The flush of shame made Sonja snappish. “I doubt that.”
“Why shouldn’t I be? I understand what’s happening better than you do.”
Another flare of temper hit Sonja, but she smothered it down. “All right. What is it you know? I’m hoping you didn’t just call to get under my skin.”
“I know about the Heart of Darkness. And I know a woman named Teresa Espina has it here in Tacoma.”
That cooled Sonja’s temper to a lump of ice. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“How would you know that?”
Cameron touched Sonja’s arm, brow lined with concern, and mouthed the words, “The light is green.” Sonja pressed the accelerator to drive through the intersection before the cars behind her complained.
“How I know is why I called. I’ve had an unexpected situation crop up, and I’m fairly certain you’ll have the answer I need. Do you know a man named Cameron Roswell?”
Sonja glanced at the passenger seat. “He’s here with me.”
Cameron caught the look and pointed toward a parking lot. He had the right idea. She’d already missed one light change. Next time, she might end up T-boned in an intersection when she failed to notice a light had gone red. She pulled into an empty place and threw the Humvee into park as the conversation continued.
“Convenient. I know you don’t like me, Carter, and I’m honest enough with myself to realize you’ve got plenty of reason not to. But you and your friend need to come see me as soon as you can get here.”
“It’s obvious you have information. Why don’t you tell me over the phone and save me the drive?”
“Because I can’t. I mean that literally. The information that the Heart is in Tacoma came from something I summoned. Possibly the strangest summons I’ve ever experienced. The, ah, the entity I called promised he knew more. ‘Everything’ is the word he used. But he’ll only give the information to a werewolf named Cameron Roswell.”
“That’s odd. More than odd. Did this entity give you a name?”
“Oh yes, freely. Another oddity, since I usually need to compel the names out of them. He said his name was Paul Kiplinger.”
Sonja almost dropped her phone. “What? Are you shitting me right now?”
“I am shit free. I believe him, Sonja. Once he told me, I did my homework, because I do not live under a rock. I know who Paul Kiplinger is. Will you come?”
“We’ll be right there. If you’re putting me on...”
“Then you can escort me to the state line yourself. Please hurry. He didn’t give me the impression that we’ve got the luxury of time.”
Sonja disconnected the call and all but pitched her phone onto the dashboard so she could slam the vehicle into drive. The ramifications of the discussion had started to seep in past the initial dismay and irritation. As she thought about it, she decided she’d take the irritation over the creeping sense of concern. Or the urgency that prompted her to use a heavier foot on the accelerator than she intended.
Or the shameful, slavish wash of relief that they might have found a bit of hope. In a near-exiled magic slinger the locals had sworn never to acknowledge.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?” Cameron asked, once Sonja had gotten them back on the road. “Who was on the phone?”
“Her name is Lindsey Hodges. She’s one of the local magic practitioners.”
“Can’t say I’ve heard of her.”
“You wouldn’t have. None of the others would have talked about her. She’s an outcast in the community.”
Cameron frowned. “Outcast? I thought the witches in the area were pretty welcoming.”
“They are, for the most part. Lindsey’s an exception. The sort of magic she practices is frowned upon.” Sonja wondered if she’d find an award for understatements waiting in her mailbox when she got home. That statement deserved one.
“What the hell does she do?”
“She’s an evoker.” Sonja glanced over to catch Cameron’s gaze. “A summoner. Once upon a time, it’s said evokers could call demons.”
Cameron blinked. “Fuck me.”
Sonja turned her attention back to the road. “Exactly. Not just demons, though. If it’s dead, mostly dead, or comes from the mysterious ‘somewhere else’, a good evoker can probably scrape one up. They’re some of the undisputed masters of ritual magic, because you can’t just invite odd shit from the realms beyond into your living room.”
Cameron had a knack for seeing to the heart of matters. “It sounds like we should have asked her about what happened at Glenn’s house before now.”
Sonja sighed. “Maybe. The truth is, I don’t trust her. No one does. The energy witches use changes them. It’s part of them. When someone’s channeling that kind of power... It can affect their judgement. I couldn’t have told you if she would try to stop what was happening, or if she’d get a bowl of popcorn so she could sit back and watch the show.”
“She’s that bad?”
“She’s complicated. We were good friends. I liked her.” Sonja couldn’t lie to him. Not even to save a bit of face.
“Liked. Past tense.”
“Until she started summoning again. Staying around that kind of magic isn’t good for you.” She couldn’t lie, but she didn’t have to tell all the truth, either. Until she dangled temptation in front of me and I almost took the bait. “A lot of witches wanted her run out of Tacoma. The local practitioners tried to reach a consensus on what to do with her after she got back into it. They couldn’t. So Lindsey stays in town. She’s just shunned.”
Cameron grunted. “That’s not too far off from what werewolves do. You remember Todd. So why’d Lindsey call you?”
“Because she summoned herself up a mystery.” Sonja merged into the fast lane on the freeway.
“I thought witches couldn’t use magic with the shadow shit everywhere.”
“Summoners are a whole different game. They use other sources of power, and they use energy differently. It’s possible she’s been empowered by it all.” She tried to keep the disgust out of her voice. Even if she didn’t know summoning herself, she still knew enough to find the practice off-putting. “The mystery she summoned up asked for you by name.”
“How the hell would it know to do that?”
“It says it’s Paul Kiplinger.”
The seat creaked as Cameron turned more fully to look at her. “The fuck did you just say? She summoned Kiplinger? Is that even possible?”
“Theoretically.” Sonja pursed her lips as she worked through the problem in her head. “Paul Kiplinger died. He was very invested in this place, so his spirit might have lingered. Evokers and spiritualists like to debate what happens to vampires after they shuffle off that pesky mortal coil at last, especially old ones. Not enough of them kick off to study in detail, though. But Lindsey said this thing she summoned not only asked for you by name, it mentioned Teresa Espina and the Heart of Darkness.”
“So if it’s not him, it’s a damn good imposter.” Cameron sat back in his seat. “This isn’t good, is it, Sunny.”
“It’s sort of hard to say. I’m inclined to say nothing involving Paul Kiplinger is good.” Or Lindsey. I could have gone a lifetime without seeing her again. Even the road out here had too many memories for Sonja’s liking.
Driving with the sun in her eyes, the light turning the road in front of her a bloody red. The mix of anxious hope and terrible trepidation in her gut, churned to a froth by desperation, better than motion sickness for inducing nausea. Asking herself, over and over, if she was going too far, or if too far even existed in her mind now—
“Sunny? Did you hear what I just said?”
Sonja blinked. “No. I’m sorry, Cam. I was distracted. What did I miss?”
“I asked if she knew what Kiplinger wanted with me.”
“He said he knows everything about what’s happening, but he’ll only tell you. His words.”
Cameron gave her a last, lingering look,
then turned his eyes forward to watch the road. “Wonder what his game is. He probably wants to gloat.”
“We’ll find out.” After a moment, she added, “I do trust Lindsey not to waste our time. If he just wants to gloat, she won’t put up with that. Evokers can’t afford dominance games.”
“Guess summoned whatevers don’t go around pissing on trees to mark territory.” He smirked over at her.
“Not so much. Pissing on corpses, maybe. Probably even inanimate ones.”
“They could piss on vampires if they wanted.” Cameron reached out to rest a hand on her leg. “You all right? I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you space out while driving before.”
“I try not to.” The urge to brush off the question, tell him everything was fine, or that she was just thinking about what they needed to do prodded her. He would believe her, or at least would let it go.
But that isn’t what “let’s keep each other around” means, is it. You owe him better than that. Not to mention yourself.
“Lindsey and I were friends, before my werewolf days. Probably best friends. When she slid back into summoning, I took it pretty hard.” She wetted her lips with the tip of her tongue. “When I say evocation affects you, I mean it. There’s not much you can’t do if you want it badly enough. It’s too tempting. She made me a couple offers I almost couldn’t refuse. So I cut contact. All you have to do is slip once before you do things you’ll hate yourself for forever.”
“Or won’t hate yourself for, and wish you did.” Cameron squeezed her leg. “If it bothers you, you don’t have to come. I know you’ll say you do, but I wanted you to know.”
Just like that, she remembered why she wanted to keep him around. “Thanks, Cam. But you’re right. I need to do this. For a lot of reasons.”
“Then let’s step on it. Today’s damn busy as it is.”
She stepped on it. It didn’t pay to keep a dead man waiting.
Lindsey lived near the coast on a decent parcel of land. Sonja had wondered more than once how many of the larger, more isolated plots in the area belonged to uncanny sorts of all stripes. Werewolves who wanted space to howl in, witches who didn’t want neighbors blundering into magical workings, even the occasional vampire who didn’t mind a long drive into the city’s nightlife sought out the prime real estate on the fringes. Sonja could feel the prickles of dark, cloying energy as they pulled up the driveway, still fresh from the ritual she assumed Lindsey had performed.
Cameron could feel it, too. His lip curled. “I’m starting to see why you decided to leave this woman behind. This place feels unnatural.”
“Lindsey will tell you it’s natural, just not according to nature as you understand it.” Sonja killed the engine. “Then you’ll want to wring her neck, so take my advice. Skip bringing it up.”
The front door swung open. Her old friend looked just like Sonja remembered, with her mousy brown hair caught up in a messy twist and her baggy sweatshirt emblazoned with some snarky saying. Lindsey didn’t look like a woman who could call nightmares into salt circles. But Sonja had seen her do it, and didn’t look forward to watching that again.
“That heap still makes as much noise as I remember,” Lindsey called as she stepped onto the porch. “Haven’t you heard of environmentally friendly electronic vehicles that don’t sound like portable earthquakes?”
“I like my car, Lindsey,” Sonja called back. The door slammed too hard under her hand.
“Suit yourself. I don’t have to drive it. No Charlie?”
“He’s at home.” Sonja had left the dog there ostensibly to keep Peter company. In truth, she didn’t have the heart to endanger him by bringing him into the city. Not today.
Lindsey’s gaze shifted to Cameron. “This is Cameron Roswell, then? You’re not what I expected.”
Cameron closed his car door. “What did you expect?”
“Someone smaller and more weaselly. More likely to associate with the bit of slime I summoned a couple hours ago. Come on, then. We are burning daylight, and I would prefer to use it as leverage.” Lindsey turned on her bare heel to head back into the house.
“I’m not what I’d call an associate of Kiplinger’s,” Cameron said as they followed the diabolist inside.
“He seemed to think you were,” Lindsey said over her shoulder. “That one was very keen to speak to you. I tried a bit of light compulsion to drag information out of him, but he resisted it. After that, I decided I ought to call Sonja instead of forcing the issue.”
“That was thoughtful of you,” Sonja said, and meant it. Compelling an entity to speak could break it. Broken beings couldn’t tell anyone what they knew.
Lindsey snorted. “Not really. I was too curious about what would happen when Cameron there showed up to ruin the possibility of seeing it.”
The words didn’t ring true to Sonja’s ear. Lindsey had an insatiable curiosity, one that had gotten her into plenty of trouble, but Sonja knew that tone. A bit of guilt and friendship hidden behind a prickly exterior. Lindsey still cared enough to call Sonja about an important piece of information, no matter how much she would disapprove. It didn’t make the complicated knot of emotion at the pit of her stomach any less complex.
Lindsey’s house had always felt very impersonal to Sonja. The décor tended toward bland, like the homes pictured in the placeholder photos found in new frames. Closer to an artificial ideal than a lived-in space, an edifice a person could walk into and out of without leaving a mark on the world to show they’d ever been there. Precise, stereotypical neatness sat at odds with Lindsey’s slapdash appearance, which itself sat at odds with Lindsey’s avocation.
She lived a disjointed life Sonja had never understood. Did she separate her personal space from the horrific landscapes evocation gave her insights into? Or did she feel so alienated from normal human existence that she didn’t know how to decorate a space that actually felt real? Or does she actually like it this way? Sonja wondered as she wandered by a two-dollar vase filled with daisies. Lindsey had always laughed when Sonja asked. She’d never understood that answer, either.
No graphic designer worth their salary would have put pictures of Lindsey’s backyard into a picture frame. It looked like an industrial space, or a prison, starting with the eight-foot brick wall that surrounded it. Sparse weeds grew around the base of the fence, all of them with thorns Sonja didn’t think usual cultivars of those plants possessed.
Only a thin strip of dirt remained to sprout those spiny bushes, because Lindsey had filled much of the area with a concrete slab. Already, a complicated circle drawn in salt occupied the grey square, with runes and whorls Sonja didn’t recognize. But she knew the charred steel bowl that sat at the head of the geometric construction. She’d given it to Lindsey one Winter Solstice, when the bowl had still shone enough to use for scrying.
At least she’s still getting use out of it. The thought didn’t bring Sonja much comfort.
The gutter of dirt had a reddish hue and the distinct scent of still-wet blood. A damp hose off to one side said she’d recently washed the space down before she reset it for another ritual, but the aroma remained. It prickled at the back of Sonja’s throat and turned her stomach.
Sonja could see Cameron struggle to keep his expression neutral. “Not much of a gardener, are you, Miss Hodges.”
“Lindsey is fine. Circles drawn in the soil are imprecise, and dirt is absorbent. Neither is a quality I want in my summoning space.” Lindsey gestured toward the circle. “Every line in that has meaning. Most of them mean ‘keep the object of the summoning from consuming my immortal soul’. Very important to get right.”
“If they’re so bad, why do you summon them at all?” Cameron asked.
“Sonja’s car could blow up or fall apart at any given moment. Why do you ride in it?” As she talked, Lindsey crossed the slab to open an ice chest. She pulled out what looked like a gallon of red fruit juice. Sonja knew better.
“The Humvee’s not too likely to explode, and it
gets me where I want to go,” Cameron said.
“You’ve summed up why I do what I do,” Lindsey said. “Acceptable risk, as long as I’m careful. And it gets me where I want to go.”
Cameron didn’t let it drop. “Where do you want to go?”
Lindsey just chuckled and opened the bottle. “You’re adorable. I understand what she sees in you.”
Blood oozed from the lip of the plastic jug and into the bowl. Cameron’s fists clenched, knuckles white. “That’s human blood. I can smell it.”
The evoker spared a glance at him. “Of course it is. Human blood has the most energy in it. Sonja, didn’t you explain this to him?”
Irritation flared hot, until Sonja heard the undercurrent of hurt in Lindsey’s voice. It cooled in the wake of the slow realization that Lindsey still cared what Sonja thought. “Remember when I said evokers use a different well of energy? One of them is life force. Blood is a source of that.”
It didn’t mollify him. “You couldn’t use your own?”
“Absolutely not! Never give an entity your own energy. They will use it against you, if they don’t outright use the connection it creates to take you over. And as it happens, this blood was willingly given.” Lindsey tapped the side of the jug. “Not compelled, and not stolen. Certainly not taken by force. That’s more than I want to deal with.”
“Deal with?” Cameron asked.
Lindsey held the hand with the jug out to indicate it as an example. “You know how different alcohols have different proofs? Blood sacrifices are the same way. Blood given willingly has plenty of energy in it, but the energy is pleasant. Easy to control, easy to use. Like a nice rum and soda. But blood taken by force?” She held out the other hand to indicate another example. “More like raw vodka made in someone’s backyard. Difficult to predict, difficult to control, and will probably eat away the lining of your stomach. Or the paint off a car. A lot of energy, but dangerous.”
Cameron nodded. “That tracks with what we know about the sacrifices that fucked up all the energy in the area. What’s the bowl for?”
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