Peggin brushed her hand across the plaque on one side of the door. She whispered, “Here Lieth the Mortal Remains of Penelope Volkov, Guardian of the Veil, Gatekeeper of the Graveyard. Enter and Despair.” She looked over at me. “What happens in towns that don’t have Gatekeepers and spirit shamans? How do the dead rest?”
“The majority go into the Veil on their own, though there are Haunts and Unliving everywhere. But we—the Gatekeepers and spirit shamans and lament singers—are assigned to the towns where the energy is strongest. We always go where the ley lines are most active and there’s a much higher danger of the dead crossing back through the Veil.” I had been reading a great deal over the past few months as I settled into my post.
“There were nine great families born to the Morrígan’s service as spirit shamans. We—their descendants—are scattered through the world, each born or led to the town that needs them most.”
“Were there nine families of shapeshifters and lament singers bound to the Morrígan as well?” Peggin asked.
Bryan shook his head. “There’s no record of that. We who are born into the families know it and are taught from birth that we may end up serving in this capacity. At some point during life, whether early or later, we’re given a vision. But remember, there are other goddesses who, like the Morrígan, guard the dead, and so they also have families of servants. There’s no real way of knowing how many spirit shamans there are scattered through the world.”
Peggin nodded, withdrawing her hand from the plaque. “It’s a daunting job,” she said. “I don’t know if I could be strong enough.”
“Not all manage to uphold their duty, either,” I said, thinking of Veronica. But when Peggin glanced at me, I just shook my head. I was oath bound to keep Veronica’s secret. She had once been a spirit shaman who had turned her back on the Morrígan and been banished into the halls of the dead, doomed to be one of the Queens of the Unliving, presiding over the Unliving whom she had originally been bound to drive back into their graves.
“Let’s go.” I opened the double doors. A gust of wind swept past us as they creaked on their hinges. I kept meaning to bring oil to lube them up, but each time, I forgot.
As we entered the chamber, Penelope’s sarcophagus rested to one side. A faint light emanated from a crystal chalice. The chalice sat inside of a glass display box on a dais toward the back of the tomb. Crimson liquid churned within, constantly circulating, and the light came from the ever-swirling blood. A drop of my blood was in there, as well as my grandmother’s blood, and her mother’s blood, and the blood of spirit shamans from countless centuries gone by, from all over the world. Penelope had inherited the chalice from the previous Gatekeeper, and would pass it on to a new Gatekeeper when her stint was over and she was allowed to rest.
Penelope was waiting, her back to the door as she stood, facing the chalice.
“Welcome, Kerris,” she said, her voice echoing through the tomb. She turned, glancing toward Peggin and Bryan. Though she didn’t speak to them, she gave them a brief nod, which was as good as a royal greeting.
Penelope was terrifying to look at, but she was also a gothic beauty. She stood nearly six feet, and her golden hair was gathered into a messy bun, curls coiling down the sides of her face. Her eyes were a bloody crimson against the white, and they were ringed with a raccoon mask of black from which spider-veins of black trailed out, adorning her face. Her lips were as jet as the inky mask. She wore a sheer dress of black lace, but what was most arresting were the nail tips—as in construction nails—that protruded from her skin. Giving her a spiked appearance, they jutted out from all over her body. Each nail tip was surrounded by a dried pool of blood, shining like rubies, and the nail tips covered her body from the neck down.
Penelope’s mother—Magda, an enemy of both the Morrígan and the town—had cast a powerful spell to kill her daughter. Penelope had died a painful death, bleeding out as the nails erupted from her skin, and the Morrígan had intervened, granting her the position of Gatekeeper. I was finally used to her appearance, but her power was another matter. The Gatekeeper had a regality that was impossible to overlook, and she had embraced her position, welcoming the dead with a tender embrace.
“We have a problem,” I said before she could speak. “I wanted to talk to you about August, given he’s escaped the Veil and is causing havoc. The Lady still has his body and I’m wondering if that’s why he returned. But there’s something else that has come up since I asked to see you.”
Penelope frowned. “August returned because he’s angry about losing his life so young. Granted, I feel for him, but I believe that the Lady herself called him back. At first I thought it might be Veronica, but now I don’t believe so. You’ll need to talk to the Queen of the Unliving to find out. What else happened? I do feel a ripple in the ether that wasn’t there a few days ago.”
I walked over to sit on the sarcophagus. There was a bench in the room as well, but Peggin and Bryan were sitting on that, keeping silent and out of the way. The first time Penelope bade me sit on her coffin, I had been squeamish, but over the past few weeks, that awkwardness had worn off and I was beginning to feel comfortable around her.
“Here’s the thing. There was a double murder a couple nights ago. I’m heading over to talk to Sophia about it after we leave here. Two teenagers were killed in a brutal attack. I wanted to ask you if their spirits had come through yet. They haven’t had a memorial service or anything at this point.”
Penelope regarded me solemnly. She shook her head. “No, they haven’t been through. What are their names?”
“Emmet and Rosemary. He’s eighteen, she’s seventeen. The attack was a vicious one, and the murderer is still out there.” I leaned back, resting my hands on the sarcophagus. It resonated with energy but I was used to that now, and I actually found it somewhat comforting.
A shadowed look passed through her eyes. “The young are the hardest, Kerris. This you already know, but as the years progress, it won’t get any easier. I warn you now. Especially those whose lives have been ripped away.” She paused, then added, “Tell Sophia to search for a body. A spirit passed through the Veil last week—a young woman whose name was Nancy. She came to me in her death mask and there was blood everywhere. I was surprised you weren’t involved, but she wanted to go over—she welcomed my embrace. I don’t think she died naturally.”
I froze. “There’s another murder victim out there?”
“As I said, I was surprised you weren’t involved because of the violent nature of her death. But she found her way to me with the help of a Guide. I don’t know who it was—the Guides seldom show themselves to me. My thinking is that Nancy was being watched over and guarded by a spirit during her life, and that the spirit helped her find her way to me after her death.” Penelope frowned. “I thought about contacting you, but then decided to wait a bit.”
Crap. If Nancy had been murdered, and if the killer was the same one who attacked Emmet and Rosemary, then we had a real problem on our hands. I stood, wiping my hands on my jeans.
“I’ll talk to Sophia. If anybody else comes over on their own, and anything seems out of the ordinary, then let me know, all right?”
“Of course. As for August, he’s a handful. I think, however, that someone in his family can’t let go and that connection, that bond, is pulling him back. You should talk to his parents and find out if they’re doing anything to hold him here. When I escorted him to the Veil, he was angry, but not so much that I would have expected him to rebel.” Penelope turned toward the chalice again. “Sometimes, the living can be as problematic as the dead.”
“What about Rosemary and Emmet? Sophia wants to know if I can contact their spirits and talk to them, to find out anything I can about the murderer. I’m hoping they already know they’re dead, but if they don’t, how do I approach it? I’ve only had to tell a few spirits that they were dead and the realization was crushing.”
I lived in Seattle for fifteen years after I ran a
way from Whisper Hollow. To keep my powers from backing up and imploding on me, I had taken on gigs with a ghost hunting group, exploring haunted houses. I also acted as a psychic house-cleaner and had dealt with a number of ghosts, either helping them move along or forcibly evicting them.
Only three times had I encountered a spirit who didn’t know it was dead. Two had been women. One had been killed by her ex-husband in the 1970s, and the other had died in childbirth during the early 1920s. The third spirit was that of a little boy. He had been hit by a car and had no clue he was dead. All three times, the spirits had reacted as though their death had just happened.
The woman who had been killed was angry and it had taken everything I could do to exorcise her—especially when she found out her ex-husband had gotten away with the murder. I convinced her to go track him down.
The woman who had died in childbirth fell into a deep mourning, realizing she would never see her baby. I had finally managed to coax her to move on.
As for the little boy, I summoned the spirit of his grandmother to help him move along because he truly didn’t understand what I was trying to tell him.
“If Rosemary and Emmet don’t know they’re dead, you’ll find a way to explain it. They’ll listen to you.” Penelope suddenly turned to Bryan. “Guardian, do your job. There are dangers lurking in the shadows—all too physical dangers. I sense a cloud in the forest, and it does not originate with the Hounds.”
Cú Chulainn’s Hounds were a secret order devoted to destroying everything the Morrígan touched, including the spirit shamans and lament singers. Cú Chulainn had long been an enemy of the Morrígan, and their fight continued here between their factions.
Bryan, surprised by the sudden attention, jumped to his feet. “I promise you, I’ll protect her with my life.”
“See that you do. It may yet come to that,” Penelope said. Then, turning away from him, she smiled at me. “So much for respites, but it’s ever the case. Go now, and remember to tell Sophia what I said.”
As we left the Gatekeeper’s tomb, my mind was awhirl with thoughts about murderers and victims, and spirits who had long passed over but had no clue that they were dead.
Chapter Six
Sophia was waiting for us at the edge of the turnoff on Snowstar Avenue East. As Bryan, who was driving, eased into the area overlooking the lake, I steeled myself for the onslaught of energy. Whenever somebody was brutally murdered, it usually left a nasty residue. The residue sometimes faded with time, but Emmet and Rosemary had been killed so recently that the backlash would likely be swift and harsh.
As we slid out of the car, Sophia and Frank walked over to greet us. She had been chief of police for some time now. We had gone to high school together, though I had known her under her maiden name back then. Now, she looked tired and ragged, as though she hadn’t slept for days.
I folded my arms, looking around. I wasn’t sure if their spirits were still here, but I could feel the energy of the kill. There was a rancid sense of joy, like the frenzy of a rabid dog worrying its kill. Whispers flickered by, forming in my mind only to disappear again, before I could quite identify who was saying them.
Don’t scream. Don’t scream or it will be worse. You know you like this. Give it to me, baby. I’m going to drain you dry. Don’t move. Maybe he’ll forget I’m here if I pretend I’m dead. It hurts…it hurts so bad. I’ll stop when I’m ready. Please don’t hurt me. Please…please…please…
The voices were screaming now, mingled with laughter.
The laughter of the damned.
I clapped my hands to my ears, trying to stifle the sounds of the girl screaming, but it grew louder and louder until I fell to my knees, driven down by the mingled anger and fear. The pain was so bad I could feel it in my stomach, a searing gash that opened wide, spreading like a bloody rose blooming. I fell forward to my hands and knees, vomiting as my stomach burned.
Then, just as the pain seemed like it would never end, everything suddenly faded to a dull throb. I glanced up to see my grandmother Lila’s spirit standing there, leaning over me with her hand on my back. As the cacophony of voices backed away, I pushed myself to a squatting position, wiping my mouth with the handkerchief that Bryan offered me. I scooped a handful of fresh snow into my mouth, let it melt, then spit it out. Another moment, and I felt steady enough to stand.
“What happened?” he asked. “Were you attacked?”
I shook my head. “No, not attacked. I heard voices. And her pain—Rosemary’s pain, it hit me like a ton of bricks. He gutted her like a fish. And he had fun doing it. He’s a sadistic motherfucker.” I seldom swore that strongly, but whoever the murderer was, he got off on pain and fear. And that made him a sadist of the worst kind.
“Did she tell you anything?” Sophia asked, hopeful.
I shook my head. “I haven’t even started to look for their spirits. The energy of the act is caught in the air here. It may be caught in the land, as well. The murders were so violent that they imprinted on the area. We need to cleanse this place, or it’s going to get as bad as the area around the Tree of Skulls.”
Catching my breath, I accepted the water bottle Frank handed me and took a deep swig. I took a moment to shield myself so that I wouldn’t be caught unprepared again. Then, motioning for Peggin and Bryan to stand back, I began to circle the area. Sophia and Frank watched me carefully.
The lookout was wide enough for a dozen cars, and next to it on either side were tall thickets. The patches of forest were dense, and to the east, they eventually merged with a county park. To the front—the south—a bluff led down to Lake Crescent.
I stared over the silent water. The lake was beautiful in the soft hush of the snowfall, but beneath those hidden depths the Lady was waiting. I could feel her from here, but even she seemed to be wary tonight. Impulsively, I felt the urge to walk toward the west side of the turnout. There was something there, something twisted and ragged.
I reached out.
There, hiding behind one of the trees, was a spirit. I recognized it as a teenaged girl. When she realized I was looking at her, her eyes widened. She held her lips to her fingers, as if hushing me, and pointed toward the center of the turnout. The only ones there were Frank, Sophia, Peggin, and Bryan, so I knew she was seeing something from the night she died.
I slowly made my way toward her, wondering how to best approach her. The girl’s eyes were wide, and I was surprised to see she wasn’t wearing her death mask. There were no signs of the gruesome assault she had endured, and I took that as a sign that she wasn’t aware of what had happened to her.
As I approached, she crouched even further. I knelt to peek at her around the tree. “Hi,” I said, keeping my voice soft. “Can you hear me?”
She nodded. He’s out there. Be careful or he’ll hear you.
The words came in thoughts, rather than audibly. “Is he trying to hurt you?”
Again a nod. Yes, I’m not sure where Emmet went. Maybe he got away and went for help. But you have to be careful or the bad man will catch you.
I tried to think about how to tell her that she was dead. Finally, I decided to ask her about the murderer first, because there was no guarantee that when she found out she was no longer alive that she wouldn’t become hysterical.
“Tell me about the man, so I can call the police. Who is he? Do you know him?”
She shook her head. No, I’ve never seen him before. But he’s big, and he’s got a huge knife. He’s also got a gun. He came out of the woods while Emmet and I were… She blushed, turning her head away.
“While you were making out? It’s all right, Rosemary. Your name is Rosemary, right?”
Again a nod. I don’t know what he wants, but he yanked open Emmet’s door and dragged him out of the car. Emmet screamed for me to run and I managed to get my door open and out. I ran and ran…and now here I am. But he’s still out there, isn’t he? He’s still after me?
“Tell me what he looks like, so I can talk to the poli
ce.” I was determined to find some sort of useful information. At least we knew that it was a man, now, though Sophia had already determined that. “Is he alone?”
Rosemary licked her lips. He’s alone, yes. But he’s big—he must be six-three. And he’s strong. He has blond hair, like…short and spiky, and he’s about thirty years old. He’s got strange eyes. There’s something about his eyes…they’re cruel. And he has a scar on his chin. It looks like a big scab, but I think it’s a scar. I couldn’t see very well.
The lights in the turnout area were fairly dim. The streetlamps cast a subtle glow around the area, but nothing like bright floodlights. “What’s he wearing?”
She paused, scrunching up her face. After a minute she said, A pair of blue jeans and a brown leather jacket. Maybe…cowboy boots? I’m not sure. And he has a backpack with him that he dumped on the ground before he ran over to Emmet’s side of the car. That’s all I can remember. Is he still out there? Is it safe for me to come out?
I let out a sigh. This was about all we were going to get. “Rosemary, you don’t know who I am, do you?”
She shook her head. Are you a policewoman?
It was my turn to bite my lip. Now came the hard part. “Rosemary, honey, I want you to listen to me carefully. You don’t have to worry about the man anymore. He can’t hurt you anymore.” I paused, wanting to be anywhere except here. “He already killed you, sweetie. You’re dead. He killed you and Emmet.” Sometimes, you just had to rip the bandage off.
She stared at me for a moment, mouth open, and then began to slowly shake her head. No, I would know, wouldn’t I? I’d remember if he had…
The Phantom Queen Page 6