Phantasm
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
EPILOGUE
Praise for Spectre
“An excellent follow-up to Zoë’s first outing, and the ending will leave readers hungry for more.” —Booklist
“This follow-up to Weldon’s debut urban noir paranormal mystery, Wraith, provides intriguing background information on Zoë’s birth and sets the stage for further adventures. Fans of urban fantasy and supernatural detective stories should enjoy this foray into the border-lands between life and death.” —Library Journal
“Weldon takes readers on a fast-moving adventure of murder, mystery, the dark side of survival, and a romance that is ready to bloom. Spectre provides fans with action and danger at every turn.”
—Darque Reviews
“This novel is full of twists and turns . . . fun and intense.”
—The Witching-Hour Inquirer
“The darkness and graphic danger that permeate the novel make it a chilling and scary read.” —Romantic Times
Praise for Wraith
“Wraith is a highly original addition to urban fantasy. Fun and intense in turn . . . I thoroughly enjoyed this story. I look forward to reading more about Zoë Martinique and her world.”
—Patricia Briggs, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“With a quick-witted heroine and truly frightening baddies, Weldon offers a fantastic kickoff to what promises to be a vibrant new series.”
—Booklist
“Launching with a bang, this new detective series/urban fantasy crossover plunges its astral-traveling heroine into the middle of the action. Martinique is strong, resourceful, self-deprecating, and fascinating.”
—Library Journal
“Weldon’s lively debut . . . keeps Zoë and her readers off balance with brisk pacing and brain-wrenching plot twists. [She draws] the story to a satisfying close while leaving enough loose ends to set up Zoë’s next adventure.” —Publishers Weekly
“Interesting, off-kilter characters . . . I can only hope that we will see more of Zoë Martinique and her family . . . Everything is so matter-of-fact that you come to quickly accept these fantastical trappings—not because of Buffy and other TV shows, but just because, well, it seems so solidly real within the context of the book.” —SFRevu
“This fresh urban fantasy series keeps the action intense with its first-person point of view. Heavy on pop-culture references and quirky dialogue, it features original characters the reader will want to befriend. With a penchant for finding trouble, like Kim Harrison’s protagonist [Rachel Morgan], and witty banter akin to that of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Weldon’s astral-traveling heroine, Zoë, makes this series a hit.”—Romantic Times
“[A] worthwhile debut that bodes well for disembodied adventures to come.”—Kirkus Reviews
Ace Books by Phaedra Weldon
WRAITH
SPECTRE
PHANTASM
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2009 by Phaedra Weldon.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form
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ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PRINTING HISTORY
Ace trade paperback edition / June 2009
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Weldon, Phaedra.
Phantasm : a Zoë Martinique investigation / Phaedra Weldon.—Ace trade pbk. ed.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-101-05351-5
1. Martinique, Zoë (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Single women—Fiction.
3. Astral projection—Fiction. 4. Mute persons—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3623.E4647P47 2009
813’.6—dc22
2009009336
http://us.penguingroup.com
In loving memory of my father, Leonard Caldwell Weldon, Jr.
1933-2008
“Is this what you want? Will this make you happy?
So Be It.”
1
March 21, late night
I suck at magic.
Had no idea what I was doing.
Which was probably why I found myself looking at a six-foot purple flame burning an astral hole in my mom’s living room. Earlier I’d pulled the rug back to reveal the huge pentagram painted on the wood floor beneath. The big Book of Everything lay open on the papasan chair, turned to a page I evidently had no business reading, and I was pretty much trapped between the flame and the fireplace.
Screaming seemed the appropriate thing to do—so I did.
Only—no one could hear me.
My name’s Zoë. Martinique. And in the span of two weeks, I had lost my mother’s soul, banished my best friend from my life, scared the crap out of my cop boyfriend, experienced crazy erotic dreams about another cop in whom I spent some recoup time (hey—clean thoughts here!), learned I was being stalked by two secret societies, as well as possibly damned my soul for all eternity
.
Oh—and the cherry—my great-uncle was responsible for it all.
Period.
All of these things combined have proven one thing to me—I am the winner in the world’s most-dysfunctional-family contest.
Top that! Ha!
Oh, and I’m mute. Not deaf. Though some people tended to think those two were synonymous, so when they discovered I couldn’t talk, they started shouting at me really slow.
Idiots.
Though that word pretty much applied to me at that moment, as I attempted again to get around the flame. But if I tried to move to the right and jump on the couch, the damned thing moved with me. If I tried to fake it and jump to the left, it matched me again.
And forget going through it. I’d already tried that and had one hell of a burn working along my right shoulder where the flame touched me. My jacket was still smoking. I had to face it—the flame was stalking me. Literally pushing me up against the fireplace.
Just as I was about to see if a human could climb up a chimney, I heard the bell over the front door chime, as well as felt the vibration on the hardwood floor. Seeing past the flame was getting difficult—I could make out the arch between the botanica where I was pinned, and the tea shop where the front door was.
A beaded curtain usually separated the two stores—but I’d taken the damned thing down. Got tired of seeing it move with a breeze and thinking someone was in the house. Don’t ask me where that breeze was coming from—I had no idea. I’d been jumpy—and with good reason. Knowing complete strangers were watching me was worse than not knowing.
As I pressed myself against the mantel of the fireplace, I heard someone call my name, and I screamed out—both with my silent vocal cords as well as my thoughts.
What the hell are you doing? came the voice in my mind. It was a male voice—but it wasn’t Joe’s. Whoever it was could hear my thoughts. So—I must have overshadowed (slipped inside of their body—kinda like possession but not really—at least not to me) them at some point. Unless it was a ghost?
Speaking of ghosts—where were Tim and Steve? Wasn’t there something they could do? Oh—Tim and Steve were the resident ghosts of Mom’s combo of house and shop (half botanica and half tea shop)—a couple who died in the basement. Pretty gruesome. Now’s not the time to elaborate.
Zoë? You there?
Well, whoever it was knew me, and I could hear them.
Hang on!
I was hanging on. To the mantel. Two more inches and this thing was going to roast me alive!
A light brighter than the fire nearly blinded me, and I squinted, then looked away with my hand up in front of me. I was expecting to get singed any second—and let’s not even talk about how bad my shoulder was hurting where the fire had touched it before.
And then the light against my eyelids dimmed to nothing, leaving me extremely cold.
A warm hand touched my cheek, and I jumped—I would have squeaked if I could—and there was the familiar voice again. I was blinking as fast as I could, but it was like looking too long into the center of a lightbulb, then looking away—I couldn’t make out what was in front of me.
Not immediately.
“. . . Zoë? Hey . . . look at me. You okay? Did the Portal Fire touch you?”
I blinked again. I could make out an outline. Definitely male. Close to my height. Short, tousled hair, and warm hands.
J-Joe?
There was a soft laugh. “No. Not hardly. You didn’t look into the flame, did you?”
I paused.
There was a sigh. “Zoë . . .” It was more of a drawn-out whine than my name. Though I’d never noticed how well my name translated into a whine till that moment.
I shrugged. He put his hands on my wrist, then my shoulder, and guided me away from the fireplace and into the brighter light of the tea shop. Once there, I blinked even faster as I bumped into the table closest to the arch.
“Christ—you got singed! That shoulder looks bad. Sit down over here. I’ll make you a calming tea and then get to work on the damage, okay?”
I could see the table and the chair easily enough, and I sat down. I hadn’t realized I was shaking. Not just from nerves—mainly because I’d just nearly barbecued my ass—but because I was actually chilled. I could see the guy moving around in the kitchen, behind the cake-and-pie display. I could even see the display case pretty good.
Why can’t I see this person? Why isn’t his voice registering with me? Did that flame burn out brain cells?
Hey—no comments.
My shoulder started throbbing—each heartbeat feeding the stinging pain—so I reached around with my left hand and pulled my right arm closer to my chest. Ow, ow, ow. I felt a vibration on the floor and knew someone was at the back door before the lock turned and the hinges squeaked. From the sound of the shuffle, I knew it was the neighbor and Mom’s friend, Jemmy Shultz.
“Hey, Jemmy!” the stranger called out.
“Well, I’ll be!” came her comforting and familiar Southern drawl. She was laughing, and I could actually see her! Ah! Why could I see Jemmy just fine and not this other guy? Was he some sort of new, freaky Symbiont, Daimon, Abysmal thingie?
Oh God . . . is it TC? No . . . he has my voice . . . not a melodic man’s voice.
I could hear backslapping and laughing. “Child—where have you been keeping yourself? It’s been a coon’s age since I saw you around here.”
“Eh . . . here and there. Been a little busy since that little mess back in December. I was here briefly in January before things got crazy for me again. Heard what happened to Nona and came to see Zoë as soon as I could.”
“Yeah,” Jemmy said. “I just got back from my daily visit’n. Not sure I’m so comfortable with Nona being all quiet like that. Just staring at the ceiling.”
My mom was soulless, lying in a bed at a long-term facility in Alpharetta called Miller Oaks. Sounded more like a mortuary to me. I knew why she was in a coma, and so did Jemmy. The doctors? Not so much. It was getting more and more expensive to keep her there, and I’d already moved into the shop and given up my apartment in midtown. Medicare and Medicaid only covered so much before the cost bled over into my mom’s estate. And I was not letting them touch her shop. They could drain my accounts before taking what she’d worked long and hard for.
But I was about to hit rock bottom with the money—and I still hadn’t found Mom’s soul.
“Yeah . . . but what is that smell?”
“Burned magic,” mystery man said.
I noticed she was coming toward me, and I waved. Her shuffle sped up, and the next thing I knew her cold hand was on my forehead, then she was touching my neck, my wrist. Uh . . . hello? Who’s that in the kitchen?
Too bad Jemmy couldn’t hear me.
“Zoë!” Her hands were on my shoulder, and I hissed air. “What you been doing? How did you burn yourself up there? Oh my,” she made a “tsk-tsk” noise. “That’s gonna need some special care.” She placed her cool hand on my forehead again. “You feel really warm. What’s wrong with the botanica? It’s all hazy and nasty.”
“Coyote Flame,” came the male voice. He came back to the table with something in his hand. Jemmy moved out of the way, and he pulled up a chair, the metal scraping on the wood floor. “Apparently our little Wraith here decided to do magic.”
“Oh noah,” Jemmy said, and moved into the botanica. “What were you trying to do, Zoë? You know magic’s best left to those who can do it. Your momma’s one of the best.” She sighed and put her hands on her hips. I was looking at her back, then looking at the blurry guy beside me. “Well, there’s bandages and rubb’n alcohol on the top shelf in the pantry.”
“I won’t need it.”
“Oh? You got a bit more in those—”
There was a low laugh and whispering. And I could see Jemmy chuckling.
And then he answered. “You could say that.”
“Well then, you get Zoë all better, and I start cleaning and cleansing.
I swear . . .”
And she toddled off.
My attention focused on Blurry Dude. He put a hand on my forehead too, only his touch was still as warm as it had been before. And then he put his hand over my eyes.
Why can’t I see you?
“Because of the burn. The Coyote Flame touched your skin—and you looked into its heart. Its purpose when summoned is to protect the Portal from intruders. Causes loss of sight, breath, illness, and eventually death.”
Death?
He made a heavy sigh. “This would have worked if you’d been OOB, Zoë. Why in the hell aren’t you out of body? If you want to build a gate, just do it—the Coyote Flame is for magicians who can’t walk astrally, not Wraiths.”
I suppressed the urge to reach out and pop this person in the face. Well, nobody told me that.
He laughed again. “It’s okay. I can fix it.”
I rubbed at my eyes and tried to see him. It was like one of those weird films where everything’s in black-and-white except for the main focus. Only everybody else was sharp, and he was blurry. It was just damned intolerable.
Mental note: never look into the purple flame.
“You don’t recognize me, do you?”
Uh . . . Can you give me a multiple choice?
“You and I traveled through a similar door back in December,” he said as he put his hand over my eyes. This time his hand turned cold, and it was like ice against my forehead. I winced—just a bit scared this was gonna turn into brain freeze. “Remember Allard Bonville? He pulled us through the door, but he was more experienced, so the Coyote Flame didn’t try to prevent us from traveling. It’s sort of a guardian against amateurs—only with a bit more danger.”