Moonshine: Phantom Queen Book 11—A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries)

by Shayne Silvers

  “Don’t rush backstage,” Leo whispered over his shoulder, perhaps thinking the same thing. “Once we get up there, look for any evidence of the spell. And keep an eye out for traps.”

  Thankfully, we made it all the way to the stage without being molested, though I couldn’t imagine the creak of the floorboards beneath our feet would go unnoticed for long. With that in mind, I took a chance and left the others to investigate the stage while I crept to the far end where the curtain met the wall, took hold of its heavy material, and opened a gap large enough to spy through.

  At first, all I could make out were stage props and costumes shoved into the wings, a ladder leaning against the far wall, and an array of ropes attached to a pulley system. The lights were dimmed, which meant the actors had likely retired elsewhere. In fact, I was about to say as much to Leo and the others when I spotted a furtive gesture beyond a rack of cloaks.

  It was the Fairy Queen—or at least the actress who had played her—speaking adamantly to a curly-haired man with his back turned towards me. At first, it appeared they were arguing. But then the man lunged forward and planted a deep, spine-bowing kiss upon his fair-haired companion. She melted into him, her damaged dress falling open at the bust, and for a second, I seriously considered closing the curtain to give them some privacy.

  Thankfully, I didn’t.

  Because it was at that precise moment the actress tugged at the man’s mane of hair and pried him from her lips, revealing his face to the light. Her lover barked a laugh that gave me chills, his uncommonly large eyes shining with mirth, the tips of his ears poking out further from the curls of his hair than should have been humanly possible.

  But then, Liam the Gancanagh wasn’t human.

  Before I could even begin to wonder what he was doing here of all places—let alone decide whether or not to confront him—the Faeling said something to the actress and backed away impishly, his hands held out in surrender, only to disappear so thoroughly into the shadowed recesses of the theater it was as if he‘d never been there at all.

  “Quinn?”

  A hand settled on my shoulder, causing me to jerk and curse. I whirled to find Max holding up both hands, inadvertently mirroring Liam’s body language from a moment ago. He shuffled backwards, likely startled by whatever it was he saw on my face.

  “Liam was here,” I whispered, gesturing backstage. “Just now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to answer before the actress called out from backstage in a heavy Slavic accent.

  “Who is there?” she asked. “The show is over. You should not be here.”

  Alarmed by the sound of her bare feet approaching, I scrambled to rise while the others peeled themselves away from whatever they’d been investigating. In seconds, we were all standing rather casually in front of the seam between the two curtains, angled so that Leo could present his badge the moment the actress poked her head out.

  “Agent Jeffries, ma’am. FBI.” Leo practically beamed at her, apparently hoping to charm his way out of the situation. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind answering some questions.”

  The blonde barely glanced at the badge before coolly sizing up the rest of us. I realized in that moment that the actress I’d mistaken for a classic ingenue—essentially an impressionable young lady with unprecedented talent and outrageous good looks—was in fact a self-assured woman in her mid-thirties, her face coated in so many layers of stage makeup that I couldn’t decide where the cosmetics ended and her face began.

  “As a matter of fact,” she replied, “I would mind.”

  “Oh? And why’s that, Miss…”

  “My name is none of your business. Neither is what goes on in theater. So, unless you wish to buy tickets to tomorrow’s show, I do not see reason for you or your companions to be here.”

  “Well, I’m afraid I have to disagree with you, there.” Leo slapped the wallet shut and slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans. “See, I have good reason to suspect a crime was committed somewhere in this establishment. So, I’d appreciate it if you could point me to someone in charge. The stage manager, for example. Or whoever owns this theater.”

  “You wish to speak to owner?” The actress slipped between the curtain to join us on the stage. This close, I could tell the juice stains and the tears on her dress had been strategically placed, and that the body beneath it was corded with lean muscle. “Well? I am listening.”

  “You own this theater and star in the production?”

  “It cuts down on cost of running show,” she replied, acerbically. “Now, what is business about a crime?”

  “I’ll get to that in a moment,” Leo said, switching tactics. “But first, I’d like to ask you about those robes your dancers were wearing.”

  “What about them?”

  “Would it be fair to say they are all accounted for?”

  “I would have to check with costume designer to know for sure.”

  “But she would be able to tell if you were short one? And would she know whose robe it was, if so?”

  “I do not see why not. We keep good records here.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Is your costume designer in the building, by chance?”

  “No, she will not be back until tomorrow morning. Why do you ask this?”

  “Because we have a corpse in the morgue who was, I believe, wrapped up in one of your performer’s robes when he died.”

  “One of our robes? Forgive me, I do not understand...” The actress shook her head and opened her mouth to say more but was cut off by the slam of a door being thrown open and a familiar voice bellowing above the din.

  “Angelika! What are you doing talking to these people?”

  A plainclothes Sheriff Watt came puffing down the aisle, his good arm held out for balance as he rushed the stage. The other was in a sling and a soft cast, and seeing it reminded me how lucky I’d been that Deputy Holt had talked his boss out of pressing charges. Unfortunately, by the time the sorry bastard reached us the woman he’d called Angelika had recovered both her composure and her haughty attitude.

  “I was telling them to come back with warrant if they wish to know more about our costumes,” Angelika said, crossing both arms in defiance.

  “Does that mean you’re certain the body isn’t one of your performers?” Leo asked. “Because if it was one of my people who got hurt, I’d want to know.”

  Angelika’s eyes widened as though that possibility hadn’t occurred to her.

  “Don’t tell them anything, Angelika,” Watt snarled. “They’re a bunch of fucking snakes who shouldn’t even be here.”

  “Sheriff Watt!” Angelika snapped. “Do I come to your office and tell you how to do job? No, I did not think so.”

  To all of our surprise, Watt muttered an apology.

  “Thank you. Now, perhaps you could show these people the door? Then you can come back and tell me what you are doing here.”

  “That’s alright,” Lakota chimed in, pulling at Leo’s elbow. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

  Leo started to protest, but one look at Lakota’s face was all it took to convince him to stand down; the Seer flicked crazy eyes in Angelika’s direction, mouthing a word that only I and he could see. A word that raised a whole hell of a lot of questions.

  And that word was...witch.

  Chapter 29

  To my surprise, Max was the first to speak once we made it to the relative safety of the parking lot. The brujo leaned over the top of the car to address the group, his voice so hushed we had to crowd in to hear him over the sounds of vehicles whizzing past. Fortunately, ours was the only car in the lot aside from Watt’s cruiser, which meant our discussion about being emotionally violated by magic wasn’t likely to be overheard by passersby.

  “I know you have no reason to listen to what I have to say,” he began, haltingly. “But I believe I know what magic was being cast back there, and how it may be tied to the case you are i
nvestigating. What I cannot say is for what purpose any of it was done.”

  Leo and Lakota shared a look.

  “I picked up a few things in there,” the Seer said, shrugging, “but nothing that gets us any closer to solving this case.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s more than I’ve got,” Leo confessed. “I can’t stand watching live theater. Too many lies masquerading as truths. It’s like watching television with the volume on the fritz. Anyway, we’re all ears, Señor.”

  “Gracias.” Max dipped his chiseled chin in gratitude. “First, the spell cast on the audience. I believe glamour was heavily involved, and that it was responsible for manipulating our emotions. I would not have thought it possible, but Quinn and I have felt something very similar before, and recently. And we have reason to believe that is no coincidence.”

  “Aye,” I chimed in, picking up on the brujo’s cue. “When I snuck a look backstage, I saw a Faelin’ we know makin’ out with the owner. His name is Liam, and he’s a Gancanagh.”

  “A what?” Leo asked.

  “He is a creature of Fae,” Max answered. “A love-talker, or seducer.”

  “Like a succubus? Or would that be an incubus?” I can never seem to keep them straight.” Leo looked to Lakota for clarity, but the Seer simply shrugged in response.

  “Querido Dios, no.” Max shuddered. “The Gancanagh is no dream-walker, though his glamour is unusually strong. Far more powerful, in fact, than I would have thought possible.”

  “The witch was the same,” Lakota said. “I couldn’t tell how strong she was at first, but when she blew up at Watt she lit up like the Fourth of July. You think it had something to do with the ritual they were performing? I mean, using all that magic to sell tickets...somehow, I doubt it. Maybe if this was Vegas.”

  “Sí, it makes very little sense. But, if you think about it, I do not believe the ritual was designed to take anything from the audience. You saw them after. They left feeling energized and happy.”

  “I wasn’t energized, or happy,” Lakota countered, glancing at each of us in turn. “How about you all?”

  “No,” Max agreed, “but that is because we fought it. If we had not, I do not think the spell would have caused us such distress. In fact, I believe it was what we call white magic.”

  “Hold on,” I cut in, “are ye sayin’ ye t’ink whatever’s goin’ on in there is innocent?”

  “Not entirely,” Max replied. “White magic is neither good, nor bad. Just as black magic can be used for good or evil, so too can white magic. The difference between the two is not ethics, but whether natural or unnatural energy is being channeled.”

  “You mean like scrying versus divination,” Leo said, his expression thoughtful. “My grandmother explained the difference between them to me, once. She said scrying was like searching for a tune on the radio, whereas divination was like calling up a station and demanding they play your song.”

  Max barked a laugh. “I think I would have liked your abuela, Señor Jeffries. And yes, it is a good example.”

  “Fair enough,” I acknowledged. “But then what makes that spell white magic, as opposed to black?”

  “It used the natural energy in the room,” Max explained. “Our fear, our excitement. It may have amplified them, but that is all. Except that brings us back to the earlier question. What is the point? If money is not their goal, and neither is fame, then why bother with the ritual at all?”

  The rest of us exchanged uncertain glances.

  “It gives them a willing victim,” Max explained. “And not just any victim, either. Remember when the spell called on us to rise? How hard it was to resist? Do you think most people would be able to stay in their seats if the same were happening to them?”

  “Freaks,” Lakota said, snapping her fingers. “That’s why the castle was so alluring to us! The ritual isn’t designed to siphon power, it’s designed to identify it.”

  “And not only power,” Max added. “But nobility. Purity. A willingness to sacrifice oneself for the good of others. Which just so happens to be the ideal traits you look for in a human sacrifice.”

  That shut us all up.

  “And what would you know about sacrificing people, Mr. Velez?” Leo asked after several heartbeats, his tone downright menacing.

  “I used to work for someone who dabbled in such things,” Max admitted, refusing to meet the elder man’s gaze. “It was not by choice.”

  “And is your former employer still killing people?”

  “No, he is dead and cannot hurt anyone else.” Max shot me a grateful look. “Thanks to Quinn.”

  “Oh?” Leo swung all that negative energy my way. “Do you have something to tell me?”

  I glared at Max with the same look you’d level at a friend for outing you to your parents for having a party in their house while they were out of town. “Well, Leo, that depends.”

  “On?”

  “On whether the FBI’s jurisdiction extends to Atlantis?” I said, turning it into a question.

  Leo opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again before rubbing his forehead like he had a headache. “Only person alive...crazy ass life…” I thought I heard him mutter under his breath. “Fucking Atlantis...give me a freaking break…”

  “Wait, Leo,” Lakota said as she reached out to grab his arm. “He said they could be using human sacrifices. What if that’s how this Liam guy and the witches are channeling so much power?”

  “Witches, plural?” I interjected.

  Lakota nodded. “Every one of those performers had the witches’ mark on their souls. But then, that would have to mean every one of our victims was a closet Freak, and we’ve found no proof of that, so far.”

  “I am only telling you what I think is happening,” Max replied. “I said before that I do not know the reason why. Perhaps it is to gain power as you say, but I do not think it is that simple.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because taking lives that way leaves a stain. It taints our spells. If power were their only goal, they should never be able to cast anything like what they did today. Again, it makes no sense.”

  “Either way,” Lakota replied, perhaps picking up on the brujo’s mounting frustration, “you’ve helped us out a lot with all this. It gives us something to look into.”

  “It is not enough. I could see how it worked, but not why. For that, you would need someone with more experience. Someone who has studied Fae magic.”

  “Ye t’ink we could ask one of the refugees?” I asked, attempting to be helpful. “I don’t know if they’d be able to tell us much, but we could at least find out why Liam is here, of all places.”

  “That we must do, anyway. It may throw a wrench into Camila’s plans. But no, I do not believe the Fae can help us with this. Their understanding of magic is too simplistic. To them, using glamour is as easy as breathing. What we need is a witch willing to help who has been around long enough to have dealings with the Fae.”

  “I take it you have someone in mind?” Leo asked.

  “I do.” Max looked directly at me as though I should know who he was referring to, but frankly I had no clue who he meant, at least not until he said the name out loud. “She’s an enchantress, and her name is Morgan le Fay.”

  Oh, right.

  Her.

  Chapter 30

  I paced the hotel lobby some thirty minutes later, fretting over whether or not to bring Morgan le Fay on board. The Sickos—sans Jimmy, who had not yet returned—had largely been for it, Leo especially. But then he would accept the assistance of anyone who could help him close this case, even if that meant divulging sensitive information to a mythical figure from Arthurian legend. What he didn’t know, of course, was that the infamous enchantress had once known my father, intimately. Or that she’d tried to kill Max, once before. Or that she’d used me to hunt down rogue witches from her own coven. Or that she’d offered to train me to use magic I no longer possessed—an offer, by the way, which I’d neglected to
take her up on before vanishing for a year and a half.

  “What makes ye t’ink she’ll even help us, anyway?” I asked Max now that we were alone.

  The brujo stood watching me with the patient expression a parent uses on a child who won’t listen to reason. “She will help us.”

  “But how can ye know that, for sure? She has her own agenda. Always has. Which means she can’t be trusted.”

  “I never said anything about trust. I said she can help us, and she can. She knows things we do not. Does that mean she will give her knowledge free of charge? I doubt it. But, if we can afford whatever price she charges, it will be worth it.”

  “And what if we can’t afford it?”

  “I do not think she will ask for anything we cannot give her. She is a shrewd negotiator.”

  “And how would ye know that?” I asked, head cocked. “Ye were mostly passed out when I dealt with her.”

  “I know because she has been working with us for some time now. Who do you think Maria learned her magic from?”

  “From Camila, I assumed.”

  “My sister is a bruja. She cannot conjure illusions as Maria did to fool you. That is the power of an enchantress. It is a rare gift, practiced by very few. When Maria finally realized this was where her talents lay, she sought out the best to train her.”

  “And Morgan actually agreed to that?”

  “I do not believe Maria gave her much choice,” Max replied, grinning. “She is a very stubborn woman.”

  “Stubborn is one word for it,” I muttered, then sighed. “I don’t like this.”

  “I can see that, but I do not understand why.”

  I grunted, finding it inexplicably difficult to articulate what it was about Morgan le Fay that bothered me so much. Deep down, I had to admit it wasn’t for any of the reasons I’d already considered; in none of those cases had the enchantress behaved spitefully or caused more collateral damage than was absolutely necessary. If anything, she struck me as an exceptionally practical person—a trait I traditionally valued in others.