Circle of the Moon

by Faith Hunter

  “Why remaining?” I asked. “Were they destroyed?”

  “There were claims that the decks had been confiscated in the Inquisition and used by Grand Inquisitor Tomás de Torquemada, to lead his assault against Jews, Muslims, witches, pagans, were-creatures, and other paranormals and ethnicities.”

  “And anyone who owned property he could confiscate in the name of the Roman Catholic Church,” I said. T. Laine looked surprised. “I know my church history, especially the evils done in the name of God.” God’s Cloud of Glory Church had been eager to share with its conservative congregation the “evils” of other religions, without looking at the sins perpetrated by its own members and lifestyles. I frowned. “The leader of the Inquisition used black magic to track down light-magic users? That sounds like fighting a campfire with a wildfire.”

  “The oral histories suggest he was using magical amulets and other items, yes, and that most of the items he confiscated are still stored in the Vatican,” T. Laine said. “It’s also suggested that the apparent psychopathy he presented was demon based.”

  I thought about the summoning part of the witch circles. “A witch summoned a demon?”

  “No one really knows except the Vatican, but we know he tortured witches and there are reports that sound as if he got his claws into some vampires and were-creatures too. And he got their estates. Ergo, he got magical grimoires and amulets and blood from paras.” She punched a button on her laptop and said, “And there are some reports that suggest he became a vamp himself.”

  I frowned, pulling up a Wikipedia entry and memories gained by the education provided by the church. Thomas Torquemada had been a Castilian Dominican friar, and the first grand inquisitor of the Spanish Inquisition, established in 1478 by Ferdinand and Isabella, the Catholic monarchs of Castile. Thomas had started out a perfectly normal priest of his time but quickly developed a psychopathology that was deeply steeped in torture and death. Because his methods had enriched the Catholic church and the ruling monarchs of Europe, the church itself had embraced the cruelty and barbarism. If Thomas had been using magic and had taken vampire blood, then he might even still be alive.

  T. Laine looked up from her tablet and said, “I’ve done a search on Blood Tarot decks. I’ll have to talk to some coven leaders to affirm it, but a few histories indicate that three of the decks still survive.”

  Tandy asked, “What would it mean if the witch who is working the Circle of the Moon is using a Blood Tarot deck?”

  Rick made a small sound and closed his eyes. One hand massaged his tattooed shoulder as if reliving the pain. I looked away. It was impossible to watch.

  T. Laine tapped the table with a fingernail. Quietly, she said, “Nothing about Blood Tarot would be good. But that would explain why the calling on Rick is so specific and so powerful. He was tattooed with a tarot working. With a Blood Tarot, a witch could probably easily cast a curse, maybe something worse, maybe several somethings all at once. That would explain why the local coven has run like scared cats. Pardon the pun.”

  “What about . . .” I stopped, knowing I was drawing on church scary-tales from when I was a child. “Someone mentioned a demon? Summoning a demon?”

  T. Laine’s forehead wrinkled into horizontal lines and her lips pursed as she thought. “We read the circles with the psy-meter 2.0. We got one and four. So far as we know, no one has ever actually read a demon with the updated psy-meter model—only the space a trapped demon occupied before he was banished. We don’t know what a new psy-meter reading would show. Maybe it’s a one and four. Maybe not.”

  The churchwoman in me shivered. “According to Spook School gossip, PsyLED’s got a demon in a containment vessel.”

  T. Laine swiveled her head to Rick. “I heard that too. Some say that Rick LaFleur was in school when the demon was called. And was part of the crew who captured it.”

  I had heard gossip about my boss at Spook School. I’d also heard about the demon that had been summoned on school grounds and had been fed students as dinner and sacrifice. It was redacted in his sleeve. No one here had mentioned it and so I had thought it was rumor.

  Rick pinched the bridge of his nose with finger and thumb and laughed, a cynical, injured, grieved sound that spoke of old wounds that still bled, though the roughness of his voice had eased. He dropped his hand. “Yeah. I was involved. But I only saw it feeding, and this looks nothing like that. I was also there when the demon was contained. But that’s it. And this is not then.”

  “Can the psy-meter 2.0 read a demon through a containment vessel?” I asked.

  “Not that I’ve ever heard,” Rick said.

  T. Laine shook her head, her eyes on Rick. “I’ve never heard either. There’s only one person who might know the answer to that. Soul. She was a teacher at Spook School when you were there. Her meeting you is the reason she left teaching and went back to fieldwork. And before you say it, no. I am not going to talk to her about a demon. That’s your job,” she said to Rick.

  We had watched Rick as we discussed the possibilities directly involving his past and present. He looked despondent. Grief stricken. But he wasn’t totally down and out. His voice heavy and coarse, he said, “I didn’t know much about . . . tarot when I was inked, but I researched after I got free. I think the cards Loriann used were ancient. Something special. If Loriann used a Blood Tarot deck on me,” he said, addressing the pink elephant in the room, “and if the witch calling and cursing me now is using a Blood Tarot deck . . .”

  He fell silent for several breaths and the lines in his face deepened, dark grooves of pain. He stared at his hands as if they contained all the wisdom he needed in life but he couldn’t reach it without cutting them off. “Because the decks are so rare,” he said, his voice gravelly and hoarse, “then it’s possible, even likely, that it’s the same deck used on me when I was inked.” He looked up from his hands, to each of us around the table, and back down. “Loriann knows more than she’s telling us. Which means she’s hiding information necessary to a law enforcement investigation. Even before I knew all this, I’d spoken to Soul and FireWind. We got our warrant. When Loriann arrives, she’ll be stripped of all her amulets.”

  T. Laine’s head came up. “And how do you want that accomplished?”

  “When she gets here, she’ll be taken into the null room,” Rick said. “I’ll be waiting for her there. If she wants to work with us, she’ll agree to having her bags and her person searched. She’ll answer our questions with full transparency.”

  “But why the null room?” T. Laine asked.

  Rick said, “I want her in a position where she can’t use magic of any kind. And I want to make sure that anyone who is tracking her can’t find her.”

  “You think she’s being monitored? Tracked magically?” Tandy’s mouth opened in a faint O. “You think she’s the witch cursing you?”

  “Not Lori. But I have a guess. No evidence to back it up.” Rick didn’t look up from his hands, grief and resolution warring on his face. “If I’m right, I want to make sure that witch can’t hear us.”

  Ruminating, I said softly, “You forgave Loriann for inking you. For spelling you. You got her a job in law enforcement. But . . . The witch trait runs in families, an X-linked genetic trait. Her grandmother, who was killed by the vampire, was a witch. And another family member was being forcibly drank from by the vampire. Who was that? You never said.”

  T. Laine had placed her moonstone bear amulet on the table and was watching Rick with an active seeing working. Occam was leaning forward, his body tense, as if he was about to leap into battle over territory. Something was happening and I didn’t understand.

  Rick’s hands tensed tight, forming fists. He was staring at them as if he was afraid they’d be stolen if he looked away. He took shallow breaths and finally managed, “Isleen killed Loriann’s witch grandmother.”

  Leaning forward, reaching out a h
and to Rick, I said, “You think Loriann’s sister is the witch cursing you. She’s here in Knoxville. Loriann’s sister is targeting you?”

  “Not her sister,” Rick said, choking. “Her . . . her brother, Jason.”

  “Brother,” I whispered. A brother, who, if he had magic, was a sorcerer. Things began to fall into place, as if shattered crystal tinkled to the conference room table before me. Gently, I asked, “Loriann had a brother who was kidnapped and drank from by a vampire as a child? Abused by an insane vamp?” Vamp blood and saliva did sexual things to the person being drained. “The boy was physically and sexually abused?”

  Rick didn’t look up from his hands. They were fisted so tight they looked bloodless.

  “Boy witches grow up fighting cancer all their lives.”

  “Nell,” Tandy said, the word sounding like a warning.

  I held up a hand at him, stopping him. “The homeless thief at the Pilot gas station, the one who disappeared behind the Walmart, near the circle we found, looked sick. The person who bought the white rats wasn’t a skinny female under a glamour, wasn’t Loriann herself, or someone she was working with, but was a very skinny, possibly sick, teenaged boy. He was Jason, wasn’t he?” I studied Rick, his pale skin, the deep lines in his face, his silver hair. His pain. Why hadn’t he told us? Asked us to look into this possibility?

  Rick put a hand to his throat. “It didn’t occur to me . . . until Loriann showed up. But yes. Possibly.”

  “And Loriann possibly inked you with a Blood Tarot?” T. Laine asked.

  “Her grandmother was the owner of a very old, very special deck of tarot, used in my inking, in the spell Loriann cast to try to bind me to Isleen.”

  I said, “Clementine. Stop recording.” The mic light went off. “Boss, I know you have a right to privacy, but if we had known about the brother, we could have raided the homeless tent camp the night I found the circle and maybe caught him.”

  “Yes.” The word was rough, full of regret and pain. He rubbed his shoulder as if it ached. “Yes. I know. I should have told everyone. But . . . I—” His words stopped as if cut by a knife.

  “Son of a witch on a switch,” T. Laine cursed. “That’s what I’m seeing. Loriann included a nondisclosure spell in your inking.”

  Rick’s whole body tightened. “Is that what this is?” He gripped his shoulder. “I thought it was PTSD . . . a heart attack. That’s the reason my chest and shoulder and arm ache when I try to talk about it?”

  “Coercion spell,” Occam said, “keeping you from understanding or speaking about it.”

  “Witch bitch,” T. Laine said, her own face hard and cold.

  Rick’s eyes went wide and greenish as he considered the effects of this revelation on his security clearance and his future in law enforcement. “That’s why you shut down Clementine,” he said, his voice easier.

  “Yes. Oh,” I said, as something occurred to me. “That was why you weren’t spell-called the night I was behind Walmart. The witch was still setting it up. He heard me arrive and he grabbed what he could and took off. If he had stayed around and seen you—” I stopped.

  Rick nodded, the motion jerky, sending silver-black strands flying.

  “A coven of two is better than none,” I quoted. “She was talking about her brother and her. Loriann taught him all she knew about spell casting and he refined it. Now he’s coming for you. Why?”

  Rick said, “I honestly don’t know. I let his sister ink a bonding into my flesh to keep him safe. There’s no reason for him to hate me.”

  “He may not know the true story,” I said. “Sometimes people leave things out, thinking that it will be easier for the victim to be kept in the dark.”

  “Personal experience?” Rick asked, his lips twisted into a wounded smile.

  “Yes.” I thought about the welfare fraud and the money paid to John for my dowry. “Secrets are stupid and evil.” Except my own, of course. I refrained from saying that.

  Rick nodded. “Yes.” He looked up at the screen. “Loriann is here. Are we all agreed? The null room?”

  “Yes,” T. Laine said, grim. “Loriann’s been holding out on us to protect her brother. That’s gone on long enough. If we can’t find him, we can’t help him. And if we can help her brother, she might help get rid of the messed up spells in your tattoos.”

  Rick sent her a quick, fierce smile, all teeth, like a snarling cat. He gave quick directions and we moved into place. “JoJo,” he said when we were all in position, “get her computer. Crack it. See if she has photos of witch circles on it.”

  “And photos of Jason,” I suggested.

  “Yes,” Rick said, sounding more like the boss I knew. “Photos of the little bugger would be nice.”

  FOURTEEN

  I stood out of the way, in the opening of my cubicle, watching. Holding a plant, my fingers in the soil of Soulwood. Not that I had any idea what to do if Loriann started throwing around wyrds of power or hitting people with magic.

  Tandy led Loriann up the stairs, their feet muffled and yet sharp in the enclosed space. Rick stood in the hallway, the open null room door between the witch and him, the cold, deadening energies spilling from the room. T. Laine stood down the hall, hidden by the open stairway door, her null pens ready to throw and a wyrd spell of sleep, ready to speak. JoJo was in the conference room, monitoring everything on the screens. Tandy reached the top and stepped to the side, as if waiting on Loriann.

  I watched as the pale woman reached the hallway and stepped toward Tandy.

  Occam shut the stairway door and leaned against it. Loriann came to a complete stop, looking around fast. Seeing the trap. Some emotion combined of numbness and terror carved its way onto her expression. Her hands rose as if to grab something at her waist.

  Rick said, “Wait. Please.” Loriann hesitated and he went on. “I have approval from NOPD CLE for you to work with us on this case. But we need to talk, one on one, about your personal involvement. About Jason.”

  “Dear God,” she whispered. She closed her eyes and her hands fell to her sides. “I knew you were going to figure it out. I knew it. I had to be here to keep you from . . . from hurting him.”

  “I’d never hurt Jason, Lori. You know that. You made sure of that, didn’t you? You inked his survival into my flesh. You put something in my tattoos to force me to protect him. And to make it difficult for me to talk about him.”

  She opened her dark eyes and said fiercely, “You won’t hurt him. I made sure of that. But your team is a different matter.” Lori looked at T. Laine and then to the null room. “I guess this isn’t a weak threat. That you’ve contacted the U.S. witch enclave for permission to put me in a null room.”

  Rick stared at her, waiting.

  T. Laine said nothing, though there hadn’t been time to get permission to use the null room on Loriann.

  “I’ve never been in one of those. Is it going to hurt?”

  “Every second,” T. Laine said. “For all of us.”

  “Shit,” she whispered.

  Rick held out a hand and said, “Your electronics.”

  Loriann’s mouth curled in distaste, but she dug into her bag and handed over a small stack of electronics—laptop, tablet, and cell phone—to Rick, who passed them to Occam.

  Loriann squared her shoulders and walked into the null room. Rick, Tandy, and T. Laine walked in after. The door closed, cutting off the miserable energies.

  The rest of us went to the conference room, where we could watch everything on the screens from the cameras in the room, filming every angle, every nuance of speech, tone, and body language for later analysis. JoJo plugged Loriann’s laptop into a special system she kept for just such purposes. The host system promptly began to mine Loriann’s.

  Rick told Loriann to remove all her weapons, magical and mundane. Loriann placed her satchel on the table. “My weapon’
s in there. And I have these, which will do me no good whatsoever in here.” She slid off a ring I hadn’t noticed and placed it on the table. Beside it she added a bracelet, a pair of what looked like reading glasses, and small things from her pockets. She took the seat Rick pointed to and sat. Looking around at the windowless room, she hugged herself, shivering, and not just from the air-conditioning temps.

  “Tell me about Jason,” Rick said. Loriann looked down, her mouth tight with bitterness and grief. She seemed to be thinking through what she might be willing to say. “Lori?” Rick pushed.

  “I’ll tell you what I have on Jason,” JoJo said to Occam and me, muting the volume. “The kid vanished off social media over a year ago. Wiped his accounts, not that he used them much except for searching witch sites and black-magic chat rooms. His sister reported him missing within a week of him wiping the accounts and no one has seen hide nor hair of him. Prior to that, he was in and out of the juvenile system for years, and ended up in therapy mandated by the state, which usually means some fresh-faced counselor just out of school.”

  “We should have had prints from the focals,” I said.

  “His records were sealed when he turned eighteen. I’m trying to get them, but that can be harder than you think.” Her fingers were flying over her keyboard as she spoke, and files began to pop up on the screens overhead. “Jason ended up with a Dr. Robert Perkins, a well-respected psychologist in New Orleans. Looks like payments went through the state and all overages were paid by a . . .” JoJo stopped and yanked on her earrings. It looked painful. “Isleen was Katie Fonteneau’s scion, and Fonteneau paid the overages, until Jason went missing. As an aside, seven or so months ago is when Katie left New Orleans and took over as Master of the City of Atlanta.”