I shrugged.
“I’m starting to wonder how far the Council will go to get their hands on you.” He leaned back into Ebony’s chair. “After what Burr told us last night, it’s no wonder they’re trying to get you. If what they did to Mara is helping them pierce a hole into the ghostly patch, but their aim is to control it, you’re the perfect candidate. Your power will serve their purpose.”
“Thanks for making me sound like some sort of freaky object.”
“Sierra, as much as I wish I could sugarcoat this insane world of ours, to some people, that’s exactly what you are—an object of power. Used to manipulate and get whatever it is they want.”
I shuddered when I remembered the dog-beast mentioning Jonathan, the same way Travis had. Had he seen me as an object too? Obviously, and I’d served my purpose when sex between us had awakened a healing side of him. I felt so dirty and stupid. All the times I’d been worried about breaking a date and making Jonathan wait, I’d felt like the worst girlfriend in the world. And he’d been keeping such a huge and dangerous secret from me. What a jerk!
Yet, why hadn’t he struck when we were alone? He had plenty of opportunities. Maybe it had something to do with timing. Whoever he was working with, they were waiting for something. But what?
I stood up and headed for the middle of the room. “Let’s work on some of those protection spells.”
Chapter Ten
Oren had just started teaching me a protection incantation when we heard the commotion downstairs.
“That didn’t take long.” My stomach dropped and I suddenly felt the weight of loss on my shoulders, so I headed back to my chair. Between Benita’s death and Ebony not listening to me, I wasn’t sure if I could stay on my feet. The last thing I wanted to do was collapse while the police were here.
“It is a murder scene,” Oren said. “It makes sense that they would rush over.”
Two policemen dressed in the familiar blue uniform of the New South Wales police appeared at my open office door, but only one of them knocked as they both wandered inside. “Good afternoon, I’m Senior Constable Stand, and this is Constable Crewe. You called this in?” The older policeman addressed Oren and dipped his chin in my direction.
I didn’t have the energy to get to my feet at the moment. And with the omitting we were about to do, it was probably better to be sitting down.
“Yes, I was. My name is Oren McKee.” Oren approached them, his hand outstretched. They both shook it. “My associate, Ms. Fox, and I were discussing business when a huge dog appeared out of nowhere. We shut the door on it and then heard the sound of glass shattering. That’s when I went downstairs and found poor Benita.”
I looked at the younger cop and he caught my eye. He didn’t smile, but there was something in his stare that made me comfortable. I was hoping he was the one who I had to deal with.
“Okay, Mr. McKee, I’d like to ask you a few questions and my partner will question your associate.” The blond-haired policeman peered at my door and scrawled down what it said on it—Sierra Fox, Spook Catcher.
Oren followed him outside and the other policeman slowly headed my way.
He looked around the office, taking in every detail. Luckily, it didn’t look as shabby as it once had. He avoided my gaze until he sat down on one of the visitor chairs beside our desks. One was closer to Ebony’s desk, the other to mine. That’s the one he took.
“Hello, Ms. Fox,” he said in a clear and pleasant voice that seemed to match the air of serenity around him. “So, you’re a spook catcher?”
“Yes, I’m hired to catch ghosts and make sure they’re brought to justice,” I answered a little defensively. I did a lot more than that, but there was no point in going into it right now. A certain division of the NSW Police Force had been established to deal directly with the Council, but these officers were here to investigate a murder, not me.
A smile curved his full lips. “So you’re a supernatural cop, then?” The tease in his hazel eyes made him appear really young.
“Not really,” I said with a shrug, realizing that getting defensive about his question had been stupid. I was pretty sure he was teasing me.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a ghost.”
“Most people haven’t.”
He looked at me for a silent moment, the smile never leaving his face. “So, can you to tell me what happened downstairs?” He pulled out a small notebook and pen from the black vest covering his torso. I could see a variety of weapons stashed in there.
“I don’t know what happened downstairs, but I can tell you what happened up here…” I repeated everything the same way I’d discussed it with Oren, which really wasn’t much. I tried to keep my voice steady but it didn’t work, emotion made me stumble and pause a few times. I kept seeing Benita lying on the floor like a discarded doll.
The police officer jotted everything down and nodded when I was done. “And did you see the animal Mr. McKee mentioned?”
Flashes of our encounter made my skin crawl—I’d seen him all right. “Just when he came to the door…”
“What did this dog look like?”
“He was black and huge, probably the biggest dog I’ve ever seen.”
Constable Crewe jotted down the description. “Did you recognize the dog breed?”
The demonic kind, I wanted to say, but settled for, “I don’t know.”
“Did you know Benita Sorrenti?”
“Yes, we’ve both had offices here for several years. She was a nice woman, a very helpful accountant.” I felt tears well in my eyes. Benita was an innocent woman who certainly didn’t deserve to die at the hands of a nightmarish monster. Accepting ghosts was one thing, because most humans could go their whole life without being affected by one, but the creatures I’d been discovering lately weren’t fit for human eyes.
The constable took some more notes, and while he was distracted I looked at him a little closer. He was quite an attractive man with curly black hair he kept trimmed close to his head, and lovely brown skin. He had long, black eyelashes and was clean-shaven. On closer inspection, he looked to be about my age and the standard blue cop uniform suited his long, trim frame. I thought he might be of Aboriginal descent.
When he looked up, his hazel eyes pierced into mine and crinkled at the edges as he offered me another smile. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?”
“No,” I answered.
“Can I get you to read your statement and sign at the bottom?”
I nodded, and after skimming his neat writing I signed my name and handed his notebook back. Our fingers touched, and I instinctively drew my hand back. His skin was soft and warm.
His eyes strayed to the floor and he noticed my shoe. I tucked my foot under the desk, hoping he hadn’t seen the shredded fabric.
“Are you going to be okay?” He closed his notebook and tucked it into one of the pockets on his vest.
“I’m just a little shaky.” Not far from the truth. I still couldn’t believe Benita was dead. I wasn’t looking forward to telling Ebony.
He nodded, knowingly. “Seeing your first dead body is enough to shake you. You did see her, didn’t you?”
I hesitated long enough to maybe rouse his suspicion. “No, I didn’t. Oren went downstairs. I stayed in here.”
“And who is Oren McKee to you?”
My biological grandfather, teacher in the ways of witches, the strong support I find myself needing so much lately… “He’s an associate.”
“He chases ghosts too?” He cocked a dark eyebrow.
I didn’t like the way this conversation was turning away from what we’d gone through. “Not exactly, but he does know a thing or two about them.”
“Right,” he said, sneaking another look at my foot. I expected him to say more, ask enough questions to push the truth out of me. Instead, he pulled out a white business card and held it out to me. “If you remember anything else, let me know. You can call me direct. Any time.”
I took the card with an appreciative nod. “Thanks.” I had no intention of involving the police in any of this, or of associating myself with a policeman. I might not be a criminal but I did occasionally break the law. I was inside my house when Oren served Troy with the inquisition notice and obliterated him with flames. I was also there when Papan killed the woman in the cemetery who’d shot him while he was trying to defend me.
Yeah, I had too many secrets for the police to be nosing around.
Although I brought a lot of spooks to justice, I didn’t really deal much with the police department. I’d had to attend several court cases in the past, but their specific division dealt directly with the Council.
For a long moment, Constable Crewe sat silently looking at me, almost as if he wanted to say more. Eventually, he stood up and headed for the door. He stopped and turned back toward me.
“Is it hard?”
“What?”
He took another moment to answer. “Is it hard to find these ghosts and bring them to justice?”
“No harder than you bringing criminals to justice.”
He nodded, knowingly. “Does it keep you busy?”
I’d often wondered why the Council didn’t encourage any of us girls to actually go to the police academy and become cops. Having spook catchers on the force would be an advantage for everyone. Then again, it might also cut into their profits.
“Very busy,” I said, pointing at the answering machine.
He whistled. “You take care, Ms. Fox.”
“Sierra,” I said. I hated people calling me that. It made me feel old. I let Mr. and Mrs. Wicker get away with it, as well as Roe. But no one else.
“Take care, Sierra. And you can call me Gareth.” He took another step out into the corridor. “If you ever need backup, or see something that needs reporting…don’t hesitate to contact me. I’m curious about what you do.”
I didn’t respond. The last thing I needed was a nosy cop who wanted a ride along with me. It was enough that I’d probably have to take Lavie on one soon.
When he was finally gone, I stuck his business card into my top drawer. Then, I released a heavy breath. It felt good, as if I was letting go of everything just by exhaling. So much was happening right now and I felt like I didn’t have one lick of control over anything.
A monster was after me, Ebony was risking her life, spooks were fading all over the place, I hadn’t taken care of business all week, Papan was going out into the wild, Vixen still wanted him dead, and Jonathan was attached to some mysterious group out to get me. All of this and I’d also lost a whole day while unconscious.
My life was a bigger mess than usual, and I had to do something about it.
“You look tired,” Oren said, striding back into the office.
“Too bad my day’s nowhere near over.” I groaned. “I do want to get out of here, though. I wouldn’t mind tackling some of my outstanding cases.”
He shook his head. “We’re not going to be able to go anywhere for a while.”
“Why not?”
“The constables called in detectives and forensics,” he answered, looking toward the corridor. “They might want to ask us more questions and are already investigating.”
“How long’s that going to take?” The last thing I wanted to do was go around in circles answering the same questions. But it might give me a chance to look for the letter opener.
“Probably a few hours,” Oren replied.
“Uh…”
“Listen, while we’ve got some time to kill… I was going to save this for your birthday later this year, but I think now’s the right time to give it to you.” He stood by the side of my desk, holding out a leather-bound book. It was just a little bigger than my hand and looked pretty thick. “This is rightfully yours.”
I took it. “What is it?” On closer inspection, the leather was actually burgundy, not black as I’d first thought. I flicked through the pages and found they were all blank.
“It’s your grimoire.”
“My what?” I knew what it was but wanted to hear his explanation.
“A grimoire, journal, book of spells, book of shadows—whatever you want to call it, it’s the same thing.” He sighed. “A place for you to write down every new spell you learn, or are interested in learning. You can list ingredients for potions, draw diagrams to help you learn everything I’ll be teaching you, that type of thing.”
“But I’m not a witch. This is the kind of thing witches have.” I’d read about these, but for some reason had always imagined it to be some big and heavy tome kept locked up inside a dark attic or basement. Not something I could conveniently stick in my pocket and carry everywhere.
Oren shrugged. “You’re part witch. Besides, you can always add your own spook catcher details too. And anything you learn from Burr and the other hunters. Anything you think needs referencing.”
I nodded, running my fingers over the cover. It appeared smooth but was actually bumpy, as if it had something inscribed on it. I lifted it closer to my face and noticed my name etched into it, with some sort of symbol placed below it. It might look like an average notebook, but there was a certain hum vibrating from within it.
“It feels…warm.”
“I’ve put a spell on it,” he said with a grin. “You don’t want others to learn all of your secrets. So if anyone but you opens it, they’ll only see blank pages. It’ll be useless to them. Actually, it’ll be useless to you too, until you say these words…”
I repeated them, and this time when I flicked through it found several pages near the front were filled with neat cursive writing.
“Then how did you write in it?”
“I added a few things before casting the spell, of course.”
“Of course.” I smiled.
“Actually, while I’m in the mood for handing out gifts, I have something else to give you.” Oren reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a rectangular-sized case.
“How the hell did you fit that inside your pocket?”
His light eyes smiled down at me. “Magic and spells come in handy for many things.” He placed the black leather case with a zipper on three of its four sides on my desk. “This is for you.”
“And what’s this?” The same crest was inscribed into the leather.
“Some tools of the trade,” Oren said with a shrug. “Things you’ll need.”
“Tools of what trade, exactly?” I never quite knew which he was talking about. Sometimes I suspected he might turn out to be a spy or something.
“The trade that is witchcraft,” he answered, taking a seat in the chair the police officer had recently vacated.
“I thought the journal was all I needed.”
“It’s a start, and to be honest with you I wanted to help hone your skills a lot more before giving you these, but given the circumstances…”
“Right,” I whispered. Things were definitely moving too fast.
“Aren’t you going to take a look?” Oren pushed the laptop-sized leather case a little closer.
I sighed, secretly anticipating what could be inside. I had no idea what a witch’s tool box entailed. I honestly thought spells, and whatever ingredients were needed, would be enough. Obviously, I was wrong.
Reaching out, I slid the case closer and stared at it. I unzipped it all the way around and flipped the top, exposing a bunch of shiny silver-colored apparatus neatly held together by elastic straps, displayed on both top and bottom.
For a second, I wondered if maybe he’d given me the wrong thing. This looked more like something a doctor or a dentist would use—maybe even an assassin—not a witch.
“What is all this stuff?” I focused on the one thing I recognized and pulled it out. This was the double-edged dagger I’d used twice now—once at the cemetery to seal off the ley line rift, and the other to feed a different ley line for dowsing. I’d never seen it inside the decorative leather scabbard with lovely designs etched all over it. I sl
id the shiny blade out and it seemed to attract every bit of sunlight filtering in through the office window. The hilt and blade were one continuous piece of silver and looked to be about six inches long. My hand fit perfectly around the grip and the etchings matched its sheath. The tip looked lethally sharp on both sides, ending in a severe point. “This is the dagger I’ve used already, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s a short ceremonial athame—a boot dagger blade. It serves as a compact, concealed weapon. It’s already tasted your blood and will respond perfectly to every one of your moves.”
I ignored the creepy blood comment for now, since the sharp edge looked perfectly clean. “Is it made out of pure silver?” I was almost hypnotized by its luminescence.
“Everything is made out of silver. It’s the one metal vampires, demons and were-animals are all allergic to. It’s not always enough to kill them, so the athame you hold in your hand was dipped in holy water for several days and then blessed by both a Catholic priest and a Jewish rabbi before you even touched it. It also holds the runes of my native land, Ireland. The Celtic faith has a lot of weapons to combat these types of creatures. And a voodoo priestess performed a ritual on it too.”
“Wow, so if I stabbed the ugly dog with this…he wouldn’t survive?”
“It’s highly unlikely that he would.”
“Looks like I’ll be carrying this around with me from now on.”
“If it’ll make you feel safer, I agree,” Oren said with a nod. “I’ll also teach you a shrouding incantation to put on it.”
“What will that do? Make it invisible?”
“Not exactly, because you will still be able to see it, but others won’t.”
I looked at it for a few more seconds. “But I can still use it?”
Oren nodded.
“This sounds like something I should definitely have with me at all times.” I stuck the blade back in its sheath and put it beside the leather case. “So, what else is in here?” I turned my attention to a weapon that looked like a small, silver hand crossbow, with a syringe beneath it. A small, silver handgun sat next to the crossbow.
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