The air smelled like rotting meat and a gust of winter-cold air blasted me, far too cold for any air conditioner. For a moment, it looked to me as if the entire foyer was layered in shadow, as if the walls and furnishings were darkened by a supernatural soot that turned the vibrant colors to a dull gray. Every instinct I had screamed for me to turn and run the other direction. And if Abby hadn’t been inside, I might have. But I had the awful feeling that something about the house had been involved in Dorothy’s suicide, and now, I was afraid that it had tried to harm Abby.
I’m not the martial arts expert Teag is, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve when it comes to protecting myself. My hand closed over the agate necklace at my throat, drawing on the protective qualities of the gemstone. I had packets of salt in my pocket, as well as some polished bits of black onyx and tourmaline—good for dispelling malicious energy.
My magic is touch magic, so objects with a strong emotional connection are powerful for me, and they help me channel my magic. That’s why I had a worn and dirty dog collar wound around my left wrist, a reminder—and psychic connection—to Bo, the golden retriever who had shared my life for many years. And in my bag, I had an old wooden spoon that had belonged to my grandmother. It didn’t look like much, but I had seen what that powerful emotional bond could do to channel my magic when the chips were down.
I shook the dog collar, hearing the faint jingle of the tags, and the ghostly form of a large, beautiful dog appeared to my left. Then I let go of my necklace and reached into my bag for the wooden spoon athame, wondering how on earth I would explain myself if it turned out Abby had been slow coming to the door because she was in the shower.
Bo’s ghost headed into the foyer, and the shadows shrank back but did not disappear. “Abby?” I called. No response. The blast of cold air was gone, and I could hear the old house’s air conditioning straining against the Charleston heat. I walked toward the kitchen with the definite feeling that the shadows were watching, waiting for a chance to strike.
“Abby?” My voice echoed in the big, empty house. I thought about going back outside to wait for Teag, but my worry for Abby kept me moving. I thought I caught a glimpse of a figure near the display cases in the hallway, but when I looked again, I saw no one.
I could hear Bo’s warning growl in my mind. In life, Bo had been a good-natured goofball who didn’t even get upset about thunderstorms. But once, when someone tried to attack me, he had gone Rottweiler on the man, winning my eternal gratitude. As a ghost, Bo had saved my hide several times. I took his warning seriously.
Even though I wasn’t handling any of Dorothy’s objects, my magic was flashing danger signals. I started to run, shouting Abby’s name, looking into each room and finding nothing. But at the top of the steps, I found Abby sitting in a chair in the bedroom, unmoving.
“Abby!” I ran to her and searched for a pulse. She was breathing shallowly and unresponsive. “Come on, Abby,” I coaxed, trying to get a response.
Bo’s ghost was barking frantically in my mind, running toward the door and back again. I had no idea how I was going to get Abby down the stairs. Again I saw a blur of shadows in the hallway, and this time I made out a shape. It looked like a man, but with a huge, bulbous head and it made a swish-clatter noise as it moved, like it was moving through a beaded curtain.
Something tumbled from Abby’s hands and I grabbed it without looking, then felt the psychic wallop like a sledgehammer. I stared down at the Kachina doll in my hands, one of the ones I had seen before in the glass case. It was a hunched figure dressed mostly in a brown tunic and leggings. One hand gripped a bloody knife, and the other held a long, curved wooden crook. The head was out of proportion to the body, covered front and back with long, coarse black hair that fell to mid-chest and mid-back, curling and swinging as if it had a life of its own like Medusa’s locks. The figure’s face was horrible, wide yellow eyes with black pupils and a toothy maw that stretched ear to ear and a bright red tongue that protruded past the chin. A large reed basket was strapped to the figure’s back.
Guilt and self-loathing washed over me like a drowning sea current. Everything I had ever failed to do, every promise not kept, every obligation not met came back to me in crushing force. Every secret unworthy thought, each petty jealousy or word spoken in anger crashed down on me in a torrent of blame. I gasped for breath, feeling my chest constrict. I knew that I had betrayed everyone’s trust in me with my mistakes, that I was so flawed and broken that I did not deserve a second chance. Accusing voices howled in my head, unearthing every secret shame. I did not deserve to live. I did not deserve—
Bo’s ghost sprang at me, and hit with the power of the ninety-pound dog he had been in his life. His eyes were wild and his teeth bared, and I drew back in shock at the attack. Bo lunged forward, mouth open to bite, pinning me to the floor. But before I could react, his teeth closed on the Kachina and flung it across the room and into the hallway.
Abruptly, my thoughts cleared. I could still feel the despair and merciless accusations like a mental stain, but they no longer paralyzed me. I gasped, filling my lungs with air, trying to get my balance, both mentally and physically. The Kachina spirit’s attack had been so sudden and unexpected that I had nearly been taken down by it. I was shaking all over and it took all my willpower not to throw up.
I couldn’t afford to wait for Teag. It felt to me like the shadows were closing in on us as more silhouettes joined the first. They were in the hallway, and I could hear the distant hum of voices conferring in language I didn’t recognize. Overwhelming sadness and despair rolled over me, smothering and bleak. I closed my hand over my agate necklace again, and the dark feelings dissipated. Was that what drove Dorothy to suicide? I wondered. And had the same thing happened to Abby?
Bo’s ghost was standing guard at the bedroom doorway once more, hackles raised and teeth bared. I grabbed one of the salt packets from my pocket and sprinkled it in a circle that enclosed Abby and me. Salt is a powerful for protection, and I hoped it would keep the shadows away until I could figure something out.
Shadow figures surged at the doorway, things with bulbous heads and long arms, clicking their teeth and hissing. I leveled my spoon-athame at the shadows, going high as Bo’s ghost went low.
White, cold light streamed from the tip of the wooden spoon’s handle, hitting the top of the figures while Bo sprang with a growl, going for the legs. I wasn’t sure how solid these spirits were to humans, but they were real enough to Bo, and his attack combined with the pure energy that flared from my athame was enough to drive the shadows back, away from the door and out of sight. For now.
I pulled out my cell phone to call for an ambulance, and although we were in downtown Charleston, I could not get a signal. Magic and supernatural energies can play havoc with electronics, and ghosts have been known to jam signals and interfere with reception. I was just about to try to lift Abby onto my shoulder and make our way down the stairs when I heard Teag shouting my name.
“We’re in here!” I yelled. “Watch out—there’s something in the hallway!”
“I see it,” Teag called back, and before I could answer, a cloaked creature swooped into the room. I yelped before I realized that it was Teag with one of the Navajo blankets thrown over his head and shoulders.
“Take this!” he said, tossing one of the folded blankets to me. “The blankets have positive energy; they’ve been woven with protection. They’ll help keep the shadows at bay.”
As soon as I touched the woven blanket, the dark magic’s hold on me loosened. Not coincidentally, my cell phone got signal again. I put in a call to 911, glad that I had a copy of the paperwork we signed in my purse because there would be questions about how we happened to find Abby.
Teag was careful not to touch anything in the room, but with one of the blankets still around his shoulders like a cape, he took a look around. “Sleeping pills,” he said with a nod toward a container on the nightstand. “Want to bet she was having bad dreams
, and she either forgot or was misled into taking too many?”
I shuddered, remembering the soul-numbing hopelessness the shadows had inflicted. Magic had helped me drive it back. Abby didn’t have that protection. Maybe it wasn’t an accident, I thought. Maybe whatever we’re up against wanted her to die.
The ambulance came quickly, and the EMTs loaded up Abby and the bottle of sleeping pills and headed for the hospital, making sure to get our names in case there were questions later. I followed the ambulance, since Abby didn’t seem to have anyone else in the area. Teag locked up the house and went back to his research, since neither one of us thought being there alone was a good idea.
Several hours later, I dragged into Trifles and Folly. Maggie took one look at me and offered to run out to Honeysuckle Café for a latte, and I was exhausted enough to take her up on it. Teag was with a customer, so I headed for the back office, too wrung out to be much good until I got my second wind.
Teag brought the latte back to me while Maggie took over up front. “How’s Abby?” he asked.
I took a sip of the latte and let out a long breath. “She’ll be okay. They said it was good we found her when we did. They’re keeping her overnight.”
“Any trouble?”
I shrugged. “A cop came and took my statement. Wanted to know why we were in the house, how we found her, that sort of thing.” I raised an eyebrow. “Good thing we folded up the blankets and put them on the bed before the EMTs came in, or they’d have had a few more questions.”
I thought to check my phone, and saw there was a message from Sorren, so I put it on speaker. “Got your call,” he said. “I think I know someone who can help. I’ll come by your house after sundown and we can make plans.” The message clicked off.
“I never got to tell you what I found out about those carved dolls,” Teag said, sitting down in the chair facing my desk. “They’re meant to represent the sacred Hopi spirits. Most of them are helpful, or at least forces of nature. But there are some that get pretty dark.”
He grimaced. “That black Kachina doll with the mop-like head, the one that looked like it either had hair or tentacles covering its face?” I shivered and nodded. “It’s one of the ogres, maybe even Soyok Wuhti herself.”
“Who?”
“Monster Woman. She and the ogres were stories told to frighten children into obeying their elders,” Teag recapped. “During certain festivals, people would dress up like Soyok Wuhti and the ogres and reprimand disobedient children. Some of the ogres carry yucca flails—they’re the whippers—and they go after adults and children who break the rules.”
He raised an eyebrow. “But Monster Woman is hard-core. She has a bloody knife and a long wooden crook, and she carries a basket on her back,” he said. “Parents told their children that if they didn’t obey, Soyok Wuhti would carry them away in her basket and eat them.”
“Yikes,” I said, taking another long pull of my latte. “And I thought it was bad that Santa had a naughty-or-nice list.”
“Yeah,” Teag agreed. “Kinda puts the bogeyman-in-the-woods stories into perspective.”
I frowned as I thought about what Teag had discovered. “No one in her right mind would try to attract spirits like those,” I replied. “So I’m wondering whether there’s some other artifact that’s juicing up the doll’s mojo, turning pieces with just a bit of sparkle into full-blown spookies.” We had run into that before, discovering otherwise mundane objects suddenly taking on a whole new, terrifying magical aspect because someone or something evil and powerful was close enough to power them up.
Teag nodded. “If the Kachina dolls were on display in a cabinet, then Dorothy had probably had them for a while. Maybe they didn’t cause any problems, or whatever juju they had was low-level enough not to notice.” He paused. “Abby told you that Dorothy got a bunch of boxes not long before she died, things she bought on her last trip, right?”
“Uh huh. Still in the basement,” I replied. “And I’m guessing whatever amped up the dolls is in a crate down there.” Which meant we needed to go down after it. Damn. Then again, it wasn’t in our job description to leave well enough alone.
We waited until closing time, then Teag and I picked up a pizza and headed for my house. I inherited Trifles and Folly from my Uncle Evan, and my parents sold me their house for a pittance when they moved from Charleston to Charlotte. It’s what Charlestonians call a ‘single house’, long and narrow with the front door on the side of the house facing the sidewalk, so that visitors enter onto a wide porch or piazza. I love the old house, and I especially love my little Maltese dog, Baxter, who was waiting inside, yipping his fool head off when he heard us park at the curb.
I opened the door and Baxter pounced. He’s six pounds of white, fluffy attitude. Heart of a grizzly bear; body of a guinea pig. I set my purse aside while Teag carried the pizza into the dining room, and bent down to give Baxter the attention he was demanding, then handed him over to greet Teag when he came back to the foyer.
“He wants pepperoni,” Teag said, letting Baxter lick his chin. “You know that’s what he’s after.”
I sighed. “Of course—unless there’s any other kind of meat, or broccoli.” Baxter loves broccoli. Go figure.
I took Baxter for a quick walk in the garden, then got his dinner. Teag and I sat down to chow through one of Jocko’s Pizzeria’s two-topping masterpieces. We kept the conversation light, knowing there was enough darkness to come. I figured we were both plenty nervous, but there was no point in talking about it.
The sun was barely below the horizon when my doorbell rang. Baxter zipped out from between my feet in a bouncing bundle of territorial protectiveness that would have done a Doberman proud. But when I opened the door, Baxter sat down immediately with a slightly glazed look on his face, tongue lolling from one side of his mouth.
“Do you really have to glamor him every time you visit?” I asked Sorren with a sigh of mock exasperation. Secretly, I had often envied Sorren’s ability to use a little vampire mind trick on the pup. It would have come in handy whenever Baxter got worked up over deliverymen.
“It spares all of us our hearing,” Sorren replied with a half-smile that told me he enjoyed the running joke. Sorren appears to be in his late twenties, with blond hair and eyes the color of the sea after a storm. High cheekbones hint at his Belgian heritage, but I’ve only heard his accent when he’s hurt or badly upset. Dressed in a hoodie, jeans, and sneakers, Sorren looks like a graduate student instead of a powerful centuries-old vampire.
Sorren stepped inside, and I got my first glimpse of his companion.
The man who followed Sorren into the foyer was probably in his early sixties, with coppery skin lined from the sun, chocolate-colored eyes and white hair tied back in a braid that fell to the middle of his back. He wore a white shirt tucked into faded blue jeans that hung from his spare frame, and he had a canvas rucksack thrown over one shoulder. On his belt was a pouch made of skin and fur. Even from a distance, I caught a frission of power. But the magic felt strange, and something about it reminded me of the energy in the woven blankets that Teag had used to hold the shadow ogres at bay.
“Cassidy, Teag—I’d like you to meet Daniel Mohe Traverner. Daniel, these are my associates with the shop.”
Daniel looked Teag and me up and down, then nodded. I got the feeling he wasn’t the talkative type. “They’ll do,” he said. He met my gaze, and his eyes narrowed a bit. “She’s Evan’s kin, isn’t she?”
Sorren chuckled. “The latest in a long line.”
I led the way into the living room and got everyone seated, then offered Daniel sweet tea, which he accepted with taciturn politeness. Sorren didn’t need regular food or drink, and from the color in his complexion, I figured that he had eaten recently although I did not want to know the details.
Once everyone was settled, Teag and I looked to Sorren to kick off the conversation. “When I heard your voice message about the Kachina dolls, I figured we would need a spe
cialist,” Sorren said. “Daniel is a Didanawisgi, a Cherokee medicine man.” Sorren knew a lot of people in the magical community, from Voudon mambos and houngans to root workers and renegade priests. I was amazed, but not entirely surprised, to see him show up with a Native American shaman.
“But the dolls are Hopi, from out West,” I said, glancing from Sorren to Daniel. “Does that matter?”
Daniel chuckled. “We’re different tribes, certainly. But let’s just say that we talk to many of the same spirits by other names, and those spirits that differ talk to each other.”
At Sorren’s urging, Teag and I recounted what we had seen and experienced at Dorothy’s house, ending with the attack on Abby. “We think something that came in the last shipment of boxes juiced up the Kachina dolls,” I finished. “And from the despair those shadow-ogres were able to create, I wonder if they weren’t behind Dorothy’s suicide and Abby’s sleeping pill overdose.”
“I fear you’re right,” Daniel said. “The Nataska—the spirit ogres—are nothing to be taken lightly, and certainly not Soyok Wuhti.”
“Have you ever faced them?” I asked. “Do you have something similar in the Cherokee tradition?”
“Frightening as Soyok Wuhti is, I would place my bet on Raven Mocker in a fight,” Daniel said. I looked for a glimmer of humor in his eyes, but he was serious. “Raven Mocker is a spirit like your Grim Reaper, only nastier. It attacks the frail and dying, kills them brutally, and steals their remaining lifespan.”
“Okay then, I guess that’s something to be grateful for,” Teag muttered.
“One must take fortune as it comes,” Daniel replied. “Or to put it another way, be grateful for small favors.”
“I don’t get it,” Teag replied. “I see Kachina dolls for sale on the Internet. Hell, the gift shop at the Phoenix airport has them. Are they all juiced up?”
Daniel shook his head. “Of course not. Just like the amulets and rabbits’ feet in tourist traps don’t really bring good luck. The object is only part of the power. To activate an object, something supernatural must happen. A blessing. A curse. Consecration. Use in a ritual. Or contamination. And from what you have told me, I believe that is the source of our problem. Something has contaminated the Kachinas, enabling the spirits they represent to break through into this reality.”
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