Spirit Box

by E M Lacey

  “A detective, if we’re going to drop job titles.” His easy smile reached his eyes.

  It was McKellen’s turn to prop up the wall. He leaned, folding his massive arms across his chest. Montague noticed a blend of runes, sigils, and mystic eyes forming a colorful sleeve on each of McKellen’s arms. He wore what resembled a fanny pack, but it was brown leather with four slots, which made him think of Batman’s utility belt.

  Montague waved his index finger at the colorful ensemble. “I didn’t think hunters worked magic.”

  McKellen looked down at his arms, lifting each and inspecting the ink. His arms flexed, outlining well-honed muscles. He slapped each one. Montague wondered if the mystic eyes would close reflexively.

  Nothing happened.

  McKellen pushed away from the wall and extended his arms, offering them up for inspection. “These are all about my clan.”

  “Druid ancestry?”

  McKellen chuckled. “Everyone assumes runes are druid mysticism. Before we took up the hunting trade, I would have you know we were healers. My mum was an herbalist.” He stood a little taller as he spoke of his mother. “She taught me and my little sister all about the earth. Her cures and her poisons.”

  “So why aren’t you a doctor?” Thurgood moved to stand beside Montague, who cut his eyes at his rude friend.

  McKellen’s expression hardened. “I have my reasons.” He moved away from the pair and over to his partner. He lay his hand on Julius’s shoulder the looked back at the pair. “Julius here will start everything off by taking your statements.”

  “What will you be doing?” Montague asked.

  “My job.” McKellen headed toward the still open door of their office.

  Julius cleared his throat. Both men gave him their attention.

  “I’d advise you to back off McKellen for a while.”

  “Oh.” Thurgood folded his arms across is thin chest.

  “He’s not much of a talker.”

  “He was quite the chatterbox a minute ago.”

  “Look,” Julius ushered them away from McKellen. “He was actually being nice by entertaining your questions.” Julius’s gaze shifted, as he watched his rather large associate pause at the entrance of the office. His attention returned to Thurgood. He stared for a few seconds, before his focus shifted to Montague. “We need to get as much done as we can, before the two of you undergo the purification ritual.”

  Montague gaped at Thurgood, who was acting a bit aggressive. Maybe McKellen was aware that Thurgood was possibly reacting to whatever bad magic lingered inside their office and chose to walk away.

  “Mr. Myer.”

  Montague startled. Turning jerkily toward Julius.

  “Can you tell me what happened when you arrived at the office?”

  “Well, that will be a bit challenging since I’ve only been here for a few minutes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Montague’s index finger volleyed between himself and Thurgood. “We weren’t here for the initial discovery.”

  “My niece was.” Thurgood offered. “She should be here.”

  “Well, we need her here, so we can start piecing together what happened.” Julius pulled an iPhone from his back pocket. He punched in a code and tapped an app before looking up.

  Thurgood slapped his forehead. “We didn’t let her know we’re here.” He pulled out his cellphone. “I’ll get her up here.” He stepped away to make the call and McKellen slipped into the office.

  Julius pointed to a set of waiting decorative chairs and small table that were equal distance between the elevator and the office. The men had just started toward them, when the elevator opened. Abigail rushed from it and threw herself into her uncle’s arms. An African American woman stepped off behind her, stopping barely a foot away from the doors. She watched the pair and waited.

  Julius cleared his throat. Abigail and Thurgood separated and gave him their attention, though Aurora moved past him toward the office.

  “When did the lights come on?”

  Abigail hurried after Aurora; eyes full of amazement. “It was abysmally dark inside, before.” Abigail didn’t move any closer. She leaned left then right, angling to see inside the office from where she stood.

  Julius came up behind them. “It was dark when you arrived?”

  Abigail nodded absently. “Yes.”

  “Were there any strange noises, smells, or activity going on when you arrived?” Julius’s breath ruffled Abigail’s hair.

  Abigail wasn’t fazed. Her head swiveled, a slow rotation, but her eyes didn’t leave the open door. Her head stopped its swivel, her hand curled into a fist, which she ran along her chin. “I didn’t notice anything strange about it, until I went inside.”

  “Abigail Rowena Biggs!” She jumped, gaze instantly dropping to the floor, posture slouched.

  “Tell me you did not go in that office.” Thurgood stalked toward them.

  Abigail began tracing the patterns on the carpet.

  Julius intervened. “Mr. Biggs. It may not have been the best idea for your niece to go in there, but she did and it actually helps us.”

  Thurgood thrust his good finger at Abigail. “How does any of this help us? She could have been killed, cursed, or…or…or something.” Red splotches formed on his face and neck.

  “Insight,” Julius reminded him and motioned for him to leave.

  Thurgood’s lip curled but he relented.

  Julius put his arm around Abigail’s shoulder and drew her away from her uncle, moving them closer to the office. They stopped in front of the wall inches from the door. Abigail leaned against it; eyes still fixed on the floor.

  “Ms. Biggs. You’ve no need to be worried.”

  She opened her mouth but a raspy hiss was all she could manage. She tried again. “My uncle’s right. I forgot my training. I went inside without proper protection.”

  Julius bent, so he could see her face and perhaps get her attention. He grabbed her arms firmly. “Abigail.”

  She looked up.

  “Your experience with whatever it was or is in that office will help us identify and contain it.”

  She swallowed then nodded.

  “Now, can you tell me if there were any strange sounds, smells, or activity while you were in the office?”

  “I didn’t hear anything, but...” Abigail’s face lost all expression. Her nose wrinkled. “I guess this would be more of an activity, but there was something odd about the darkness.” She looked off to the side, at nothing in particular. “It was breathing.”

  Thurgood gasped. Julius cut his eyes at him while he offered Abigail a conciliatory look.

  “Was the darkness warm or cold?”

  “It was warm.” Abigail’s stomach chose that moment to gurgle and twist. She swallowed, pressing two fingers to her lips, hoping it would stop the bile from rising any further.

  “How about light? Did the emergency lights work?”

  Abigail shook her head, her hand pressed firmly on her stomach. She rubbed it lightly. “I had to use the flashlight app on my cellphone and it wasn’t enough.”

  “Did you try the office lights?”

  Abigail nodded and threw up her warded forearm. Both Montague and Thurgood stared. Thurgood frowned at the sigils on her arm. He recognized some of them from their training, but there were quite a few that he had never seen before. Thurgood wondered if Bridgette had been giving Abigail unsanctioned lessons.

  “I had to work my way in to get to the switch, but I did protect myself.” It was at that moment that she realized she’d revealed her secret. Her gaze darted over to her uncle and Mr. Myer. Both men were not happy. Abigail slowly dropped her arm and placed it behind her back.

  “Did the office lights work when you turned them on?”

  “No, which is why I had to use my phone.”

  “Did you find anything strange inside, besides the obvious wreckage?”

  “I did find a pretty box.”

  “D
id it feel, sound, or do anything strange?”

  Abigail rubbed her chin as she considered how to answer that question.

  A bell dinged. All eyes were drawn to it. A tall black woman stepped out of the elevator. She wore the colors of the Immortalem: amethyst, black, and a soft misty gray. She held a sterling-silver staff with amethyst sigils and unfamiliar marks running along the sides of it.

  Their liaison had arrived.

  Chapter Seven

  There was peace in hunting. Since the Reveal, hunting had been restricted, which lent to his ever-growing foul mood. It was like locking a bloodhound in his prime in a cage and setting it in the middle of a forest. All the smells, the prey, would drive it mad. McKellen felt like he was going mad. Sure, he knew how to break out his people skills when needed, but he preferred solitude and the chase.

  He stood several feet inside the sizable space. His gaze traveled over the shattered bones of the place, and he frowned. The dead despised the living. He could tell, from the humidity, that something lingered. Something Other.

  It was nasty and ran with reckless abandon inside. McKellen lay three fingers across his heart, which bore a rune of the soul across its center. He touched the rune on his temple with the same three fingers, which signified mind, before running those same fingers up the bridge of his nose, ending between his eyes. His sight sharpened, measuring everything in exact detail, down to their auras. The first thing he noticed was a trail of dark red footprints. There were three toes at the tip and a half moon pattern behind the heel. He reached into his breast pocket, retrieving a pair of glasses. The frames were clear as well as the lenses, with etchings along the frames that were barely visible. He ran his index finger along the edges, as he moved deeper into the room.

  He searched for black and red auras and yellow shadows. To see such things was a sure sign that something magical had come through the office. McKellen stopped, sidestepping a broken picture, and took a deep drag of the air inside. The inner nose itched, tempting him to sneeze, but he held it. He needed to feel it out. Everything had a smell and what he smelled reeked of iron and sour milk. He wrinkled his nose, moving the scent around. It bit into his nose, the urge to sneeze, growing. His eyes rolled up; his arms lifted and spread wide, then he let it go. Reciting a spell in his mind that would nullify the magic he released.

  The scent of iron killed any idea of fairy involvement. The sour milk aroma was new. His head tilted right. His gaze traveled along the grooves in the wall. He moved closer to it, setting his cheek to it. He reached into his pocket and removed a pale-yellow pouch, loosening the sash without breaking sight. He slid his fingers inside, pinched a bit of blessed grave dirt. He drew the dirt close to his lips and blew. It sparkled like glitter, drawn to the ectoplasm. It sank into the trail and spread. He used what remained of the dirt to draw a naming sigil.

  The sigil quivered, as the glittering trail spread further across the wall, stopping at the safe room, where it crackled and popped then fell to the ground. A pile of black ash. The sigil stretched, narrowing as it shifted into a word.

  “Indentured?”

  It was a strange name for a ghost. Poltergeists he knew. He would do his own interrogation of the staff once he was done. If his hunch was right, there would be the usual signs: missing items, minor acts of vandalism, a rash of clumsiness prior to the chaos. Poltergeists’ activity was a slow progression. The more colorful spirits were across the pond. This Indentured thing was new. What the hell were they and where did they come from? They would surely need an exorcist and an office cleansing. Maybe it would need to be sealed and the lawyers would have to relocate.

  Placing his palm over the marks, he drew a hunter’s rune in the air then slowly closed his hand. The sparkling trail faded, but the ash on the floor in front of the safe room remained. The fading spells always scratched his skin with fine claws. They stung, but the sensation was gone quickly. This new sensation, a soft pressure along his back, made him drop down, pull the silver blade from the sheath inside his boot, and spin to face the approaching intruder.

  An echoing ring, like a large bell, flooded the space when his visitor brought a silver staff down onto the floor. The vibration shoved him back.

  “Damn!” He grunted as he watched the firm’s liaison, Sunni, approach. She was a few inches over six feet, athletic build, beautiful mahogany skin with amethyst sigils engraved in her flesh. The sigils were raised like welts and shimmered under the light. Her eyes, when she worked magic, were the same shade of amethyst. When her powers were at rest, they were as black as onyx. Sunni was beautiful but had the disposition of a possessive Chihuahua. She wore her official garments: a black breastplate with the Immortalem brand over her heart. A silver warrior’s brace was the only form of jewelry on her person. It bore the crest of her tribe and her rank among the Sisters of the Immortalem. A warrior nun, loyal to the Council. She was bald. Sigils lined her crown, slightly raised like the ones on her body.

  She wore what equated to a loincloth, but it was a combination of the ashes and molted feathers of a rising phoenix, iron, and silk. It was amethyst like her markings, with an upside-down black triangle in the center. Spelled to be lightweight and as soft as silk to the touch, but in battle, it was hex-proof, fireproof, and could be snatched off at will and used as a full body shield.

  The rest of her gear was gossamer-thin chainmail. It was fashioned from dragon scales, which made her damn near indestructible. The chainmail had a psychic bond with its wearer. It could shift into a body suit which showed less skin, as it did now. In a full-out battle, most nuns fought with it in sheer mode. It served as both a distracter for enemies and gave them the mobility necessary to apply their lethal skills.

  McKellen knew Sunni from several past infractions he’d been called up on, ignored, and she was sent to retrieve him.

  “What are you after?”

  “I’m working on identifying what came through here.”

  Sunni leaned on her staff. It dulled. She had dropped her battle magic. “Have you found anything?”

  McKellen shook his head as he got up. He didn’t like the exposed and vulnerable way she made him feel.

  “Spirits have come through here.”

  McKellen shook his head, turned on his heel, and went over to the safe room. It was as bright as a sun. Brighter than the normal lighting outside it. His glasses transitioned to a darker shade. A two-hundred-square-foot room, with two small desks, the rear wall was lined in bookshelves and on the right wall, there was a large gray safe with a standard combination lock. Protection sigils were etched on both the lock and on the door. The bookshelves were not full. A few law books, a couple history books, and several journals. The desks held computers and a large capacity printer. There was an area with a stand. On top was a binding machine, below were the various supplies necessary for binding. Above the stand were wall-mounted shelves which held reams of paper. He assumed they were for the binding. The electricity hummed within. It felt good against the warding, seeming harmless, but if he were stupid enough to reach out, he would get electrocuted. The electricity inside was protected by magic. It had a separate current that kept it running, even if there was a statewide power outage: the little safe room would keep working.

  “What’s in there?” McKellen felt Sunni stand behind him.

  She looked over his shoulder into the safe room. “Inside that safe are the grimoires our people procured from Adiran’s property.”

  “Hmph.” McKellen scratched his head. “Let’s say the spirits made it into the safe room, would they have been able to touch it?”

  “I really don’t know. According to the laws of magic and the dead, they can’t really move physical things great distances. They can throw them around, but I have yet to see concentrated movement.”

  “Well, how in the hell did a bunch of spirits end up in the office without showing signs of their presence outside?”

  “That is a mystery, but Ms. Biggs did say that she found a box inside Mr
. Myer’s office.”

  McKellen looked askance at Sunni. “Which office is Myer’s?”

  Sunni pointed past the safe room to a partially blocked office. What remained of the door was broken in three parts, each piece sharp and lying precariously in and out of the entrance. The wreckage formed a small mountain that would require caution to navigate.

  McKellen pointed at the heap. “It’s in there? How did she get in there and not break her neck?”

  Sunni was already heading for the office. “I’m not sure, Mr. McKellen, but she is rather petite, which means she can get into places that those of our stature cannot.”

  McKellen snorted and followed. She raised her staff as she got closer, tipping the top of it toward the office. She uttered a subvocal chant and the end of the staff was engulfed in light. She shoved the tip of the staff inside the room. A crackling sound echoed inside.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m making it so we can enter without a problem.”

  McKellen tapped his arms, just above the elbow, making contact with an interesting pair of runes. They were shaped like eyes, only the pupil was narrow like a cat. The rune did the strangest thing: the slit spun then expanded to a full circle. Once the slit filled out, the eye-rune blinked.

  He followed Sunni into the office. They moved carefully through the ruins, dodging the sharp ends of furniture, broken glass, warped metal, and plastic. They searched for the box the girl, Abigail, described. McKellen winced, as glass crunched under his feet. Habit made him uncomfortable with noise when he investigated. Abigail had told Sunni that the box was propped against the wall under a window, behind what remained of Mr. Myer’s desk.

  Desk. Desk. McKellen searched for things that resembled desks. An unusually shaped object composed of thick expensive wood rested against the rear wall. Jagged, needle-like edges fashioned a deadly grin. Bits of silver jutted from the left side. Aluminum pieces. Parts of the drawer. McKellen moved as fast as he could. It took him a couple minutes to reach it. He was nicked a few times by random spears of glass and aluminum. It stung like crazy, but the reward numbed his discomfort. He stood before it, a medium-sized box. It wreaked of iron. Cold iron. It was like the girl said, a dull, pulsing light within, black sigils around the edges. Each one unfamiliar. Old.