Blood Rite

by E.J. Stevens

  “And you’re none too happy that someone is raising zombies,” Torn said. I jerked my head in his direction—did Torn’s spies have eyes and ears in my office—but he shrugged. “What? It’s not like I don’t know you, princess. You’re a hero. You protect the city. It’s what you do.”

  So, why did he sound so damn depressed about it? Torn usually liked the fact that danger followed me around.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I said.

  “Noticed that, did you?” he asked. “You’ve been spending too much time around your fish man.”

  “He’s not a fish man,” I said. “Ceff is a kelpie. He shapeshifts into a horse, not a fish.”

  A horse with gills and who can breath underwater, but that was beside the point.

  “If it smells like a fish and swims like a fish…” he muttered.

  “Torn, for the love of Mab, answer the question or shut up,” I said.

  He lifted a clawed hand and mimed zipping his lips, locking them, and throwing away the key. Sure, he was a friend. He could also be a total jerk. I’d have to approach the questions from a different angle, just like entering the damn cemetery.

  I frowned and stomped over to where the iron fencing disappeared into a thick tangle of shrubbery.

  “This way,” I said.

  I waved us forward and strode down a side street without glancing over my shoulder to see if Torn followed. He would or he wouldn’t. I wasn’t here to herd cats. I was here to catch and dispose of a bunch of zombie gerbils and get to the bottom of what was really going on here in my city.

  I’m supposed to protect Harborsmouth and keep innocent civilians safe from supernatural threats. It’s my job. I’d survived so many paranormal baddies, odds were good I’d survive this too. Maybe, if I told myself that enough times, I’d believe it.

  I squinted into the thickening fog, scanning the area for threats. I didn’t like how the rain had turned to drizzle, followed by a mist, and now a dense, impenetrable wall of fog.

  “Think this fog is natural?” I asked, not surprised when Torn answered.

  “It’s possible,” he said.

  “But not probable,” I said.

  “When is anything ever normal or natural when you’re involved?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

  I winced. Torn was right. I’m sure he meant it as a compliment, but things in my life were rarely simple. I glanced up and down the narrow street, but there wasn’t a soul in sight.

  I paced away from the stone wall and tilted my head back. I let a small amount of my wisp magic leak through my mental barriers, just enough to allow my eyes and skin to glow faintly. While I despised Gaius’ nickname of “corpse candle” wisps really could light the way.

  It’s where some of the fairy tales about wisps leading men to their doom comes from. Not that I’d lead anyone to their death. Oh no, not me. Sadly, that was less convincing as I stood outside a cemetery with a danger loving, thrill-seeking cat sidhe at my side. Torn better hope he had nine lives the way tragedy followed me around. Even the ever-present mist evoked the moors where my ancestors are said to have led men to their watery graves.

  Not so long ago, I lacked the knowledge and control needed to prevent my eyes and skin from glowing. That was before I’d found the key my father, Will-o’-the-Wisp, had left for me, sending me on a quest to find and open a hidden door to Faerie. I’d made it to my father’s court. Heck, I’d made it to my mother’s court too. That scared the jeepers out of me.

  But it wasn’t in Mab’s ice palace that I’d learned how to control my powers. No, that feat required the wisp court and the torturous training set by my uncle. Thoughts of Kade and his ultimate betrayal made me want to burn the world to the ground. Ironically, it was his tutelage that gave me the ability to control those urges. Fate has a twisted sense of humor.

  I directed my wisp magic outward and the glow illuminated the wall that rose from the sidewalk here, driving the shadows into the cemetery beyond. My brow wrinkled as I studied the situation and weighed our options.

  There was a gap here in the iron scrollwork and pointy fencing that topped most of the wall, almost like someone had left us a back door. I just hoped it wasn’t a trap.

  “Need a hand, princess?” Torn asked, threading his hands together.

  I shook my head, bouncing on my toes.

  “I’ve got this,” I said.

  I took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders back, and ran. What I reached the base of the wall, I leapt. I didn’t make it fully over the wall, but I did manage to drive my gloved fingers into a handhold, my boots kicking until they caught a narrow crevice. I ungracefully pulled and kicked my way to the top of the wall.

  Torn crouched at the top, lips twitching in a grin.

  “Go ahead and laugh,” I said, rolling my eyes. “We all know cats are the better climbers.”

  “Oh, no,” he said. “Wouldn’t think of it.”

  A wheezing purr poured out of him and he wiped at his face.

  “What now?” I asked. “I couldn’t have looked that ridiculous.”

  “You did, actually,” he said. “But that’s not what I was laughing at. It’s just…you can fly, princess.”

  Oops. He had a point.

  “Whatever,” I said with a shrug, ignoring his sniffs as he regained his composure. “Then what would I do with my jacket? I can’t fight with my hands full and I’m not leaving it down on the street.”

  “You do have a point,” he said.

  He was no longer laughing, so I turned my attention to the pet cemetery below. The headstones and graves were smaller than their human counterparts, but the place was no less oppressive. I lowered my voice to a reverent whisper as my eyes examined the scene.

  “Do you think it’s a coincidence that the corpses that were stolen are faeries?” I asked. “And why are faeries buried in a pet cemetery?”

  In all the hubbub earlier, I’d forgotten to ask Ceff about that. I considered calling him, but shook my head. I’d give Torn a chance to answer first.

  “I doubt it’s a coincidence,” he said.

  “Should I be worried that faeries were buried in a pet cemetery?” I asked, eyeing the iron gates warily.

  “The roads to Faerie are closed, princess,” Torn said. “What did you think we did with our dead?”

  I jerked my head up, eyes wide.

  “You mean, we bury our dead here?” I asked.

  “Some of us do,” he said.

  A look flashed across his face, of anger or sadness or frustration, it was hard to tell. We’d all suffered losses in recent months. Torn and the cat sidhe for all their talk of neutrality had fought alongside us against multiple foes, including the Wild Hunt.

  Then what he said sunk in. Torn and his people took the form of cats. He ruled over the city’s actual cats too, but that’s not what we were talking about. We were talking about faeries being buried where the humans buried their pets.

  My stomach twisted.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish…I wish that my evil bio mom hadn’t abandoned her throne and locked you and your people out of Faerie. I wish there was still a way for you to return to Faerie to honor your dead.”

  His eyes widened, but he looked away with a quick nod.

  “We should examine the scene of the crime,” he said, leaping down to land on his feet.

  I frowned, measured the distance to the nearest headstone, and jumped. I didn’t land on my feet, but I also managed to not break my neck. I’d take that as a win.

  Torn was probably right about me using my wings to fly. Not that I’d tell him that. His ego didn’t need a boost. Plus, I wasn’t even sure that I could trigger the transformation that would make my wings emerge right now, not after so carelessly drawing on the ley lines during my dustup with Gaius.

  My jaw still hurt from gritting my teeth so hard, I’m surprised they hadn’t cracked. Tapping into ley lines was stupid, but I’d do it again in a second. Nobo
dy was laying a finger on my best friend. Not even zombie gerbils.

  Something small scurried to my left, managing to lurch and skitter all at the same time.

  “Found one,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “Unless it’s an injured sewer rat.”

  With a flick of each wrist, my throwing knives hit my palms. I widened my stance and took a slow, cautious step forward. I didn’t think a bite would give me a hankering for brains, but I sure didn’t want to know what kind of visions I’d get from an animated corpse.

  “That’s no rat, princess,” Torn said.

  “Good,” I said, circling the headstone where I’d lost sight of the zombie. “That’s good, right? We came looking for zombie critters. Now we just need to, um, take care of them.”

  Taking care of them involved some stabbing, some pouncing, and a hell of a lot of cursing.

  “Sweet Titania,” Torn swore with an angry, yowling hiss as he shifted back onto two legs.

  “I hope that was the last of them,” I said, frowning at the plastic grocery bag where we’d been storing the bodies.

  The zombies were in various states of decomposition. Even worse, we’d taken to cutting off their heads, just in case, and the sound of tiny, furry heads rolling around inside the plastic bag was making my stomach churn.

  Torn spit out a desiccated rodent that smelled like rotten meat, and hissed.

  “Come hunt zombies she said, it’ll be fun she said,” he muttered, spitting and coughing up a hairball.

  “I never said to eat them,” I said.

  “I didn’t eat them,” he said. “I caught them in my teeth. How else do you expect a cat to catch a rodent?”

  He had a point. If it hadn’t been for Torn’s ability to shapeshift into a cat, I don’t think we would have caught them all. The tiny zombies weren’t particularly smart, but they could go in places I couldn’t fit. There are a surprising number of hidey holes in a cemetery.

  “You did good,” I said. “The corpses match the corresponding number of empty graves. That should be the last one.”

  “Until our mystery friend comes along and raises more,” Torn said.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” I said, carefully wiping my blades on a patch of grass. “Why target faerie corpses? It must have been intentional. Whoever did this didn’t touch any of the normal rodents buried here, and there’s plenty of gerbils and hamsters in this place. Even a chinchilla or two.”

  “And we’re careful to bury our dead beside theirs,” he said. “Our lives are long, but memories fade. Better not to rely on a glamour that must be maintained.”

  “I noticed that,” I said. “I guess I expected your dead to all be in one place apart from the pets and under a glamour or a don’t-look-here spell. But that makes sense. Someone would have to come along and recharge a spell like that. This way, there’s less likelihood of being discovered.”

  That couldn’t be easy. How many cat sidhe had Torn personally buried here, laying their bodies beside the pets of strangers. I didn’t envy him that task or the pragmatism of such a decision.

  “So, whoever did this had to have been targeting faeries,” I said. “But why?”

  “Residual magic would be my guess, princess,” he said.

  “Care to clarify that?” I asked.

  Sometimes, it was like he was speaking a different language.

  “Just like the land of Faerie itself, faeries are made of magic,” Torn said. “When we die, some magic stays behind, like a residue. Think of our corpses like a vessel, but with just a few drops of magic.”

  “Like batteries,” I said. “Are we really talking about corpse batteries?”

  “It’s an apt analogy,” he said.

  “And you think this necromancer is stealing faeries to harness their magic energy,” I said.

  “It’s possible,” he said.

  A jolt of panic zipped through me.

  “Think they’ll target the living next?” I asked.

  Living fae must contain more magic than the lifeless shell left behind, right?

  “I don’t think so, princess,” he said, turning in a slow circle. “Whoever did this used necromancy. That kind of death magic has little control over the living. They’ll stick to the dead, unless the living get in their way.”

  “But you said their magic has little control over living,” I said.

  “That doesn’t mean they can’t hurt us,” he said. “They’d just send their zombie minions to kill us. Then we’d be fair game.”

  I shuddered. No way was I letting some necromancer kill innocent people and turn them into murder puppets. That was gross and all kinds of wrong.

  “We need to warn our friends and allies,” I said. “This might get messy, and dangerous. Imagine if this necromancer raises something bigger next time.”

  “Sounds fun,” he said, leaning forward, eyes wide and unblinking.

  Yep, that wasn’t creepy or anything.

  “There could be panic amongst the humans,” I said. “We can’t cover up zombies if they start shambling down Congress Street. Like you said before, that kind of thing tends to get noticed. The secret of our existence could be threatened.”

  “Not so fun,” he said, shoulders slumping as if deflated. A serious expression flit across Torn’s scarred face. “I survived the Burning Times by the skin of my teeth. There was no skill or elegance to those kills. All that existed then was pain, torture, and blood.”

  “Blood,” I said, hitting the palm of my left hand with my fist. “That’s it!”

  “Did you hit your head, princess?” he asked. “Breathe in too much corpse gas? I told you to hold your breath while decapitating the zombies.”

  “I’m not loopy or high on corpse gasses,” I said. “Also, ew.”

  “Then what?” he asked. “You don’t usually get excited over blood.”

  “I do when it might lead us to our necromancer,” I said. I grinned showing too many teeth. “Remember the Leanansidhe?”

  “How could I forget?” he asked. “You and Jenna had all the fun.”

  “The Leanansidhe used necromancy to try to raise her dead lover, what was left of him anyway,” I said, wrinkling my nose.

  I still had nightmares of Leanansidhe dancing with her lover’s skeleton. It was beyond creepy, almost as creepy as her redcap minions.

  “And she fueled her magic with blood,” he said. “Blood and bone and sacrifice.”

  “And rituals,” I said. “Necromancers perform blood rites to raise the dead.”

  “Where there’s a blood ritual…” he said.

  “There’s evidence,” I said.

  I nodded, but Torn still looked unconvinced. It didn’t do much to reassure my already faltering confidence.

  “Something is still bothering me though,” I said. “We’re assuming that this necromancer wants faerie corpses for their magic residue. But if that was the intent, why weren’t the zombies summoned back to the necromancer.”

  “Leaving them to scamper around the cemetery does seem like a waste of magic,” he said.

  I frowned. If I never saw another fluffy, zombified adorable rodent again it would be too soon.

  “So, we have a plan,” I said. “We keep an eye out for any bloody magic circles, sacrificed goats, that kind of thing.”

  “And if more zombies turn up, we follow them back to their maker,” he said.

  Oh, goody. That sounded like tons of fun.

  Chapter 9

  When they depict private investigators on television, they never show the endless, tedious boredom of waiting for something to happen. I hadn’t sat still since our zombie hunt in the pet cemetery, but a search for blood ritual sites had turned up a big heap of nothing.

  Torn became so bored, he muttered something about watching paint dry and sulked in a shadowed corner of our office.

  It was possible that the necromancer had moved on. That would be great for the city, less so for me. I’d promised Gaius that I would get to the bottom of his c
orpse thief problem and my faerie blood was holding me to that bargain. My head pounded and I yawned so wide that my jaw snapped.

  “You should get some sleep,” Jinx said, bending down to pick up a pen that had rolled off my desk.

  “I don’t think that’s possible,” I said, rubbing a gloved hand over my face.

  Our office swam before me and I shook my head. If I feel asleep, I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to wake up again. I needed a lead in this case. There had to be something I was missing.

  “Jinx is right,” Torn said, pulling away from the wall with feline grace. “Get some rest. We can renew the hunt tonight.”

  The bell above the door jingled and my head snapped up, but it wasn’t Ceff. He’d called and said he’d keep asking around at Eden Park, the magic garden where so many fae had recently relocated. He had Sparky with him, and they’d be safe in the garden with Marvin and Hob and my pooka allies. But that didn’t lessen the disappointment when Benmore walked through the door.

  “What’s the dwarf doing here?” Torn asked.

  I sighed and slumped in my chair.

  “Probably has some message from Gaius about his freaking harvesting rights,” Jinx said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll go see what he wants.”

  She stood and schooled her face into a bland smile, but Benmore froze.

  “I see you are holding court, m’lady,” Benmore said, managing to scurry away while bowing so low his beard collected dust bunnies.

  Jinx might be unfailingly polite, it was why she was the outward facing half of our partnership, but I was less so. I failed at politeness most of the time. I frowned and palmed my knives.

  “I don’t think he means you’re busy hanging out with your friends,” Torn said, raising a scarred eyebrow.

  I nodded and growled with frustration. There was more to the dwarven mayor’s words. I didn’t like the implication that I was lording my royal rank above my friends or, even worse, making them demonstrate their fealty by bending a knee. Even if, from his perspective, my human vassal was on her hands and knees in front me.

  Oberon’s eyes, my life was complicated.

  “Benmore, stay,” I said, raising a gloved hand.