by M. D. Massey
“Nope, nothing creepy about that,” I whispered.
“I find it to be rather welcoming, actually,” Nameless croaked.
“Shut up, bird,” I said as I checked my wards before walking through the doorway.
Twenty
The archway was an illusion that Crowley had cast for my benefit. It was meant to ensure I didn’t walk into a wall that was concealed by yet another illusion of Crowley’s making.
“How did you—?” I asked, marveling at the fact that Crowley’s recently wrecked tower was now completely intact, hidden behind a rather masterful concealment spell.
Crowley snickered. “Come now, McCool. I am a wizard, after all.”
And a hell of a lot more powerful than I might have guessed.
“Touché,” I said as I followed him inside his grain silo home and laboratory. It was much as I remembered it, although he’d updated the furnishings and decor from that farmhouse look to something with more of a mid-century modern feel. “Looks like an episode of Mad Men exploded in here. It suits you.”
“Most of the furniture was wrecked when you battled my fachan and toppled the tower. I saw it as an opportunity for an upgrade.” The wizard froze as I stepped into the light. “Ahem. If you don’t mind me saying so, you’re looking a bit peaked at the moment.”
“I’m aware. It’s under control.”
“Good, because I’d hate to have to redecorate. Again.” He poured me a drink from a decanter set that sat atop a lovely two-tone birch and walnut cabinet. “I only have Scotch—hope you don’t mind.”
“After the day I’ve had? I’d drink rubbing alcohol if I had to.” I sipped the beverage, ignoring the peaty notes that turned me off most Scotch.
“It’s a sixty-four Glenlivet, actually.” I nearly did a spit-take. “Please, don’t spit it out if you don’t care for it.”
I swallowed, and it was like velvet fire going down my throat. Once I got over the odor, it was actually good—damned good. A bit reminiscent of bananas fosters, if I had to describe it.
“Crowley, that stuff is twenty-five grand a bottle. Forgive me for being a bit taken aback, but I’m basically drinking my tuition for the year.”
Crowley sat on a nearby couch that probably cost as much as the liquor. “Really? My personal shopper handles that for me. I just write the check each month.”
I resisted the standard droll “must be nice” retort, instead tilting my head toward the bird in my arm. “I made the mistake of entering a bargain with him, and I’d like to uphold my side without turning him loose. Can you help?”
“Perhaps. Allow me.” I handed the nachtkrapp to the wizard, noting that the scars on his hand had diminished somewhat. As soon as Crowley touched the bird, a bit of shadow magic passed from his hands into Nameless. The night raven perked up immediately.
Nameless lifted his head, and if I didn’t know any better he sounded a bit awestruck as he spoke. “Master, I had no idea—”
“Silence,” Crowley replied, cutting him off. The bird clammed up instantly.
“I wish he would have done that for me. Would’ve saved me a fortune in duct tape.”
The wizard cradled the bird in his lap, stroking it’s feathers absentmindedly. With each stroke, the bird’s appearance improved. On closer inspection, I noticed small wisps of shadow exiting Crowley’s skin and entering the night raven’s body.
“Tell me the nature of your bargain,” the wizard said.
“It’s simple. I let him live, and he cast an augury for me.”
The wizard chuckled. “You’re as likely to get unambiguous speech from this one as you are to get blood from a stone.”
“As I discovered,” I replied. “Can you get him to release me from our deal? I did let him live, after all—but I’d rather that he wasn’t my responsibility anymore.”
Crowley held the bird up to look it in his dead, empty eye sockets. By now, his feathers had filled in almost completely, and they again held their former dark and sinister sheen.
“Nameless one, do you agree to enter my service, doing my bidding exactly, and willingly forfeiting your life at my will and whim, now and henceforth, until I release you from said service?”
“I do, master,” the bird croaked.
“And in so doing, do you relinquish all obligations and debts between yourself and the druid, Colin McCool?”
“Again, yes,” the night raven said.
“And do you agree to serve me, and me alone?” the wizard asked.
“Yes, master, for a third time. I gladly bind myself to your service.”
Crowley set the bird down on the couch next to him. “Do mind the upholstery, raven.” He turned to me. “It’s done then. He’s my responsibility now.”
“That was easy. Why do I feel like I got stiffed here?” I asked.
“If the bird had died because of your actions—and he was going to die, of that you can be certain—you’d have been cursed for all time. I’d say you made out okay, all things considered.”
I nipped at my Scotch, counting the cost of each sip in my head. Sip. Two-fifty. Sip. Five hundred. Sip. Seven-fifty. “Then thanks for that. I’ve had enough of curses to last me a lifetime, what with the fae sending a new one at me every other day.”
“They’re still on about that, even now that you’ve been appointed justiciar?” he asked. I frowned in reply, not caring to rehash the entire sordid affair. “Has the frequency slowed down, at least? Last I heard, they had someone casting on you around the clock.”
“If only. You’ve heard about the justiciar deal?”
Crowley grunted. “Who hasn’t?”
“Pain in my ass is what it’s been. I still can’t figure out why Finnegas engineered the whole thing.”
Crowley reached out with a tendril of shadow, pouring himself a drink. When the glass reached his hand he took a sip, admiring the amber liquid in the soft light cast by a nearby lamp.
“Hmm, not bad. I should get another bottle.” He looked at me, shrugging almost imperceptibly. “As for why Finnegas saw fit to steer events toward your appointment, I can think of any number of reasons. For one, the factions now have to pay you for what you were previously doing for free. Second, it establishes the druids as a power unto their own, a position the old man abdicated during the years he spent mourning your former girlfriend’s death. And third, now the factions can’t turn on you without consequence.”
I squinted, screwing my face into a crooked frown. “Yeah, not so much. The Circle decided to frame me for murdering one of their own.”
“I thought you already did, and were exonerated of all wrong-doing,” Crowley replied. I shook my head. “Again? Hell’s bells, McCool, but you are a world-class defecation attractor.”
“You don’t know the half. It’s worse this time, Crowley—much worse. They’re making it look like I killed the Circle’s liaison.”
“Ouch,” Crowley said with a wince. “What do you need me to do?”
“I was hoping Nameless here might use some of his extra-cognitive abilities to help me track someone down. I couldn’t exactly ask him to do it myself, not under our previous arrangement.”
“Because I would have demanded my release in exchange,” the night raven interjected. “You’re not half the fool you appear to be, druid.”
“Gee, thanks,” I replied.
“Just who are we looking for?” the shadow wizard asked.
“A jorōgumo.”
“Kinky,” the wizard said, deadpan. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Ha ha,” I replied. “She’s on the Circle’s payroll, and I think she’s the key to figuring out who’s framing me. Plus, I’m fairly certain she abducted a friend of mine a few days back.”
“The chances of your friend still being alive are slim,” Crowley countered.
“I’m aware, but I’d like to give his loved ones closure, if possible. Anyway, I had her dead to rights, but Bells busted in on us and chased the were-spider off.”
“She told me. She also said you were fully under the jorōgumo’s spell, and that she caught you two in flagrante delicto, so to speak.”
“It was flagrant, but hardly delectable, believe me. Can you get the bird to help?”
He sipped his Scotch. “Certainly. You know I can do this for you just as easily, yes?”
“I do, but I don’t want to tip her off. If she senses a human mage sniffing around, she’ll bolt for sure. I figure the bird’s magic will just be background noise to her.”
“Makes sense.” Crowley looked at his new pet. “Nameless one, can you locate this creature?”
“I can,” the bird squawked. “I only require some personal article—any trifle that carries her signature on it—in order to track her down.”
I produced the brush, panties, and lingerie I’d procured from Mei’s apartment, setting them on the coffee table between us. For good measure, I tossed in the t-shirt I’d been wearing the day of my “date” with Mei, since it was still covered in spider silk.
Crowley cleared his throat. “Egads, man, I didn’t know you were the trophy-collecting type.”
“Again, har-fucking-har. Bird, do your thing already. I’ve got creatures to kill.”
The bird hopped from the couch to the table, where he pecked and prodded the items there. He spread his wings, and tendrils of shadow curled from the tips of each extended feather, alighting on the clothing and hair brush. The wisps of magic caressed the objects as a hum of power emanated from the raven.
Suddenly, the objects began to vibrate and the coffee table started to shake. “Something is wrong, master!” Nameless squawked.
“What is it? Tell me, now!” Crowley hissed as he stood.
I glanced around nervously, wondering what the hell could ruffle the raven’s feathers.
“Another entity has intercepted my tracking spell—and it is angry. It comes!”
Crowley glowered at me and stormed out the front door of the silo. I followed close on his heels. There was a palpable sense of dread in the air as I exited the building, which had most certainly been warded against all intrusions of magic and otherworldly beings. The air hummed with energy, slowly gaining momentum like a swift summer storm building in a dark and angry sky.
Crowley took a defensive stance, one arm high and the other low, his fingers twisted in arcane positions. Thick shadowy tentacles sprouted from his torso like extra arms, whipping about him in random patterns. I mentally gave him points for style, then drew my flaming sword from my Bag, setting it tip down in the dirt with my hands on the pommel.
The night raven flew out of the shadow gate, fluttering above Crowley’s head. “It comes, master—it is here!”
A flash of white shot out of the sky, landing with all the speed of a falling meteor—but none of the sound or force of impact.
“Ah, shit,” I exclaimed.
Standing there in Crowley’s front yard was the yūrei that had attacked me at the overlook.
“Fukushū!” it whispered, pointing a long, pale finger at me.
“Friend of yours?” Crowley asked.
“More like a recent acquaintance,” I replied.
“No matter. It trespasses on my lands, making its existence forfeit. It would not have made it past the boundaries if it hadn’t hitched a ride on the night raven’s spell. I will dispense of it momentarily.” The wizard began spinning up some powerful magic.
“No, wait!” I said as I stepped in front of Crowley. “Last time we met, it attacked me on sight. Though the spirit is only recently deceased, it’s no longer showing signs of violence. That makes me think it finally got its bearings.”
The ghost moaned. “Fukushū.” It beckoned to me with a white, luminescent hand.
“I do believe the damned thing wants you to come with it,” Crowley said. “Fascinating.”
Nameless landed on a fence post nearby. “I have a residual connection to it, from what remains of the tracking spell. Based on what I’m sensing, it wishes to take you to its killer.”
“Fukushū!” the ghost exclaimed with a nod.
I looked at Crowley. “Looks like I’m stuck with the ghost. You have a ride I can borrow? That Chrysler is stolen, and the bird shat all over the seats.”
“Hmm. Gives a whole new meaning to the term ‘riding dirty,’ does it not?” the wizard deadpanned.
“I’ll be damned, Crowley, that’s your third joke tonight. Son, tell the truth—are you on the chronic?”
The wizard loaned me a car, an open-top English roadster that he claimed would make it easier for the ghost to ride along. Honestly, I think he just liked the idea of making me freeze my ass off, driving all over town in the cool autumn air with a ghost riding shotgun. The car drove like a go-cart and felt about as safe, practically shaking itself apart on the country roads that took us to the main highway.
I glanced at the ghost sitting beside me. “Let’s hope we don’t get into an accident in this tin can, else I may be joining you in the afterlife.”
“Fukushū,” the yūrei replied with a grim smile, pointing the way back to Austin.
“This is going to be a barrel of laughs, I can tell already,” I said under my breath.
The ghost ignored me, focused as it was on guiding me to our destination. As we neared the city it pointed toward downtown, so I headed north on IH-35 and west on Sixth Street. When we hit Lamar, it indicated we should head north again, so I turned right and drove past Clarksville and Pease Park, right into the West Campus area where all the wealthy students lived.
Just north of 25th, it had me hook a left onto Shoal Creek Boulevard. Now, we were in Old West Austin—the Pemberton Heights neighborhood, to be exact. Homes here went for a million and up, as it was one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in Austin proper. If Mei was hiding out here, she was connected to someone with a lot of money. That pointed right back to the Circle.
“Give me a second,” I said as I pulled into the public parking spaces along Shoal Creek Trail.
“Fukushū!” the ghost insisted, extending its arm through the windshield and to the west.
“I know, I know, but I can’t go walking around this neighborhood looking like a bum,” I explained to the ghost, feeling foolish. “If I do, somebody’s going to call the cops on me, and I’ll be arrested before we even begin. I’m going to change so I look like I belong here, and then we can proceed with the evening’s ass-kickings. Cool?”
The ghost gave me a resigned look, then turned its eyes toward the west. Alrighty, then. I ducked into the shadows near the trail, digging around in my Bag for clothing that would make me look less like a homeless person. Eventually, I settled on a newer pair of combat boots, black jeans, a white button-down with a black tie, and a dark woolen pea coat.
I hopped back in the car, glancing at my spectral companion. “So, how do I look?” The ghost began to open his mouth, but I cut it off. “Right, ‘fukushū,’ I get it. Just point the way, and I swear you’ll have your revenge.”
Following the ghost’s directions, we soon passed Pemberton Castle, a local landmark and holdover from the city’s plantation days—an era of Austin’s history no one spoke much about today. Now, the massive home stood hemmed in by more modern structures, tawdry displays of the wealth of Austin’s urban gentility. All of them were likely owned by affluent whites who had no idea their homes sat on land once tended by black slaves.
Some things never change.
“Fukushū,” the ghost exclaimed as it stabbed a finger at a lovely two-story colonial with a carriage house and huge, fenced side yard. I pulled the car to the curb several houses down and turned off the engine.
“I guess that means we’re here,” I said, turning to address the specter.
To my surprise, the thing had vanished, to where I had no clue. I wondered if perhaps it’d moved on, considering its earthly task done by leading me to its killer. But I doubted it. I slung my Craneskin Bag over my shoulder and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible as
I headed back up the street.
I walked past the house the ghost had indicated, scanning it in the magical spectrum for any peculiarities. Jackpot. Not only was the home and property warded nine ways to Sunday; there was also a powerful “look away, go away” spell on it, and an illusion I couldn’t pierce. Although I couldn’t see what was concealed on the grounds, it was clear that whoever owned the place didn’t want it being disturbed.
I walked all the way around the block, hoping there might be an alley I could use to sneak up on the place. But no dice. Rich people hated alleys, knowing they almost always brought the value of neighborhoods down. Alleys tended to attract litter and refuse, and such hidden common areas were rarely kept up by the residents who shared them. Plus, they were a waste of prime real estate.
Looks like I’m cutting through someone’s yard. I came back around and found a likely suspect, the residence directly to the rear of the target house. They had plenty of shrubbery to hide in and almost no outdoor lighting—standard hallmarks of rich people who thought they were immune to crime. I snuck past their home and through their backyard without incident, hiding in some bushes that bordered the backyard of the home where Mei was staying.
Let’s hope that ghost was right.
From my Bag, I pulled out my flaming sword and gun belt. I strapped the belt around my waist, snapping the scabbard to it so the sword would be easily accessible and partially hidden by my coat. Wearing a sword at your waist meant it would almost certainly get in the way, but it was where you wore one if you were going to need it in a jiffy. Over the shoulder rigs were great for comfort, but unless you were carrying a short sword, it was a pain to draw a blade from over your shoulder. So, on my waist it went.
I checked my Glock to make sure I had loaded it with tracer rounds, since they’d worked so well for Bells. Then, I spent several minutes breaking through the wards and traps around the property. They were expertly cast and created with a style of magic that was unfamiliar to me, but thankfully, they were not beyond my ability to crack.
