobber from his jowls. I winced and whined as I had so many times before. Why couldn’t the Mother have sent me a cat or a canary or even a cockroach?

  Etienne started the vehicle. He drove toward River Street to go south to the building.

  “Who pays for your operation here, Etienne? Someone with deep pockets, I know, but who writes the checks for the everyday payroll?”

  He didn’t speak for a moment; then he said, “Michael. I’m told there is a grand plan for the Barrows.” He chuckled. “I once heard a very angry Madeline ask him how low he would go to keep Aiakós amused.”

  When we arrived at the Goblin Den, he pried a boarded door open and we went inside. He carried a high-power flashlight, which he needed to see. It totally interfered with my night vision. The empty building, pitch-black to him, came into focus in shades of gray.

  “Do you want a flashlight? I have another.” His voice created an echo in the darkness. He stood close behind me, so close I could feel his breath when he spoke.

  “No, I can see.”

  “You’re weird.” He sounded annoyed. “Normal people need light.”

  I took the dig in stride. “Normal? Is that the best we’ve got? I’m a witch who works pretty good magic—sometimes—and you’re a man wanted by every police authority on the planet. Screw normal. Let us bask in infamy, buddy.”

  He sighed.

  The building had been hollowed out and that abated the sense of deterioration somewhat. It didn’t seem on the verge of collapse, either.

  “What did they do here?” I asked.

  “When Michael had a restaurant here, it did a good business. Or at least it did when Michael came down and played Prince Charming every night. When they built the new Archangel, he closed it. He was going to reopen it as a higher-end restaurant, but then he said he was too busy for two places. Madeline said she didn’t like the place. He almost got killed here one night. That’s a long story. You should get her to tell you sometime.” He flashed the light around the cavernous room. “Before that, it was a really wild nightclub call the Goblin Den.”

  “Nightclub? Here?”

  “The only place it could be. They wouldn’t allow it uptown. Loud heavy metal bands, lots of drugs.” He laughed softly. “I heard stories.”

  The building held an eerie silence. If the walls once rattled with heavy metal, it was long forgotten now. For some reason, Etienne had relaxed. He stood closer to me now, even touching me occasionally.

  I let myself fall into witch sight and scanned the rooms for something magical, something that stood out. It came as a vibration, barely a whisper from another room. A symbol, the one Marisol used for the Goblin Den, was drawn on the floor in the main restaurant area. To my eyes it glowed. It had my name on it. It spun out and touched me and the room shifted a tiny bit.

  “Wow!” I spoke softly because the situation—dark, spooky, empty building—seemed to require it. Marisol had created this perfect drawing, and she’d spelled it with a marker that only I could see. For some reason, she’d wanted the spell to touch me, to give me something. I had no idea why, or how she would have known I’d be here. As I watched, it faded slightly to reveal another symbol. It was not the number two spot on her list. She’d written the order of symbols on paper, but created another order just for me. Why?

  “What is it?” Etienne asked.

  “A message from my sister. You can’t see it. We need to go to the place marked as number four, next.”

  “Four? Not two?”

  “Her instructions. I’ll trust that.”

  Etienne grumbled, but he went along. Good thing, too, because back in the SUV we had to take block-long detours around obstacles and holes in the road. I could have walked, but it would have taken days.

  Number four turned out to be an apartment house—a three-story apartment house. And with it came a major problem. I did a quick search and found nothing on the first floor except that the stairs to the second floor had collapsed into a pile of sticks and boards on the floor. Collapsed or maybe been torn down. Somehow, I had to get up there.

  Etienne came to stand beside me as I stared at the crumbled stairs. “I don’t suppose you plan to leave this alone, do you?” Resignation filled his voice.

  “Absolutely not. The fire escape, maybe?”

  The outside metal fire escape lay in ruins. The rusted metal had long since pulled away from the building walls. Etienne solved my problem by driving the SUV across the sidewalk and dangerously close to a front wall that might disintegrate at any moment. We climbed on the hood and he boosted me into a second-floor window. He’d given me a rope so I could anchor it to something inside and lower myself back down. Good old Etienne, always ready to solve a problem or rescue a witch in distress. He climbed the rope, hand over hand, to get in. Impressed the hell out of me. Not too many men were strong enough to do that.

  The apartment house symbol, drawn in one of the second-floor apartments, pointed me next to number three. When I touched it with my sight, it told me to go not there but to number two. Near that number two symbol was a warning I knew. Danger. This spell also touched me, as if it was adding to the previous spell. It was a cumulative spell. Once I had all the pieces, it would give me an answer. The problem was, I didn’t know the question.

  Etienne caught me and steadied me as he tied the rope around me to lower me down from the window. I froze in his arms. I couldn’t help it. They were strong and comforting, but I knew that damned amulet was hanging on his neck. He didn’t speak as we climbed back in the SUV.

  “You have your gun?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  “You may need it. There’s something dangerous in this next one. Marisol left me a warning.”

  “What kind of danger?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t indicate whether it was magical or something else. Magical, I can deal with.”

  “Bullshit.” His
jaw tightened and his hands squeezed the steering wheel in a white-knuckled death grip. “You witches talk in circles. Your magic is way overrated.”

  Irritation skimmed through me, but I fought to remain calm. Now he was mad again. Here was a man, a powerful, competent man, a man that wanted me, a man I wanted—and he was clinging to his dangerous lucky charms and prejudice against witches like a kid.

  “I don’t know is an honest answer, Etienne. There are a lot of things I don’t know. You’ve got a big unknown circling around you, too. Those trinkets Abigail gave you make you immune to magic. But is it only magic that is specifically aimed at you? Or any magic you touch? What if we go into a dangerous situation and you accidently touch me when I’m using earth magic?”

  “You might consider that I can protect you. That you don’t need magic. I have a track record there.” He stared out the window at the ruins. Distracted, he suddenly jerked the wheel to avoid a pothole. His jaw was set and he projected anger . . . or maybe frustration.

  Having someone protect me was not in my nature. “The Earth Mother said I should teach you to trust me, and . . .” Oops. I’d said too much. “Never mind. Let’s finish this. Be careful what you shoot. And try not to get too close.”

  He said nothing as he drove on. The day had warmed, making me grateful for the tank top I wore. It was still early summer here in the Barrows, but I could feel sweat in my hair and across my upper lip. We parked and climbed out of the vehicle. This time Herschel came with us. He growled as we stood facing the building and I laid my hand on his head.

  This one was a single story and high ceilinged. Maybe a grocery store once, I imagined. The floor that we could see was cluttered with junk, what might have been metal shelving. The rest stretched into darkness. Worse, it had a fetid animal smell of wet fur and ripe shit.

  “Something lives here.” I spoke softly. Etienne had already drawn his gun.