“I don’t think we should tell Stirling anything. Not yet,” Curtis said. “I think we need to talk to Rebekah.”
“The woman from the hospital?” Luc said.
“Yeah. I’d like to know what she thinks about all of this.”
Luc pulled out into traffic, and Curtis pulled out his phone.
This, he was pretty sure, was going to suck.
*
“That’s her,” Curtis said, undoing his seat belt.
Rebekah pulled up in front of them in a sleek and shiny cherry red car that sort of purred until she turned it off. They’d been parked at the side of the road for nearly half an hour since Curtis had called her.
“Whoa. Nice Camaro,” Anders said.
“If you say so,” Curtis said, climbing out. A car was a car, as far as he was concerned.
The cold air was an almost welcome shock, jolting him awake again. Between the migraine and the early wake-up, he’d been ready for bed since eight. It was nearly ten.
Rebekah had climbed out of the muscle car by the time he got to her.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” She looked at Luc and Anders as they approached, and gave them a small nod of welcome.
“You’re sure he’s home alone?” Luc said.
Rebekah crossed her arms. “I’m pretty sure. My great-grandfather will be at the Chantry, and my mother is almost always with him. My grandfather took his own house after my grandmother died, and he’s usually there. Sometimes I stay with him if the Chantry gets too tense.” She shook her head. “You’re sure about this? You’re sure he got a package from that werewolf?”
“Wheeler didn’t know what it was, but he seemed sure it was for your grandfather,” Luc said.
“Wheeler hates my grandfather for being an Orphan who ended up doing so well,” Rebekah said. “He could be lying.”
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you first,” Curtis said. “And him. If this turns out not to be anything at all, we didn’t want to get Malcolm Stirling involved. Or your great-grandfather.”
“Thanks,” she said. She looked at the three of them. “I can invite you in, but it’s his home. I live there sometimes, but I’m not sure how much give it’ll get you.”
“Only one way to find out,” Anders said.
Rebekah gestured. “This way.”
They walked in silence. Billings Avenue was lovely. The houses lining both sides were large, and more than a few of them had pillars. Curtis didn’t think he’d ever been here before, but it certainly suited the Families. Big. Expensive. Intimidating. Vaguely unwelcoming. He shook off the mood when Rebekah led them to the front door of a large home painted a surprisingly bright yellow. It had four white pillars and a balcony over the front door. Despite the late winter snow they’d been having, the pathway was completely cleared.
It wasn’t quite the battering he encountered when he approached Mackenzie’s family Chantry, but an uncomfortable pressure leaned against his chest. He looked at Luc and Anders and saw both were leaning slightly, too. He had trouble keeping his attention on the house itself. He kept wanting to look away.
More illusions. Strong ones.
Rebekah pulled out a key and unlocked the front door. Then she stepped inside, turned, and said, “Okay. You guys ready?”
Curtis didn’t think he’d ever heard her sound so tired. Normally, Rebekah struck him as hard, strong, and maybe just a bit aristocratic. Like she found him, and most people, sorely wanting. Between her brother and what they’d told her about her grandfather…
He found himself hoping they were wrong.
“Ready,” Curtis said.
“I invite you three into my home for the rest of the night,” Rebekah said.
She was right. The wards didn’t part, though they did seem to relent. Curtis could still feel them around him, but they’d pulled back to some degree. And when he took a step into the house, the first step was difficult. He wasn’t going to be able to draw on a whole lot of his magic while he was here. Crap. He turned, waiting.
Luc stood frozen at the doorway. After a few seconds, he shook his head. “No.”
Anders made it through the doorway, but he grunted as he passed the threshold and had to grip the doorway to stay upright.
Double crap. Curtis shared a glance with Rebekah. She shrugged.
“You guys stay here,” Curtis said, forcing more confidence into his voice than he felt. “We’ll go talk to her grandfather.”
“Curtis,” Luc said. “I don’t think it’s the best idea.”
“What he said,” Anders said. He grunted again, took another step, then shook his head and retreated out of the house, visibly straightening once he was outside.
“It’ll be fine,” Curtis said. “Rebekah and I can handle it.”
“He’s right,” Rebekah said. “My grandfather is many things, but I don’t doubt he loves me. He’d never hurt me.”
“With respect,” Luc said. “It’s not you I’m worried about.”
“Just wait for me in the car,” Curtis said. He moved to close the door.
“Lapin,” Luc said, but Curtis shut the front door.
He looked at Rebekah. “That’s totally going to cost me.”
“Come on,” Rebekah said. “He’ll be in his study or the library.”
*
“Granddad?”
Curtis wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but the handsome man at the desk hadn’t been it. Graham Mitchell didn’t look old enough to be anyone’s grandfather. He had no grey in his neatly trimmed hair, and he was in great shape. The white button-down shirt he was wearing was open at the collar, with a tie folded neatly on his desk beside the stack of papers he was working on. The large office was at the back of the house, judging by the large floor to ceiling windows behind the desk. The walls were lined with bookcases, and apart from the desk, two smaller tables and four chairs were arranged within the space. The colors surprised Curtis again, though. The room had very light wooden floors, and the artwork, all abstracts, were bright and lively.
“Bek.” The man turned, smiling. Graham Mitchell had a warm voice. A great smile, too. When he noticed Curtis standing with Rebekah, though, his smile didn’t falter as he rose. “I didn’t know you were coming here tonight. And you brought a friend?”
“This is Curtis Baird,” Rebekah said.
Feeling awkward, Curtis extended a hand. Graham Mitchell leaned over the desk and shook it. Warm hand, strong grip.
“Nice to meet you, Curtis,” Graham said. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
“Nice to meet you, too, sir,” Curtis said. He felt off-balance. Why was Graham being so nice?
“How’s your brother?”
Rebekah looked down. “No change.”
Graham Mitchell regarded them both.
He had kind eyes, Curtis thought, and the same little dent in his chin Rebekah and Kavan shared. Then he forced himself to stop projecting. For all he knew, this man was a knife-wielding loup-garou hellhound who was out to consolidate power in the Mitchell family.
Except his gut didn’t feel it. At all.
“What’s up?” Graham said.
Curtis exhaled. “Uh…”
“I know you’re working with Malcolm Stirling to figure out who was behind the attacks. Why don’t you just come out and say whatever is on your mind?” Graham Mitchell held out his hands. “Or at least, I’m assuming that’s what brought you’re here. You have questions about Kavan, I’m guessing? I don’t know if Rebekah has told you much, but if it will help with tracking down who attacked him, ask whatever you need.”
“Yeah. Okay. This is awkward, but I need to know what it was you had Duane Faris bring you.”
Graham Mitchell faltered. He paled, taking a long moment before looking away.
“Granddad?” Rebekah said.
“It’s…” He cleared his throat. “It’s not relevant. I assure you. And…” He frowned. “How did you even know?” His voice was rising.<
br />
Curtis held up his hand. “Duane Faris is dead, and whoever attacked your grandson used an enchanted weapon to do it.”
“I would never hurt Kavan,” Graham said, turning to Rebekah. “My only interest was in looking out for you and your brother.”
“Interest in what?” Rebekah said. She looked shell-shocked. “What did you do?”
“You need to forget this,” Graham said. “If Malcolm Stirling finds out…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I need you both to forget this.” He raised his hands, and Curtis felt a wave of fuzziness drop over his thoughts.
“No!” Rebekah’s voice knocked the fog from his brain. She slashed with her open hand toward her grandfather, and Graham Mitchell staggered back as though he’d been struck, hard.
“Rebekah,” he said, eyes wide.
“What are you doing?” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he said, raising both hands again.
“Necto!” Curtis tried to gather a binding, but even as he cast, he felt the protections of the home fighting him, and the force pulling around Graham Mitchell felt weak at best. It barely gave him pause.
Rebekah was faster. Curtis missed the words she used, but heat buffeted the room, and the older man staggered back a second time, grunting in pain as the invisible force Rebekah threw his way hit home.
Curtis looked at her, and the absolute betrayal on Rebekah’s face made his chest hurt.
“Please,” Curtis said, turning back. “We don’t want to fight you, we only—”
Whatever Graham Mitchell did, it came hard and fast and blew them both off their feet. One moment Curtis was talking, the next he’d been thrown back so hard he was staring at the ceiling of the study and wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten there. A moment later, the pain of his landing brought him back.
I am on a floor. Where am I?
He was having trouble thinking. Why was that?
“No.” The word was said through clenched teeth. Curtis rolled his head to the side and saw Rebekah, rising onto her knees, fists clenched. Small darts of hellfire blue flame were riding along her skin from her fists, little flashes of flame and light. Each pulse seemed to give her strength, and she stood again.
“Rebekah, please.”
Curtis turned. Right. That man. Graham Mitchell. They were here for him. To…talk to him? The man had opened a drawer and was trying to pull something out. He held up his hand to his granddaughter.
Curtis shook his head. Why was his brain not…braining?
“I’m sorry,” Graham Mitchell said. “But you can’t—”
Rebekah punched the air.
A trail of light and force filled the room with such brightness, Curtis had to close his eyes. A sound of shattering glass rent the air, and Curtis ducked instinctively, covering his face. A second later, he blinked away the afterimage, and the strange lethargy making thinking so difficult dropped off.
He scrambled to his feet. One of the large windows behind the desk was broken, and they were alone in the room. Curtis scanned the backyard. Though he saw a large imprint where Graham Mitchell had hit the snow, he couldn’t see any sign of him. Not even footprints. He looked at the trees in the backyard, then glanced up and caught a glimpse of the moon. The shadows…
Was he hiding behind an illusion, or was Graham Mitchell their hellhound loup-garou, and he’d shadow-walked away?
Crap.
Rebekah lowered her fist. She was shaking.
“Nice shot,” Curtis said.
“Thanks.”
“You okay?”
She managed a nod.
“So…You just blew your grandfather through a window. How much trouble are we in?” Curtis asked.
She exhaled and finally faced him. Tears were in her eyes, though they hadn’t spilled over her cheeks. She blinked rapidly. “I don’t know. He…” She coughed, her voice rough and low. She gestured to the broken window. “I don’t think he’s going to come back and complain about it.”
“What was he trying to do to us?”
“He was going to wipe our memories of why we were here to talk to him,” she said. “It’s powerful illusion magic to affect the mind permanently…” She shook her head. “It’s an assault.”
“I’m so sorry,” Curtis said.
Rebekah swallowed.
Curtis didn’t understand. What had Graham Mitchell said? He was only interested in looking out for Rebekah and her brother? It sure didn’t look like it.
Curtis took the few steps back to the desk and looked down. Something was on the floor, half tucked under the desk.
“What is it?” Rebekah said, her voice clearer now. “He was trying to get it out of his desk. He dropped it when I…He dropped it.”
“I’m not sure. But it’s not the knife.” Curtis crouched. “It looks like a syringe.” Or at least, that was his first impression. Fashioned of a burnished bronze-colored metal, it had large loops for the thumb and fingers. The needle didn’t look particularly small, either.
“What?” Whatever she’d been expecting, obviously this wasn’t it. She crouched down beside him.
“It’s…old,” Curtis said.
They stared at it. Curtis held up one hand, palm out, and said “revelare.” Concentrating, he could feel twists of magic at play against his open palm. He moved his hand closer to the syringe, and the sensation grew more frantic. He closed his eyes, letting impressions form. Energy and pain tugged at his palm, along with a wave of cold. He didn’t dare put more effort into the spell, in case it overloaded him like it had with Kavan, but it didn’t feel like it would. Maybe because Luc and Anders weren’t in the room with him? He didn’t know.
“It’s enchanted,” he said. “And not in a happy way.”
Rebekah hesitated for a second, but she held out her own hand. He dropped his own. Curtis heard her murmur, and she grimaced.
“Feels like necromancy.”
“That’s so not good,” Curtis said. “What do you think it does?”
Rebekah shook her head. “I have no idea.”
“Do we leave it here?” Curtis asked.
Rebekah laughed. “For my mother or great-grandfather to find? No thank you. I need to clean this all up, and…” She looked back at the ruined window. “Why would he have this? And what was he going to do with it?”
“I don’t know. The guy who brought these things into the city is dead. Obviously, your grandfather didn’t want any of the other coven heads to know he had this. Your brother…” Curtis stopped. “Crap.”
Rebekah glanced at him. “What?”
“Necromancy. Just like the knife. It’s how the first two demons and a werewolf were killed, and it stripped them of their power, which was why the demons left bodies behind. There’s a wizard using the knife to wear a wolf-skin. A loup-garou. And that wizard attacked your brother, but even though your brother had the demon in him cut away, he didn’t die because it’s not all he has.”
“He’s got magic, too.”
“Right,” Curtis said. “And the knife was designed to give power to a wizard, not take it. Duane Faris, the werewolf who ran this stuff into the city, was known for trafficking dark magic. What if this syringe is something similar?”
Rebekah tilted her head.
“Well, necromancy is about life force, right? Stealing it, sure, but also the transfer of it.” Curtis gestured to the syringe. “I think we can both guess it wouldn’t be good to be the one who gets stabbed by the thing, right?”
She nodded. “Right.”
“But what about the person who gets injected after?” Curtis said. “I could feel the needle trying to take something from me. What do you do with it once it’s full?”
Rebekah looked at the syringe again.
“You think he was trying to inject my brother with something?”
“Maybe. To save his life.”
For a second, Curtis saw hope in her eyes. Then she sighed. “One problem.”
“What?”
“He had
this before Kavan got attacked.” Rebekah shook her head. “There’s no way he could have known someone would attack him.” She sighed. “But thanks. It was sweet of you to try and come up with some reason my grandfather would have something like this.”
Curtis bit his lip. She was right. Graham would have to have had the syringe way before Kavan was nearly killed. What was going on? Was Graham the loup-garou? If he was, why was he attacking demons from his grandson’s pack?
And why would he have attacked his own grandson?
Rebekah reached out and picked up the syringe. Curtis flinched as her fingers touched the metal, but nothing happened. She rose and looked around the room.
“Help me tidy up,” she said. “We can’t keep this on the down-low. They’ll try to check in with him after the moot, and…” She picked up a cell phone from the top of the desk. Graham’s, he assumed.
Curtis flinched. “Crap.”
“You said it. I’ll have to tell them something.” Rebekah rubbed her forehead. “And if they come here, you can bet your ass they’ll bring a feather.”
A truth spell.
“I’ve faced one before,” Curtis said. “So here’s what you do: you tell the truth.”
Rebekah raised her hands. “And say what? My grandfather assaulted us when we asked him what he got from Wheeler? After I let you into our house to question him without telling anyone else about it?”
“Yes,” Curtis said. “You won’t have a choice. Stirling asked me—asked Luc, Anders, and me—to look into this. Tell him I told you we tracked a package to your grandfather through Wheeler, and we were looking for a knife. Tell him we didn’t find it.”
“We haven’t even looked,” Rebekah said.
“We will,” Curtis said.
“And what if we find it?”
Curtis shrugged. “We hope for the best?”
Rebekah raised one eyebrow. “That’s your plan?”
Curtis’s phone rang. He pulled it out. Luc.
“Hey, Luc,” Curtis said.
“Did the back of the house just explode, lapin?” Luc’s voice was like ice.
“We’re okay. It was Rebekah. Her grandfather was sort of upset about the questions.”
Triad Soul Page 22
