Chapter Fifteen
The sky let loose with a thunderous boom hours ago, and it hasn’t let up since. Even with the wards, sleep was sparing. It’s the calm before the storm as we scramble to secure everything necessary to send the Djinn back where he came from and learn more about the puzzle box. My dry eyes burn as I pour over the translations Baal Shem has written out. Unable to remove the ancient text from its heavily guarded location beneath a synagogue, we’re left with this and copies. Not that I could read Hebrew.
The picture of the box is breathtaking. The wooden box is a mixture of smooth dark wood, overlayed with gold molded in intricate shapes with distinctive Middle Eastern flare. The pointed domes resemble the ornate buildings of the Taj Mahal. Every wish granted after the initial three wishes cost a bit of the wisher’s soul. The acts required to gain a piece of the box are ghastly.
I scan the cross-referenced events Baal Shem has discovered in the book. The skull of the astronomer, the bones of a righteous woman, and blood-soaked battleground. I can’t imagine what else the text lists. What’s been collected and what hasn’t? What could be worth taking the life of another or bargaining away chips of your soul?
“Well, we know how all the cases are linked.” Sacha runs her hand through her hair. “This is a lot to take in, I get that. It’s important to know what we’re up against. I don’t see how it can help us track the wishers down.”
“I think what the summoning is for. Once they capture the Djinn they can make it talk,” I say. “We’ll have to trust the holy men for that. We’re here to back their plays and learn everything we can.”
“You seem calm about handing over this case. It’s not like you.” Sacha studies me with a curious gaze
“When we were trying to escape those hellhounds, something happened. I cried out to the Archangel Michael, and he answered.”
Sacha furrows her brow. “What are you talking about?”
“I watched a fiery blade cut a path through the fog, and I saw wings. Not feathered, with a filmy shape outlined.”
“You remember you’d just knocked your nogging on the window, right?” Sacha asks skeptically.
“Do I seem like the type to hallucinate about angels?” I glance from Fel to Sacha.
“Given the nature of this case, it wouldn’t be far-fetched.” Fel speaks softly like I’m a wounded animal.
“I know my mind. How else did we escape?” I challenge Sacha.
“We threw some nasty spells at them, Lou,” Sacha says.
“Believe me or not, it made me realize there are other things at work in this case.” I shrug, disappointed in their disbelief.
Gentle rapping comes at the door. It swings open.
Renee’s grave face looks wrong. “You should look at the news.”
I pull out my cell phone, and discover Tropical Odette in a tropical depression three-hundred miles outside of The Gulf of Mexico is forcing heavy rains in Louisiana and experts on high alert. Drenching Central America in a torrential downpour, this deadly storm has claimed fifty lives. Meteorologists are watching this Storm Front closely and issuing alerts. Fear of a repeat of Katrina as the depression appears has been mentioned.
I watch the newscast play on my phone. The name Katrina is not thrown around easily here in Louisiana. This means things have the potential to get bad fast. It’s July … early for hurricane season. My gut tells me this is the Djinn.
“We can’t take another storm like this. We’re still trying to recover from Katrina in so many ways,” Fel says.
“Nothing about this feels natural,” Sacha growls.
“Because it’s not. We need to make sure we force this storm to turn out.” Picking up my phone, I call Mémé. “Mémé, have you seen the weather forecast?”
“I’ve seen it. I’m getting the council rallied. You know we try to let nature run its course, but nothing about this comes from Mother Nature.”
“This is pushing up our timetable. The Djinn is getting desperate. We’re going to need a multi-coven spell to combat it.”
“I know. We haven’t come together like that—”
“Since the Reaping.”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps that’s why Alida wanted to us to remember. I know you don’t like talking about it, Mémé, but if we don’t, they’ll find reasons to let their egos, pride, and personal feelings get in the way. We need to be reminded of what we can accomplish together, and how bad things can get when we don’t. I’m going to send Fel to you. This is her job now. My place is on the front line.”
“Be careful.” Her easy acceptance is disarming.
“I always am.” Putting my phone down, I turn to my cousin. “Fel?”
“I get it. I’m putting my politician cap on.”
“Let’s call the holy men and see where they’re at on their end.”
Twenty-minutes later I have the court gathered.
“They’ll be summoning the Djinn tonight. Waiting for the storm threatening is too dangerous. They believe it’s a last-ditch effort to shed the blood of a thousand with the storm. Our goal is to stop that at any cast.”
“What can we do?” Cristobal asks.
“Support me. This is a magical issue more than anything else.”
They exchange looks, and Cristobal holds out his hands. Marcellus takes one, Luz takes the others, and they form a chain of held hands; Ruby and Renee close the circle. Cristobal bows his head and the air crackles. A smoky gray dome glimmers around them. Cristobal raises his burning amber eyes. A breeze circles them, ruffling their hair.
“We have magic of our own. This is what makes our line so unique.”
“Holy shit,” Sacha whispers.
“We can cast a simultaneous circle when the others cast. All the energy going toward the same goal is helpful.”
They let go of each other’s hands, and I feel the difference. Their magic is the opposite of what I’ve grown up with steeped in darkness, but not black―it has the same unnatural feel as a vampire. I want to explore and dissect it. Right now, I don’t have the time.
“You want to lessen the storm’s impact?” Cristobal asks.
“Or get it to turn and dissipate altogether. We have to wait to see what the council gets everyone to agree on.” It’s painful not being in the thick of things. This is the price paid for one foot in each world. Never fully belonging.
My phone rings. Carter’s name on my phone display pushes me to the edge of sanity.
“Hello?”
“There’s something I think you need to see.”
“Can it wait, Carter?”
“It’s time sensitive.”
The tone of his voice conveys more. What am I missing here?
“When and where?”
“St. John’s Hospital as soon as possible.”
“The morgue?”
“No.”
“Carter?”
“Remember the cases and the lack of evidence? Well, this incident has a very lively clue.”
Is he telling me there’s a witness?
“I’m on my way, Carter.”
“Call me when you arrive.”
“What happened?” Sacha asks.
“I think we got a break in the cases. It sounds like there might be a witness at the hospital.” I look at Cristobal.“We have to follow this lead.”
Things remain off between us. The critical situation hasn’t allowed us time to talk anything out.
“Go with them, Marcellus.”
I don’t bother protesting. I’ve grown used to the vamp’s presence, and there’s no time to waste.
Driven by an intense sense of urgency, I rush for the front door with the duo behind me.
“I’ll drive,” Marcellus says. My phone chimes.
“Works for me.”
He chops the thirty-minute drive in half, and I text Carter to meet us. I powerwalk my way over to the entrance when I spot the familiar redhead emerge. Carter observes Marcellus.
“Good, you brought back up. You’ll need them to get inside.”
“Are you going to fill me in?”
“Officers were called in on a case today. A body was dumped in a church. The man was flayed alive.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“He must’ve been involved because when they arrived on the scene, they discovered he wasn’t quite dead. I don’t need to tell you how improbable that is. The blood loss and the shock from having so many nerve endings essentially shredded should’ve killed him long before they got there.”
“You suspect magic?”
“Has to be. I’m here unofficially, so my ability to help is slim to none today.”
“The tip-off is plenty of help, Carter. Thank you.”
“Anytime. The man’s in Room 415.”
I pat his shoulder. “We’ll take it from here.”
“If he’s being kept alive by magic—”
“I’ll put him out of his misery,” I promise.
“That’s good.” He walks away, clearly disturbed by the case.
“I’m going to need your special skills of persuasion, Marcellus. I’ll handle the blending in and not being noticed once you distract the woman at the front desk on the floor.”
“Teamwork. Because there’s no I in team.”
His sarcasm makes me snicker. Before, I never got to see the humorous side of his personality.
Inside the elevator, I employ a glamour that makes me look like another nurse in scrubs before we step out onto the fourth floor.
“I’ll keep the staff enthralled with my whit.” He winks.
I follow the room numbers down the hall and slip into a dimly lit room. I let the glamour slip, conserving my energy as I place a ward on the door. It’ll alert me if anyone gets close. I walk over to the side of the bed. Swathed in bandages, the victim looks like a mummy. He’s tall with gangly limbs. Miles was correct in his deductions. An IV bag full of what I assume is medicine and antibiotics run into his arms. Who skins a man alive? It’s the same thought I return to over and over again. The thought of skin sliced carefully an inch at a time is one of the most disturbing I’ve ever had to consider.
A low moan shocks me. I peer down and find a set of bloodshot pale blue eyes studying me. I can feel the dark magic pouring off him. It’s a nasty hex, meant to prevent him from resting. No amount of medication will put him under. They meant to make him feel every ounce of pain until he expires. His pain filled whimpers lacerate my heart.
“I’m Lou, and I’m here to help you if I can. The people who did this are very dangerous. We want to catch them before they do this to another person. I know you’re in an insane amount of pain, but if you’ll allow me to, I believe I can help.” He studies me warily. “Blink once for yes, and twice for no. Do you want me to help?”
He blinks once. I place my hands over his heart and concentrate. I can’t remove the spell―it’s blood magic shared between him and the Djinn. Tampering with it will only make things worse. What I can do is dull the pain. I cast a spell to block his pain receptors. The relief is visible. His eyes clear. He focuses on my face.
“Can you talk?” I ask gently.
“Yes.” His voice is raw and rusted like metal left out in the rain.
“I know about the genie and the puzzle box. Is there anything you want to share with me?”
“I couldn’t do it. Destroy the city again. Not even to save my wife from cancer.”
My heart races. “Were you working with the Djinn?”
Tears spill from his eyes and onto his bandages. “It started small. Gathering information, stealing.” He breathes heavily. “I got in over my head. I couldn’t do it. Harvest the skin of a betrayer while they were alive.” He chokes up.
“So they took yours instead.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Storm.” He’s beginning to fade.
“How?”
“Seven skins to complete the box.”
His body trembles. “Can you tell me their names?”
“Ernest Pattan. Wallace Brown.”
“And your name?”
“Harold T-Tyler.”
“You did a good thing today, Harold. I’m going to make sure the nurses know your name so they can contact your family.”
His eyes turn up slightly at the corners.
“The pain blocking spell is my gift to you.”
His eyes close. He may not be able to find true sleep, but now at least he can rest.
This entire time I’ve been picturing greedy monsters. He’s human like the rest of us. Who’s to say what we’d do to save the one we loved from such a painful death? What would a person risk to see all their dreams come true?
Too much. I’ll make sure his family is contacted. He did the right thing in the end, and he’s suffered greatly for it. He deserves respect.
Thirty minutes later, my eyes water as I watch an emaciated, balding woman be wheeled into the hospital room by an older daughter. The girl with a waist-length auburn mane and peaches and cream skin can’t be more than sixteen. Her brother is older. Lanky, and tall with darker hair, he has the look of a youth who’s had to grow up too fast. He’s on the verge of losing his mother, and now his father will fall.
My vision wavers. I hold back the tears. I’ll cry when this crisis has been averted. I may be tough, but I’m not a robot. The devastation that’s occurred over the past few months is starting to get to me. I push on because it’s what I do.
“It’s time to hunt, Lady,” Marcellus says from his position beside me.
“Yes, it is.”
***
The lights of Festival of Freaks shine brightly at the edge of the forest. The year-round haunted house is the location the pendulum located during dousing. The worn wooden fence is loaded with the 50s themed posters advertising Lobster Boy, the Bearded Lady, Wolfman, and more. The once campy acts have been transformed into fanged, clawed, and bloody monsters.
“Cheery,” Sacha drawls.
“Are you sure we can’t have a bite to eat? No one would ever notice her,” Ruby mutters.
“No, we’re here to capture and contain,” Cristobal says firmly.
“Wait. She was serious?” Sacha asks.
“Vampire,” Ruby drawls sassily with an exaggerated brogue.
“Same team tonight,” I remind.
The abandoned theme park for children has sat unused for years, rusting. Plant-covered and eerie, it’s the perfect backdrop for a haunted house.
The small Ferris Wheel and roller coaster tracks are visible through the open gates. The rundown carousel slowly spins, playing warped and broken music. The happy jingle has become a jaded tune of terror since the sound mechanism broke down. Why pay to create a creepy atmosphere when you can buy it as is?
The clowns lurking by the entrance with garish makeup and neon blue and orange hair invite us in with a wave.
“I hate clowns,” Larkin mumbles.
“A vampire is afraid of clowns?” I tease.
“Not afraid, distrustful. You never know what’s lurking under all that makeup.”
“How is that different from any other time?”
“Touché,” Larkin smirks.
“We remain with our groups. Larkin, Sacha, and I, and Lou, Ruby, and Marcellus.”
“Once we locate our targets, we wait to join each other before we move in,” Cristobal says.
“Yes, sir.” I salute. “Anything you say, sir.”
He glowers at me, and I wink before we split and head in separately with our online tickets. A zombie clown with pale skin, balding head, and a dark suit shuffles toward us. This would be fun under different circumstances.
The pounded metal band I’ve charmed to react to the nearness to Wallace and Ernest is lukewarm on my wrist. I turn to the left and make my way through the crowd.
“Anything?” Marcellus asks.
“Not one change in temperature either way so far.”
“Hmm. Then we can consider this the midway point. Not too close, not too far,” he suggests.
“That’s smart.”
“Notice she sounds surprised,” Ruby remarks.
“They have carnival games over this way. Maybe they’re mingling with the crowd.”
“Or working the games,” Ruby says. “If you were a psycho killer, this place has to be the perfect gig.” Ruby shrugs.
Even the games are themed. The workers are dressed to frighten. Pale-faced, stereotypical, widow-peaked vampires with fangs and blood drops in the corner of their mouth heckle the crowd into playing ring toss. Dead-eyed dolls, zombies, and ghouls entertain with ghoulish gimmicks and showmanship. It’s a mixture of vaudeville and modernism.
I pause in front of the stacked milk bottles when my bracelet turns icy cold.
“All right, this is the dead zone. My wrist feels like it’s going to get frostbite.” I shake my hand to get the blood flowing and change my direction.
“We know it works then at least.”
“We found them. They’re working in the Fun House.”
“How could he tell if they’re in a uniform?” Ruby asks.
“Sacha’s bracelet must be blazing.”
“They’re smart, hiding in public like this. Even if they’re caught, they won’t be easy to capture,” Marcellus says.
“I’m going to pretend you aren’t impressed by the madmen we’re here to capture.”
“I bet they’re completely unaware that Harold is still alive, and they’ve been ratted out,” I muse.
“You’re right. I’m giving the humans too much credit.”
I’ve grown used to their flippancy. I often wonder if humans are truly like cattle to him. With his abrasive attitude and grim humor, Marcellus is often hard to read. I take four steps to their two. If it wasn’t for my training, I’d be winded by now. We join the fast-moving line. Groups of three and four are herded into the building. The small doll-like woman in a dingy red polka dot dress rises from her perch on a raised platform and silently stalks every group as they enter. Her movements are mechanical and awkward.
Larkin, Cristobal, and Sacha join us. Her glossy blank stare hits me in the gut.
“Sach, are you okay?”
She raises her head. Her lower lip trembles. “I’m not sure I ever will be again.”
“What the hell happened in there?”
She shakes her head.
“Cristobal?”
“You have to see for yourself, reina. There are things that are beyond, even for me.”
I study the three of them. They’ve all been rattled. My apprehension rises. We move forward, and I toy with my silver bracelet, running my fingers over the smooth textured surface hand hammered and spelled. The doll woman waves us forward. We step inside, and a high-pitched scream assaults my ears. I’ve never heard such realistic depiction of torture outside of a movie. A clown rushes forward, rattling the bars on the makeshift jail cell to our left. We continue down the hallway full of mirrors. Each one distorts our shapes, squashing our bodies, twisting our limbs, and enlarging our heads. We step onto clear tiles. The plastic gives, going squishy as it fills with blood red liquid.
The haunting screams continue to grow louder as we move forward. The black light section plunges us all into darkness. Neon green triangles and squares are mingled with orange ovals and pink circles. A black and white circle swirls in the background.
A black shadow jumps forward. I clench my fist to keep from reacting. We clear the hallway, and the path turns to the left. Scenes play out in a viewing area. A mad scientist pulls the lever on a machine. Sparks fly. Frankenstein twitches on the operating table. My bracelet burns. We move to the next scene. A puddle of blood darkens the white floor, floods the metal table and the doctors in surgical scrubs and masks. The body strapped down jerks as the scalpel slices into flesh and they slowly peel it back. Oh my God! This is real!
Yes, it is. Steady, reina. We don’t want to alert them.
My body shakes. These people are being entertained by the torture and killing of a human being. Hoarse from screaming, and shifting into shock, the man on the table goes silent. Eyes wide, chest heaving, and mouth wide. His shallow pants are worse than the scream. That at least had fight behind it. This is surrender and acceptance. It’s the silent prelude to the end. The surgical masks obscuring their faces does nothing to conceal the maniacal joy shining in their eyes. The line continues, and we move to the next station. Unseeing, I can’t concentrate on anything but holding myself together.
“We can’t let them get away with this.”
“We won’t,” Cristobal says.
“How can we leave them here like this?”
“The panic we’d cause alerting everyone to the truth would create the perfect storm for them to escape.”
“I know. The greater good theory is a real bitch.”
He grips my neck, lending silent support.
“Are you guys doing that silent mind-meld thing?” Sacha touches her face in three places like Spock, and I burst out laughing.
“That’s not how it works,” I say between breaths.
“Well, I don’t know. That’s why I asked.” She shrugs and smiles bashfully.
“The others are positioned at all the exits. We’ll have them in custody tonight. I swear it to you.”
Cristobal wraps an arm around my waist, and we blend into the crowd.
***
I don’t like violence. I avoid it when at all possible. Still, I must admit to a sick sense of satisfaction watching Wallace and Ernest’s heads snap back under the extraction techniques. Marcellus and Luz are masterful, causing pain without overwhelming their body with damage. The cocky bastards never saw us coming. They’d walked to their car cracking jokes. One minute they’d been congratulating each other on a job well done, and the next, there was only darkness as I knocked them unconscious. We loaded them into the car and brought them down to the root cellar.
The evening is progressing every bit as slow as their intricate knife cuts.
“Are you ready to share what you know about your master?” Cristobal asks as he studies his fingernails.
Wallace spits out blood. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” Cristobal gives a mocking laugh. “He’s got you doing all his dirty work in exchange for what?”
“None of your business,” Ernest growls.
Cristobal moves faster than the eye can track. “You made it mine a while back. You haven’t cleaned behind yourself very well, gentleman.”
“It won’t matter when you see what’s coming.” Wallace scowls.
“Shut your gob,” Ernest barks.
“No, please enlighten us.” I walk over and place the toe of my boot onto the wooden chair he’s lashed to with rope. “Spill words before I let them start spilling your guts.” They remain stoic. I nod at Renee and Ruby. They rush forward; fangs extended, eyes on fire.
“You’re bluffing, bitch. You need us,” Ernest crows.
“Are you willing to bet on that?” I shove the edge of the chair hard and watch as he hits the ground. “You seem to think we won’t kill you if you don’t talk. I think the better question is, how will we kill you?” The blood drains from Ernest’s swollen face. I smile. “I’m hoping you don’t talk. ’Cause the last thing you deserve is an easy death.”
Wallace begins to hyperventilate.
“Careful, my love, you’re scaring the guests,” Cristobal says.
I’m angry, but I don’t feel rage. Outside of my emotions, I’m free to act however I see just. It’s unnatural feeling so disconnected with one’s self. Focused on the need to avenge the deaths of those I couldn’t save, I walk over to the prone man and place his throat under the heel of my boot. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t let them end your life.”
“Lou.” Sacha’s shaky voice draws my attention. The fear in her eyes wounds me. ‘You okay?’ she mouths.
I nod my head. It’s a lie. She just kept me from committing a grave mistake. I forgot myself, lost in the bloodlust.
“What the hell was that?” I ask Cristobal.
“A glimpse of what it’s like in our heads.”
I store the information to examine later. Right now I’m back in control.
“I didn’t hear an answer, Ernie.”
“Keep your mouth sh―” Wallace chokes on the rag Luz shoves into his mouth.
“Yes. By all means, remain loyal to the man who had you flay your friend alive when he couldn’t accomplish his task. I’m sure he’s the forgiving type, who won’t see your capture as a failure,” Cristobal says.
“It’s different,” Ernest insists.
“How sad for you,” I whisper. “You’ll walk into death for one who feels no loyalty toward you, and you’ll bring your friend with you.” I latch on to the fear in Wallace’s eyes and remove the rag from his mouth. “Final chance to speak.”
“Wh-what do you want to know?”
Wallace licks his split lip and hisses. Cowards always break and jump off sinking ships.
In the blink of an eye, Cristobal has Ernest upright. “This is your last chance. Talk,” Cristobal demands.
“He said he’d reward us for helping his people cross over into this world. We’d live like kings while others died. I’d get my family back. It’d be like the accident never happened. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my children. They never should’ve died.” His voice cracks.
“You’re going to live like kings with your family where? What you’re doing is creating a storm that’s going to do its damnedest to wipe this city of its map. Are their lives worth thousands of other ones?” Sacha asks.
“Yes,” Ernest whispers.
“So, you what? Skin seven people?” I wrinkle my nose.
“Not people, betrayers.”
It’s like looking at someone who’s been brainwashed.
“What happens afterward?” I ask.
“The box is complete,” Ernest grumbles.
“And the Djinn take over the world?” Sacha asks.
“Yes,” Wallace says softly.
“How do you stop it?” I question.
“You can’t,” Ernest says smugly.
“You ladies should step out while we handle the rest,” Cristobal politely dismisses us. I want to let him handle the dirty work. Turning a blind eye would be so easy right now. But if I did that, how would I be any different from them? I bow my head.
“I can’t.”
“Dove …”
“We can’t become them.”
“And what should we do instead? Human law has no jurisdiction in this matter.”
“Why not? They did kill a man. There will be prints and plenty of evidence.”
“Which will all disappear thanks to their miracle worker. The Djinn will see to them as he already has. Loose lips don’t sink ships, loose ends like these two do. I won’t risk us, so you can feel better. They’ve flayed who knows how many people alive. Some people are past the point of redemption, and we could never trust them. Are you willing to risk your family on the flimsy hope that they won’t retaliate later?”
“No.” Lying would be pointless, and immature. I’ve lost this battle. Everything he’s said was true. I can feel the approval of the court rushing up to side with him. They remain perplexed by my ability to hang on to my silly human notions.
“Come on, Sacha, let’s see if we’ve heard anything from the others while we’ve been here.” I ignore her questioning gaze. There are things that need to stay in the court.