Dervishes Don't Dance: A Paranormal Suspense Novel with a Touch of Romance (Valkyrie Bestiary Book 2)

by Kim McDougall

  Where to now? A small alley—too small for a car—ran between the rectory and the school. Shadows filled it, but I wasn’t afraid of the dark. My footsteps sounded hollow on the fractured pavement. I trailed my fingers along the walls. The stones had worn down enough to feel like natural formations instead of masonry. I could see only a crack of sky overhead.

  The skulking made me feel guilty, like I was committing a crime. I pushed that thought aside. I had every right to be here.

  I continued down the alley until it opened to another, smaller courtyard where several Guardians stood immobile beside a coffin and a gaping hole in the ground. If I hadn’t recognized Angus, I would have thought they were statues. I glanced at the sky. It was already starting to lighten toward dawn.

  What were they waiting for? I hunkered down in the shadows and watched.

  A few minutes later, more Guardians arrived, including Mason.

  My legs cramped and my jeans were wet from the damp ground. I stood and shook out my muscles, careful to keep hidden, but my movement must have alerted Mason. His head turned and his eyes bore into the shadows. I felt like they pinned me to the wall, and I almost turned and fled.

  He left the circle and crossed the yard, pulling me by the arm, back into the alley.

  “You can’t be here,” he growled.

  I yanked my arm away. “Why not?”

  “Because this is Guardian business.” He planted his feet and crossed his arms.

  “Since when did Guardians get a franchise on death? I just want to pay my respects.”

  “So send flowers.” His face was grim. In the shadows I couldn’t see his eyes, but I knew they weren’t friendly.

  “What is your problem? Are you afraid I’ll learn the super secret Guardian handshake or something?”

  “My problem is that you keep sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  “You’re doing it again.”

  “What?”

  “Pushing me away. I’m here because one of your brothers died. That’s what friends do.”

  He blew out a long breath. “You’re right. Just stay here. The others don’t like to be seen when they change.”

  I glanced at the sky. It was noticeably lighter.

  I reached for his hand as he turned away. He wouldn’t look at me, but he squeezed my fingers before returning to stand vigil with the other Guardians.

  Now I felt like a heel. I should have left well-enough alone. I backed into the alley, intending to leave, but the Guardians began to chant and the sound rooted me to the spot.

  Twelve Guardians now stood vigil over the casket. Other than Mason, they were all traditional gargoyles, some grotesques, the green man, one duck-faced creature, one fox-face and a few others that were vaguely simian. Their chant was low and solemn. The music grew until it hummed in my bones. I didn’t recognize the language, but the song was vibrant and earthy, full of power.

  I held my breath and watched as the chant built to a crescendo and then broke off, leaving an echo in the air.

  Mason presided over the ceremony at the far end of the courtyard. None of the Guardians stood taller, and none had his dark presence. He held a closed book in his hand, the bible, I assumed. Four Guardians lifted the coffin and lowered it into the waiting grave. I watched as each Guardian tossed in a handful of dirt, then lowered their heads in prayer. Someone signaled the end of the prayer with an “Amen,” and they all raised their eyes.

  Then a voice rose in song. Mason sang a deep, low hymn in French. I recognized a few words of the lament. It spoke of darkness over the earth, like a mourning cloak, and trees weeping yellow leaves like the torn locks of a mourner.

  He raised his face to the east, where the sky had lightened over the edge of the building and sang out loud and clear. His voice woke a strange longing in me. It was the sound of sorrow and brought memories of forgotten heartaches to the surface. The Guardians stood straight and tall, like soldiers at attention around the grave of their fallen brother. No one moved. The sky turned pink and Mason’s song sped up as if racing the night.

  I couldn’t stand it anymore. I stepped away from my hiding spot. Mason turned his head and frowned at me. That’s when the sun won the race. The song ended on a cut-off note. The Guardians were stone.

  A ring of statues now circled the grave. One minute they had been alive, now they were still. Not dead. I keened the thrum of life coming off them.

  And Mason still frowned. He would wear that expression until sunset.

  I turned and wove through the alleys and church outbuildings, rehearsing apologies in my head. It seemed very important to me that Mason forgive my intrusion. I decided the best vindication would be to hand him the head of Cyril’s killer.

  Chapter

  12

  My feet squelched inside wet socks with every step. My toes were probably wrinkled prunes by now. I’d just come from the south bridge, where I’d tracked down a tribe of nixies that were damming up the river.

  Inside my office, I greeted Gabe’s brilliant smile with a scowl. He seemed to have recovered from his split with Dutch.

  “There’s a gargoyle in your living room.” He winked at me. My stomach did a little flutter. “The brambly one, not the broody one.”

  “Oh. Good.” I hadn’t faced Mason since the funeral. I wanted to go to him with something concrete about Cyril. Until I had that, I’d stay away.

  I dropped my kit beside my desk, unbuckled my tool belt and let it drop too.

  Gods, I was tired. Barely any sleep the night before because I was too busy poking my nose in gargoyle business and then a full day hunting shape-shifting water sprites. I wasn’t up for company.

  “Well, at least one of us has a hot date,” Gabe said. His smile had a sharp edge. Maybe he wasn’t getting over the breakup as well as I’d thought.

  “Tomorrow, you can take me on a hot date to get ice-cream,” I said.

  He nodded like he knew I was just trying to make him feel better.

  “Hub asked for you in the morning, so I pushed everything else back.”

  “Great. What do they want?” I often did jobs for Hub that their normal exterminators or animal control couldn’t handle.

  “With the day you had, I’m afraid to tell you.”

  “Just spill.”

  “They’ve got a grubber.”

  I winced. “Do they need me there tonight?”

  “No. I spoke to that new detective. That hard-nosed j—” he checked himself. “That blond guy we met at Old Port. Detective Kesik.”

  Kesik was a hard-nosed jerk. I couldn’t fault him there.

  “Anyway, he said they contained the grubber for now. And the site isn’t stable yet anyway. Some kind of explosion. So best to come first thing in the morning.”

  “Got it.” I resisted the urge to sag into my chair. I might not be able to stand again. “You heading out?”

  “Unless you want me to stay?” He cocked an eyebrow at the door to my apartment and the gargoyle waiting beyond. I had the irrational image of Gabe and Angus in a fight and couldn’t fathom which one would end up on top. I stifled a giggle into a sigh.

  “No, you go. I’ll be fine.”

  I found Angus peering into a terrarium on one of the many shelves full of critter habitats that lined the walls of my apartment.

  “Is that the wee snail that Mason brought back from the Inbetween?” Angus asked.

  “Yep.”

  “He’s grown.”

  That was an understatement. Bijou had been about the size of a walnut when Mason found him stowed away in his pack. In the six months since, he’d doubled in size.

  “Is he singing?” Angus’s craggy face beamed with delight.

  “Yes. He does that. I’m not sure if it’s a voluntary sound or not.” In the quiet of the night, I’d noticed that the little
snail made a sound halfway between a whistle and a squeak. “I think he likes you.”

  Bijou seemed as curious as the spectator, and his multi-hued eye stalks stretched up to get a better look. Angus stuck one twig-like finger in the case and waggled it. Bijou’s eyes waggled back. Angus laughed and pulled his hand away.

  “Damnation and roses, but you’ve got yer hands full with this lot.” He turned slowly around the room. Dozens of eyes inspected the new visitor. Kur reached his tiny, strangely human hand through the bars of his cage. My rats chased each other on their wheel. A pair of troll bats fluttered their wings and hung upside-down on their perch. Willow yawned, then tucked her nose under her tail and went back to sleep.

  Angus turned to the terrarium beside Bijou’s, and his expression scrunched in disgust when he saw the purple gelatinous blobs sitting on a rock inside.

  “What on God’s black earth are those?”

  “Vampire slugs.”

  “And for what purpose do you keep them?”

  The slugs were more like giant leeches that moved on land instead of in the water. They latched onto larger beasts and drank blood. One vampire slug could drain a cow.

  “You’d be surprised at how helpful they can be in my line of work. Besides, I think they’re fascinating in a morbid way.”

  Angus shook his head. “To each his own.” Then he looked at me for a full minute without speaking. A full minute. That’s a long time to stand still under anyone’s scrutiny, and near impossible with Angus’s twiggy brows furrowed over his intense eyes. I broke first.

  “On a scale of one to livid, how mad is he?”

  “Madder than a box of three-legged cats.”

  “That mad, huh?”

  “Girlie, you should be proud. I haven’t seen him this broody since…well, never.”

  “Just because I intruded on Cyril’s funeral? That seems a bit excessive, even for Mason.”

  “Oh, it is that. Which makes me believe there is more going on in his stubborn granite head. You’ve really got under his crust.”

  I crossed my arms and changed the subject. “I assume you’re here for a reason.”

  “Aye. Magic lessons, remember?”

  I sighed. Shower and bed would have to wait. “Coffee?”

  “By the gods, yes. It’s too early for decent folk.” In fact, it was just past six in the evening, but that was the crack of dawn to a gargoyle.

  I pulled the pot off the coffee maker and got a familiar whiff of fishiness. Hunter eyed me from the bottom of the pot. I sighed, dumped him into his tank, threw in fresh crayfish to keep him busy, then scrubbed the pot well.

  “Well isn’t he just as cute as a button on a hog’s arse.” Angus tapped the glass. Hunter popped his head out of the water and threw a mangled crayfish in Angus’s face.

  “What in the hells?” Angus picked a bit of shell off his cheek.

  I threw him a towel to dry off. “Bad crayfish.”

  Hunter slunk back to the bottom of the tank.

  “I like him.” Angus wiped his face. “He’s sassy.”

  Once settled at my rickety kitchen table—that was now propped on a wooden block since Joran had bent one of the legs as he trashed my apartment—with two cups of fresh coffee, I studied Angus in the glow of the pendant light hanging over the table.

  He really was beautiful, but also frightening and a little bit ridiculous. His face looked like it was carved from a solid block of oak. Twigs twined around his head, woven in a complex pattern to resemble an untidy wig. A few green leaves poked through this mess. When he opened his mouth to speak, the hollow inside was pure black, except for his slate-gray tongue.

  I pulled out a bottle of whisky and offered him a shot in his coffee. He nodded and sipped the hot brew with an expression of pure contentment on his face.

  I sipped my coffee and waited for him to speak. He seemed troubled.

  “So are you ready to dig up dirt on Gerard Golovin,” he said finally.

  “That’s why you’re here, right? You teach me, and I snoop for you.”

  He nodded. “But I got the easy end of the bargain. You realize that spying on Golovin will be dangerous?” His bushy eyebrows lowered, almost masking his eyes. “I shouldn’av forced you into it. And I wouldn’a hold you to the bargain.”

  Angus was really troubled by all this.

  “I’m not backing out. I’m just not sure how we can go about spying on him. He’s a prime minister after all.”

  Angus scratched the bark-like skin where his shirt opened on his chest.

  “Aye, it’s a stumper. He’s got a lab on Perrot Island and another at Abbott’s Agora, but they’re both locked down tighter than a virgin’s corset.”

  “He must have an office at Hub too. I’ll be there tomorrow. Maybe I can get a peek inside.”

  “Don’t do anything rash. I’ll ask around with the alchemists and see if I can find an excuse to get inside his lab on the island. If there’s any alchemy shenanigans going on, it’ll be there.” He stood and rubbed his hands together. “So, let’s get this magic party started.”

  “Wait. I have an off-topic question for you. Do you know of any opji living within the ward?”

  Angus sat down again. “Oh, you’ve met Emil, have you?”

  “You know him?”

  “‘Course. He’s an old friend of the Guardians. Helps us out with surveillance sometimes. How did you meet?”

  “He threw himself off a roof in front of me.”

  “Ah! He does like to impress the girls.” Angus grinned.

  “A bit melodramatic for my taste. But there was something odd about him. He was alive. At least I could sense his heart beating.”

  Angus watched me with a grim expression. “And you’re worried about this?”

  I nodded. “He seemed very taken with my sword. Like he could sense its potential. But the blade is unpredictable when it comes to immortals. I’d like to understand Emil’s deal before he forces the issue.”

  “Forces the issue? You mean before he forces you to kill him.”

  I nodded. Angus poured more whisky into his empty coffee mug.

  “This has been a problem for you in the past?”

  I nodded again.

  “By hell’s sweet teats, that’s a raw deal.” He shook his head. “Well, I don’t know much about the opji, they’re a secretive bunch, but I know that they are not truly undead.”

  “But I’ve felt their hearts start beating. In the Inbetween when I fought that wojak, my blade broke its immortality and for a moment, before I lopped its head off, its heart was beating.”

  “The wojaks, yes. They are just walking carcasses. The opji breed them to be killed and brought back to life with dark magic. But the opji are a bit different. They’re still alive, though their hearts beat barely at all.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “More dark magic. They are masters at it. Opji are born with that superhuman healing power you saw with Emil. But at puberty the blood lust kicks in. That’s when they perform the zycha—a rite that both kills them and lets them live forever.”

  “Sounds like a curse.”

  Angus shrugged. “One man’s curse is another man’s baptism.”

  “So Emil, raised in Montreal, never had this zycha rite performed on him?”

  “Probably not. Poor kid. The zycha helps to control the blood lust, without it…” Angus shook his head. “Anyway, let’s get this showboat on the road. Time to learn some magic.”

  I put away my vampire worries for now.

  We went over to Gita’s plant rack, where she grew herbs for all her concoctions.

  “I worried we’d have to go out and find us some plants to experiment on, but you’ve got a whole jungle in here.” Angus eyed the pots.

  “Wait. You won’t hurt them, will you?” G
ita would never forgive me. Some of those herbs were rare, and she fussed over them like they were her babies.

  “I’m not gonna do anything to them. You are.” He held up a gnarled finger when I started to protest. “Calm your horses. We’re not doing battle magic here. Just a little communing with nature is all.”

  I stared at him dubiously. My only experience with flora magic involved a giant man-eating plant that we had somehow subdued together.

  “Here, now. Pick one of these pots and bring it to the kitchen,” he instructed.

  “Just a minute.” I went over to Gita’s closet and peeked inside. She was curled up on her bed using her widget as a flashlight to read from an old paperback of “Barometer Rising.” I’d told her she could read the book on the widget instead, but Gita did things her way.

  “Angus is here to teach me some flora magic. Is it okay if we use one of your plants. He promises that we won’t hurt it.” I waited for the waterworks but she just waved me away.

  “Use the parsley. It grows like a weed anyway.” Then she flipped a page in her book and I shut the door.

  “We’re good to go,” I said to Angus. I settled the pot of parsley on the kitchen table and sat in front of it. “How do I do this?”

  “You talk to it.” Angus eased himself into the seat opposite from me.

  “Right.”

  Angus saw my hesitation. “You can’t ask the wee greenie to fight for you, if you don’t know how to talk to it. Now, settle your mind and focus on the leaves. What do you see? And don’t just tell me it’s green. Really look at it.”

  I focused on one leaf—vaguely trefoil, with a deckled edge, and variegated with a lighter green along the veining. The veins themselves were mesmerizing, and I soon lost myself in the branching patterns.

  “Good, good,” Angus said quietly. “You can feel it, can’t you.”

  “Feel what?”

  “The lifeblood. The magic. Reach for it.”

  I let out my keening hesitantly. Nothing.

  “You’re holding it as tight as a bull’s butt in fly season. Let loose, girl.”

  “It’s not that easy.”