“Ozzy?” Sal said.
I tore my eyes from Habi’s body, laid a hand on Sal’s shoulder.
“Go with them. And stay with them.”
“But—”
“You’ll be safe. Just don’t go wandering anywhere alone, okay? And if anything else happens—”
“I’ll call you.”
I nodded. “You’re a good kid.”
She lifted her chin. “Who you calling a kid?”
I raised my hands in surrender.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked.
I gave her a grim smile and rubbed my jaw. “There’s someone I need to pay a little visit to.”
10
I drove while my lovely navigator Delilah pointed the way. She didn’t talk much, my Delilah, but she sure knew how to shake those hips of hers.
Delilah, of course, was the plastic hula girl stuck to the dash of my van. She rocked back and forth, guiding me onward as I wound my way along narrow forest roads.
The tracking potion I’d brewed using Isidora’s hair had finally matured. Now, with the sun slowly sinking toward the horizon, I was on her trail. I’d applied the potion to Delilah’s upturned hands half an hour ago, and she’d done the rest.
As I’d expected, Delilah was leading me away from town. A witch like Isidora didn’t seem like someone who enjoyed the company of others. I couldn’t exactly imagine her owning a house in the suburbs and going to brunch every Sunday with her girlfriends. No, she was out here in the woods somewhere. Lurking, probably. That seemed like something she’d do. Lurk. And scheme. She struck me as a schemer.
The long shadows of half-bare tree branches reached out ahead of me, darkening the road. If you could even call this a road. I’d left the paved road surface behind a few minutes ago, and now I was driving on dirt and patches of loose gravel. The last sign of civilization I’d passed was a gas station a few miles back. I’d stopped and filled up and grabbed some snacks, most of which were so bleached by time and sunlight I couldn’t even make out the expiry dates. As I drove I picked at some chips that were mostly dust. I washed them down with a flat can of Coke.
Delilah’s dancing grew more insistent as the road grew worse. I was getting close. As the crow flies, I wasn’t more than a few miles away from the ghouls’ train yard, but my winding path through the hills had taken me some time to navigate. Time I couldn’t afford. Habi’s death had made that painfully clear.
This witch had better have some answers for me. She’d been snooping around Habi’s box car before I found her. She knew something about what had happened to him. And if she was the one responsible…
I dragged myself out of my thoughts to see the road ahead was blocked by a fallen tree trunk. I eased the van to a stop and glanced at Delilah. Her dancing told me I was close. Probably best to proceed on foot anyway.
I got out, grabbed my bag, and set off.
It wasn’t long before the road disappeared, swallowed up by weeds and moss and grass. Birds fluttered overhead, falling silent as I passed. I used the last glimmer of sunlight to keep myself headed in the right direction. I hoped I found the witch soon. Once the sun was gone, it’d be easy to get lost out here. And I wasn’t exactly equipped for a night out in the forest.
Especially since I knew these woods were haunted by more than just wild animals.
I was slowly heading downhill, and with each step the ground seemed to become boggier. Mud started sucking at my shoes, and mosquitoes began to accost me. Doubts began to creep into my mind. I pushed onward anyway.
And then I spotted something that told me I was on the right track. Ahead of me stood a stunted, skeletal tree, only a few of its leaves still clinging on. From its branches dangled a dozen bizarre fetishes, adorning the tree like macabre Christmas decorations.
They hung down on long bits of twine, low enough that they’d brush the top of my head if I passed underneath. Some were simple, crosses and triangles made of twigs and lashed together with twine. Others resembled stick figures, and still others were clearly made from the bones of small animals. Tiny animal skulls were worked into some of the fetishes, and I saw a few bird feet tied in as well. They all twisted silently in the still air.
I studied the tree and its fetishes for a few seconds, then glanced to the right. Further along, only just visible in the thick forest, I spotted another tree festooned with creepy looking witchery. Most likely there were a bunch more similarly adorned trees marking the boundary between the rest of the forest and whatever was contained within. At the base of the tree in front of me I could see a spider with its legs curled up, twitching as if in pain. Centipedes twisted and writhed against the bark, driven from their homes by the power of the fetishes.
It was a pretty shit piece of warding, really. Hasty and brutal. Typical witch work. Sure, it would probably be effective against people who didn’t know what they were dealing with. It looked powerful enough to incapacitate someone who wasn’t expecting it, and the witch who created the wards would undoubtedly be alerted if something managed to cross into her territory. But there was no subtlety. No finesse. She might as well have dug a moat, filled it with gasoline, and struck a match.
As it was, someone who knew what they were doing could pass without much trouble at all. And thanks to a few years under Early’s tutelage, I happened to be that someone.
I crouched down and opened my bag. I lit a candle, and while I waited for the wax to melt a little I got out some deerskin parchment and wrote out a counter-charm to shield me from the nastier effects of the wards. That done, I folded up the parchment and sealed it with a few drops of wax. I slipped the charm into my breast pocket. The charm would help me push through the wards and conceal me once I was in the witch’s territory, but it wouldn’t be enough to get me in on its own. I also needed to create a weakening in the wardnet.
Thanks to the witch’s shoddy workmanship, that wouldn’t be hard.
With the sunlight rapidly failing, I blew out the candle, returned it to my bag, and got out the two things I’d need to weaken the wards: a vial of powdered silver and a big ol’ bottle of rocksalt. Silver’s damn good at disrupting magic, and rocksalt makes a pretty good shield against certain kinds of witchcraft.
I added a little powdered silver to the bottle of rocksalt, shook it up, and then moved to the edge of the wardnet. There was no line, nothing visible, but I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up as I approached. It felt like spiders were crawling down my spine.
I gave the bottle a flick, sending a stream of rocksalt and silver flying from the bottle. It fell, forming a rough line through the undergrowth. I did the same thing a couple of feet further on. Two parallel lines of salt and silver now bisected the wardnet. The specks of powdered silver glittered in the last scraps of sunlight.
Then the sun finally sank out of sight. Suddenly, the woods felt colder, deeper, older. I realized that I hadn’t heard any wildlife for some time.
I slung my bag back over my shoulder and took a deep breath. Time to find out if I was as smart as I thought I was.
I stepped between the two lines of salt and silver and crossed into the witch’s territory. The crawling sensation in my spine grew stronger for a moment. I continued walking, staying between the lines of salt, using it as a path through the witch’s wardnet.
And then I was through. The creeping sensation receded. The charm in my pocket had grown warm at the crossing. I let out a breath and allowed myself a smile.
I headed off again, moving as silently as I could. It was growing harder to see in the fading light. Twigs and leaves scratched at me as I passed, clawing at my coat, trying to entangle me. At one point I heard something scurrying away through the undergrowth. My hand went to my truncheon, but the animal—or whatever it was—fled from me. I continued on.
I hoped like hell I was still heading in the right direction. I was in the witch’s territory, but who knew how far that stretched. I was banking on the assumption that she’d only been
in town a little while, which meant her reach would probably be limited. But if I was wrong, I could be searching a long time. And the longer I traipsed about her territory, the more likely she’d notice the intrusion.
Just as I was starting to despair, I pushed through a wall of thick bushes that opened into a small clearing. I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d found what I was looking for.
The cabin had clearly been there a long time. It had probably once been someone’s getaway spot. Maybe there was a creek around here where they could do a little fishing.
But it had been a while since the cabin had seen that kind of use. The roof was covered in dead leaves from the surrounding trees. One side of the porch had collapsed entirely, and the other end was stacked with broken bits of old wooden furniture. It looked like most of the windows were either cracked or broken.
It wasn’t abandoned, though. Not entirely. The cracks in the windows had been patched with duct tape. It looked like some of the debris had been cleared away from the front door. My guess: someone had found the cabin and decided to turn it to their own use.
A thin trail of smoke curled from the chimney. The uneven light of a lantern or candle shone in one of the windows. Shadows danced behind threadbare curtains, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the flickering of the flame or someone moving inside.
I licked my lips, suddenly nervous. For courage I unhooked my truncheon from my belt and gripped it firmly. This time I had the drop on Isidora. This time I’d get answers.
I slipped from the cover of the bushes and crossed the clearing, making for the cabin. I stayed low, keeping one eye on the ground to make sure I didn’t snap any twigs or set off any inconveniently placed bear traps.
Pressing myself against the side of the cabin, I peeked in one of the cracked windows. The glass was filthy. I could barely see a thing. I made out the shape of a small dining table, and beyond that a couple of armchairs and a couch. The light was coming from the fireplace—just a small fire, not a big crackling blaze. An armchair was pulled up to the fire, facing away from me. It rocked slightly.
I watched a few more seconds, waiting to see if anything else moved. When nothing did, I crept around the side of the cabin and climbed up onto the porch. Rotten timber groaned under my weight.
I reached for the door handle, tested it. Unlocked. I turned the handle and eased the door open.
It was surprisingly warm inside. There was a smell like sawdust and pine oil. The door opened into a rudimentary kitchen area—no fridge, just a wood-burning stove and a few cupboards. Beyond that I could see the living room, and the fireplace, and the armchair. It was still rocking.
Taking a deep breath, I slipped inside. Part of me wanted to trade my truncheon for my gun, but the witch was no good to me dead. I passed through the kitchen. There was a sad-looking stag head mounted on the wall of the living room, one of its glass eyes missing, the fur moldy and limp. Hell, it didn’t even look like it had been a particularly impressive stag to begin with.
A floorboard creaked beneath my feet. I paused. The fireplace gave a single crackle. The armchair stopped rocking.
“So,” came Isidora’s voice from the armchair, “you found me. Took you long enough.”
“Busy day,” I said. “Stay where you are and turn the chair around.”
She started rocking the chair again, still turned away from me. I could only make out the shape of her knees from where I was standing. Truncheon at the ready, I slowly closed in.
“Turn the fuck around,” I snapped.
She just laughed.
With a growl, I darted forward. I put my shoe against the side of the chair and kicked it around to face me. As the chair spun I raised my truncheon, ready to bring it down on her hands if she’d been preparing some kind of spell.
Except Isidora wasn’t sitting in the chair. Something else was.
It looked a little like a scarecrow. A flannel shirt and a pair of jeans were sitting there, stuffed with leaves and sticks. Twigs poked out through the arm and neck holes.
A talisman hung from the scarecrow’s neck on a leather-braided cord. No, not just a talisman. Its dried skin was too real to be an imitation. It resembled a shrunken head, flesh leathery and wrinkled, its eyes and lips sewn shut.
The shrunken head didn’t move. But when it spoke, it spoke in Isidora’s voice.
“Surprise, cunning man.”
I sensed, rather than heard, something moving behind me. I spun around, bringing my truncheon to bear.
The shadowy figure of a woman emerged from a darkened corner. Before I could react, she brought her palm to her mouth and blew.
A cloud of red dust billowed out, swallowing me. I flinched instinctively, closing my eyes and taking a step back. I waited for the burning in my brain.
It didn’t come.
There was a split second of silence. The room was still, apart from the billowing of red dust. I opened my eyes.
Isidora let out a cry of pain.
She staggered back from me, grabbing at the couch with one hand while the other clutched at her head, tangling in her hair. She swayed drunkenly, then tripped over her own feet. Her ass hit the floor. She stared up at me through eyes unfocused by pain.
I smiled. “Surprise, witch.”
I took a step toward her. She snarled, swinging an arm wildly in my direction as she tried to scramble back along the wooden floor. She banged her teeth into a side table and let out another yelp.
I followed her. “You didn’t really think that same trick would work twice, did you?” I waggled my finger at her. “You must be new around here. Don’t worry. The counter-charm hasn’t reflected the full effects of the mind-burn. I didn’t want you unconscious. Or dead. Just…a little singed. Hey!”
She’d stuck her hand into her jacket. Before she could do anything, I stomped forward and clamped my hand around her wrist. She groaned and tried to squirm free, but her muscles were betraying her. I reached inside her jacket and found what she’d been reaching for: a bandolier from which pouches and pockets and vials dangled. I yanked on the leather bandolier and heard something snap as it came free. I glanced at it for a second, then put it down behind me, out of her reach.
“Bad move,” I said. “You don’t want me angry right now.” I crouched down on my haunches in front of her and glanced around the cabin’s squalid interior. “Nice place. You been here long?”
“What do you think?” she hissed.
“Judging by that shit-show warding job you did, I’m guessing not long. How’d you know I was coming? I bypassed your wards.”
She growled and wiped at her eyes, like she was trying to swipe bugs off her face. “I invited you, remember?”
“Before you kicked me in the face and left me for dead? Yeah, I remember. But I didn’t exactly RSVP. You tried to ambush me. You knew I was…” I paused, remembering a rustling I’d heard in the undergrowth outside. I looked around the cabin again and spotted an empty cage made of sticks and string. A crude door on the side was flipped open. “Your rat told you, didn’t she?”
She bared her teeth in a nasty grin. “She ratted you out.”
“I oughta cut out your tongue for that one. But first I need answers.”
“I’m not telling you anything until you break the counter-spell.”
“Don’t tell me you’re finding it a little hard to think with your brain on fire and spiders crawling across your eyes?”
“Break it! Then we talk.”
I pursed my lips, thinking it over. I took my time. Finally, when I thought she’d suffered enough, I reached into my pocket and tossed a vial into her lap.
“Drink up,” I said.
She picked it up and uncorked it with clumsy fingers. Squinting, she eyed the vial for a moment, then brought it to her nose and sniffed it.
“How do I know you’re not trying to poison me?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Don’t drink it, then. No skin off my nose.”
She scowled at me, then stud
ied the vial for a second longer. Screwing up her eyes, she brought the vial to her lips and threw it back.
Her face relaxed almost instantly. She slumped back against the wall, sighing.
“You’re welcome,” I said. “Don’t fuck with me again, huh?”
“It’s something of a reflex.”
She made to stand, but I planted the head of my truncheon on her chest and pushed her back down. She glared at me.
“What, I’m not even allowed to get up now?”
“First, you talk.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “What do you want to know?”
“Let’s start with what you were doing at the train yard last night.”
“I told you. I was looking for someone.”
“Who?”
She hesitated, glanced down at the floor. “My sister.”
I remembered a name she’d mentioned last night. “Ursula, right? She’s missing?”
“Obviously.”
“And is she a witch like you?”
She gave a sardonic smile. “Not much like me, no. But yes, she’s a witch.”
“With the coven here in town?”
Isidora nodded.
“How long has she been missing?” I asked.
“The fuck do you care?”
“Because I’m looking for someone too.”
She met my eyes. “The ghoul.”
Something tightened in my stomach. “No. Well, yeah, but not anymore. He’s…uh…he’s been found.”
She studied me a moment longer, her eyes narrowing. Then she blew a stream of air from her lips and let her head droop back. “Shit. He’s dead?”
“Yeah. And why the fuck do you care?”
“Because he’s a lead. Was a lead. Shit!” She slammed her fist against the floor. “The only lead I had left. Now I’m back to square one.”
She glared at her feet, like maybe they were responsible for her failure. I let her brood for a while. Maybe it’d be good for her.
Pay Dirt Page 10