"What’s that?" Elise asked.
I narrowly avoided rolling my eyes. She was a brilliant researcher sometimes, but occasionally the most basic stuff eluded her. She should know this, by now.
"Harm none," Harley summed up. "There were those who said Dana was more interested in the ‘do what thou wilt’ part of our creed than the part where we’re not supposed to hurt others doing it."
"Like Madge?" I ventured.
Harley cocked her head. "You know her?"
"I’ve heard her name," I hedged.
She was quiet for a moment, pouring herself a cup of tea. Finally, she said, "Madge is a character. She recently published a book of her own ritual practice. It’s fascinating stuff, but not terribly effective."
"What’s her full name?"
"Margaret Tisdale." Harley waited for me to take a note in my phone before continuing. "I’m sure she’ll be glad to talk to you about it. She’s always glad to talk."
Though there was no hint of sarcasm in Harley’s tone, I laughed anyhow. "I’ll bet."
"What about a guy called Ty?"
"Yes, he’s still a member. His whole family is."
"What’s his full name?"
She shook her head. "I don’t know that he’d want me to tell you. Madge, yes, but in general the coven values discretion. It’s not always easy for us, around here.
"I did find someone who’ll talk to you about Steven, though. His ex, George, is on the way over."
Welp, hard to complain about Ty, now, wasn’t it?
We ate some shortbread and asked a few more questions before George arrived. He was handsome in a nondescript sort of way: middle-aged, white, short, brown hair, brown eyes, button-down shirt. He entered the kitchen almost bashfully.
"How long did you two date?" I asked right off.
"A year, a little less," George replied. He slumped in his seat, the posture of a man used to trying not to be noticed. The cuff of his sleeve covered his tattoo, but he wore a red jasper Isis knot around his neck outside his shirt, the same as Harley did.
"We’ve read your letters to him," I thought it best to admit outright.
"What? How?" George frowned.
"They were found in the ceiling of his room at the Moonlight Motor Inn a few years ago. We just decoded them recently."
He shook his head. "Those are private."
"I know, and I apologize, but Steven’s spirit isn’t at rest. He needs closure, so we’re using every resource we can find."
George shifted in his chair. "I--I hate that thought. I’ll help however I can."
I felt like that was a lie. Like George was usually a genuine guy, but in this case, he was holding something back.
That did not bode well. Ex-lovers always made great suspects.
I asked, "Did you ever visit him at the Moonlight?"
He shook his head. "It was too far north. I always wondered what Dana was thinking, getting him a place all the way out there."
"Did she know the owners?"
"Not that I know of," George said, looking to Harley.
"I never heard anything about it," Harley replied.
"I just figured Steve was on some kind of retreat, you know? Back to nature, communing with the lakes, that kind of stuff. Dana was into that," George said.
After we poked and prodded at them more, and both insisted they had no idea where Steven had gotten off to without any of his meager belongings that night in 1985 (which was fair, since Harley had apparently been five at that time), we left. The second we were out the door, Elise said, "George is lying about something, right?"
I nodded. "Oh yeah. George is lying."
***
When I updated Adam on the goings-on, he insisted he had to come with me to meet witch-author Madge Tisdale, she of the verbose ritual letters. He got a cousin to watch the hotel for a night and came down to the Twin Cities for the meeting. I squeezed into his car, a tiny Honda with a racing stripe, and he grinned at me hugely. "It’s getting exciting."
"I… guess?" I replied, uncertain. Lying witches weren’t always good leads, but hey. Maybe?
"Come on, the closer we get to solving this, the closer we get to kissing," he pointed out.
"Don’t remind me," I grumbled.
"You’re so cute when you’re cranky."
I was not, but I just grunted and put the address into the GPS for him.
Madge, who reminded me of Molly Weasley if she smoked a lot of weed, was warm and welcoming, but definitely displayed that petty edge we’d picked up on in her letters to Steven, too. She signed copies of her ritual book to both of us and was elated to learn that Steven had saved her letters. "I’d love to see them again! Compare them to the book, that kind of thing. Just to see how much progress I’ve made."
"Sure, when we’re done with them, we’ll give them back," Adam offered.
"Who else did he have letters from?" she asked.
"Well, George, obviously," I replied, measuring my response carefully. If she was who I thought she was, I could use this. "Someone called Ty--we’re trying to figure out who he is now. A cop witch."
She nodded knowingly.
Okay, not giving that one up. Yet. Moving on, "And Dana, of course, the old head of your coven."
Her hand went to her own Isis pendant. "That bitch."
Yeah, this would do. "We did get the idea from your letters that you didn’t like her much."
Adam added, "That’s an understatement."
"I never did," Madge confided. "She was a power-hungry old cunt, and I was glad when she died."
"Fair enough," I said, trying not to look as amused as I was. I couldn’t meet Adam’s gaze; I had a feeling he was thinking the same thing. And one thing I’d say for Madge Tisdale, she was being upfront as hell just then. Not a whiff of deception off her. Witches were hard to read, and some of them blocked attempts entirely, but Madge wasn’t even bothered. "Power-hungry how?"
"Adjusting the rituals, taking them to ugly places. She had her little sect of followers who went to her special rituals. That kind of thing."
"Guessing you weren’t one of them," I said.
She snorted. "I wouldn’t have gone if she’d asked me."
That felt a little like a lie, but whatever. This was a good opening: "Was Steven one of them?"
"Probably." Madge seemed to consider. "He was new. Eager to learn. Sucked up knowledge like he’d always been thirsty. It’s possible she preyed on that."
I bit my tongue before I could suggest she’d done the same--she’d certainly enjoyed imparting her own brand of witchiness to the young, eager Steven. But being overzealous wasn’t taking advantage, and it was clear Steven had wanted to hear what Madge had to say. And Dana, for that matter. "Why do you say she preyed on it?"
"Why else, dear? She obviously sacrificed him. How else would he have disappeared?"
***
After that chat, Adam and I needed a drink. Out of politeness, we invited Madge to come with us when she asked where we were headed, but she declined, thankfully. We ordered some beers in the nearest dive and sat staring into them like crystal balls.
"Is it possible?" Adam asked after a few long moments of silence.
"There’d still be a body," I pointed out.
"I mean, maybe there is. Did he show you anything about his body?"
I considered. "I don’t think so, no. Fuck. I need to talk to him again."
"Can I help?" he asked. "I mean, like, with protecting you somehow?"
I shook my head. "You might have to pick me up after, though."
"I like rescuing you," he reminded me. Another pause as I smiled to myself, and then he asked, "What were the other witches like? The leader of the coven and stuff?"
"I liked her," I admitted. "You should check them out--if it turns out they’re not secretly sacrificing members."
We finished our drink and headed back down the street to get into his car, but the sudden whoop of a siren made us both jump. I grabbed his hand and d
ucked into a side alley, and he followed willingly. We stood, breathing hard, backs to the brick wall and shoulder to shoulder. Hands interlaced.
He smelled good, like leather and shaving cream. His skin was clear and beautiful in the street light. His eyes took on an inky quality, swirling as if the black had swallowed up every color in the universe.
He caught my gaze. Smiled. Leaned forward just a little, so his breath was warm and beery against my cheek.
I licked my lips. He watched. My skin prickled. Fuck, he was hot. Why was I even--?
"Wait," he said. "Why are we hiding?"
"I don’t know," I admitted. "It might just be an automatic reaction to authority figures? Or…maybe I picked up on someone looking for us."
"I thought you talked to dead people?"
"My guides help me out with living people, sometimes."
"What guides?"
"See, I have these--"
"Hey," said an unfamiliar, deep voice that was definitely not Grandpa Abe.
Adam and I started and separated, our hands dropping. Mine felt cold, of a sudden.
A large police officer stepped into the alley. "You Courtland and Adam?"
"Uhh… yes?" I replied. Adam winced.
"Madge said you guys just came here. I wanted to talk to you. About Steve." The cop pulled a cord out of his uniform collar to reveal a red jasper Isis knot.
Because, of course, this was Ty, aka Tyrone Bennet, our fourth witchy witness/suspect. He invited us back into the bar, where he ordered a Coke and bought the two of us another beer.
Then he got to the point: "I can’t prove anything. I talked to the detectives up in Cross Lake who were heading up the investigation, and they told me everything, but there was never any proof."
"You have an idea of what happened, though?" I guessed. "Since it’s still an open case, we can’t get anything from the police."
"Steve was my friend. I kind of took him under my wing when he joined up. I was only a year or two older, but he felt like a son." Ty frowned into his pop.
Adam opened his mouth to ask a question, but I reached under the table and gave his knee a squeeze. Let him talk.
Adam closed his mouth. He looked a little smirky. I pulled my hand back and into my own lap, uncertain what to do with it, now. Goddammit.
Ty looked up and caught my gaze, jaw set. "Police-work wise, I didn’t see anything. But witch-wise, I know Dana suddenly got more powerful after Steve disappeared."
"Madge suggested a sacrifice." I still wasn’t convinced by that. It sounded outlandish.
Ty grimaced. "I want to say no, but I know what I saw."
"We need to get to that body." It was the only way. For all I knew, Ty had killed or even sacrificed Steven McGuffy himself and was trying to put the blame on someone already dead. His version did bear out their letters, at least, but still. Dana’s letters hadn’t been murderous either. And then there was jealous, petty Madge, who seemed like the type to ignore qualms in pursuit of social power. And then that jumpy ex, George…
And that wasn’t even getting started with Steven’s family and friends from outside the coven.
"So do we," Ty said with a snort. "And his amulet. When a witch dies, they’re buried with it."
Good to know. "I’ll talk to him again. Maybe he’ll tell me where his bones are."
Ty nodded. "Tell him I miss him. I pray for him every day."
"We’ll tell him," I said.
Adam bumped my knee with his. I realized I’d said, "we".
Goddammit.
***
Elise made more calls the next day, covering the family and friends angles. It was true that Steven had been estranged from his family at the time, but it had apparently been very painful for them, and they were trying to locate him to patch things up when he disappeared. Elise thought they were a dead-end, and frankly, I did too, considering how shady the Coven of Isis had been in the 80s. And for all I knew, still was.
I spent the day meditating, preparing my body and mind for another attempt at communicating with the spirits of the Moonlight Motor Inn. I was always thorough, but this time I donned my spiritual armor with even more fixed intention than usual. Sharp focus was key, and I had it.
It helped that Adam was two hours away in his haunted motel, I’m sure. That impish smile of his haunted my dreams, but what could I do but use it as fuel? Getting to make out with him was a light at the end of what had become a very long, very dark tunnel. Yeah, I wanted to help poor Steven, but a little bonus never hurt anyone.
The next day, Elise and I went for dinner at a local vegan place--she was into that and I’m good with all food--and then headed north. We arrived an hour after sundown, pulling into the neon glow of the Moonlight Motor Inn just on schedule. The light in the office was on, but the two rows of rooms were dark and quiet, as arranged. Adam was in the office but agreed to stay there while we worked.
This time, I crossed the lot to the row of rooms that started with 102. Just like last time, the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and my skin tingled with the leftover energies swirling through the place. I took a deep breath, found my center, and we entered 102. It wasn’t the room I expected to have the most activity, but it was next door. Not to mention people had bailed out of almost every room at the Moonlight, claiming paranormal drama.
It was just a room, plain and neat, crappy artwork and warm colors. The carpet was old but well kept. I left quickly, steeling myself for 104.
"He’s not here," I said. There was residue of someone, but it was a frantic woman. She was one of the silent, black and white film imprints, a leftover with no sentience, so there was no communicating with her. She paced back and forth, saying over and over, "The circle, the circle, the circle…"
"I think the residual haunt here is related," I said.
Elise ducked near the door and plucked at the edge of the carpet. As promised, Adam had come through earlier and cut the carpet edges so it could be rolled up. The bed was shoved into one corner with all the furniture, making the room lopsided.
I squatted on the other end of the room, and we rolled back the carpet and dusty padding to reveal the floorboards. In the very center of the room, we started to see faded chalk markings. We kept going until an entire circle was revealed--a summoning circle, just like Steven’s ghost had showed me. It was smeared and half-destroyed with age and wear, but it was still enough to know it wasn’t a good thing. Whatever someone--the ghost in the corner?--had been summoning, it had been evil.
"Well, fuck," I said.
"Is that bad?" Elise asked. "It looks bad. I don’t know why, but I don’t like it."
"It’s super bad," I assured her.
Sometimes, with enough desperation involved, a sacrifice could be used to convince demons to work for you. Even if they were fucking irritated that you dared to summon them. They could rarely resist a little torture and pain and blood. I’d worked with enough demonologists to know that much.
"Who’s the residual?" she asked, taking notes on her phone with lightning speed, as usual.
"I can’t say. A woman, maybe early thirties. I could believe 1980s, but my perception is skewed there right now. She keeps talking about the circle, just muttering. I think she’s the one who made it." The dangers of knowing shit before I walked into this room.
"Got it." A pause. "Is it Dana?"
"Don’t." I’d been trying to avoid that thought so hard, too. So hard not to jump to conclusions when I knew too much. Dammit.
"Sorry, sorry. I can’t help it."
"Yeah, I know. Same. Come on, let’s go next door. Adam found all the old ledgers and confirmed 106 was Steven’s room." I turned and strode out, taking a few more calming, cleansing breaths, just focusing on it. The energy was so taut, so electric, that my stomach felt like it was vibrating.
Steven was waiting for me, sitting on the bed in his old room. I held up my hands and shook my head, thinking, Don’t do it, man. Just talk to me. I’m this close to finding ou
t who did this.
You know who did this, he replied.
A face flashed in my mind: the woman whose residual energy haunted room 104. Is it Dana?
Of course, it’s fucking Dana. Steven’s energy swirled, invisible but strong enough to force me backward a few steps.
"You okay?" Elise asked from beside me.
"He’s here. Okay for now, though. He says next door was Dana, and she’s the one responsible for killing him."
"Fuck." Her phone lit up as she started to type.
Steven flashed out of my vision, then suddenly stood a foot before me, his energy beating at my front like waves against the beach. I swayed but refused to back up again. I’m here to help.
They took my letters and then they wouldn’t listen.
Your letters are safe. We’ll give them back to the people who wrote them if you want.
He considered. His anger waned briefly.
I took a deep, grateful breath, re-steeling myself. This ghost was fucking exhausting, and I still couldn’t blame him. His mentor and priestess had apparently fucked him up to make a deal with some goddamn demon, and he’d been so disconnected from the world outside the coven at the time that no one had been able to help.
I tried, Can you tell me where your body is? You need closure. A proper burial.
I need them to KNOW WHAT SHE DID.
The words, or rather the psychic impressions of them, rattled around in my skull like an empty cave. I grabbed my head, and Elise moved nearer. She asked, "Do we need to get you--"
"It’s okay," I said quickly. It wasn’t but I had to do this. They will, I tried to assure Steven. I swear they will. But we need to find you.
The lot outside. North. She called him from the north, she left me at the north. SHE LEFT ME AT THE NORTH.
I staggered back and used my arms to focus my energy in his general direction, pushing him away simultaneously. The spirit retreated to the bed again, muttering under his breath. My head rang with his outburst. "He’s in the parking lot. North side."
"Oh, thank god." Elise kept taking notes.
But not my Isis knot, Steven muttered.
I backed out of the room, barely keeping to my feet, and Elise closed the door behind us. I focused, sealing the door with energy as best I could, depleted like I was. I didn’t even have the energy to speak, so I just started toward the office to let Adam know we were done.
Witchy Boys: The Complete Collection Page 14