by Jasmine Walt
“I was kind of like his mentor.”
“Kind of like?”
She plays with one of the crystal necklaces hanging around her neck. “He was new to this,” she starts, sweeping her hand out in front of her. “Maybe a year or so ago, he came into my shop for the first time looking for answers.”
“Answers to what?”
“Life,” she answers with a watery smile. “It’s how a lot of people become involved in the craft. They can sense there is more in the world and want to get to know the spirits. Josh told me he’s always felt the pull but resisted, knowing his parents wouldn’t approve. He was home in the city for summer break and would come in a few times a week. We’d mostly talk about Wicca or our experiences with the paranormal. Josh was having visions from a past life. I taught him how to channel the visions into lucid dreams so he could get the answers he sought.”
“And did he?”
“In a way. He met his girlfriend at a divination workshop I held around Yule.”
Reaching into my purse, I pull out my phone and log onto Lily’s Facebook account. “Have you seen this girl before?”
Lyra leans in, studying Lily’s face. “No. Do you think she killed—”
“I can’t discuss matters of the case at the moment. When was the last time you saw or spoke to Josh?”
“Last week. He and Ginny—his girlfriend—came in and were looking forward to the tarot class coming up. Josh has grown so much. He was going to do a reading.”
Nodding, I take a minute to think. “You said he knew his parents wouldn’t approve of him.”
“Right. They’re rather old-fashioned.”
“Did he ever tell them?”
“Yes, around the same time he met his girlfriend.”
“Do you know how that went down?”
She nods and trades the crystal in her hand for another. “It wasn’t as bad as we expected. His parents didn’t take it seriously and believed he’d lose interest in being Wiccan eventually.”
“But he was open about his beliefs?”
“Yes, very much so.”
I shove my parcels back in my purse. “Thanks, Lyra. And I’m sorry for your loss.” Before she can ask another question, I turn around and hurry out of the store, needing to get back to the station.
I think I just found my connection.
11
“Captain Harris?” I say, knocking on the doorframe to his office. The door is open, and it looks like he’s ready to head home for the day.
“Come in, Detective.” He looks up, lines of stress visible around his eyes. After the vampire murders, another occult-killer is a PR nightmare, as well as an actual nightmare for anyone who’s, well, alive. Though this time I know the victims aren’t randomly grabbed for fresh food.
I cross the office and stop next to his desk. “I found a connection between our victims. I think we’re looking at hate crimes.”
The captain straightens in his chair. “Hate crimes?”
“Yes. Both victims identified as Wiccan.”
Captain Harris leans back, nodding. “Go on.”
“The crime scenes were set up to look like some sort of sacrifice went on, as if someone who believes in the occult is responsible. The scenes were meant to shock and scare whoever found the bodies. The first victim was set up at a church, like something right out of a movie. And I believe the killer wanted to do the same with the second victim, but wasn’t expecting a fight.”
“He was hoping to kidnap him.”
“Right. And take him out the back, but once he realized the back door needed a code to enter, he had to finish what he started.”
Captain Harris nods. “The boy could have identified him. So why not make it look like a robbery gone wrong?”
“I wondered the same thing, and I believe the killer is fixated on sending the message and has carefully chosen his victims.”
“They want to frame someone with opposing beliefs.”
“Exactly. If the public were to believe there’s someone out there kidnapping innocent victims off the street to sacrifice to the devil, there’d be a movement against anyone who believes in anything remotely close to that. But the killer has made several mistakes that make it obvious it’s a setup.”
“The symbols?” he asks, having sat in on my meeting previously.
“Yes.” I open a folder and set it down on the desk. “I have a list of religions and belief systems with documented cases of human sacrifice, and none of them use the symbols painted on the walls at the crime scene.”
The captain slides the file in front of him, looking at the list.
“Both crime scenes had the same symbols drawn on the walls, and they’re from different religions representing very different things. And none have ever been tied to human sacrifice.”
“You think this is compelling enough to label it a hate crime?”
“Yes. If the murders were done by a mentally ill individual who really thought they were appeasing some sort of demon, then why arrange the bodies post-mortem? If they really believed the murders had meaning, the last one wouldn’t have been done in haste at a coffee shop.”
The captain’s lips curve into a smile. “I agree. Let’s catch this asshole before anyone else is killed.”
The smell of tacos fills the house, and the TV echoes into the foyer. Hasan and Gilbert are in the living room watching Star Wars, and hardly look away from the TV to greet me as I walk through.
Thomas and Jacques are in the kitchen, bickering like an old married couple about how to make Spanish rice. I stand in the threshold of the kitchen, watching with amusement before stepping in.
“You guys do know I have a box in the pantry, right? You just dump in the package of spices and you’re done.”
Jacques looks down at the phone on the counter. “This says homemade is better.”
“Not always. Didn’t I tell you not everything on the internet is true?”
“Why would people lie?”
I stifle a laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know. I think a lot of it is opinions. Dinner smells good. Thanks, guys.” I sit at the table and pull the sage sticks out of my purse.
“How was work?” Thomas asks.
“Pretty good today, actually. Well, considering what I work with. I found a connection between my victims,” I say, and tell them everything I just told the captain.
Covering the pot of rice on the stove, Jacques turns to me, muscular arms folded over his chest. “When I was new to the Templars, we were once ordered to burn a church and put the blame on a village of Pagans.”
“Why?” I try to meet his eye, but he stares at the window behind me.
“To make the surrounding villages turn against them.”
Thomas shuffles his feet, moving closer to me. He already wondered if Jacques could have actually killed Braeya. A divide between them is the last thing we need.
“Did you do it?” he asks.
“No.” Jacques turns back, pretending to check on the food.
“Why not?” I ask carefully.
“A storm blew in. We’d been in a drought for weeks. There were no clouds to be seen, and right before we were going to set off, it poured.” Though his back is to me, I can see the tension in his shoulders. Letting out a breath, he turns around and looks right into my eyes. “It was the first time I questioned the mission. It was as if God himself sent the rain to save innocent lives.”
“I had no idea,” Thomas says quietly. “Was this before Gil and I were there?”
A small smile comes to Jac’s face. “No. It was after. Though I’m fairly certain you two were in that very town.”
Thomas snorts a laugh. “But not at the church.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head, remembering Thomas and Gilbert saying they frequented brothels back in their day. Times have certainly changed.
“So, the curse,” I start, opening one of the plastic bags with a sage stick inside. “Should I try the same thing tonight? Maybe I’ll see more.�
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“Are you up for it?” Jacques asks. “It took a lot out of you.”
“Yeah. I skipped working out this morning, so I’m good.”
“Okay.” Jacques turns back to the rice. He has a few suggestions on how to make magic easier on me, and explains how witches are able to pull energy from sources. Instead of doing that, I’m pulling from myself. I need to tap into energy around me instead of wearing myself out. We talk about it throughout dinner, and after watching the rest of Star Wars: Episode IV with Hasan and Gil, I take a shower and change into leggings and a tank top, knowing I’ll most likely crash right after doing magic.
“You didn’t kill me last night,” Thomas says with a smirk. “Want to try again?”
“Sure, but I can’t make any promises.” I look up from the circle of salt I’m pouring on the living room floor again, though this time, it’s much bigger.
Hasan and Gilbert hang out in the back of the room, silently watching, and Jacques stays nearby on the couch, just in case I pass out and almost fall into an open flame again or something. The audience doesn’t make me nervous this time around, though, because I know something will happen, even if it’s not what we’re hoping for.
Once Thomas and I are sitting in the circle, I light the smudge stick and carefully wave it around both of us. Instead of jumping right in like I did last time, I follow Jacques’s instructions on how to ground, using crystals to pull in energy from the elements air and earth.
Holding an amethyst in one hand, I hold my other up in front of me and look at my fingertips.
“Ignis,” I whisper, and feel heat rush through my hand. “Ignis.” I close my eyes and imagine the flames around my hand. Ignis. Ignis. “Ignis.”
This time, it works, and a small flame erupts from each of my fingers. I squeeze the stone tight in my opposite hand and bring the other down into a bowl of herbs Jacques mixed up for me. With a sizzle, they ignite, and a billow of smoke wafts up around me. A strange feeling comes over me, almost like I just chugged a coffee and the caffeine is hitting me all at once.
“Ready?” I ask Thomas, closing my fist to put out the flames. I set the amethyst in the bowl of herbs, and go about the spell, trying to dispel the negative energy around Thomas.
Nothing seems to happen, and I grit my teeth in frustration. “Dammit.” I look to Jacques. “It’s not working.”
His brow furrows. “Perhaps we can try a different spell—”
Something tugs in my chest, a deeply buried instinct. “Wait.” I close my eyes, taking Thomas’s hands. The tug grows stronger, and out of impulse, I decide to try something simpler.
“Show me the curse,” I whisper.
Almost instantly, I’m transported back, though this time, I’m seeing things through Braeya’s eyes, and I’m very much alive. Something cold and hard is in my hand, and I don’t have to look to know it’s the metal cross Jacques gave her. A heavy door closes behind me, and I pull up a hood, turning my head down as I slip through the shadows of a dark corridor.
I hurry out of the building, seeing the shadow of a cross illuminated by moonlight on the ground in front of me. Holding up my skirts, I rush through the yard and disappear into the woods. My heart is beating fast, and I’m scared.
Something moves in the trees behind me. I stop, and hold up my hand. The same rush of heat flows through my fingers, but instead of turning into flames, little blue lines of electricity crackle up and down my fingers.
“Hello?” I ask, voice thin. A dark shape emerges from the brush. It’s a large man in dark robes. He pulls back his hood and grins. Panic floods through me, and my hand sparks with electricity. I shove it in the guy’s face, shocking him like a taser, and take off.
I know what happens next, and I don’t want to see it.
I squeeze my eyes closed and tighten my grip on Thomas’s hands. Show me the curse, I order, wanting to see Braeya’s father performing the magic. Thomas squeezes my hand back, and I can feel Jacques moving closer.
“Ace?” he asks, but his voice is distant, almost like I’m underwater. “Are you all right?”
I open my mouth to tell him I am, but no sound comes out. Just trying to talk to him pulls me away from the vision, and the fight to stay in it pulls me in different directions. I can’t stay in both. I need to pick one, to fully submerge myself into the past or keep watching from a distance, not able to take in all the details.
I press my nails into Thomas’s flesh and let go of everything around me.
Darkness circles me, and whispers in a foreign language fill my ears. I’m Braeya again, cold and lifeless. Her soul is gone, and all that’s left is the empty vessel I’m hiding in, watching everything unfold.
The moon rises higher in the sky. Dew starts to form on my hands, and bugs crawl over my face. The night goes on, oblivious to the terror just committed. It won’t be long now before her father finds her, and there’s no need to feel his heart break all over again. The curse. Show me the curse.
I’m squeezing Thomas’s hands so hard it must hurt. He holds steady, and in the distance, I can hear his heart beating along with my own. Braeya’s body is picked up, clutched against her father’s chest, and taken back to a cabin hidden in the woods.
Darkness is surrounding us, following us, becoming us. Words spoken out of grief and anger can’t be taken back, and the actual curse hasn’t even started yet.
I start to lose focus as my head begins to throb, and I become less aware of the vision and more aware of my physical surroundings. No. I’m so close. I need to hang onto the vision and stay.
Show me.
I’m back in Braeya’s body again, head turned to the side. I’m facing a wall but I can see dried herbs hanging above me, and a bookshelf full of tomes and jars filled with potions. A fire is lit behind us, casting moving shadows on the wall. My arm is pulled and the sleeve pushed up.
Braeya’s father starts chanting, and tears fall from his eyes, splashing onto my outstretched arm. He rubs something over my flesh, and then plunges a knife into my wrist. A bowl is propped under my arm, and the same is done on the other side.
Suddenly, Thomas yanks his hands back. Blinking open my eyes, I’m forced back into the present too fast. I throw a hand back to catch myself before I fall, only to realize my fingers are ablaze.
Oh, shit.
No wonder Thomas let go. I was burning him. Jacques pushes me upright, and I curl my fingers into fists to extinguish the flames.
“Did you see all that?” I pant, still trying to get my eyes to focus.
“I did.” Thomas stands up and steps over the circle. Gil moves forward, making sure his twin is all right. “It’s worse than we thought, brother.”
“What are you talking about?” Gil asks, stopping short.
“The curse,” I start, holding onto Jacques for support. He helps me to my feet, but I’m still unsteady. “It’s not just complicated magic. It’s blood magic.”
12
“Blood magic?” Hasan repeats, eyes going from me to Jacques, not sure which one of us will explain it. All I know is it’s bad, considered black magic, and that it’s something I’d never attempt once I figure out how to actually do any sort of magic.
“That’s why we’re bound to you,” Jacques says dryly. “By blood.”
It takes a few seconds for his words to sink in. But when they do, a chill runs down my spine. “I’m related to her.” I bring my arms in over my chest. “To Braeya.”
“It appears so.” Jacques takes a step back. “And it makes sense. You said it yourself: there was a reason we were moved to this house. And the moment you stepped through the door…”
“You look just like her,” Thomas says. “From what I’ve seen, at least.”
“You do.” Jacques is right by me again, large, dark wings hiding the others from view. He reaches out, fingertips sweeping over my cheek. His touch is familiar, though this time, it’s not from the visions. It’s from just us being together.
Me and hi
m.
Not Braeya. It’s strange, how seeing the world through her eyes forced me to separate her feelings from mine. Did it do the same for Jacques?
“But you’re nothing like her,” he adds softly. “Your heart…” He pushes my hair back. “Your heart is pure.”
“There are plenty who will disagree with that.” A slight blush comes to my cheeks. I’m far from pure, though I think I understand what Jacques is saying. “So, if I just give you some of my blood can we break this curse?”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Of course not.” I bring my hand to my head, rubbing my temple. “I feel like I just got done with a long workout.” I look over at Thomas. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. A little singed, but fine.” He holds out his hands so I can see the marks, which look like bad sunburn. “I’ve had worse.”
Not protesting as Jacques leads me to the couch, I sink down and smile. “I kinda can’t believe I did that.”
“You should have no doubt in your powers now,” Jacques tells me. “Braeya’s family came from a long line of powerful sorcerers.”
“The bloodline has been watered down some, right? I mean, Braeya is like my great, great, great, great, great aunt or grandma or something. With a few more greats in there. The line is a thousand years old.”
“Blood is blood,” Hasan says from behind me. He comes around to the couch, sitting next to me. He’s concerned, and takes my hand, looking me over just to be sure I’m really all right. “And magic isn’t passed the same way.”
“Right. It can skip generations.” Jacques blows out the candles.
“So my mom might not have ever had powers,” I say out loud.
“And your aunt who lived here…I don’t think she did, either.”
Head spinning, I bring my legs up under myself and rest my head on Hasan’s shoulder. He loops his arm around me, pulling me in so I’m nestled between his wing and his body.
“Right,” I start. “Because if she did, you would have woken up the moment she walked through the door. Maybe she knew I did? Fuck,” I sigh, and shake my head. “This would be so much easier if I could just talk to her.” I bite the inside of my cheek. Obviously, I can channel the past. I have that book on summoning spirits, and what better way to figure this shit out than to ask someone who has the answers.