The Drifting Gloom (Maddy Wimsey Book 2)

by J. R. Rain

  “I thought you couldn’t rationalize it?” I ask, wishing like hell that I’d kept my mouth shut. My atheist friend was probably better off that way. “Possibly. I can make a protective ward for you and bind it to an amulet.”

  “Does it have to be one of those… umm… star things?” She gestures at my cluster of jewelry.

  “Nope.” I smile.

  “I can’t believe I’m seriously entertaining the idea that something… paranormal attacked me.”

  “Happens to the best of us.”

  “But not to me.”

  “You know that guy from the ghost-chaser show Owen likes?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Oh, the dudebros?”

  “Yeah. I heard he used to be a real skeptic until he saw a ghost once. Sometimes, all it takes is one powerful experience.”

  “Like a cloud of black smoke trying to get into my head and make me unload on you?”

  “Unload, how?” Truth be told, I figured it would have tried to get her to hurt her family or something. Or me. Or herself. Not… chastise me.

  She gives me a ‘one sec’ glance, then crawls into the tent to tuck Noah back in his little sleeping bag. When she sticks her head out, she sighs. “It wanted me to… listen to me talking about this thing like it’s real.” Isabelle shakes her head. “It wanted me to lash out at you for being a bad influence on Noah with all that Wicca stuff.”

  My eyes narrow, staring doom at a distant tree. That sure does sound like Elise’s little problem. Whatever entity that’s attached itself to her seems to be getting frustrated. Since it can’t get her while she’s safe within Abigail’s wards, it’s expanding its efforts to attack my coven as a whole. Guess it’s my turn now. “I would’ve known it didn’t really come from you.”

  She tears up a bit. “How can you say that with so much confidence?”

  “Because.” I grin and land a playful punch on her shoulder. “We’ve been friends for almost thirty years. If you were going to flip out about witchcraft, you’d have done it a long time ago.”

  “Hah!” She smiles. “Okay. Fair point. So what do I do if it comes back?”

  “Concentrate on not wanting to let it in.” I pat her shoulder and stand. “See you in the morning.”

  “Night. Oh, Mads?”

  “Yo?” I spin back toward her.

  “If you want to make me an amulet or something, that’d be kinda cool.” She smiles. “I’ll even wear it.”

  “No problem. I left my stuff at home though. Hadn’t exactly planned on a random angry blast of negative energy this weekend.”

  Isabelle chuckles. “Yeah. Neither did I. Sorry.”

  “Not your fault. Only thing I’m complaining about is the weekend is over way too fast.”

  “Yeah… No kidding.” She yawns. “Don’t you have a spell or something that’ll keep Monday morning away for a while more?”

  “Hah. No. I’m not powerful enough to take on evil of that magnitude.”

  We share a laugh before I crawl back into the tent, ditch my clothes, and slip back into the sleeping bag with my human space heater. Within seconds of my head resting on his shoulder, I’m out.

  Chapter Three

  Threads of Fate

  Sunday, July 9, 2017

  Our plan for Sunday was to enjoy the morning and afternoon among the woods, maybe take a boat out on Deep Lake. But after last night’s festivities, my new plan is to wake up around noon. Alas, Caius’ exploring hands make that dream short-lived.

  I wake up with the rising sun—giggling at the fingers attacking my sides, and muffle my laughter by burying my face in the crook of his neck. There’s no way in heck we’re going to get frisky with my best friend and her whole family right outside, but we do spend a while kissing.

  “Pfaf,” says Caius, spitting my hair off his lips. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Not well.” I pull the zipper down to let some air in, since our Coleman love nest has gotten a little too warm. “Went out for some air, chased off a darkspawn, handheld my best friend through an existential crisis. Nothing major.”

  He stares at me, mouth slightly open.

  I fill him in on the details as we get dressed. “Do you think it could be the same entity that’s been hounding Elise for the past four years?”

  “Quite possible.” He pulls up his briefs and lets the waistband snap, since he knows it makes me look every time. After showing off his abs, he wags his eyebrows at me twice before his face goes serious again. “If it’s decided to seek you out, that must mean it knows you’re dangerous to it.”

  “Doesn’t make a whole hell of a lot of sense.”

  “Who says shadow people make sense?”

  I shrug after wriggling into a clean t-shirt. “Or maybe it’s going after us one at a time, looking for a weakness it can exploit to peel us apart and get to her.” I pause. “But, maybe it is me… I had been digging into her past. That could’ve attracted its attention.”

  He pulls up his jeans, steps into his boots, and waits for me to finish getting dressed before grasping my shoulders. “You’ve cast a thread into the void, entwining your fate with Elise’s.”

  “I accept that, and want to protect her. She’s one of us.”

  Caius pulls me closer. “Then we shall all cast threads until we weave a cord the shadow cannot challenge.”

  The fierceness flashing in his hazel eyes lights a fire in me. Few bonds are as sacred as the oath among a coven. That he regards Elise as somewhat of a little sister only heightens his resolve. We’d all known her past held a certain degree of negative energy, but after last night, I’m convinced it’s far worse than any of us ever imagined.

  “By Cernunnos… Girl, what did you do?” I whisper.

  “Nothing we cannot deal with.” Caius nods at the tent flap. “Smells like Owen’s cooking already.”

  I take a deep sniff of bacon. “Oh, he’s invoking the most powerful form of summoning magic.”

  Owen smiles up at us as we exit our tent. He’s crouched over his portable two-burner hot plate, working on breakfast. I take a seat on the log, dust my feet off, and pull on my socks and hiking sneakers. Soon, we’re all absorbed with scrambled eggs, bacon, and coffee. Except for Noah. He gets milk instead of java.

  Isabelle’s gone back to her old self, acting as if last night didn’t happen―except for one momentary ‘I’m okay’ glance in my direction.

  Once food’s out of the way, we troop off to the bathroom shack, then return to our campsite to break everything down and clean up, which is Owen’s idea. Better to deal with this now while we’re not exhausted, since we plan to head home at some point this afternoon.

  Eventually, we’ve got our stuff packed up in the bed of my Silverado. Owen shuts the rear flap on his minivan, and we trek once more into the forest for the weekend’s last hurrah, another few hours of nature before it’s time to go back to the grind. And since this place isn’t the ‘real’ woods and we’re not that long a ride from home, we can spend a little time enjoying the day.

  Caius takes my hand and heads down a trail with an unusual briskness in his stride. Isabelle and Owen follow, but after a couple of forks and turns in the path, they’ve fallen behind out of sight.

  “Might want to slow down, I think they’ve lost us.”

  “Owen knows the way to the boathouse,” says Caius with a smile in his voice.

  Hmm. Either he’s trying to get me alone for a few minutes to talk coven stuff, or I’ve been set up for a surprise party of some kind. Not sure for what, though… my birthday’s not until November and it’s only the second week of July. Okay, I’ll play along.

  We walk for a few minutes, surrounded by the trills of birds and the occasional buzz of a passing large insect. The natural energies of this place wash over me like a purifying bath. I can totally understand the whole Gardnerian thing of dancing sky-clad in the forest. If I could be absolutely sure no one would catch me, I’d so do it right now. But, this is a public park, and I’m nowhere near
that much of an exhibitionist. Hey, not all redheads are completely wild, okay?

  Soon, the rush of a tiny waterfall overpowers the background susurrus of birds and insects. Caius takes another left turn at a three-way fork in the path, and leads me out over a wooden bridge spanning a creek. Water cascades down a series of rocks and stones to our left, close enough to the bridge for a light mist to reach us.

  Caius pauses by the railing on the falls side and puts an arm around my back. “Beautiful sight.”

  I lean against him and smile at the rainbows in the spray. “Absolutely.”

  He removes his arm from around me and stretches.

  My hair flops down over my eyes. By the time I’ve pulled it aside like a theater curtain, Caius has gone down on one knee.

  By the Goddess! My mouth hangs open. Tears gather at the corners of my eyes.

  He pulls out a little black box. “From the moment our eyes first met, I knew I had found someone special. With each minute, each hour, and each day since, that feeling has only gotten stronger.”

  He tilts the lid open. A diamond ring nestled in a bundle of white silk catches the sun and sparkles like a tiny star. My hands fly to cover my mouth as a little squeak comes out of me.

  Caius holds the ring up a little higher, his eyes bright. “My journey through this life cannot be complete until our souls are entwined. Madeline Wimsey, will you be my wife?”

  I’m not usually the crying type, but I can’t help it. An explosion goes off inside me: excitement, love, trepidation, relief, and pure joy. Another noise squeaks out from my lips, but I sound closer to hamster than human.

  His lips twitch from trying to keep a straight face.

  This moment has happened a few times in my daydreams, but to be standing in it, right here, right now, is such a blast of emotion that my mind shuts off. A speeding car could slam into a wall two feet away from me and I wouldn’t notice.

  “Maddy?” asks Caius.

  I love that he doesn’t look worried about my answer, more concerned if he’s just shorted out my brain. Speaking of shorted out, I leap into a hug and yell, “Yes!”

  The ring bounces out of the box, but snags in my hair before it can hit the bridge and roll into the creek. Whoa! That was a close one. Caius grabs it a second faster than I can react, and I wind up clutching his hand in both of mine against my chest.

  Oh, thank you, hair. Nice save.

  Isabelle and Owen break out in applause from the end of the bridge behind me. Noah, perched on his father’s back in a piggyback harness, waves and cheers. I glance over my shoulder at them snapping pictures with their cell phones.

  Wonderful. They’re taking pictures of ‘our moment’ and Caius looks like he’s copping a feel.

  “Little mishap with the ring,” says Caius. He plucks the ring from my hair and holds it up so they can see it. “Crisis averted.”

  I can’t stop trembling as he takes my hand and slides the ring on, a white-gold band with three smallish diamonds embedded across the top. Oh, I hope he doesn’t get something ridiculous for the wedding ring. He could give me one of those candy ring pops and I’d be thrilled. I wouldn’t be able to wear a rock the size of a grape to work anyway. Oh, crap. I hope he doesn’t give me his mother’s ring. I’d be so petrified of losing it; hell, it’d only come out of a bank vault whenever we went to Abigail’s or had a night out at a place a little fancier than our usual fare.

  He admires the ring for a moment before leaning in for a kiss.

  Isabelle and Owen click more pictures.

  Crying, laughing, and bouncing with glee, I lose myself in his mouth for a long few minutes. When we finally separate and stare into each other’s eyes, he’s practically glowing with happiness.

  “How long have you guys been planning this?” I ask.

  “Oh, for a bit.” Caius winks.

  Isabelle walks up behind me into a hug, wrapping her arms around both of us. “You don’t know how hard it was not to say anything. I’m so happy for you guys.”

  “Sorry, man.” Owen claps Caius on the back, shaking his head like someone died. “Your bachelor days are over.”

  Caius squeezes my hand. “Yeah. Seems that way. Only a couple years too late.”

  “Things happen as they happen. The universe always wants to sort itself out.” I cling to Caius, smiling. The day that started off feeling like a grumbly end to a long weekend has been forever etched in my memory.

  I’m going to be grinning for weeks.

  Chapter Four

  Finding God

  Monday Morning – July 10, 2017

  The universe may have a tendency to sort itself out, but it also has certain inevitable evils: death, taxes, and Mondays.

  I should really get a Garfield mug or something. He’s so my spirit animal. Maybe a desk calendar. Of course, within a few minutes of my arrival at the station, I’ve become the center of a departmental meeting regarding my engagement.

  One does not simply walk into a room full of trained investigators with a new ring and not expect it to be noticed.

  So that conversation made the first dreadful hour of a Monday morning fly by. It’s a bit weird chatting with Linda Gonzalez without her tossing a sarcastic comment about paganism at me, but hey, I’ll take it. I guess squeeing over an about-to-be wedding trumps spiritual differences of opinion? At least, for now. Again, I’ll take it.

  It’s also pretty obvious that Ed and Andrew need a break from banging their heads against the wall over that clown case. They both look like they’ve aged several years in the span of the past two weeks. Cases like that are almost as bad as totally spontaneous killings between strangers. Some random person snaps and decides to off some other random person and there’s no motive or connection between them other than ‘wrong place, wrong time,’ yeah… those usually wind up in a cold case file unless we get lucky with surveillance video or witnesses.

  Eventually, Captain Janet Greer breaks up the huddle. As the others file off to their desks, she pauses and flashes a big grin. “Congrats, Wimsey. About goddamned time. Way more patient than I would’a been.”

  I laugh. “Never doubted he’d get there eventually.”

  She wanders back to her office, shaking her head. “Wish I had your trust in men.”

  “It’s not men, Captain, it’s this particular man.” Still smiling, I refill my coffee from our machine that had to be here since Ed Parrish had been in diapers and return to my desk. As in, a long-ass time ago.

  “So, how was the camping thing? Get ants in your jeans and whatnot?” asks Rick. “By the way, it’s the whatnots that keep me from camping.”

  I laugh and say, “No whatnots, and it was amazing. Even without the proposal. It’s hard to describe the energy I feel in the woods.”

  He peels his gaze off his monitor and raises his mug at me. “Here’s to the calm before the storm.”

  Everyone else stops what they’re doing to stare at him. Cops are nothing if not superstitious.

  Rick holds his arms out to the sides, looking around. “What? I’m talking about married life.”

  No one comments. The idea’s been floated already. The theory being that since my batteries are charged, something epic and horrible is going to happen. I’m not going to poke that particular bear either, so I turn my attention to the computer and start going over a couple of our limbo cases. Two are probably drug-related shootings that we’ve come up blank on and put aside when another body turned up with more leads to follow. The third’s a John Doe who washed ashore on West Bay Drive a little south of Tugboat Annie’s a few months ago. As best the medical examiner could tell, someone opened up his skull with a large wrench. We couldn’t find out anything about his identity. Rick figured him for either a stowaway, undocumented immigrant, or a crewman from a non-US ship who ran afoul of the rest of his crew. It’s amazing how little anyone knows when the dead person’s poor or foreign. And when they’re both, well, it’s like they never existed.

  Great. There goes my
good mood.

  I look over the same files and notes I’ve looked over a dozen times. Ocean Man will probably never be solved. And honestly, it’s quite likely that the killers are foreign nationals on a foreign ship that’s nowhere near the United States anymore, so even if I could figure out who killed him, it wouldn’t do much. The man might’ve even been killed over international waters for all I know. Or maybe he was drunk, fell overboard, and got smacked by the propeller.

  “Detective Wimsey?” asks a man approaching from behind and my right.

  It’s rare to get a stranger in the offices; at least, an unannounced stranger. He must have got past the desk sergeant with flying colors. Which means, of course, he must be another detective. At any rate, his tone is conversational, so I look up with a smile.

  A tall Native American in a white polo and jeans comes to a stop beside my chair. He’s familiar―I know he’s a detective, but not with Homicide. Can’t quite grab his name out of the fog. He shakes my hand as soon as I stand up. For some stupid reason, I decide to roll the dice and guess at his name.

  “Detective… Kay?” I ask, eyebrow cocked.

  “Closer than most.” He chuckles. “Wilson Kee, but please, Wilson’s fine.”

  “Sure. How can I help you?”

  He hooks his thumbs in his jean pockets and shakes his head like he’s been demoted to run a radar gun on a back-country dirt road. “Just need a few minutes of your time for some total cow-manure case.”

  “Such language,” says my partner Rick from his desk opposite mine. Have I mentioned that I have no privacy?

  Detective Kee grins at both of us. “It’s about Emmett Waters.”

  Eyes closed, I sigh at his mention of the nut-job preacher with a special hate on for witches. “What happened now?”

  “The good pastor has accused some people you’re known to associate with of arson.”

  “Attempted arson,” says Rick with a wink. “Church didn’t burn down, did it?”

  “I can assure you the bad blood is all flowing in one direction,” I say. “My friends are happy to leave people alone.” I refrain from using words like ‘fellow practitioners’ and ‘coven’ here at work. “Attacking others who don’t believe in your faith purely because they don’t believe in your faith is a sure sign of insecurity.”