by Eli Constant
When I’m done speaking, Terrance gets up. “Do you think you can get any more information?”
I shake my head slowly. “I think we were lucky to get what we did. The children are gone. They were young, not even old enough really to be tethered to the world and stay. Not like Lily was. She’d been old enough to understand, to process her death and realize she was leaving loved ones behind. Babies and toddlers… they just go. Maybe they’re pulled away. Taken to safety. I don’t know…” I use Lily as an example, because I’d told Terrance about that a while ago now. The real reason I’d been able to save the girls from Blackthorn and Sausage Fingers. I swallow. “I couldn’t get a read at all on the mother. I didn’t even feel the father’s spirit until he made his presence known. And after he did, he was gone again. Not… like he’d found peace, but like he was just gone. Spirits can hide, even from me.”
Terrance looks resigned. “Okay. Come with me then.”
“Where?” I pull myself up, yanking my tank top down as it threatens to creep up my moderate muffin top.
“I want to show you something.” That’s all he says as he makes his way back towards the station. Any tension he’d dispersed whilst running is back squarely on his broad shoulders. I’m glad Bonneau is under his care, the watchful eye of someone who really gives a damn.
Andrea glares at me as we pass her desk. I give her a smile, like nothing at all happened the last time I talked to her.
Terrance leads me to a room I’ve not been in before. It’s large, with the sort of overhead lighting that gives everything a sort of blue, ethereal cast. An entire wall is covered in a magnetized erase board. On it, are dozens of papers as well as a map sporting bright red dots. Steve pops in behind me and closes the door.
“Hey, Tori.” Steve quirks a smile. His face is always so kind looking, and boyish. I know Terrance has involved him because I like him, and he’s probably also gotten the hint that I’m not overly fond of dealing with new people. If I do something strange, Steve tends to just laugh it off. He accepts the weird in me without asking questions. New people might not be like that.
“Hey,” I murmur, only glancing at him for a moment before further studying the room and its contents. “What is all this?” I question, walking towards the map. The first thing I notice is that one of the red dots is on West Oak, near the middle of the map. Where the Thai restaurant once was. “Fires. They’re all fires?” I turn around, knowing shock is plain on my face. “I mean, this is only what?” I turn back to the map. “Us and the three adjacent counties. All of these fires have happened here? In how much time? I mean… years right? A decade?”
“Months, Tori.” Steve says, his face now somber.
“Christ. And you’re sure they’re not—”
Terrance interrupts, knowing what I’m going to ask. “Yes, we’re sure they’re not accidental. There were no casualties at the other fires. They were all signed-off as accidental in the computer system, but we’ve tracked down the paper copies from all the fire stations. Someone altered the records. Paper says they found evidence of accelerant, computer says they didn’t. And county sees the computer report and if they don’t order further discovery, then the case gets closed.”
“So, you think someone’s setting fires and covering their tracks by hacking into the databases of not one, but multiple counties to change evidence?” I put my finger on one of the red dots. I trace my finger from it to another dot, and then another. There’s something my brain is seeing, but not consciously. Something I’m recognizing. I know nothing about fires, I don’t even remember seeing any of these fires on the news—though I watch precious little TV, just a few favorite shows when they’re in season.
“Yes, that’s what we think,” Steve responds this time, picking up a folder on a makeshift table that’s pushed against a wall. “Because people died this time, the paperwork was different. I mean, we had bodies to sort and insurance is different with a building if it’s not just industrial.”
“We should have had a proper autopsy on the bodies,” Terrance says quietly, as if to himself.
“Terrance, they suffocated. An autopsy wasn’t going to tell us anything else. I didn’t need to see their blackened lungs to know that.” I’m still staring at the map, my hand casually walking over the smooth, almost silky surface.
I finally let my hand fall to my side and I step back from the map, almost all the way across the room until I can take in the whole picture. Each dot. “Terrance, is there any way I can get a cup of coffee?” I don’t look at either of the men in the room when I say it.
“Sure, Tori.” Terrance has no hesitation in his voice. I wonder if he’s watching me, his keen mind wondering what I’ve seen. “Steve, can you go get us all coffee? If it’s not fresh, make it fresh, will you? I can’t have another cup of that old, weak shit that Andrea makes.”
“Sure, Chief,” Steve says, not an ounce of suspicion in his voice. He thinks he’s just leaving to get coffee, not being banished from the room. Which was my intent.
When the door clicks closed and Steve is gone, I look at Terrance. “Have you looked at this map closely? I mean, really stood back and focused on it?”
“Of course I have,” he says, incredulously. “It’s all I’ve been doing—staring at that damn map.”
I nod, slowly. “Come stand where I am. You got that red pen you made the marks with? Or blue… whatever color.”
He hands me a blue thin-tipped permanent marker. I walk over to the map and being drawing slow, methodical lines. I don’t connect every dot. This isn’t a game in a magazine.
When I step back, I’ve made a near-perfect pentagram. The Thai restaurant where the family had died is at the very center of the shape.
Terrance hissed, staring at the map. “I didn’t see it. I didn’t fucking see it.”
“You wouldn’t. Not to be an asshole, but why would you be looking for something like that?”
“A damn devil’s mark,” Terrance walks closer, his brow furrowed. “It’s some sort of devil worship shit, isn’t it?”
I almost smile. Everyone thinks a pentagram is some sort of hell mark. It’s not.
“No. I don’t think so.” I give him the blue pen and I go to sit in one of the chairs near the table against the wall. It looks like it would be comfy and plush, but it’s not. It’s hard as a rock. “The pentagram isn’t bad. Five points. Five elements. Earth, fire, water, air, and spirit. At the very center, is the center of all things. Of life. The core of… well, everything. It’s not inherently bad, but it can be used for bad.”
“It’s not bad… but it can be used for bad,” Terrance repeats my words, running a hand through his dark, curly hair that’s longer than his normal cut. “Explain.” He reaches automatically for his notebook, like he always does. But, also like always, he stops himself. He can’t write down what I’m about to tell him—not and keep his job.
“Traditionally, the orientation of spirit is up, holding order over the other elements. It’s the… god element, if you will. It keeps things neutral good. Burning these locations,” I point to the map, “was marking a point on the pentagram, until it was ultimately joined and activated by the middle point. The center of all things coming together. The Thai restaurant.”
“Where the family died,” Terrance comes and sits down too, his lovely cocoa skin looking ashen all of the sudden.
“Where the family died.” It’s my turn to repeat his words. “And that death was necessary to activate the power of the symbol for… for bad things. If you wanted to harness a pentagram for good, you’d want to represent life. Birth. It’s a giant rune over the counties now. I don’t know what it means yet, but the fact that it’s centered in Bonneau isn’t good.”
“And why’s that? Wouldn’t it be just as bad centered over Georgetown County?” He leaned back in the chair, his head nearly touching the wall behind him.
“I’m not sure how to make this make sense, but Bonneau is like… a mecca of supernatural. At leas
t, it is spirit wise. Hellhole Bay, for example, has as many tortured wraiths and ghosts and souls in it as anywhere on earth I’d bet. This place was changed more than other places after the War. After the bloodshed and the Rising. It just… is that way. I think the ley lines must be insane here, running every which way to Sunday.”
“Ley lines?” He asks, and then stops himself, holding up a hand. “No, don’t tell me right now. I’m on overload. You know,” Terrance sighed, “I miss the good old days. Solving regular old cases, the regular old way. Hell, we had a serial killer who was a normal, fucked-up human. That was okay. I could handle that. But pentagrams and supernatural meccas?” He shakes his head, opens his mouth to speak again, but the knob turns and Steve reenters, precariously carrying three piping-hot cups of coffee.
He’s smiling, until he glances over and sees the map and how it’s changed. “Shit. Wow.” He fast-walks to us, nearly sloshing coffee everywhere, sets down the coffee awkwardly and then rushes over to the map. “How the hell did we not see this? Chief… is it occult stuff? Devil worshipping?”
Terrance looks at me and I give the smallest shake of my head possible. He doesn’t need it to know that he can’t divulge the truth to the sweet-natured Steve. “Yeah, looks like that’s a possibility. We’ve got some work to do.” He says the last while looking at me. And what he really means is—
I’ve got work to do. Supernatural necromancy-ish work.
Chapter Four
Pentagrams and ley-lines have to wait an evening though, I realize as I leave the station (Andrea, thankfully, wasn’t at her desk this time).
Tonight is true, honest-to-god, cop-organized self-defense training. And I was about as prepared as a girl could possibly not be.
***
“Put your arms up, Tori!” The female cop from two counties over yells at me, shoving her too-large-looking boot between my feet to force me to spread my legs further apart for better balance. “And ground yourself. You want to fall over the first time someone lands a punch?”
As she works around me, her long black hair pulled through the issue ball cap she’s wearing, I want to reach out and grab the swinging strands that are all bunched together in a nice little rope, just waiting for a firm tug. Then we’d see who fell over and lost their balance.
Truth be told though, I hated this.
I hated the fight. I hated throwing punches. I hated the violence. But it seemed my life was a pack of violence now. And ghosts. And lies. How was it that I wanted to hit everything, even the very air around me, but I still was heartsick over it? Maybe self-defense was especially hard for me, because I didn’t mind fighting for others, but this was about protecting myself. I didn’t care about myself as much as I cared about everyone else.
Maybe that was a dumb way to be. People say self-love comes before you can really love anyone else. Screw that.
I throw myself back into the battleground, rocking back on my heels.
Sweat is pouring down my forehead, soaking into the collar of my black workout shirt that was at least two sizes too small. That was a lesson in ‘don’t order clothing off the internet from a shop whose sizing was so confusing you couldn’t make heads nor tails of it’. It kept riding up too, every time I lunged forward for a punch or volleyed back to avoid a blow. You know what a slightly-chubby-around-the-middle girl hates more than anything in the world? Well, aside from people asking if they really need that second cupcake? They hate their shirts riding up and showing off their biggest self-confidence issue.
So here I was, getting yelled at by Captain Wonderbra with her model figure and arms toned just enough to press against her uniform, feeling like I was Pizza the Hut in a beauty freaking contest with a princess in super-revealing garb.
I don’t move in time as my sparring partner rocks forward, her fist extended towards my right shoulder. I grunt as she makes impact and I shuffle back a few steps, almost losing my balance—which right pisses me off, considering my earlier thoughts over yanking someone’s ponytail.
Yeah, this was no self-defense class at the community building. There, my biggest threat was a seventy-year-old couple looking to spice up date night.
“You okay,” the woman with the forgetful face, but striking ginger hair asks. She wasn’t from Bonneau, and I wonder if she’s come from the same county as warrior princess cop. Somehow, despite being a nonentity in my brain, she’s also oddly familiar.
Like biting into a recipe that is like something your grandmother used to cook, but not exactly quite.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say in a voice that isn’t exactly friendly. Her face scrunches, and I feel like a jackass for hurting a stranger’s feelings. “Yeah, I’m fine. Really. Just wasn’t ready.”
“You need to really get your center of balance. Your feet could still be a bit wider set.” She’s almost fragile-looking, now that I study her. Short. Freckled. “Here, watch me as I move.” She’s not trying to be condescending. Only helpful, I’m sure of it, but I can still feel irritation boil up inside.
And then, I don’t feel bad for hurting her feelings at all. I just nod, widen my stance, set one foot back a little and turned to level-up my damn balance, and I focus on getting the next hit in. It’s funny though—every time I turn away from the woman I’m practicing with, I seem to forget what she looks like, what her voice sounds like. I’ve got too much on my mind, I guess, to bother with truly learning new people.
By the time the session is done, I feel like I’m literally going to die. My heart is pounding and my chest is heaving.
“Good job, everyone. We’ll see you here again next week. In the meantime, some of you might consider coming to our other sessions in the nearby counties. You can find the schedule on this paper.” Perfect Princess Cop holds up a blue piece of paper and she holds it up facing me, her eyes basically saying that she is talking mostly to me. Hell, I thought I did a lot better today. Loads of improvement. I turn away from the cop, her schedule, and everything. If I hadn’t promised Terrance that I would attend these things, I’d have stopped after session number one. Now, ten sessions in, I feel like I’ll never meet expected standards. Whatever. I can kill a man through a freaking papercut. I don’t need to know how to punch and dodge and shit like that.
Of course, I know it’s a lie even as I think it. I’ve been in plenty of situations where I could have died for lack of skill… and my ‘gifts’ had meant jack and shit. I bend over and snag my gym bag off the dirty tile floor. The community center, which was old and sorely in need of work, was a zillion times better than the training building near the police impound lot.
“Here you go, Tori.” Forgetful-face comes up to me and hands me one of the schedules. “I’ll be at tomorrow’s sesh if you want to come? We make good sparring buddies!” She gives me a smile and I try to focus on her face, remember some detail about it.
“Maybe. My schedule is pretty busy. It was nice to meet you though…” I let my words trail off. She’s told me her name at least three times already since we’d been paired-up by the trainer today.
“Karen,” she said, her face crumpling. “Anyways, see you later, Tori,” she emphasizes my name, as if to make a point that she hadn’t forgotten who I was, and I’d only told her once. Though, the trainer cop had called me out at least half a dozen times. So... if anything, my name had been repeated way more than she’d reminded me of her name.
When I walk out of the building, the cool evening air causes my sweat to sort of insta-dry and I feel all crackly and salty in my unmentionable places. My work sedan is parked over near the impound fence. I did that on purpose—so I could stare at my baby on the other side. Terrance hadn’t taken it to the wrecker yet, though he should have. It would cost way more to repair her than it was worth. And I hated that. But I was still holding onto hope that someone would give me a better quote.
I bypass the sedan and head to the chain link fence. Leaning my head against the cool metal of it, I let my fingers wrap around the thick wire and sigh. I
t was sort of like seeing a piece of my dad all torn-up. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Though, I knew it was time. I’d never forget the Bronco. And it was only a tiny part tethering me to the past, and to my father. He was etched into my memory.
Unlike the woman I’d been sparring with… who was now a complete haze in my brain.
“Eventually, you’ll have to you know.” A breeze blows behind me, soft and graceful, and I know who it is. “Your precious Bronco cannot stay caged away forever.”
“Liam,” I breathe out, turning slowly and dropping the duffel bag off my shoulder so I can lean more comfortably against the fencing.
His hair is the wonderful coffee-with-cream brown that it is in his more human form, with just a touch of red that makes me call it cognac. It’s warm, and the sight of it warms me—though I wish it didn’t.
“I love it when you say my name,” he says, walking forward and then stopping to lean against the sedan. His face is perfect, flawless. I hate that I can’t even find one small thing I dislike about his appearance.
“You know…” I hesitate over my words, because I’ve been trying to get him to discuss this particular thing, to no success. “we’ve not really spoken about what I saw.”
“What you saw?” he quirks an eyebrow, acting like he doesn’t understand. But I know he does, he can see inside my head. He can see me. And, we’ve been down this road before.
“Liam, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s been months. Four months of you flitting in and out of my life like you can’t settle around me. You show up to help me with necromancer stuff, and then you’re gone again. Then you show up again randomly. Like here and now. Why are you here?”
His smile lights his face now and he folds his arms across his chest in a beautiful, fluid motion that speaks of the utter control he has over his body and its movements. “I did text you, Victoria.” His voice is full of itself, absolutely pleased. “I got a mobile device. You’ve asked me to warn you when I’m going to be somewhere, or need to talk to you, and I have. Perhaps I keep ‘flitting’ in and out of your life because I can’t seem to figure out what you want of me.”