Vulture Moon

by Alexes Razevich

  Dee’s phone rang. He reached into his pocket and pulled it free. He glanced at the screen and pursed his lips. “Speaking of Gil, it’s his girlfriend, Allison.”

  He thumbed the call on and listened a moment, his face growing dark, and his muscles tensing. He got up and walked out of the parlor still listening to what Allison was saying. I watched him go, an unfocused worry knotting my stomach.

  “The Gate and Gil are missing,” he said, coming back into the parlor. “Allison has no idea where they might be. She hasn’t been able to reach Gil since yesterday morning.”

  He ran his hand through his hair, then tried someone on his cell. His brows pulled together as whomever he was calling didn’t answer. He pushed the call off and tried another. Then a third. I remembered the bad vibes I’d felt in the shop when we’d gone there to ask Gil and The Gate if they knew Brittany. I should have paid more attention to the sense of animosity—thought more about what it might mean. At least said something to Gil and The Gate to put them on guard.

  Dee sat down hard on the sofa and tied his shoes in quick, jerky motions, then stood and strode to the doorway. He turned almost as an afterthought and said, “I’m going to the shop.”

  “Let’s take my car.” Mine was in the attached garage. His was parked a block and a half away.

  He nodded. I followed him down the hall and out the back door to the garage. I stopped the car at the back of the short drive way and threw the protective wards for my house back up, then drove as fast as was safe.

  “Is the shop warded?” I asked as we pulled into a parking spot near the front door. The shop was on the same street where Dee had parked, and we probably could have run there almost as quickly as drove.

  He nodded. “The Gate changes them pretty often, but always puts in an ability for the right spell to override his own.”

  “Who, besides you, knows the override?”

  “Gil, of course,” he said. “We’re it, as far as I know.”

  But there could be others, I thought. Dee wouldn’t know everyone in The Gate’s life now—not like when he was an apprentice. Past students, from before Dee and Gil, could know the override. Close magical friends might know it. And maybe someone with bad intent.

  Dee’s hands flicked, and he muttered under his breath. I felt the magic shell surrounding the building shift and loosen. He pulled open the front door and we stepped inside.

  If The Gate and Gil were taken from the shop, they either went willingly or were beamed away. Not so much as the chairs against the front wall or the waivers on the desk were disturbed or out of place. Dee tore through the front business area, pushed through the curtain at the back and disappeared in the direction of The Gate’s office.

  I stood in the public area, looking past the black countertop to the chairs and tables behind where the tattoos were applied, and the piercings done. I cast my senses out, feeling for whatever had happened here.

  My ears rang and a feeling like a punch to the chest hit me. I exhaled a fast breath. No, not a strike to my chest—to my heart.

  A blow to the heart.

  What did that mean?

  Nausea twisted my stomach. Anger, jealousy, dark energy, and sorrow swirled in the room. I wanted to run out the front door and all the way to the ocean. I wanted to jump in the water and wash away the black intent flowing through this place.

  I didn’t though. I followed where Dee had gone—down the hall to The Gate’s office.

  He sat in The Gate’s big leather chair behind the scarred wooden desk. In the windowless room, the only source of light was a small, glowing orb, I presumed Dee had conjured it, floating above the otherwise empty desktop.

  He looked up at me. “Feel anything?”

  I nodded and sank into one of the three chairs in front of the desk.

  “Someone took them,” I said, keeping my voice as even and calm as I could. “Several someones, from the feel of things. The focus seems to be on The Gate. Gil might have been wrong place, wrong time.”

  I saw and felt the anger building in Dee.

  “Who?” he said, the word said quickly and clipped. “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Dee raked his fingers through his hair. I felt him will his anger and worry into a tiny ball and stuff it down inside him.

  “Tell me about them,” I said, needing something to distract me from the nausea building in my stomach, the headache pounding behind my eyes. “If I know more about who they are as people, it might help me feel them better.”

  Dee let out a shaky breath. “You already know The Gate was my mentor. My father sent me to him when I was sixteen. Gil had come six months earlier. We were his only two apprentices until I left when I turned twenty-one. Gil and me—you know how you feel about teammates you’ve played with for a long time? Teammates you love even though they aren’t—” He stopped as if not wanting to say the next words. “Who aren’t at your skill level.”

  I nodded. There was always a spectrum—people you were better than. People who were better than you. It was as true in life as on the rink.

  “Gil’s slightly older than I am,” Dee said. “I think it rankled him that I seemed to have more talent. As if age should have given him the edge.”

  “Where do they live?” I asked, thinking we might learn more at their homes.

  He glanced toward the ceiling. “Upstairs. Gate owns the building, along with most of the block. There are four apartments on the second floor. The Gate has one, Gil has one, and the other two are rented to ordins. He likes having non-magical folks living in the building, to help balance the energy.”

  “You want to take a look at them?” I said, needing to get out of the shop before the pounding in my head grew too hard to bear. I liked the idea of going up where regular people also lived, where the energy might feel a whole lot better than the dark, ugly vibe in here.

  Dee looked distracted, as if his thoughts were far away, but he nodded and led the way.

  The Gate’s apartment was a spacious two-bedroom with a large living/dining room and good-sized kitchen. The appliances were old, though—1950s era. There was no TV, stereo, or computer. The 1950s era furniture would be trendy now but looked like they’d been bought at the original time and sat here ever since.

  Books were everywhere—crammed into bookshelves, stacked on end tables and on the floor. I picked up a few. The Gate’s reading taste seemed to run to mysteries, thrillers, and Space Marine science fiction.

  There were more books in the master bedroom along with a bed, a dresser, a side table, and nothing else. The smaller, second bedroom was The Gate’s wizard’s lair. Dee walked around the room slowly, his hands trailing across books, bottles, and boxes.

  My headache and sense of nausea were slowly fading. Dee’s tension was building. It was as obvious in his body language as it was from his vibe.

  “He’s like a second father to you,” I said, feeling Diego’s emotions as strongly as if they were my own. “Better than your first father.”

  Dee swung his head and looked at me.

  “Never date a psychic,” he mumbled, and looked away. He pocketed something small lying on the table he stood next to.

  “There’s nothing helpful here,” he said. “Let’s check Gil’s place.”

  I followed him past two doors to the apartments where I assumed the regular people lived, down to the opposite end of the hallway. He made a small motion with his hands and muttered under his breath. The door of the apartment swung open. I looked in and then stared.

  The apartment was completely empty.

  Chapter Seven

  Dee had his cell phone out and was scrolling through numbers.

  “Who are you calling?” I asked.

  He found the number he wanted and selected it, placing the call.

  “Allison,” he said. “Gil’s girlfriend.”

  I was surprised he had the girlfriend’s phone number. He and Gil were friends, but I hadn’t thought they were that c
lose. Maybe the girlfriend was in the community. Dee had the phone numbers of a lot of magicals. Or maybe he’d gone to recent calls, not his personal phone book. Allison had called him, so her number would be there.

  When they connected, Dee told her we hadn’t found the two missing men yet but were at Gil’s apartment. There was a long silence on our end, but Dee was listening to Allison, who I guessed was beside herself with worry and rambling on.

  “Ally,” he said sharply. “Take a breath. I’m sure Gil is fine. I don’t know what happened or where he is, but either we’ll find him, or Gil will show up on his own. You’re working yourself up and it won’t help.”

  There was another stretch of quiet while he listened. Then he said, “We’re at Gil’s place above the shop. Did he move to a new apartment?”

  Another short silence. Dee nodded his head, listening. I watched some of the tension leave his shoulders.

  They spoke a bit more and Dee rung off.

  “He’s living at her place,” he said, confirming what I’d already gathered. “Just moved in two weeks ago. Not all that committed though, I guess. His furniture is in storage.”

  “What next?” I said.

  “I need to go home,” he said. “I can drop you at your house if you want.”

  Here’s the thing about being psychic and close to someone. Even without reading his mind, I was almost always aware of what was going on with him. I knew what he wanted for breakfast, what shirt he’d like if we’re shopping, what he wanted in bed from moment to moment. It went way beyond simply knowing his tastes. Mostly, I tried to ignore the things I psychically or empathically knew, to act like we were normal people, but not now.

  “I’ll come with you,” I said.

  He nodded, and I felt his mix of gratitude—because he wanted my company and my help. And his annoyance—because he wanted to focus on finding the missing men and didn’t want to have to worry about me as well.

  No one ever said being human was clear-cut.

  ∞∞∞

  Dee raked a hand through his hair, pushing it back from where it had fallen over his forehead as he bent over his gazing bowl.

  “Can’t see a damn thing,” he said, not turning to look at me where I sat against a wall behind him in the same chair he’d brought for me the first time I’d been in his wizard’s lair. Not really talking to me at all. Talking to himself.

  He stared out the window that overlooked his backyard a moment, the vibe of his thoughts filling the room like smoke. I couldn’t help myself. I slipped into his mind to discover exactly what he was thinking.

  He swiveled his head and shot me a hard glare.

  I glared back. “If you’d tell me what you’re thinking, I wouldn’t have to go poking around to find out.”

  “If I wanted you to know, I’d have told you,” he said.

  “Too late,” I said, keeping my voice casual. “I heard what’s roiling around in your brain and you’re wrong.”

  “Am I?”

  I nodded. “You’re thinking two things, neither of them good. You’re thinking you can’t find The Gate and Gil with the gazing bowl because your magic is slipping. You’re wondering if somehow The Gate has been propping up your magic all these years, giving you power that you thought was your own.”

  He stared at me, not speaking.

  “But that pales to your other thought,” I said. “You’re afraid you can’t find them because they’re dead.”

  He gulped in a quick shot of air, but still didn’t speak.

  “I feel them alive, Dee. In danger, but alive. I trust my psychic sense over your bowl on this one. Besides, didn’t you tell me that if people were on the move you couldn’t find them with the bowl? Maybe they’re going from one place to another right now.”

  He looked at me a long moment then blew out a breath. “You could be right about them being on the move.”

  I felt the tension start to ease from his body as he decided to agree with me.

  “There are plenty of forms of divination,” I said, getting up and walking over to stand next to him. “Why not try another, see if that works better? Try a map and pendulum.”

  When I was growing up, my parents didn’t encourage magic in the house, except for Mom using her healer’s touch and, for some reason, pendulum divination to find lost things. Making an exception for healing was logical and sensible; she wasn’t going to leave her child or husband to suffer from illness or injury, but I never had understood why pendulum divination was okay when other forms of magic weren’t.

  Dee didn’t say anything as he pulled a paper map of Los Angeles County from one of the drawers in his farmhouse table and spread it on top. He drew a wide-band silver ring from his pocket and set it on the map. I’d watched him pick up the ring while we were in The Gate’s apartment. Now that he laid it down, I saw that runes were carved over the ring’s entire surface.

  “Is that something The Gate would be likely to leave at home?” I said, glancing down at the ring.

  “It’s protective and a power source.” Dee’s voice held a slight tone of distraction because his mind was focused on the task at hand, not in talking to me. “He’d only take it if he felt threatened.”

  That was good information. The Gate had gotten up that morning and left his apartment feeling safe. He probably went down to the shop, since Gil was missing, too. So, whoever took them probably found them there and forced the two men out. Both The Gate and Gil were strong wizards, so it was unlikely that a garden-variety robber or kidnapper could overpower and snatch them.

  Dee took a small, crystal pendulum on a thick silver thread from the same drawer and laid it on the map. A tremble flew across my shoulders.

  “Dee,” I said, a sudden piece of knowledge in my mind. “What do you call a group of wizards? Is it like witches, a coven?”

  He glanced sideways at me. “You said the coven had nothing to do with her death. Are you saying now they have something to do with The Gate and Gil?”

  I stammered, taken aback. “No. Brittany’s coven has nothing to do with them or anything else. But I feel it was a group of people in the shop today—magical people. I don’t know how many. Half a dozen?”

  “An argument,” he said, his hands fiddling with the pendulum. “People usually say an argument of wizards—because you can hardly ever get two to agree on anything.” His hands stopped fiddling. “You think a group of wizards took The Gate and Gil? The council?”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t think it was the council. But I do feel there was a group that ambushed them somehow. One person in charge and the rest helpers.”

  He stood very still a long moment, taking that in, thinking through the ramifications.

  “Should we call Jack?” I said. “Turn it over to the magic police?”

  Another long, quiet moment passed. He shook his head. “The MPs are good for enforcing the rules and dogged legwork, but they’re slow. The Gate was my mentor. Gil’s my brother in magic. I’ll find them.”

  Okay, I thought. We’ll locate them—and then call the police. Because this was getting very personal for Dee and it didn’t feel healthy for him.

  He turned back to the map and slipped The Gate’s ring down the thread, so it rested about halfway down the pendulum. I wanted to ask why a group of wizards might kidnap the two men, but I could see as clearly as I could feel that Dee didn’t want more questions. He wanted to get on with whatever plan he had in his head.

  He braced his elbow against his side and held the pendulum over the map. It hung there a moment, as still as a photograph, and then slowly began to swing back and forth. The pendulum swung further one direction than the other. Dee took a small step that direction and watched the pendulum. It swung again more one way than the other. He moved slightly. The pendulum swung. He moved a fraction of an inch the way the pendulum seemed to want to go. Finally, it stopped moving and hung straight down again.

  “They’re somewhere in Torrance,” he said.

  I shivered.
All three South Bay beach cities had been murder sites. Why did mention of this one shake me?

  For the beach cities, Torrance was a large, meandering place, touching the ocean at one stretch and reaching as far as five or six miles inland at others. Saying someone was in Torrance was like saying the needle was in one of twelve giant haystacks. Dee folded the map, put it away, and took out another. He unfolded the new map and started the process with the pendulum again.

  It didn’t move.

  It hung straight down for thirty seconds, then a minute, then longer.

  I felt tension run through him, Tension and fear. Not fear for the missing men; fear that something was truly wrong with his magic. If he couldn’t pull off a simple location spell—

  “Can I help?” I said quietly.

  “No,” he snapped.

  I stepped back a pace. He’d never snapped at me before. But I’d never felt this kind of worry in him before either, or this lack of control.

  I knew how it felt to be afraid your powers were slipping. After Sudie Wakanabe’s murder, when I found my psychic abilities weakening and every spell I cast failed, I’d come close to panic. Thank goodness Dee had figured out it was the dark wizard, Petra Folger, with help from the marid blocking my magic from working.

  If it took two magicals to block my abilities, how large an argument of wizards would it take to stop Dee’s? Or The Gate’s? Pretty big would be my guess.

  Dee cupped the pendulum in his hands a few moments, blew on it, and tried again. Slowly the pendulum began to swing unevenly, stretching out one direction more than the other. He followed the swing, moving his hand fractions of an inch until the crystal fob once again pointed straight down.

  He bent over to read the tiny print on the map. “Alaska Avenue.” He glanced at me. “Do you know it?”

  “I do.” I’d had my car fixed at a garage there after some idiot had hit me. Alaska Avenue was a short stretch of road in an industrial area. “Do you want to go now?”

  Dee rolled his shoulders and let out a breath. He reached out and touched my arm.