Mystic Jive: Hand of Fate - Book Four

by Sharon Joss

  Arby was a typical kid, with grass stains on the knees of his jeans, his shirttail hanging out. In looks and his stocky build, he took after his father more than Honey, although he shared her Senequois features and coloring. His eyes were so dark, they appeared almost black—he actually reminded me a little of Charlie. Old man’s eyes.

  “Hi Arby, remember me? I’m Mina’s aunt Mattie.”

  “He shook his head. “No. That’s not right.” He pointed at my poison-blackened hand. “You’re the dead hand lady.”

  “Um.” I glanced at Honey, uncertain.

  “Good heavens. Out of the mouths of babes,” Honey murmured, as she rushed him out the door. “Off you go. No TV until your homework is done, right?”

  “Sorry, Mattie.” She grabbed a folded bed sheet and shook it out.

  I reached for the other side, and we smoothed the fabric across the mattress. “What was that all about?”

  “He’s got the sight,” she said. “He takes after my grandmother. Three hundred years ago, he would have been apprenticed to the tribal shaman. But now,” she gave me a wistful expression and tucked a corner of the sheet beneath the mattress. “There isn’t anyone to teach him the old ways. He sees so much he doesn’t understand yet. When he looks at you, I imagine he sees your affinity for spirits and demons. He means no offense; he just doesn’t have the vocabulary.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been called a lot worse.”

  I explained what Charlie had told us about the swamp lights and the Nalusa Falaya. “Lou and Charlie both think that the cult is going to try to summon it tonight. We have a plan to disrupt the ritual and stop them.”

  “I’ve never liked Halloween. I’m keeping the boys inside with me tonight.” She stood at the big picture window and looked up and down the street. “Where is he? The Medi-Van should have arrived hours ago.” The cast on Lou’s leg made it impossible for him to get into a car. “I’m going to call the hospital and see what’s taking so long. You want some coffee? I can make a fresh pot.”

  “Coffee sounds good,” I said. “He’s checking out against doctors orders. Maybe there’s a problem with the paperwork. I’ll finish up here and be right over.”

  She gave me a little wave and left. I shook out two cotton blankets and smoothed them over the top sheet, recognizing the familiar scent of Stay Fresh dryer sheets. Same brand I used. I folded the down comforter Honey had retrieved from Lou’s upstairs bedroom and placed it at the foot of the bed. Although the hospital bed dominated the room, the rest of Lou’s place was modest and neat. Clearly, he’d been a bachelor a long time, and was good at it. A better housekeeper than me, come to think of it. I washed and dried the few dishes in the sink, put away the groceries, and plumped up the bed pillows before giving the place a final inspection. A pair of framed photos flanked the fireplace mantel–an old one of Lou and his partner Nate in uniform, and a more recent one of Lou standing companionably between Nate Junior and Arby. All three of them were holding fishing poles and laughing.

  Nice.

  CHAPTER 16

  TEN MINUTES LATER, I walked over to Honey’s side of the duplex. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. It wasn’t locked, so I let myself in. Unsurprisingly, the inside layout was a mirror image of Lou’s place. “Hello?”

  The house echoed, as if no one was home.

  Something’s not right here. I made my way to the kitchen, and froze. An open can of Folgers coffee lay to the floor; dark grounds had spilled across the linoleum. Even an apprentice private detective like me could see at least four sets of shoeprints in the grounds. A scuffle. The back door was wide open.

  I stepped around the coffee and out the back door. The lawn had been recently raked, and the patio table and chairs neatly covered in canvas for the winter. A gate leading to the alley behind the house was ajar.

  The alley was empty.

  “Honey?” I ran back to the house in a panic. “Arby!”

  I checked every room, but the place was empty. In the kid’s room, on the floor between the twin beds, I found a crudely carved snake-like figure sitting on a blood-smeared page of lined notepaper. A message had been cut from newspaper headlines and glued to the note:

  The day of reckoning has finally arrived.

  You know where to find us.

  The carved fetish began to emit an unnatural mist. Like a fog, it surrounded me—cold as ice. I backed out of the room, my heart racing. Holy shit. Lou had been right all along. Lou.

  I dialed the hospital and asked for Lou Scali.

  “He’s been released,” the nurse said.

  “How long ago?” I asked, my throat dry.

  “They left mid-morning.” She sounded harried.

  “Has the driver come back yet?”

  She made an exasperated sound. “No he hasn’t and I’ve got three people here waiting on him. Lenny usually calls if he’s going to be late. He’s not answering his phone.”

  I hung up. The hospital was ten minutes away. No reason it should take so long. This was bad news.

  The consequences of Charlie releasing the trapped spirits from the Fewkes farmhouse became clear to me.

  The Fewkes needed souls to summon the demon. They’d have to replace the souls Charlie freed, and they didn’t have much time. That was why Lou, Honey, and Arby had been taken, and there were probably other victims as well. Thank goodness Nate Junior hadn’t been home. I hoped he was safe.

  How many souls had the Fewkes planned to use to summon the Nalusa Falaya? I didn’t want to think about it.

  Dark had come early this Halloween.

  If I called 911, they wouldn’t consider it an emergency. The victims had only been gone a couple hours. I called Sheriff Reynolds’ cell phone instead. He answered straight away. “I’m kind of busy here Mattie.”

  I could hear sirens in the background. It wasn’t even full dark yet. All the crazies come out on Halloween.

  “I’m at Lou Scali’s place. He was checked out of the hospital in a med-van before noon, but it never arrived. The driver is also missing, and he’s not answering his phone.”

  “It’s going to have to wait. I’ve got shots fired at the Halloween Event in Mumford. Everybody’s in costume and the power is out. It’s darker than Hades out here. Can’t tell what’s going on.”

  Mumford was twenty miles away. The Historic Village was a living museum of impeccably preserved 19th century buildings set out in the middle of nowhere. Their traditional Halloween event attracts hundreds of kids and families every year.

  “Honey Briscoe and her son Arby are missing, too. I think they’ve been kidnapped. There’s a bloody note here. Something’s going down tonight, I know it.”

  “Shit.” Reynolds said. I heard screams in the background. I didn’t know if he was cursing at me or them. “Stay right there. I’ll send somebody when I can.”

  “I can’t wait—.” He’d already hung up.

  I paced the hall between Honey’s kitchen and Arby’s bedroom, my gut twisting tighter with every step. They might already be dead. Or would the Fewkes keep them alive and sacrifice them on the altar?

  Guilt tore at me. I’d thought we’d have more time. I really never imagined they’d come after Honey. And after ten years? This was insane.

  The timetable had been moved up and we weren’t ready. We’d hadn’t planned on getting to the ritual site for at least another couple of hours. I called Rhys and told him what had happened. “The Sheriff has his hands full right now; we’re on our own, Rhys.”

  “I’ll call Kevin and tell him,” he said. “I need to make a stop at Charlie’s, and then I’ll pick you up.”

  “Charlie’s? What for? We agreed to keep him out of this.”

  “We’re not going in there unarmed. We need weapons.”

  “Guns won’t stop a demon.” I’d argued with him earlier, about the need for weapons at all. All we needed to do was to disrupt the ceremony. Whatever the cultists were dabbling in, they were human, and therefore p
rotected by law. But that was before. Things had gone nasty in a hurry.

  “I’m not talking about guns. Charlie has the key to the fun house.”

  When Rhys had gone back to Scotland to close up his personal affairs, he’d run into a bit of trouble. A few of the druids took exception to his plans to leave the Order. When they tried to stop him, he escaped through the underworld, where they couldn’t follow. It was why he couldn’t call me when he was gone. He had stored some of his weapons and more precious possessions beneath the Fun House portal, where no mortal could reach them.

  “You waited until now to get them?”

  “The plan can still work, only the timeline has moved. Wait for me.” The stress in his voice made me realize how worried he really was.

  “No can do, Rhys. I’ll meet you there.” I hung up and ran to my car. No point in arguing. It would take me almost an hour to get to the cemetery and hike in.

  I hoped I wasn’t too late.

  CHAPTER 17

  A BARRICADE HAD been set up across the dirt track access road. Two guys stood guard. Not obviously armed, but I doubted I’d be able to get past them. I drove by without slowing, and a half-mile later, made a right-hand turn into the parking lot at Knutt’s Apple farm. The cider barn and farm market were already closed up for the night. A few pickup trucks were parked in the shadowy darkness at the far end of the lot.

  A good sign. It looked like at least some of the werewolves had gotten the word. I parked my car next to them and set off through the dark trees, angling back toward where I knew the barbed-wire fence marked the back of the property line.

  “Blix,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I summon you.”

  My little djemon materialized on my left shoulder, and wrapped his tail around my neck for balance, his luminous eyes softly aglow. Djemons see perfectly well, even on the darkest nights. No moon tonight, but the sky was clear, and with the apple trees bare of leaves, the stars provided just enough light to see. Low areas in the orchard held the beginnings of ground fog, giving the scene an eerie feel. Earlier rains had softened the now-decaying carpet of leaves beneath my feet, muffling my footsteps.

  “Let me know if you see anybody, Blix.”

  He nodded, his cheek next to mine. Blix wasn’t big or powerful enough to be much use if anyone came after me, but his superior senses would detect anyone hiding close by.

  Somewhere up ahead was the crypt where I was supposed to meet up with Kevin, the bartender from Growlers, and an alpha for one of the local werewolf packs.

  After what seemed like a very long hike, I reached the fence line marking the back of the apple farm. I had a moment of panic when I remembered that Rhys had the wire cutters, but Blix raced ahead of me and found the spot where the wolves had gone through. He led me straight to the gap beside a mounded pile of clothes and boots hidden beneath a leaf-strewn tarp.

  I stepped through gap and climbed up the steep hill which surrounded the cemetery. The still air carried no sound of chanting, as it had when Lou and I had been here previously. I took that as another good sign. They hadn’t started yet. Maybe Lou and Honey and Arby were still alive.

  The crescent moon on the palm of my hand began to itch and glow.

  Yeah, right.

  I crested the hill behind a clump of shrubbery. I paused to catch my breath, using Master Foo’s breathing techniques. Cautiously, I peered over the bushes to get my bearings.

  Oh man. The valley was completely filled with low fog which obliterated the cemetery. I couldn’t see a thing. Not even the vault where I was supposed to meet Kevin. From where I was, nothing looked familiar. I didn’t dare turn on the flashlight.

  A cold nose touched my hand. I jumped, even as I’d half-expected it. Kevin had told me werewolves did not suffer from hunting lust on nights without a full moon, and therefore not as dangerous. I wasn’t so sure. The pale monster standing at my hip made me nervous. Bigger than any dog I’d ever seen. Its eyes reflected the pinpoints of starlight with a chilling amber glow.

  It gave me a look that clearly said, follow me, and moved toward the fog.

  I grabbed onto the shaggy fur at his neck and let him lead me, like a frikking blind woman, into the murk. The mist enveloped us with a clammy, greasy feel—definitely not natural. The stars disappeared—I couldn’t see any further than the wolf’s ears as he led me down the hill. When I slipped on the wet grass, he braced himself, and I leaned against him for support. The path he chose wove unerringly between the crumbled and toppled headstones.

  By the time we neared the meet-up behind the crypt, the mist had thinned enough to see the ritual site. Within the circle itself, a ring of Tiki torches smoked and flickered, illuminating the scene. Thirteen hooded figures were positioned along the outline of a large pentagram. Only the faintest murmur of sound could be heard. I unfocused my vision, and cracked open the little door to Morta’s power inside my head. A vague, shimmery image surrounded the summoning circle. The chill of the vault cut through my leather jacket and I shivered—not wholly from the cold. There was no mistaking the scene below—it was the real deal. The ritual had already begun.

  Three hooded figures patrolled the outside of the circle, carrying stun batons. They faced outward from the circle, toward the path that Lou and I had followed that first night. They were expecting trouble. The stun batons would incapacitate anyone who came within reach.

  Kevin, wearing only a down parka and a pair of baggy sweatpants, pulled me into the deepest shadows of the vault. The earthy scent of pine and damp earth was strangely comforting. He introduced the white wolf as Silas, an alpha from outside the county who owed him a favor. “Where’s Rhys?” He asked.

  “He’ll be here.”

  “I don’t like this one bit,” he said. “You guys didn’t say anything about a kid.”

  Kevin wasn’t kidding. There were now three altars lined up at the foot of the spirit tree where there had only been one before.

  It broke my heart to see the three of them lined up on separate altars. Honey and Arby lay motionless. I prayed they weren’t dead. On the third altar, Lou was awake—trying unsuccessfully to rub his gag loose. All three had their hands bound with zip ties behind their backs. There was a deep-looking cut on Lou’s forehead, and his face was covered with dried blood; his body and cast were covered in mud. It looked like they’d dragged him to the altar from the car.

  Arby lay on the center altar, his inert form surrounded by twelve wooden figures of varying sizes and complexity. Some were no bigger than my fist—crudely carved dowels with faces drawn on. Others looked like valuable antiques. I recognized the doll which had fallen from Liddy Fewkes’s bag and begged for Morta’s help. Twelve trapped souls and three live sacrifices. We’d been wrong in assuming the cult would need to obtain more souls to conduct the ritual—they must’ve been stockpiling them.

  Silas perked his ears and chuffed.

  “I’m here,” Rhys said. “How many wolves do we have?”

  My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. He’d traded in his usual leathers for some sort of scaled body armor—a kilt and breastplate with heavy leather braces and greaves. Rhys carried his great sword, which I had only seen once before, in a sheath strapped across his back, and a shorter sword belted at his waist.

  “Five, including me and Silas,” answered Kevin.

  “Here.” Rhys handed me a stiletto as long as my arm. “It’s the lightest blade I’ve got. It’s a Kinjali dagger, blessed by Morta herself.”

  I hefted the weapon. This was no bamboo pole. Longer than my forearm, it felt surprisingly comfortable in my hand. The blade looked razor sharp.

  “You keep it,” I gave it back to him. “I’d probably stab myself with that thing.” I slid the cool shears of the Hand of Fate into my hand and held them up to show him. “I’m better off with these.”

  “If you want to stop this, we can’t wait much longer,” Kevin said.

  As one, all thirteen of the hooded figures pulled back their hoods
, revealing themselves.

  John Fewkes, the black sorcerer, stood at the center altar, while at his shoulder, his sister, Liddy, stood at the ready, holding three gleaming knives on a black tray. At a signal from Fewkes, the largest of the cultists approached Liddy and picked up a knife from the tray. He was built like a weight lifter, and completely bald—his scalp tattooed with strange, rune-like symbols. I did not recognize him. He moved to stand at the furthest altar, where Honey lay unconscious.

  John took another of the knives from Liddy and held his arms above his head in apparent supplication, over the inert form of Arby, while Liddy took the third knife and took her place at the altar where Lou lay squirming. Although the buildup of power was palpable, we could not hear more than a murmur through the protective circle. The ten-inch blades gleamed in the torchlight like an evil promise.

  Inside the circle, a flurry of swamp lights appeared from out of nowhere. They swarmed the tree, like maddened bees. Whatever doubts I’d had before, I knew Charlie had been right. Unless we stopped them, they intended to sacrifice Lou, Honey, and Arby to the Nalusa Falaya.

  “Guys,” I said. “Now is the time. Now would be good.”

  Kevin shook his head. “They won’t be able to hear us. The deal is off.”

  In the eyes of the law, a lycanthrope’s actions and movements are strictly regulated, and killing a were in wolf form carries a lesser penalty than killing a real wolf. Any werewolf who threatens, attacks, or willingly transmits the virus to a human being is subject to immediate execution with extreme prejudice; no trial necessary. The only way Rhys and I had been able to convince Kevin and his friends to help us was by assuring them that all they had to do was to howl and show themselves at a distance—harass the coven just enough to distract them and disrupt the ritual.

  “Come on, it could still work,” I said. “You can’t just let them kill three innocent people in cold blood.” I could hardly keep still for the need to act. My toes tapped a restless beat to drums only I could hear.