The Darkness of Shadows (20 page)

B
ooks and papers made my kitchen table Research Central.

“How’s your arm?” I said.

“Fine.”

“I think we should get it looked at.”

“Nope, too busy.”

“When did you start training with knives?” I said.

“I haven’t. It just felt natural.” Val unwrapped the knife from a towel, and twirled the nasty blade around like it was an extension of her hand, slicing and dicing an imaginary foe. “It’s nicely balanced.”

“Would you mind not doing that?”

“Check this out.” She brought it to the table. It was clean of any green and red matter.

“Please put it away.”

Dejected, she rewrapped it in the towel and placed it by her bag.

“What did your father mean by calling you a ‘mixed breed’?”

“I don’t know.”

The newspaper headlines flashed before my eyes: “Death Toll Rises in Dragon Slayer Killings.” “Dragon Slays Again!” “Another Dead: Dragon Slayer Blamed.”

“Can you look something up?” I said.

“Sure.”

My voice was shaky. “My father said something about the Dragon Slayer. I need to know more.”

She did whatever she did on the laptop and let out a low whistle.

“Holy shit!”

“Are you going to share with the rest of the class?”

“The police have found a body a year for the last sixteen years—each in a different county. All female, ages vary.” She read some more. “Next to each body, they found a toy dragon, so they’ve nicknamed him the Dragon Slayer. The authorities suspect a devil worshipper.”

They were wrong. It was the devil himself, adding serial killer to his résumé.

“The papers always leave something out—something only the police or FBI know.” Val scrunched her nose as she thought. “I’m going to take a little peek.”

“I don’t think you should do that. If you get caught …”

Val’s grin was a bit evil. “I’ve never gotten caught before. I’ll take a few extra precautions.”

Whatever that meant. She typed away and got to where she wanted to go.

“We’re in.” Click, type, click. “Knew that. Knew that too. Come on, what else? Give me something—”

She fell silent.

“What?”

“I don’t think—”

“Dammit, tell me!” I grabbed the laptop and read.

My father had sliced and diced his victim’s backs. Cause of death, loss of blood—all of it.

My lungs stopped working, and they didn’t even give me two weeks’ notice.

“Breathe!” Val was shaking me. “This isn’t your fault. You’re not responsible for his actions.”

“Those women!”

“We’re not even sure your dad was telling you the truth. He was just trying to scare you.”

“It’s him. I know it. So do you.”

“We can’t prove anything,” she said. “Gut feelings aren’t credible with the police.”

“Fine, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” I shoved the computer away and went back to the books.

There was a lull while we both gathered our thoughts.

“Did you find anything?”

I flipped to a marked section. “This just reiterates what Walter said. Seems there’s a short period after a person dies where his soul makes peace with his life—you following me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“Whoa!” I peered at the page. “He didn’t mention anything about this.”

“What?”

“Something needs to be sacrificed in order for the dead person to be brought back.”

“Why does something have to die?” Val said.

“Blood’s needed for the ritual. A life for a life. Even if it’s for a few minutes. The dead body needs some life force for a jump start,” I said. “Like what my father did with the cat.”

“How much of a jump start?”

“Day one can be something small. Day two, something bigger. Day three … Get it?”

“Unfortunately. What happens if you miss the window?”

“If the soul is content, nothing. It goes on its merry way.”

“And …”

“If the soul is angry, it may be trapped between worlds. Kind of like when you’re stuck in traffic and don’t know what the holdup is. The radio station doesn’t have any reports, so you just sit there wondering what’s going on. So the dead person’s in a permanent traffic jam.”

“So it’s kind of like inertia for the soul,” Val said. “A soul at rest stays at rest. A soul in motion stays in motion. I still don’t get why you’d want to bring a dead person back to life.”

“Walter said it was for notoriety, but there has to be more. And I think the bigger question is who he would bring back.”

“I think you’re onto something with your mom.”

I bit the inside of my cheek and nodded.

Val caught a yawn in her hand.

“You need to get some sleep,” I said.

“Want me to stay up with you?” Another yawn escaped. “We can hash this out some more.”

I shook my head.

“We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

It was time for me to do what I do best when under stress: eat. A plate of peanut butter cookies and a tall glass of milk would help me get through the next couple of hours.

I went back and forth between books. The consensus was that a circle was needed for a ritual. It needs to be closed with a substance like salt or chalk to create a barrier to contain the magic. Like what my father did with Rufus, but he used dirt. Life forces connected, magics in harmony. If the circle is broken, the magic escapes.

The soul is called by way of chanting. The serenading of the spirit.

Then, of course, something needs to die for all of this to work.

The quote from
The Art of Memetics
said, “From the threads of these four energies a knot is tied on the altar of the mage’s consciousness. This fifth energy, this secret knot now tied, is the true sigil.”

A lot of blood was needed to bring back the long-dead. More than what the books suggested, because the window of opportunity had been obliterated by time.

Like the amount from one of my father’s murder victims.

It was like the lights in Yankee Stadium were going on one section at a time. I was the fifth knot—he was going to sacrifice me to bring my mother back.

Sometimes I don’t like my life very much.

A muffled voice came from the window. “A little help please.”

I jumped. It was butterfly boy from the other night. “I’m stuck.”

I got up and took a look. He was wedged between the window and the frame. I worked the handle and he gained his freedom.

“Whoa! Thanks!” He stretched and twisted. He brushed his light brown bangs from his Caribbean blue eyes.

“Welcome. I thought I wasn’t supposed to see you.”

“Yeah, well, I blew that one. I’m on probation for what happened the other night.”

He touched my hand. I didn’t get a bad vibe from him—then again, evil can come in small packages.

“Who exactly are you?”

His chest puffed up. “I’m Nigel.”

“Nice to meet you. Where’s your friend?”

“She’s on duty with someone else who has more experience.” He sniffed the air and zeroed in on the cookies.

“Are you going to get in trouble being in here with me?”

A naughty smile spread wide on his small face. “Not if you close the curtains.”

This entire situation had me burning the crazy candle at both ends.

“Would you like a cookie?”

“Excellent!” He took a short flight to the table. “Where’s Val?”

He could fly! How cool would that be?

“You know Val too?”

“The same way I know you. She’s
smokin’
hot!”

I rolled my eyes. “Milk?”

“Sure. Do you have any chocolate?”

I rummaged around the cabinets and found a shot glass. I poured the milk and added a shot of chocolate syrup.

“More chocolate! More!” He was demanding, and very cute.

The chocolate to milk ratio was growing. He stopped me when he was satisfied. He slurped the sludge through a red swizzle stick that doubled as a straw. He pulled a dagger from his boot and broke a cookie into manageable pieces and started to munch.

“This stuff is all new to me, so sorry if I ask stupid questions. Are you a fairy?”

“Fairy is a broad designation. There are a lot of different folk.” He took another hit of milk. “I’m a sprite.”

“Like an elf?”

“Hell no! Elves are human size. Pointy ears. And don’t have wings.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend you. I thought they were small and worked for the jolly old toymaker.”

“No, they fit in with humans. Always involved in a war or battle for no good reason. You saw two of them at the park,” Nigel said.

“The really good-looking guys?”

He nodded.

Sounded about right. “What do they want?”

“Not sure, but stay away from them. It’s not good when they’re around.”

“What’s a sprite?”

“We keep an eye out for trouble. Like if your dad or the ghouls come around, we alert our client. Some of us look for the lost ones. I like being a Watcher. Good eats! Thanks!” He chomped another cookie piece.

Mini-stalkers. Perfect!

“We’ve met a few ghouls. Are they night things?”

“Your dad did something to this bunch so they can come out in the day,” Nigel said.

“So he has an undead gang at his disposal?”

“Pretty much.”

“Great. Who’s your client?”

He wagged a tiny finger at me. “Nuh uh. Can’t tell you. Our clients like their privacy.”

“How long have you been watching me?”

He shrugged his answer.

“Can you tell me what’s out there?” I rubbed the back of my neck, afraid of what was to come.

“Life wise?”

“Yes.”

Nigel got all scholarly on me. “The three most dangerous are elves, vampires, and weres.”

“Vampires? Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. But not like in the movies.”

Was there a sprite fly-in theater?

“Vamps can’t transform into anything. They’re not immortal, though they like to think they are. They can die just like you and me. They do need blood to survive. Manipulative race on the whole. They don’t sleep in coffins unless they’re kinky.”

“How about daylight and holy stuff?”

“Doesn’t bother them.”

A plethora of myths had just been busted.

“You said ‘weres,’ as in wolves?”

“Right. Weres are pretty cool—if you don’t piss them off. They don’t need a full moon to shift. They can do it anytime, anywhere.”

“What makes them weres?”

“There are pure breeds and mutts. No one knows how the pures started. Mutts are made by a pure biting a human. If the human survives the first change, they’re a were for life.”

“So it’s like ‘When you’re a Jet, you’re a Jet all the way.’”

It took Nigel a few seconds, but he got the reference. Milk shot out his nose as he laughed. He coughed and sneezed, completing the circuit.

“You okay?”

He waved me off. “You’re pretty funny.”

I handed him the torn corner of a napkin.

“Thanks.” He recovered his composure.

“Do humans know about … us?” I hesitated to put myself in with this unknown world.

“Not many. Humans aren’t too accepting about what they don’t understand.” Nigel eyed the books on the table. “Most of the books out there are crap, like fractured fairytales. So it’s better to find out from one of us.”

“What about Healers and Protectors?”

“Healers use energies to mend wounds. Stuff like that. Their beliefs and gifts are deeply rooted in helping others.”

I didn’t like people much so this was hardly a match made in heaven.

“And Protectors kick ass!” he said. “Like an elite security force. I wish I could be one.”

“Why can’t you?”

He rolled his eyes. “There’s a height requirement.”

“What do you know about the shield?”

“That’s a tough one. It’s a bond between a Healer and a Protector. You both have to be alive to create the energy barrier. No harm can come to you if you’re together.”

“Who does it work on?”

“The parameters are in the supernatural world,” Nigel said. “Humans aren’t affected by it.”

So Walter was right about Tina—her Machiavellian charm was all human, no paranormal influence there.

“I can’t invoke it?” I said.

“No, and you can’t fire your Protector either.”

“Eavesdrop much?”

“It’s fun to watch you two.”

“Glad we can entertain you. Are there rules or laws?”

“Kind of. Nothing really written down. Like you’re supposed to ask permission before entering another’s home.” He slapped his forehead. “Oh crap! I forgot to ask before I came in.”

“It’s okay. You can come in.”

“It doesn’t work that way. If I come in uninvited, you glean my power. I’m left as weak as a human!”

Jeez Louise! “Can you go out and I invite you back in?”

“Huh. I’m not sure. Let’s try.” Nigel flew out the window. “Nat, may I come in?”

This was real formal. Just like when Mrs. Guerrero—wait a minute!
Age quod agis
—Do well what you do … Mrs. Guerrero said that!

“Uh, Nat?”

“Oh, sorry. You may come in.”

He landed on the table.

“Is flying your magic?”

“No, our magic is light.” He packed his hands together like he was making a snowball, wound up like a major league pitcher, and let go. A trail of light streaked behind the white orb as the catcher, that was also the sugar bowl, scooted back a bit upon impact. The light dispersed, showering down like the tendrils of a fireworks display.