“Who are we talking about?” I asked, pulling out my tablet to take notes.
Tad headed over to the coffeepot to pour himself another cup. He dumped enough sugar into it that I grimaced. I liked my coffee drinks sweetened, but that was overkill.
“Monday we had a client call, and she came in that afternoon. Her name is Danielle van Ness. She claims that she’s being followed by a devil-like creature. Danielle first encountered it while out camping on Labor Day weekend, and she swears it followed her home. She took a couple blurry pictures of it, but they really aren’t useful.” Tad brought up the photos—they had been taken via a smartphone—and handed me his tablet.
The pictures were blurry, but there was definitely something there, though it was impossible to tell exactly what it was. If I squinted, I could just maybe think it was a goat standing upright—which might mean a satyr, or it could have been a large shaggy man, or…
“You don’t think this is Bigfoot, do you?” I glanced at Hank. He was obsessed with Bigfoot and still trying to get us all to go out on a sasquatch-hunting trip. Not with guns, but with cameras. But everything I’d heard about sasquatch made me shy away from the idea. Caitlin agreed. Neither she nor I wanted anything to do with tracking down a massive furry creature who was volatile and potentially dangerous.
Hank shook his head. “Not big enough. Even if this was a young sasquatch, the behavior doesn’t track with reported behaviors in the past. Yes, Bigfoot is thought to have followed hikers in the woods, but he doesn’t come down into suburban backyards and peep in through the windows.”
I stared at him. “She thinks Bigfoot is a peeping tom?”
“Apparently so. Now, I do believe that this has a basis in something. She was so convincingly frightened that, if she’s faking it, she should receive an Oscar. She’s terrified to open her curtains, and I verified with Millie that Danielle has called the cops numerous times the past week to complain that someone’s in her yard. The cops get there, find no one. But…and here’s the big ‘but’…they did find oddly shaped footprints in the moist soil beneath her bedroom window. The police can’t identify them as animal or humanoid, and there were scratches on the sill where it looks as though somebody tried to pry open the window.”
I stared at the photos. “So, what have you done so far? Have we ever had a case mentioning a devil-creature?”
Caitlin sent me a link from the database. “Yes, actually. There are reports going back to the days of the miners and prospectors of a creature that lives in the woods around here. They called it the Whatcom Devil—not really original, but hey. They reported it looking like a goatlike bipedal creature that eats flesh and—I’m pretty sure this is based on the puritanical mindset of early settlers—seduces women.”
I grimaced. “Who wants to go to bed with a goat-devil? Unless it’s a satyr. I hear they’re pretty fantastic lovers, though I’ve never met one.”
“Well, here’s the thing. Take some farmer whose wife is having an affair and he might not want to admit his neighbor is packing a bigger sausage than he is, or is capable of wooing women better than he can, and you suddenly have crazy legends springing up. Anything to take the blame off his own inability to keep his woman satisfied.” Caitlin snorted.
Laughing, I brought up the database info. There were reports going back to 1832, and most of them read similarly. Miner or lumberjack was out in the woods, heard a sudden noise, and boom, saw a freakish creature bearing down on him. Some reports, the witness survived. In a number of the reports, the lumberjack went behind a tree to pee, a loud noise ensued including screams, and his buddies found him ripped to shreds with an arm missing or his guts ripped out. Sometimes a large creature was seen loping into the woods.
“So, we have a goat-man who can tear people to shreds? Doesn’t sound like a Casanova to me.” I bit my lip. “So why would it be in town? Why would it suddenly come down into Moonshadow Bay? Surely, it would hit one of the smaller towns before it reached the coastline. There are plenty of them around.”
“That’s a good point. The only way I can see it making sense is if the seducer part is true and it became obsessed with Danielle. How old is she? Maybe she was ovulating and it has some biological impulse?” Hank suggested.
“I hate to think of that, but you might be right. That’s the only way I can see that this would track.” I turned to Tad. “Is she human and how old is she?”
“I don’t know if she’s human, and I’d place her at around twenty-eight, twenty-nine. Prime breeding years.” Tad frowned. “Shall we set up surveillance around her house?”
“That’s the thing—this isn’t like a case where we can use our fancy equipment to catch a ghost on tape. If she’s right, we’re talking about a physical intruder. I’d rather let the cops check it out first, because if someone is stalking Danielle, it might be human or Otherkin, rather than a ULM.”
ULM was the moniker we’d begun using for urban legend monster—the cases that had nothing to do with the spiritual/demonic world, but still were out of reference to the ordinary. It made it much easier to formulate a plan of action.
“Then call Millie and ask her to set up a stakeout at Danielle’s house for a few nights. If it proves to be something the cops aren’t prepared to deal with, we’ll go in,” Caitlin said.
“That’s a good idea,” Tad said, after thinking for a moment. “I’ll give her a call. I don’t like stepping on the local authorities’ toes, and that would circumnavigate that possibility. Also, it would give us the chance to investigate further and make sure that this is truly a paranormal incident. We sure as hell don’t want to cross paths with a serial killer.”
I finished my latte and moodily stared at my desk. “What do you really think we’re dealing with?”
Tad leaned back in his chair, propping his sneakered feet on the table. He was definitely limber and yoga-friendly. “My instinct tells me we’re dealing with something out of the ordinary here. I wasn’t overly impressed with Danielle, but to me, her story rang true.”
“Maybe her story’s true, but she’s pretty plastic,” Hank said.
“What strikes you as off about her?” Caitlin asked. “I’m curious to know if it’s the same thing that I’m feeling.”
“She’s an attention hound,” Hank said. “I think she jumps at any chance to be the center of attention. I checked out her social media, to get an idea of what she’s like. Not only would I dub her the selfie-queen, but she plays the false modesty card a lot, and she’s recently broken up with her longtime beau. I think this makes her feel special. She’s mentioned it a couple times on her Photogram and that she’s got a stalker, but she’s giggly about it. So I’m not so sure I buy the story about her being all that afraid.” He shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I think she’s lying, but she’s overly excited, and not in that ‘oh crap’ way that victims usually have.”
“Drama llama?” I asked.
Hank nodded. “Exactly.”
“Good eye,” Tad said. “I’ve met enough people like that in my life. Some were male, some female, but they all thrived on drama that kept them in the spotlight. Why don’t we take a break and then we’ll discuss what to do about January’s creepy-ass visitor.”
It was my turn, so I made a coffee run to the espresso stand nearby. When I got back with caffeine and pastries all around, Hank was leaning over the bank of monitors he oversaw, staring intently at the screen.
“Something going down?” I asked, setting the tray of drinks and food on the table.
“Yeah, there’s been another Bigfoot sighting. This one looks legit and they got pictures.” He sounded as excited as a kid locked in a candy shop. “It was in the Poconos, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.”
“We are not flying across the country. The team at Spellworks can take care of it. They’re part of Urban Legends, Inc., so they’ll share their information.” Tad motioned for Hank to get back to the table. “The report will still be there when we’re done.”
&n
bsp; “Why are you so fired up about Bigfoot?” I asked. “You’ve been obsessed with it ever since I came to work here last year.”
“I ran across one when I was young and he damned near took my head off. Ever since then, I’ve been driven to find out more about him and his kin,” Hank said, settling back down at the table. He picked up the cup with his name on it, and a slice of banana bread.
“So, let’s analyze January’s case,” Tad said. “We have poltergeist activity, haunting activity, telekinetic activity—a host of issues. I say we go in with cameras set up in every room and see what we can find.”
“Do you think the ghost might calm down now that the skeleton’s been found?” I asked, feeling more like I was reaching for straws rather than hopeful.
“That’s always a possibility, but I wouldn’t bank on it,” Caitlin said.
“Well, I’m thinking this will be good practice for us,” Tad said, stretching. “Since the only other actual case we’re working on right now is Danielle van Ness’s case, we have the time. I called Millie while you were gone, January, and she’s going to set up a stakeout and see what they find. I called Danielle and told her. She didn’t sound that happy, but perked up when I told her about the stakeout. So, let’s get the gear ready and head over to your house to set up?”
I felt oddly reluctant to go home, but this might help and so I agreed.
Hank and Caitlin readied the cameras while Tad prepared the surveillance van we used. At least we could park in my driveway and bring the computers inside. We could always relocate to the van if things got too rough, but the temperature outside was chilly enough that I didn’t want to spend time sitting outside in a tin can.
When we were ready, we headed out. I drove my own car and Tad rode shotgun, while Hank and Caitlin rode in the van. On the way home, my phone rang. Using the hands-free system in my car, I answered. It was Rowan Firesong, my grandmother, the oldest and most powerful witch—as far as I knew—in town.
Chapter Seven
“Hey, Rowan,” I said. I never called her “Grandma”—it was too odd. Since I hadn’t grown up with her identifying as my grandmother, it was easier all around to use her first name. “I’m driving. Can I call you back when I get home? I really need to talk to you about something.”
“I’ll be here,” she said, her no-nonsense attitude infusing her words as she hung up. Some people thought she was rude, but the fact she didn’t hover made me feel like I could handle what was coming my way, even when I felt overwhelmed.
Tad glanced at me. “There’s something you’re not telling me about Rowan.”
“You think so, huh?” Not many people knew that Rowan and I were related. Hell, even I hadn’t known until a few months ago. The Aseer knew—she was the woman who assessed magical energies and abilities among those of us who were witchblood. Ari, my best friend, knew. And Teran knew, of course, given she was the one who had originally told me. Teran told me my mother had known as well, though my father hadn’t.
“Come on, spill it,” Tad needled me.
I sighed. It wasn’t that Rowan and I had agreed to keep the connection secret, but neither were we shouting it to the rooftops. It was what it was.
“All right, but I don’t want this spread around town. At least not until I’m prepared for an onslaught of questions. Get it?”
A sideways glance told me Tad was frowning.
“All right, though now you’re making me nervous.”
“Rowan Firesong is my grandmother.” I swung a left on Fern Street as we neared my house.
I could feel Tad’s eyes boring into my side. As I pulled into my driveway, he sputtered.
“Rowan’s your grandmother? But she’s…”
“Over two hundred? Yes, I know. But women who are witchblood stay fertile a lot longer, given our lifespan. She gave birth to my father and then adopted him out to the Jaxsons. She was worried for his safety, though I still don’t know why.”
“So you have Rowan’s blood running through your veins, as well as your great-grandmother Colleen’s blood? You must be a powerhouse of a witch,” he said, his eyes widening as he unfastened his seat belt.
“Powerhouse? I don’t know about that. Then again, I haven’t had much of a chance to train with my magic. But I’m learning, now that I’m away from that batshit ex of mine.” I turned to Tad before we got out of the car. “Listen, please don’t tell anybody yet. I just don’t feel like being the topic of the day in the town gossip mill.”
“I won’t,” he promised. “Thank you for trusting me.” He glanced at the house. “All right, let’s go see if we can figure out what we’re dealing with here.”
As we set up the cameras in each room, I had the feeling we were being watched. The energy was thick, like brain fog, and it made me feel slow and tired.
“The remodel looks great,” Caitlin said.
“I know, but damn it, I want to love my home again, not be afraid of it. I grew up in this house and I came back here, wanting to make it my home. This better be fixable or I’m going to have a meltdown.”
When we came to the library, I ushered them in and pointed to the door to the storage room. As I cautiously opened the door, I saw that the trunks and everything that had been in them were gone. The police had taken them to look for what evidence they could find. But the chairs and end tables that had been in the room were still there, only now, they were stacked in the center, one atop another, in a precarious and gravity-defying tower that wavered as we entered the room. I paused, waiting for them to tumble down, but the tower stood. Finally, I tried to ignore them as we installed the cameras and microphones. The feedback would go to a chain of laptops we used to record all the filming.
Caitlin was setting up the laptops on the dining room table, spreading out everything so it wasn’t crowded. Tad and Hank and I followed our standard protocol: Tad stayed with Caitlin while Hank and I installed the cameras and microphones. We’d learned the hard way about splitting up, and now, we always tried to work in pairs. It was safer that way.
When we finished installing the gear, we returned to the dining room where Caitlin was logging on to the system and fine-tuning the different levels.
“Okay, we’re going live in five…four…three…two…one. All cameras are working, all monitors recording.” She motioned to Hank. “Can you walk into the kitchen there and say something so I can see if we’re picking up sound?”
He obliged, stepping into the kitchen. When he spoke, we could hear him from the close proximity, but we also heard his voice coming through the microphone, so we were all good.
“Now what?” I asked.
“We do what we usually do. Wait and watch,” Tad said.
I headed to the kitchen to find some potato chips and returned just in time to hear a loud crash. The sound echoed through both the air and the monitor.
“Which room?” Tad said, jumping up.
“The storage room,” Caitlin said. “Would you look at this?”
We crowded around the monitor, only to see that the furniture was spinning in midair now. The chairs and tables had fallen, but two of the chairs were in spinning lazily in midair, while one of the end tables zipped around the room, crashing into the walls.
“Holy fuck,” I said. “What can do that?”
“Poltergeist. Some ghosts. Possibly a shadow person,” Tad mumbled, gaze glued to the monitor. “Stay with Caitlin. Hank, let’s check the room.”
I tried to protest but Tad insisted.
As they trekked off for the storage room, Caitlin glanced at me. “You must be going out of your wits dealing with this.”
“Now I know how our clients feel,” I said. “Oh, I’ve had spirits in my house before—look at what happened with Rameer, though that turned out to be a relatively benign happenstance. I miss him, actually. I got a postcard from him, believe it or not.”
“I thought he was leaving to go back to his own plane,” Caitlin said.
Rameer was a djinn. In a fit
of drunken birthday games, I had accidentally asked him for three wishes, leading to plenty of mayhem and a few long-term consequences. One of those had to do with my ex. I had wished for Ellison to suffer as much as he had made me suffer. Through his own stupidity, he had. For a while, I had felt twinges of guilt, but I had also learned how sometimes, life meant dealing with what happened. Life wasn’t always fair, and sometimes, we needed payback because the universe wasn’t set up to right wrongs.
In fact, the word “karma” didn’t mean anything remotely what most people in western culture thought it did. Karma didn’t work like the golden rule or the rule of three that some people espoused. And sometimes, a little schadenfreude was a balm to the soul.
Anyway, long story short, I had freed Rameer so he could go back to his own plane and not be enslaved again. We had found his bottle so he could leave, and that had been that. He had turned out to be a pleasant fellow, and he had given us the interview of a lifetime.
“Apparently, he came back for a vacation—leaving his bottle hidden at home, thank gods. He went to Iceland, of all places, and he sent me a postcard from there last week. He said he also has a present for me and he’ll drop it off at the end of his vay-cay.” Secretly, I was grateful. Rameer seemed to be someone I could enjoy knowing as a friend.
“I’m glad—what the hell?” Caitlin froze, pointing to the screen.
Hank and Tad were in the room, and the chairs were lining up on the opposite wall, still midair with their legs pointed toward the men.
I hit the speaker attached to the microphone. “Get out of there—get out now!”
Sure enough, the next moment the chairs went zooming across the room at them, so fast that if the legs hit them anywhere, they’d impale them.
Hank and Tad dropped to the ground and the chairs froze in midair just beyond them. The men began to crawl out of the room, scrambling as fast as they could go. They barely managed to vanish when the chairs dropped, full throttle, missing them by inches. The next moment, the door slammed and they returned, breathless.
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