“It’s lovely to meet you at last, Mother Renard,” Iman said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Her Arabic accent was thicker than Arianne’s, the musical tone pleasant to my ear. I smiled.
“The pleasure is all mine.” A tiny foot stomped down on the back of my neck, and I scowled. “This is Peasblossom, my familiar.”
Peasblossom spun out from under my hair to give Iman an enthusiastic wave. Iman laughed softly and waved back.
Mother Hazel grunted impatiently.
“I want to hire you,” Arianne said, blurting the words without further fanfare.
This time I couldn’t keep my eyebrows down. “Hire me?”
For a second, Arianne stared at me, her lips pressed together. She didn’t seem like she wanted to hire me.
“What do you know about my business?” she asked.
“The hotel?”
Arianne glanced at Mother Hazel again.
“She is trustworthy,” Mother Hazel said firmly. “Tell her.”
I blinked, somewhat surprised by the simple endorsement. High praise from Mother Hazel.
Arianne took a deep breath. “When I left my native Syria, it was to save my life—and Iman’s. I don’t know how much you know about the family expectations of sorceresses?”
“A sorceress is the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter,” I said slowly. “Just like a sorcerer is the seventh son of a seventh son. It’s my understanding that because they’re so rare, families with sorcery in them encourage their children to procreate until they continue the line.”
“A very diplomatic summation,” Arianne said bitterly. “The truth is that a sorceress is expected to marry a sorcerer and continue having children until she produces another. That’s how bloodlines are strengthened, and to fail to have children in this way is viewed as a great sin, not only against your family but against your people.”
I glanced from Arianne to Iman and back. “I see.”
“We left before the civil war broke out. I want to make it clear, it was never my intention to turn my back on my people—Syria, not sorcerers. If we could have stayed to help, we would have. As it stands, we’ve had to do what we can to help here. We were fortunate enough to find a home here, and build a successful business. So we used the resources at our disposal to find new homes for our people that were displaced by the war.” She hesitated, then added, “We also helped them get here. Safely.”
She didn’t come right out and say it, but I got the message. Arianne and Iman were smuggling refugees into the United States. Suddenly I remembered my first case, the architect who’d been murdered. Helen Miller had specialized in building secret rooms. And suddenly I understood why Arianne had hired her. Why she’d gone to such lengths to hide the work Helen had done.
And why she’d been so terribly furious when I’d brought law enforcement to her hotel.
She seemed to read my mind. “Yes. Now you understand.”
“As much as I would like to point out that you could have told me all of this instead of trying to kill me… I understand why you didn’t.” I looked from her to Iman and back. “What can I help you with now?”
Arianne took a deep breath. “We made a decision early on that we would concentrate on human evacuees. Otherworlders come with more complications, they require significantly more security. High emotions can lead to all manner of challenges with various Otherworlders, and there are few situations that raise emotions like fleeing for one’s life, uprooting oneself and one’s family from the only home you’ve ever known.”
“I can’t imagine,” I said softly. I’d been uprooted when I’d become Mother Hazel’s apprentice, but that had been my choice. I hadn’t left because my home had been blown up, or because I feared for my life.
“Last week, a woman came to my hotel. Her name was Jamila Samaha, and she was a fravashi, a type of guardian angel.”
“She wanted to hire us to bring her sister over from Damascus,” Iman spoke up. “She said her sister had called her and said she’d found someone to bring her over. Jamila thought the people her sister had found were untrustworthy, and she wanted to give her sister an alternative. Us.”
Arianne’s face darkened. “Of course she was right to worry. Many who offer to smuggle people into this country are evil creatures who want only to get these people into vulnerable positions so they can exploit them for their own selfish ends.”
Iman laid a gentle kiss on Arianne’s shoulder, offering comfort. “But unfortunately, Jamila’s sister was Other as well.”
“I said no.” Arianne’s voice was quiet, but firm. “We cannot make an exception. If we say yes to one, then there will always be more. We have to stick to our plan. Everything we’ve done—every precaution—is built around humans. It would take only one Otherworlder losing control to destroy everything, and then we wouldn’t be able to help anyone.”
My heart ached for the pain in her voice. I suddenly saw Arianne’s paranoia, her ferocious anger in a new light. She was scared of me. Scared because I kept showing up, kept shining a light on the building that was hiding all those souls who depended on her.
“I turned her away,” Arianne whispered. “And it wasn’t until two days ago that I realized how much Jamila kept out of her story.”
“A spirit came to us,” Iman said. “Someone you know. Echo?”
“Echo came to you?” I came closer to the table so I could grab a chair and sit down. Echo was a disembodied spirit. A ghost with no anchor on the physical plane. I’d etched runes into a statue of Stephanie Tubbs Jones in downtown Cleveland so she could stay there, but for her to travel more than a short distance would require her to leap into someone’s head.
“How? Suite Dreams is over five miles away from her statue. She would have had to head-hop from one person to another, without having any way of knowing where each person was heading to before she jumped.”
“She was not in good shape when she arrived,” Iman agreed. “The poor thing was as exhausted as she was determined to deliver her message. According to Echo, Jamila was killed. Murdered.”
“Werewolves,” Arianne said suddenly, biting out the word as if it had personally offended her. “She was slashed from her throat to her pubic bone, gutted like a fish.”
I looked at Iman, but the other woman’s attention was all on Arianne.
“It’s not your fault, love,” she said softly.
“How do you know it was werewolves?” I asked carefully.
Arianne grabbed a bag off the floor and jerked a manila folder from its recesses. She threw it on the table. “I have the autopsy report.”
I looked at Peasblossom. The pixie’s tiny pink face creased with worry and she ran over the table to leap onto my arm, continuing to run up to my shoulder using her wings to keep herself steady. She hugged my neck in silent support as I opened the folder.
The pictures were on top. I wasn’t ready for that, and my stomach rolled upward in protest. Usually the report was on top. The dry, typed pages that were only words until you saw the pictures. A warning about what waited for anyone who turned the page.
I breathed through my nose and forced myself to study the pictures. When the initial horror wore off, I could see details that had been lost at first. I frowned and flipped through the pictures to find the report, to confirm what my eyes were telling me.
“No defensive wounds? And no marks to indicate restraint?” I dropped the file and stared at Arianne. “That’s not possible. No one takes damage like that without trying to defend themselves.” I looked back down at the report, scanning the details. “She was alive when this was done. She would have tried to stop it.”
“Maybe she was unconscious?” Iman asked.
I heard the hopefulness in her voice, felt the same sentiment in my own soul. “It would have to be a very deep state of unconsciousness to persist through…all this.” I closed the folder. “What makes you think it was werewolves?”
“A lot of smugglers use werewolves
,” Arianne said bitterly. “They intimidate police dogs, keep them from sniffing out refugees.” She forced herself to take another sip of tea, swallowing hard. “But you’re right. Maybe it was something else. I don’t want to make any assumptions.”
Suddenly something Iman had said earlier came back to me. “Wait. You said Echo came to you to tell you Jamila was murdered. Why come to you?”
Arianne drained her teacup and set it down with enough force that the saucer cracked. “According to Echo, Jamila was killed for speaking to me.”
Chapter 2
“Killed for speaking to you?” I accepted a cup of fragrant black tea from Mother Hazel and set it down in front of me with a gentle clink of ceramic. “Are you sure?”
Arianne reached into the bag at her side again and removed a large, smooth stone that looked like polished amber. A rune was scratched into its surface. “Echo. Can you hear me?”
I stared at the stone. “Echo’s in there?”
“I am.”
I pushed my tea out of the way, barely resisting the urge to snatch up the amber. Echo’s voice was so weak. So uncharacteristically monotone. “Echo, are you all right?”
“I am tired.” The spirit sighed, as if already exhausted from our brief exchange of words. “I am glad to see you, Shade. Peasblossom.”
“You’re glad to see me?” Peasblossom walked out onto my shoulder, holding on to a lock of my hair for support. “You really don’t feel well, do you?”
“I have been…better.”
My heart skipped a beat. Her voice was even quieter the second time. I held out my hand. “Can I hold her?”
“With your permission, I have an idea,” Iman spoke up. “Echo is exhausted. It might be easier for her to communicate with you if you would allow me to bridge your psyches.”
“You’re a telepath?” I asked, surprise pushing my voice a note higher.
Iman nodded. “My specialty is linking psyches. I can connect you to Echo and for a time, you will be as one mind. It would require no effort at all for her to share what she knows with you. She would only have to will you to know.”
“Echo doesn’t need your help to do that,” Peasblossom pointed out. “She can jump from psyche to psyche.”
“Not at this moment,” Iman said gently. “She is still exhausted. It’s a testament to her will and her determination that she was able to travel that far. It will take her some time to recover her strength.”
Arianne handed the stone to her wife. “Echo is free to occupy the stone as long as she needs.”
“Echo, would that be easier? If Iman linked us?” I asked.
“Easier,” she whispered. “Yes.”
“Do it.”
Iman reached for my hand, and I gave it to her. She clasped my hand with her right, and held the amber in her left. Her lips moved as her eyes drifted close. A moment later, I felt a pressure against my psychic defenses.
“You will have to lower your defenses,” Iman murmured.
I shifted uneasily in my chair, but after a moment’s hesitation, I did as she said. My mind was difficult to manipulate, thanks to the amount of time I’d spent between worlds, jumping from one point in time to another. And there weren’t many places safer than Mother Hazel’s. If Iman or Arianne were strong enough that they didn’t fear the wrath of Baba Yaga, then they didn’t need my permission to pierce my defenses anyway.
“Shade.” Echo sighed with relief. “So much to tell you.”
That was all the warning I had. A raging flood of memories poured over me. I wasn’t just getting information from Echo—I was Echo. I was resting in the statue of Stephanie Tubbs Jones. Satisfaction pulsed inside me as a seemingly endless stream of people came to sit beside the statue, the runes etched into the back of the metal pushing them to talk, openly and freely. So much delicious gossip.
Then came the others. The ones so full of fear it tainted the air around me, and I could taste the bitter scent of terror on the wind. They spoke in hushed whispers, the tone of people frightened of being overheard, but needing the comfort of sharing their fears with another living being.
Jamila was dead. Tortured and slashed open, left for scavengers to find. Her screams still echoed in their minds. Screams they hadn’t heard with their ears. Screams that had drilled into their psyches as they reverberated over the astral plane.
“This is what happens to any who speak to the sorceress Arianne. I am your savior, not she. It is by my will you live, and it is by my will you will die.”
It was a man’s voice. There was something strange about the cadence. As if he were hiding an accent, or had once had an accent, but it had faded. I couldn’t quite place it. It mixed with Jamila’s dying breaths, curled through their psyches like smoke. Soaking into their minds where it still haunted them. Would haunt them forever.
“Shade? Shade, are you all right?”
I tried to step back from the memory, but I couldn’t. Echo was still remembering. I felt her fear, felt her desperation. Her anger. The man who’d killed Jamila and broadcast her death over the astral plane for all to hear would not go unpunished. Echo would talk to Arianne. She wasn’t afraid. They couldn’t threaten a dead woman.
Iman released my hand and whispered something in a tone too low for me to make out any words. I blinked and my mind was my own again.
“Drink your tea,” Mother Hazel commanded.
It wasn’t until I lifted my teacup that I realized how badly I was shaking. Tea sloshed over the side, splattering the table and saucer. I lowered my head to put my lips to the cup, trying to swallow some of the brew before I spilled the rest of it. It was almost more honey than water, with a healthy splash of lemon. Perfect.
“Are you all right, Mother Renard?” Iman asked gently.
I downed the rest of the tea and tried to nod my reassurance. “Fine,” I croaked.
“I’m sorry, I should have warned you. Linking to the mind of another is always an intense experience. I should have realized it would be even more difficult, given Echo’s state.”
I blinked as Mother Hazel poured me another cup of tea. I hadn’t even seen the old witch move. A bowl slid in front of me, and my stomach rumbled. Clam chowder.
I inhaled the buttery aroma of clams and potatoes in a creamy bath, groping for the spoon.
“I know why she didn’t struggle,” I said after swallowing a mouthful of chowder. “The Emperor pulled her onto the astral plane. Her mind wasn’t in her body when she was tortured.”
“Echo said the witnesses described hearing her screams,” Arianne said. “If she wasn’t in her body, if her mind was on the astral plane, then she would not have felt what was done to her.”
The color drained from Iman’s face. “Unless he made it so. It is possible to keep the connection to the body strong. Most often, such an anchor is used by those who intend to travel the astral plane for long distances and for long duration. It lets them know if their body is moved or tampered with while they’re gone. But it can be used for a much crueler purpose.”
“So we know the man who brought Jamila to this country has psychic ability of some kind,” I said after swallowing another bite of soup. I took a moment to savor it, reveling in the healing balm that was Mother Hazel’s clam chowder. The warm memories associated with the meal helped chase back the chilling ring of Echo’s memories. “Such a spell is beyond my capabilities. Whoever this man is, he’s very strong.”
“I won’t be responsible for more deaths.” Arianne picked up the pieces of the broken saucer, her hand trembling as if she wanted to throw the shards across the room. “Even if I could convince the other victims to talk to me, I would not. Not when I know what fate this man plans for them if they do.” She sent a burst of magic into the saucer, mending the broken pieces with a thought. Her other hand groped for Iman. Her wife took her hand in hers, held it tightly. Anchoring her.
“I’ve spoken to your mentor,” Arianne said. “She believes you can stop him. Will you try?”
I lowered the bite of soup I’d been about to eat, staring at Mother Hazel. She’d vouched for me as a private investigator?
Mother Hazel stared at me with that unreadable expression I knew so well. I looked at Arianne and put a hand on the file, grateful to see the soup had helped and I wasn’t shaking anymore. “I’ll stop him. May I keep the file?”
Arianne’s shoulders dipped, just for a second, as if hearing me say the words had taken some weight off her shoulders. “Keep it. And please, keep me updated?”
“It would be best if I limited my interactions with you,” I pointed out. “So no one connects us.”
Arianne rose from the table, pulling Iman with her. “We can speak in your dreams if you prefer?”
I tried to smile, but if it looked as weak as it felt, I wasn’t fooling anyone. “I’ll call you.” I paused as another thought occurred to me. “I’m happy to help, but I have to ask. Why not ask Charbel and Aaban? It seems to me that Scoria Security is doing very well lately, surely they could help?”
“They are soldiers, not detectives.” Iman handed the stone that held Echo back to Arianne. “They are more helpful when a specific enemy can be identified.”
“And even if that weren’t so,” Arianne added, slipping the stone back into her pocket. “Aaban has recently managed to secure a government contract. I would not involve him in this. There are…grey legal areas involved, and I wouldn’t ask him to risk his business’ future.” She met my gaze and held it. “And it is for similar reasons, of course, that I would not involve the Vanguard.”
“I understand,” I agreed.
The dream sorceress looked like she wanted to say more, but closed her mouth and faced my mentor instead.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Mother Hazel,” Arianne said, bowing her head slightly.
“A pleasure, Arianne. And it was lovely to meet you as well, Iman.”
Iman squeezed Arianne’s hand. “Thank you for all your help.”
The two women left and I turned to Mother Hazel. “You vouched for me.”
The crone snorted, but that was the only response she offered. Before I could think of anything else to say, she turned her attention to Peasblossom, simultaneously reaching into the pocket of her old brown robes. “I have a gift for the little one. I meant to give it to you before, but alas, you do not visit.”
Thrall Page 2