by Zoe Forward
“She’s good.” The tall blond stepped away, but his eyes misted over.
Shannon forced a bright smile. “She must miss you. I’m sorry you have to be down here.”
“It’s what we do. You know I’d do anything for you ladies.”
She gazed up at him, realizing she wasn’t the only one grieving her mother’s death. “I know. Thank you. All of you.”
She greeted the others, asking about their lives, remembering how grounded each man was, how many birthdays they’d celebrated together, how many funerals, and all the weddings they’d attended. This was her family. This is what was important. She couldn’t let them down by getting herself and all their other wards killed.
She glanced around at the guys smoking on the porch. “There’s been a lot going on, a lot to figure out.” She forced another brave smile. “Give me a few minutes to change and I’ll whip us up some food.”
Air-condition-cooled air bathed her body, raising goose bumps on her arms and legs at the stark change from humidity to dry air.
Her father was nowhere in sight. Right now, she didn’t have the energy for a renewed fight about Merck. She hadn’t fully processed everything that had to do with Merck for herself.
She needed time alone to get her thoughts organized on Merck.
There was no sense of calm as she ascended the curved staircase toward her room, past the familiar oil paintings. She moved fast. The thought of Eli or her father appearing drove her speed.
She sat hard on her mattress and stared sightlessly at the framed photo of her and the Quarter Horse she’d had years ago. The room needed upgrading. She’d grown out of four-poster beds and sparkly purple throw pillows long ago.
Her mind whirled. Merck wasn’t all she thought about, but there was a lot of him in her head.
“When everything is bad, it’s time to cook. Pie helps everything.” Her mother’s words popped into her head. Maybe her mother’s ghost was speaking to her, giving her nudges.
Pie. But Pie wasn’t just pie. It was always cooked for someone. Merck. He deserved pie for everything he’d done to help her.
***
“Reevo’s in town,” Danny announced as Merck walked into the office. “He’s keeping his distance, but I heard he’s in Savannah recruiting.”
Merck dropped the heavy tactical vest he’d slung over his shoulder to the floor and massaged his pounding temples. Great. Another demented warlock to deal with before Friday. “We’ll be hearing about more dead people in the news if I don’t get to him first.”
“I guess he figured he’d join the party and wasn’t too concerned about your threat to deep-six his ass the next time you saw him.” Danny clicked through a few screens on his laptop. “There was another girl who washed up.”
All the Pleiades goddesses were now dead. Not good.
Merck collapsed into a chair. “How’re Chad and his daughter?”
“Fine. There’s more bad news.”
“Let’s hear it.” He grabbed a box of ammo off his desk, removed empty mags from his vest, and started loading.
“Owen Campbell boarded a private jet out of L.A. a few hours ago with an itinerary for Savannah. Maybe just coincidence, but I don’t think so.”
Merck paused, reloading for a moment, but then resumed.
Bad. But not unexpected. “Anaïs will be with him.”
Danny leaned way back in his desk chair and covered his face with his hands. “Why is Armageddon kicking off right here?”
“I’m working on the answer to that. You’re going to research something while I go deal with Reevo.” And talk to a Wiccan for Shannon.
“Reevo isn’t a do-it-yourself project. You almost lost your arm the last time you tangled with him. I’m going with you.”
Merck shook his head.
“I can keep up with you. I know a lot of your tricks. I’m not scared of death.”
“That’s the problem. I need you to stay alive. When I die on Friday, you’ll wait for me to get back the next time around. A favorable judgment from the gods isn’t looking good, which means I’ll be shuttled into a new body. Who knows how long it’ll be before I remember any of this. Fifteen years? I hope I’ll remember you and here. You’ll need to help my juvenile future self.”
“You’re shitting me. You want me to sit here with my thumb up my ass until you’re new body gets with the program?”
“Yes.”
“The gods won’t kill you. They can’t. There’s too much going on right now for you to suddenly disappear.”
“I have no control over any of this and I hate it.”
Danny resumed his gaze on his computer screen. “All of this has to do with Sleeping Beauty, doesn’t it?”
“Pretty sure it does. I don’t want you to worry about her right now. She’s at her house. Safe with her people. I need you to find everything you can on Poseidon’s Trident. I don’t want the CliffsNotes from a high school Greek mythology textbook. I need the old stuff. The stuff translated off parchment. I need to know its powers. I particularly need to know who can touch it.” Merck strode to the oversized Greek painting behind the desk and pulled it away from the wall to expose the safe. He keyed in the ten-digit code and removed a centuries-old text. “There should be something in this.”
Danny flipped through the browned parchment pages. “It’s in ancient handwritten Greek. This’ll take me days to translate.”
“You don’t have days. You have twelve hours. I’m relying on all the time you spent with Rosetta Stone last year.”
“That was Greek speaking, not reading. It’s a different alphabet.”
“I know.”
“You can do this twenty times faster than me.”
“I don’t have time. I have to police deviant magical bastards.” He grabbed his tactical vest off the floor and shoved the newly loaded mags into a pocket.
“I’m going with you. This ain’t optional.”
Merck appreciated the loyalty. Two was better than one, even if he would spend part of his time keeping Danny safe. “I prefer you here. I need you to work on this.”
“I can translate in the car.” Danny flashed his stubborn face.
“Fine. Let’s go.”
Danny researched online during the drive, occasionally spouting random unhelpful facts to point out the messed-up psychology of the Greek gods. “This is useless.”
“The secrets that matter probably aren’t online.”
“Are you looking for something in particular?” Danny unwrapped a protein bar. “Want one?” he asked with a full mouth. “Got a new flavor yesterday. It’s chocolate walnut.”
Merck shook his head. The last time he’d tried one of Danny’s bars he couldn’t get its pasty taste out of his mouth for hours. If he chose to eat overprocessed carbs in a bar, he preferred a candy bar.
Merck parallel parked up the street from the only witch bar in Savannah. Even though it was early afternoon, it’d be busy. The bar specialized not only in booze and drugs, but also had a back room where one could purchase potions, ingredients, spells, and some totems. The items, although costly, weren’t top quality or unique. It was the Target of the witch world, good for basics but not for high-end items.
He placed a few items from his tactical vest into the inner pockets of his leather coat. “What would be a better use of your time than be here is to go plant a bug in Owen’s rental car.”
“Great idea. I sent Chad a few hours ago. He thrives on pseudo-spy shit like that. He already texted me he hacked the rental car service to find out which car they’re using, and it’s done. He’s going to hang around to be sure Owen doesn’t upgrade his car choice.”
“Great.” It didn’t come out enthusiastic.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Lead on, boss.” Danny waved toward the club’s entrance.
The bouncer’s eyes widened as they approached. In a thick Southern accent, the meatloaf said, “Merck. Unusual for us to see you during daylight. We don’t want no
trouble, now do we?”
“I’m not here to create it, but to head it off. Your people don’t want this one around.”
“When you find whoever you’re after, you do your business away from here. You make trouble in there, and I’ll be forced to hurt you.”
Merck shot him a go-ahead-and-try-it grin. The fear in the bouncer’s eyes communicated he knew he couldn’t take Merck, but it didn’t stop the guy from posturing as if he could.
Merck pushed through the scuffed wooden door into the spacious multilevel club. It reeked of hookah smoke. He despised the flavored tobacco odor. It reminded him of his mom’s parties with “friends” who usually ended up naked, but who should never be seen without apparel in public. Hip-hop music blasted from deep inside, from downstairs on the basement level. He glanced over the railing into the sea of grinding leather-clad bodies. The sensation of threat slid down his spine. He got an image in his head of Reevo lurking nearby. Guess he’d be spending his time in the bar with Reevo instead of getting answers for Shannon.
“He’s here. You search the lower level,” he told Danny. “Don’t confront him if you find him. Text me.”
“On it.” Danny slipped away.
Merck ordered a gin and tonic at the bar and sipped, but didn’t sit. At least the place served top-notch liquor.
A redhead slid onto the stool next to him. Her skimpy top barely covered her medically enhanced cleavage. An ultra miniskirt had ridden up her thighs when she sat, leaving nothing to the imagination. A slow tongue swipe across her puffy lips was more than blatant. Actually, the most apt description was dirty.
The redhead was a low-level, nonthreatening magic dabbler—a witch wannabe. Her eyelids drooped and lips pursed as her gaze dropped down his body. Maybe she was a professional. He wondered what it’d be like to pay for time with her.
Whoa. This is wrong. He couldn’t believe he’d even entertained the notion of paying for sex or considered anything with this girl, especially when working. She was too young for him and probably had a master controlling her behavior.
He sniffed the air. Damn it, this wasn’t just hookah smoke. It was an enticement spell, meant to induce him into something, probably her. He glanced to the other side of the bar and found its source. With a scowl directed at the female bartender, he flipped over the bowl housing the simmering brown contents.
The bartender shrugged, unapologetic. She provided what was paid for. An enticement spell this powerful wouldn’t come cheap.
He turned fully to face the redhead, not missing the concealed, probably poisoned blade in her palm. He locked the girl’s hand under his against the counter. “Where is he?”
The girl’s lips compressed and her eyes darted toward the busy tables to his right. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Reevo will kill you when he needs an easy death to power one of his spells. You’re nothing special to him.” He crushed her hand until she released the blade. It hit the floor.
The redhead’s eyes widened. “Fuck you.”
“Not interested.” He slapped cash on the counter for his drink and pushed away from the bar. As he stalked toward the corner the redhead’s gaze had traveled he noticed more than a handful of humans sat amongst the witchy clientele. Didn’t they recognize the danger for wannabes? They ran the risk of being manipulated and used, possibly enslaved through enthrallment, or killed.
He passed sofas with writhing bodies and a few indiscreet wall grinders. As he neared the corner, a body shoved him from behind, pressing him against the wall with a knife at his throat.
“Merck. I’m so glad you’re predictable,” hissed a gritty male with a New Orleans Creole accent. To onlookers they were another couple getting it on. Evil poured off the warlock with the sulfur odor reminiscent of a decaying mudflat.
“We need to chat, Reevo.”
“Not in the mood.”
Merck knocked the knife out of his hand, elbowed him in the stomach, and whirled to jab the warlock in the throat. Reevo wheezed, shifted his balance, and lodged a blade deep into Merck’s side. Reevo began muttering. Here came the spells.
Stupid of him not to check Reevo’s other hand. The blade burned as if someone set his muscles on fire.
He plucked out the switchblade, which hurt worse coming out than going in.
With a knee-to-crotch crunch, he destabilized Reevo. Taking advantage, Merck forced him back against a wall with the same blade that’d hit him and pressed it tight to the warlock’s jugular. The muttering continued. Merck pressed him backward until Reevo was against the wall.
“The spell won’t work.” Merck show-and-telled the Hexenspiegel hanging around his neck. The small, triangular mirror guaranteed whoever tried to cast a spell on him would only end up hurting himself when the spell was reflected back on the caster.
Reevo’s muttering stopped. On the street most would pass by the average height, receding-hairline warlock without a second thought. Many might assume he was a twenty-something meth addict with his stringy hair and reddened eyes.
“Why are you here?” Merck demanded.
Reevo’s eyes flashed the kind of nastiness that made killing assholes like him easy. They glared at each other for a few long, hostile seconds.
Finally, Reevo said, “My job is done.”
Merck flinched at the guy’s rancid breath. “What job?”
“To get rid of you.” He leered yellowed teeth. His eyes darted downward.
“I’m immune to poisons.”
“Not this one. It’s going to drag your ass straight to hell.” Reevo cackled. “They’re coming for her and there’s nothing you can do. Not now.”
Reevo wiggled and popped a pill into his mouth. Dark foam formed on his smiling lips. Convulsions wracked his body. Within seconds Reevo slid to the floor. A pulse check confirmed he was dead. To be thorough Merck should incinerate the body, but he couldn’t haul a dead man out the front door in the middle of the day without drawing attention.
To top it off, he’d left Shannon unmonitored to come down here, the pinnacle of stupid. Now he had to contend with whatever toxin had been on the knife. He’d been the victim of many poisons over the years. Although most concoctions hurt for a half hour or so, they never killed him. This was different. None before burned as if half of his body was under a blowtorch.
Deus Mortem poison? If it could kill a goddess, then he was toast. He needed the ocean.
His side felt sticky, but the small knife wouldn’t have left a large wound. The bleeding would be over soon. His dark clothes hid the blood well.
Merck walked away from the body, snagging Danny’s arm to propel him toward the exit. “He’s gone.”
“What do you mean gone? As in not here?”
“Don’t speak,” Merck ordered. “We’re leaving.”
Outside, Danny asked, “You okay? You’re walking stiff.”
“I’m fine.” Liar. One foot in front of the other. Make it to the car.
Once they were in the car for several minutes, speeding home, Danny exploded, “What happened?”
“He’s dead. Suicide.”
“Why?”
“Distraction? Don’t know for sure why he lured us here.” Bit of a lie, but Merck didn’t want to chitchat. He needed every bit of concentration to speed through traffic. He had to make it home and get to the ocean to heal. Then he’d check on Shannon.
That was too long. He should send her a note or a call or something to warn her to be on alert. Danny could go.
Muscles twitched up his injured side and scorched as the poison’s sting spread. He compulsively swallowed to fight back nausea.
Thirty minutes into the drive he concluded this wasn’t a typical poison. Given the fog clouding his mind by the time they hit the Port Royal city limit, if he didn’t get to the ocean fast, the poison barreling through his body might succeed in killing him. He had to get home.
Danny asked, “You think someone went after Shannon while we were down here?”
“Why don’t you drop by? You live next door and all?”
“I’ve got something to do. Gotta go.”
As Danny hopped out at the office, he frowned. “You sure you’re okay, man? You look off.”
“Tired,” he forced out.
Danny’s forehead crinkled. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
“I have something at home I’ve got to do. You call Shannon’s place and then get to work. Call if you get anything good in translation.” He put the SUV into gear before Danny had fully shut the passenger door.
By the time he pulled into his driveway, his vision blurred. His hands shook. Hell, his arms were trembling. He shut off the car and stumbled up the few stairs to the front door. His hands couldn’t coordinate to fit the key into the front door lock. Finally, it opened. He dropped his keys and shuffled through the house, ping-ponging off furniture and walls on his way to the back door. A hundred or so feet into the backyard, and too far away from the dock to invite the water near him, his mind shuttered. Lightheaded, he wobbled. He wasn’t going to make it.
Chapter Thirteen
“Can you give me a ride somewhere, Eli?” Shannon found him typing on his laptop on the sun porch. It seemed ages ago when he and her father had argued with her outside of Merck’s car, but it’d only been this morning. Cooking helped her forget the stress, if only for a while.
Danny’s check-up phone call, although seemingly sweet, set off warning bells. Something was up with Merck. It was odd he wouldn’t call himself.
Eli’s gaze shot up from his screen. His eyes narrowed, suspicious. “Where to?”