Wisdom's Grave 01 - Sworn to the Night

by Craig Schaefer

  “Marie. Go back to sleep.”

  Mirror-Marie’s face went slack, curiosity turning to sudden lethargy. She turned and stumbled off. Mirror-Nessa swiveled her head forward again.

  “I haven’t told her. She carries all of my burdens. This one I think I can carry for her. I believe I’ve found a way to break the cycle, but…” Her hands clenched. “If you’re seeing this message, clearly I failed.”

  “This isn’t from the future at all,” Marie whispered, staring wide-eyed at the Nessa beside her. “It’s from the past. But I don’t remember this—”

  “Neither do I,” Nessa said. Her gaze stayed fixed on the glass, on her bloody-eyed doppelgänger.

  “As a precaution,” her twin said, “I’m reaching into the Shadow In-Between and carving a message there. A permanent warning, in the hopes that one of us finds it. Maybe forewarned is forearmed. I have to try. I’m creating this message from the bowels of the Black Archives. My apprentice, studying her histories, found some very disconcerting records.”

  She took a deep breath, looking paler by the minute. The teenager narrowed her eyes at her.

  “Mistress? Do we need to stop?”

  “No.” Mirror-Nessa shook her head, then looked back to the glass. “You need to understand. I don’t know why this was done to us, or who did it, but you—you meaning me—and Marie are under a curse. We have been locked in a cycle of reincarnation for…I don’t even know how long. I shudder to guess. The point is, we are reborn each time, possibly in new worlds if what I’ve read is true, with our memories burned clean. You learn the arts of witchcraft. You meet Marie. You…learn to tolerate her presence.”

  The teenager glared. “Mistress.”

  “Fine, Hedy.” She took a breath. “You fall in love with her. And then, shortly after…you die. Sometimes you’re both murdered. Sometimes you’re murdered, and in her grief, Marie takes her own life. And then you’re placed in new bodies, with your minds scoured, to do it all over again. And again. And again.”

  Marie’s hand tightened around Nessa’s.

  “This is our hell,” the mirror-twin said. “For the first time in our lives, we find love. And then it’s torn away from us. Then we start over, only to suffer anew. A curse more cruel than any I have ever woven, I assure you. Make no mistake, Nessa: someone did this to us. Is it a punishment? A sick joke? I don’t know. But if you’re seeing this, then my quest ended in failure. Now I’m you, and it’s your turn to suffer, unless you can accomplish what I could not.”

  Hedy spoke up. “Mistress? I don’t know how much longer we can sustain the projection.”

  “Listen to me,” mirror-Nessa said. “Find Wisdom’s Grave. It’s the wellspring of magic. The resting place of the first witch who ever lived. If there is any weapon, any spell capable of shattering this curse, that’s where you’ll find it.”

  “Never even heard of it,” Nessa murmured.

  Her twin’s eyes blazed, the floating streamers of blood boiling as her voice broke.

  “You are our only hope, Nessa. You are my vengeance. You are the Owl now. Allow no mercy into your heart. Not one shred of compassion. Terror and madness are your tools: use them. Spread the shadow of your wings across the world like a living nightmare, because that is exactly what you are. Then break this curse and find the architects of our pain. And when you finally track them down? Make. Them. Bleed.”

  Her fury faded. She stared out from the glass, her voice weak now.

  “And keep Marie safe. She’s the only good thing that ever happened to us.”

  The vision erupted into a flurry of burning ash. A cloud that swirled and fell away into the depths of the black mirror.

  Then nothing more.

  Nessa wanted to say this can’t be real, but she knew better. She sat there, frozen as a statue, holding Marie’s hand.

  “Wisdom’s Grave?” Marie asked.

  “I don’t know,” Nessa said.

  “What about those other things she said? The Shadow In-Between? The Black Archives? What are—”

  “I don’t know,” Nessa snapped. She let go of Marie’s hand. Then she grabbed it again, squeezing hard. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll figure it out. We need a plan.”

  Then it hit her. She turned to Marie, eyes wild in the candlelight.

  “Let’s run away.”

  Marie blinked. “Run? Where?”

  “Away.” She scooted around on the floor so they were sitting knee to knee. “You were attacked tonight. The police are closing in. Alton Roth is after both of us. We need breathing room. So let’s just leave. We can figure it out on the road.”

  “But this is our home,” Marie said. “I’ve lived in New York almost my entire life.”

  “Marie,” Nessa said, “your career is over. Your old life is gone. Is there really anything worth staying for? Worth the risk of being killed or thrown in prison for?”

  She didn’t have an answer. Nessa leaned closer.

  “Run away with me. Tonight.”

  “Okay,” Marie said.

  Nessa pulled her into a tight hug.

  “But I have to stop at my apartment first,” Marie said.

  “I will buy you new clothes, Marie. I must admit I’m looking forward to refining your fashion sense.”

  “I still need to pack an overnight bag, at least. And I have to say goodbye to Janine. She’s been my friend for years, Nessa. I can’t just vanish on her. I won’t. And if people might come around looking for me, I have to warn her.”

  Nessa pursed her lips, thinking fast.

  “Fine,” she said. “That’s fair. While you do that, I’m going to get all the cash I can lay my hands on. The banks are closed, but I’ve got a few cards—mine and Richard’s—I can hit an ATM with. Meet me at Grand Central. We’ll leave by train.”

  Marie had to smile. “Escaping on a train together? That’s almost romantic.”

  Nessa darted in and kissed her, hummingbird-quick.

  “It’ll be very romantic. Now go. Do what you have to. I’ll be with you soon.”

  Fifty-Four

  She didn’t want to spend the money, but Marie jumped into the first taxi she saw. After her last attempt to make it home, getting back on the subway wasn’t an option. The storm had subsided in spots, the sky still basalt-black but the monsoon tapering off to an icy drizzle.

  “Crazy weather, huh?” the cabbie asked her.

  “Whole world’s crazy,” she said.

  There were no anchors anymore. No safe places. She’d told Nessa that learning about magic felt like standing on the tip of an iceberg. Now she realized she was wrong; she hadn’t been standing on it, she’d been climbing it. The ice buckled and broke under her fingers, sending her tumbling down to the lightless waters below. Now the water had her, pulling her under, giving her a good look at the world’s hidden face.

  Her phone rang. Tony.

  “Hey,” she said, “any news?”

  It took him a second to answer. His voice was muffled, like he was cupping his hand to the phone.

  “Yeah. I…damn it, Marie, I wish I didn’t have to make this call.”

  “Tony? What’s wrong?”

  “Twenty minutes ago,” he said, “a warrant was issued for your arrest. Vanessa Roth’s, too. They’re charging you with murder.”

  She sagged against the cold vinyl.

  “No,” she breathed. “Tony, I’m innocent. I didn’t do anything wrong—”

  “I know that. We know that. But Alton Roth’s got friends in high places and a lot of money to throw around. I talked to the captain. I’m supposed to ask you to come to the precinct, right now. Turn yourself in, so…you know.”

  “So you don’t have to drive me downtown in the back of a squad car.”

  “No perp walk, no cuffs if we don’t have to, we’ll make it as easy as we can. You’ll be in protective custody until your bond hearing. And probably after.”

  Protective custody. A solitary cell. Only safe place to put a police officer
who landed behind bars. People go insane in solitary, Marie thought, imagining the windowless door slamming shut. People go insane after a month. I’m looking at maybe twenty years. Or the rest of my life.

  She bit back a dizzy surge of panic. She wanted to throw the taxi door open and jump out, anything to breathe fresh air, to stop feeling like a wolf with her leg caught in a steel trap.

  “Marie?”

  She took a deep breath.

  “I can’t do that, Tony.”

  “You know there’s only a few ways this can end,” he said. “You can make it a lot easier if you come in. On you. On all of us.”

  “I can’t clear my name from inside a cell.”

  “I don’t see how you can do it as a fugitive, either.”

  “Can you stall for me? Just buy me a couple of—”

  “Stop,” Tony said. “Stop talking. Don’t tell me what you’re doing, don’t tell me where you’re going. I don’t want to have to lie when they ask me about it. If you’re going to run, run.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Thanks, Tony. You’re a good guy, you know that?”

  “You were a good partner, Marie.”

  There wasn’t anything left to say, nothing they could give voice to. They hung up. Marie shot off a quick text to Nessa: Warrants have been issued. If you’re home, GET OUT. If you made it out, be careful. See you at the place we talked about.

  * * *

  Nessa checked her phone as she strode through the cavern of Grand Central Terminal and knitted her brows. Safe for now, she texted back. Hurry.

  Even this late, the mammoth train station was bustling, sound bouncing off the warm, glossy marble and stone. A carry-on bag rolled at Nessa’s side. She wore her sun hat from the funeral—black, with a wide, floppy brim—and a long black cloak against the rain. She’d worn the cloak exactly once before Richard had banned it from her wardrobe, saying it made her look like she was “going to a goddamn renaissance fair.”

  Come to think of it, he’d hated the hat, too. Nessa had to smile, just a little. It was good to live on her own terms.

  It was good to live.

  And if we want to keep doing it, she thought, we’d best be cautious. Her gaze flicked to the clock. And get as far away from here as humanly possible.

  The crowds were her cover and a source of suspicion all in one. Her eyes fell on anyone not carrying luggage, anyone who seemed to be more interested in the passengers than the trains. A pair of men were loitering by the stairs, their jackets bulging. Their clunky square-toed shoes screamed cop. Maybe not looking for her, probably not, but the nervous prickling at the back of her neck warned her not to chance it.

  She turned and walked the other way. All the way to the opposite stairs, navigating toward the lobby of the Grand Hyatt Hotel. She’d find a lounge or someplace she could perch, close but not too close, and wait for her lover’s return.

  * * *

  Across town, in the antiseptic stillness of the morgue, a shadow moved under cold, dead lights. It pulled back a shroud, exposing the battered face and mottled skin of Baby Blue. Gloved hands rolled the dead woman onto her stomach. In the light of a cell phone, the figure studied her left calf. There it was: one perfect bite mark, untouched by the cuts that ravaged the woman’s flesh.

  The shadow reached for a scalpel.

  As the blade touched the edge of the bite, the overheads flickered on and flooded the morgue with harsh white light.

  “Funny,” Tony said. “When I do that in the kitchen at home, the roaches always run for cover.”

  With a phone in one hand, scalpel in the other, Helena Gorski slowly turned around.

  “Would it help?” she asked.

  He stepped from the far corner, where he’d been lurking in hopeful silence, and gestured at the body.

  “It was you. You were the cartel’s errand girl all along. You ran interference for Richard Roth, you tipped them off about the Bed-Stuy raid. Helena…how could you do this?”

  She gestured with the scalpel and slipped her phone into her pocket. Freeing up her gun hand.

  “Wouldn’t have had to do anything if your partner could just take a hint. I gave her my blessing to interview Roth because I thought she’d back off once she saw there wasn’t any evidence to go on. Turns out she isn’t just batshit insane, she’s a fucking dyke who fell for the man’s wife. Oops. My bad.” Helena’s face fell. “Then you two go off hunting dealers. Why do you think I wanted to take lead on the ink investigation so badly? It wasn’t about stealing all the glory for myself; it was about making sure nobody stepped on the wrong toes. And you just had to put on your tap shoes, didn’t you?”

  “It’s called doing my damn job,” Tony said. “Nine cops died in that raid. People you knew and worked with every single day. How can you live with yourself?”

  “My son had lymphoma. You can’t imagine. My little man, suffering, wasting away. He’s eight years old.”

  He shook his head, not following. “So, what, they gave you money for chemo or something?”

  “You don’t get it.” Her eyes went wide. Fervent, like a new convert stepping up to address the congregation. “He had lymphoma. You think you’re dealing with drug dealers and killers. They’re magicians, Tony. I don’t mean top hats and pigeons, I mean black masses and ritual sacrifice. Magic is real. And it works. They made my son’s cancer go away.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “You want to see the medical records? Our doctor called it a miracle. Sure was. A miracle bought with blood. And then they dropped the hammer on me. See, they took his cancer away. They can also give it back with a snap of their fingers, anytime they feel like it. They told me if I slipped up, if I wasn’t loyal, I wouldn’t pay the price: my son would. That was the deal. My treason for his life. Of course I said yes. Any mother would have done the same.”

  Her free hand edged dangerously close to the gun under her blazer. Tony kept his eyes locked with hers, his own hand inching toward his shoulder holster.

  “I didn’t want anyone to die.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “They were supposed to clear out when I warned them. God knows I’ve spoiled twenty other busts. I’ve made evidence disappear. I’ve leaned on witnesses. This time, this one fucking time, they decide to make a stand and go out in a blaze of glory. I had no idea, not until the fireworks started. Me and Jefferson were there, remember? We could have gotten killed too.”

  “Was Jefferson in on any of this?”

  “No. Just keeping him distracted was a full-time job.”

  “You’re coming with me,” Tony said. “You’re going to tell the truth about Richard Roth, and you’re going to help clear my partner.”

  Helena gaped at him. She blurted out a laugh.

  “Clear her? Sweetheart, your partner is guilty as sin. Do you think I planted that picture at the Roth house? Or altered Marie’s phone records? Richard Roth was a world-class, grade-A scumbag, but his wife still set him up to be killed and your partner still pulled the trigger.”

  “It was self-defense.”

  “Yeah.” Helena’s lips curled in contempt. “You go on believing that. Anyway, you’re wasting your time. Marie’s never going to see the inside of a courtroom. Richard’s buddies are looking to dish out some payback, and she’s just been green-lit. By the time they’re done with her, there won’t be enough left to fill a shoebox.”

  Tony’s face tightened. “Then that’s ten cops you helped murder.”

  “I won’t see the inside of a courtroom either. Can’t let you take me in, Tony. I do that, my son’s good as dead. I’m sorry about this. I always have respected you. I wasn’t lying. But the only way he survives is if I walk out of here or die trying.”

  Her hand trembled, easing toward her holster. Tony squared his footing. He stood like a gunslinger, five seconds from high noon.

  “Helena, don’t do this. Don’t go out this way.”

  “It’s like I said,” she told him. “Any mother would have done the
same.”

  They drew at the same time.

  Fifty-Five

  Twin muzzles flashed. Helena’s bullet tore through the meat of Tony’s left arm, spattering scarlet across the tile wall behind him. His slug caught her in the gut. She buckled to the floor, wheezing. He gritted his teeth and fought the white-hot slash of pain as blood drenched his torn sleeve. He ran in, kicked her trembling gun hand, and pinned it under his heel.

  “Let go of it,” he told her.

  Helena shoved weakly against his leg with her free hand. She squirmed, slipping in a spreading puddle of her own blood. Tony twisted his foot and ground his heel down on her fingers.

  “Goddamn it, Helena, let go of it!”

  Her fingers unclenched. He holstered his weapon. Then he scooped her gun off the floor with his good arm and tossed it onto the slab. He fished out his handcuffs and wrestled her wrists into them, biting back the pain as a torn muscle shifted in his wounded arm. The stench of gunpowder and spilled blood battled with the industrial antiseptic.

  “Finish it,” she groaned. “Fucking finish it, kill me already.”

  “Not doing that.” He patted her down, plucked a .22 from a holster on her ankle, and set it next to the other gun. “It’s a gut shot. Hurts like hell but you’re going to live. And you’re going to prison.”

  Helena sucked in deep lungfuls of air and coughed them out again. Tears glistened on her pale cheeks.

  “Tony, they’ll kill him. They’ll kill my son—”

  “We’ll get an order of protection for your kid. He’ll be fine.”

  “You can’t hide from them,” Helena croaked. “And your partner is dead. If she’s not dead now, she’s on her way. They’re coming for her.”

  * * *

  Marie dashed through the apartment door, barely pausing long enough to slam it behind her. Janine jumped up from the futon.

  “Marie? What’s going on? You’ve been gone all night. I was about to go to bed—”

  “Hotel.” Marie rushed past her and darted into her bedroom. “You’re going to a hotel tonight. I don’t want you anywhere near this place.”