“Most of them,” she admitted. “I’m beginning to think we got rid of the wrong ones, though.” She stared out her window. “A necromancer isn’t the only one who can command wraiths.”
“You mean Hecate,” I said.
“Or Hecate’s daughter,” she replied. She raised an eyebrow. “Any witch worth her salt who is willing to dabble in black magic could do it.”
“Wren isn’t in collusion with her mother,” I said. “She’s one of her victims.”
“You have a tender heart,” she said. “It’s not an attractive quality.”
We had bigger problems than a petty family squabble, so I ignored her last comment.
“Danvers said he could be my father,” I said.
“And that would bother you?” she replied. Only a Fate would ask if it would bother me if my father were an evil psychopath.
“Yes, it would bother me. Is it true?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine my gentle mother with Sean Danvers.
She gave me a long look. “Could he be your father? I have no idea.”
She hadn’t exactly answered my question, so I tried again. “Is he my father?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes,” I cried. “It matters very much whether or not that slimeball is my father.”
“He is not your father,” she finally said.
“But you know who is?”
She didn’t say anything so I pressed her. “There’s a story there, I know it,” I said. “He hates me.”
“You did sleep with his bride,” she pointed out.
“Before she even met him,” I argued. “Dislike, I could understand, but the guy wants to tear out my heart and roast it on a spit.”
“I understand how he feels,” she murmured. “You can be most annoying.”
“I get that a lot.” It was the same song, different verse. Annoying, scourge of the world, yada yada. But sometimes, a rare sometimes, Morta would look at me with a glimmer of affection in those stony eyes of hers.
I took a step closer to her. “Are you going to tell me anything or not?”
“It’s in the past. It hardly matters now.”
“The past is the only thing that does matter,” I said.
“You feel that way now,” she said. “But eventually you have to let go of the past.”
I snorted. “Like you have?”
She met my eyes. “I have changed.”
“Nobody ever changes,” I said. “They just get better at hiding who they are.”
“I wouldn’t put much trust in anything Danvers has to say,” she continued.
“I thought you were going to go into business together,” I said.
“He wanted to,” she said. “I did not.”
“Why not?”
“Because he is a necromancer and I am a Fate. I have standards. Besides, I find him utterly repellent.”
“He wanted your secret recipe,” I said. “Ambrosia would be dangerous in the hands of a necromancer.” I gave her a stern glance. “Or anybody else.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “If we avoided everything in life that is dangerous, we wouldn’t have anything to do.”
“Maybe that would be a good thing,” I said.
“You have no concept of what the world would be like without the Fates,” she said, “or you wouldn’t say that.”
I met her eyes. “I have a pretty good idea of what life is like with them,” I said. “And if I had my druthers…”
She gave a curt nod. “But you do not.”
The room was still. Finally, I inhaled, which sounded unnaturally loud in the room. “Would you tell me who my father is if you knew?”
“No,” she replied.
“Do you know who my father is?”
“Maybe,” she said. “But that is a story for another time. I have a meeting in exactly two minutes, and I have given you more time than I can spare.”
In other words, Get the hell out of my office. When I left, Trevor was loitering in the hallway.
“Lost your way to your desk again?”
He glared at me but headed to the front. The receptionist was either the nosiest guy ever and was trolling for juicy gossip or Morta had a spy in her midst, but solving commercial espionage wasn’t at the top of my to-do list, so I let it slide.
Chapter Thirty-Two
After I left Parsi, I headed to Jenny’s. It would have taken a steady diet to keep the harpies quiet and happy. She would have had a supplier. I’d already searched the magic shop and hadn’t found anything.
Jenny had lived alone in a one-bedroom apartment with, shockingly, a bunch of cats. They started mewing the second they heard the door open, but they couldn’t see me. It freaked out the oversized fluffy one, and its hair stood on end. There was an empty food dish in the tiny kitchen, so I found the cat food and fed them.
Where would she keep anything interesting? Her bedroom, which smelled strongly of cheap incense and cat. I sat on the bed to think. There was a stack of books on the nightstand. I spotted a familiar-looking book. It was a reality-based tale disguised as fiction and about my mother and father. It had disappeared from my apartment back when I was still dating Elizabeth.
Jenny had probably stolen it for Gaston. I grabbed the book and put it in my leather jacket’s inside pocket.
The black cat jumped on the bed and pissed on the comforter, narrowly missing me. I reached out and grabbed her collar. “Stinkerbell.” Apt.
Stinkerbell pounced on a crumpled up piece of paper lying on the floor. She batted it and meowed.
“What do you have there?” I reached out to take it, but she clawed the air and drew blood on my right hand. It hurt.
I finally managed to take it away from her and smoothed it out.
A phone number, no name. I picked up the landline and dialed. Voice mail, but at least I knew who Baxter’s hot date had been. I hung up without leaving a message. Time to have a little chat with my least favorite flesh eater.
It was almost dawn. His shift would be over soon. I caught him in his office.
“Tell me everything you know about Jenny,” I said.
“Everything?” he said in a smart-ass voice. “She had this one trick…”
“Stop,” I said. “I don’t want to hear the details of your sex life. I want to know what she planned to do with the harpies.”
“Ask her yourself,” he replied.
“I can’t. She’s dead.”
His eyes lost their sparkle. “Dead? When?”
“I found her body today. Someone set wraiths on her. I know you were feeding the harpies for her. Now talk.”
“I might have been doing her a favor,” he said. “Saving a few scraps here and there.”
“Have you been doing favors for anybody else?”
“Occasionally,” he admitted. “There’s a small but profitable demand for rotting flesh.”
“Anybody who would have the power to harness a harpy?”
“Not that I can think of.” He wasn’t a good liar.
“Call me if you think of anything,” I said. I wasn’t going to sit by the phone. In fact, I’d sit right outside until he made his move.
I told Talbot I would check in, so I walked back to the Caddy to make the call. I gave him the update and then asked, “Do you know what kind of car Baxter drives?”
“I don’t know,” Talbot said. “But he did mention he has personalized license plates. MUNCHU.”
Baxter was a slimeball, but I needed information.
“Where did you meet this guy, anyway?” I asked.
“Long story,” he replied.
After we hung up, I cruised the parking lot looking for the plates. I finally found them on a late-model luxury car. Selling body parts was obviously lucrative.
I nabbed a spot near the exit and grabbed a nap. Talbot had also told me Baxter worked the ten p.m. to six a.m. shift, and it was still a few hours before dawn.
Sunlight streamed through the Caddy’s window, which woke m
e. I was stretched out flat in the Caddy’s comfortable backseat. Baxter’s car was still there. I checked my watch. It was almost seven, past time for good little ghouls to be home tucked into bed. They could stand sunlight, but they didn’t like it much.
I got out of the Caddy and went over to Baxter’s car. Dark liquid pooled near the driver’s side. I had a very bad feeling about what I was about to see. I bent down to take a closer look. It was blood. A lot of blood. There was no way someone would survive losing all that blood, except maybe Baxter. The ancient flesh eater might be alive, but where was he?
There was no sign of Baxter, but there was a harpy feather lying by his car. Hecate had him.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I headed for Hell’s Belles to talk to Bernie. She’d been the Fates’ spy in the underworld. Maybe she had information about Danvers.
Bernie hadn’t come in yet. I was at my usual booth at Hell’s Belles waiting for her when three of Hecate’s demons came in. One of the demons looked very familiar. Hecate’s favorite boy toy. It had to be Gar, because I’d already killed his brother Hroth.
Gar was accompanied by an older demon with Tria Prima symbols carved into his cheek and a curvy blond demon who wore a sweater set and pearls. She looked like she belonged at the country club, which meant she was the one I needed to be careful of.
Their timing was impeccable. I was alone and not expecting any company.
They ignored the rest of the patrons, most of whom had the sense to leave immediately. One patron, a mortal, didn’t get it and stepped in front of them. He had his heart torn out for his trouble. Gar swallowed it like it was an oyster and grinned at me. He hadn’t needed to kill the mortal. He was just trying to make a point.
He’d bulked up some since the last time I’d seen him. These were no ordinary demons. They were demons on steroids. The Incredible Hulk of demons.
They were on me before I could get the athame out of the strap on my calf.
His teeth grazed my fingertips and I moved before his jaws snapped them off. Mary Sue went for my groin, but I kicked her in the jaw. “Not on the first date,” I chided.
Her pretty French manicure was ruined when her dainty fingers turned into claws. She swiped at me again and ripped into my bicep. The wound gushed blood, but I couldn’t afford to take the time to heal it. I slammed her against the wall and finally reached my athame. I slit her throat and demon blood gurgled up, stinking up the place.
Scarface and Gar both let out howls of grief before Gar picked me up and used me as a human battering ram. The athame skidded into a corner, out of reach.
“You. Killed. My. Brother,” he said, in time to my skull denting the wall of horseshoes. A hail of horseshoes crashed to the floor. A particularly tacky porcelain bisque horseshoe shattered into sharp shards. Something glinted in its ruins, but I didn’t have time to satisfy my curiosity.
“Bernie’s gonna be pissed,” I muttered through bloody lips. I reached for one of the larger fragments and used it to stab Gar in the arm until he let go of me.
Scarface had been guarding the door. When he saw that Gar was losing, he decided to join the party and came across the room at a sprint. I had about thirty seconds, tops.
I dove for the athame. The blood streaming from my forehead and arm made it slippery, but I gained a firm grip. I felt Gar’s putrid breath on the back of my neck. I wheeled and stabbed, hitting flesh. The knife came out with a wet sucking noise.
Scarface wrapped an arm around my neck and squeezed. Gar advanced. He was fueled by revenge and bloodlust. It wasn’t looking good, but I still had my athame. I needed to even the odds. I made a downward stabbing motion and hoped I hit one of Scarface’s vital organs. He went down with a thud. I inhaled. It hurt to breathe.
Gar was still coming. His fangs raked across my chest, searching for my heart. I was dizzy from loss of blood and lack of oxygen. If I passed out, I was a goner.
The athame was so slippery with blood that I could barely hold it. I hacked blindly, hampered by someone’s blood in my eyes. Probably my own. Gar went down but was still breathing.
I remembered Wren’s scar, caused by the piece of shit’s brother in front of me. I grabbed him by the hair and bashed his face into the wall a couple of times.
“How do you like that?” I asked.
He grinned through a bloody mouth. “I can’t wait to get up close and personal with little Wren. Hroth said she’s a hellion in the sack.”
I bashed his head a couple of more times. “That’s for even thinking about touching her.” He finally crumpled, and I dropped him.
I scanned the restaurant to make sure his buddies weren’t headed our way, but Mary Sue was still dead and Scarface had vanished.
My eyes fell on a tiny glittering horseshoe in the middle of the wreckage of Bernie’s prized collection.
I moved closer. I reached for the horseshoe, but a pair of clawed hands beat me to it and scooped it up. Gar dangled the charm from the dip of one bloody claw. “Looking for this?” he asked through broken fangs. He grinned at me and then swallowed it.
That’s what I got for losing my temper. I should have grabbed the charm and forgotten about teaching Gar a lesson.
I wasn’t going to enjoy what I had to do next. The charm would be dissolved in the demon’s stomach acid within minutes.
I was going to have to either cast a spell to get him to throw it up or I was going to have to slice him from stem to stern and fish through his stomach for the charm. Both were nasty, disgusting tasks, but I chose the lesser of two evils.
“Vomui, vomui, vomui,” I said, but nothing happened.
Gar gave a bark of laughter. “Your puny little spells don’t work on me, weakling,” he said.
“Oh, hell,” I said. I was going to have to kill him after all.
I didn’t have time to fight fair. I conjured up the foulest spell I could think of, one that would act like a fast-moving poison.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Gar said. He started to laugh but choked on his own vomit before he got out the first chuckle. His eyes rolled back into his head and he fell to the floor, convulsing and foaming at the mouth.
When his death throes ceased, I sliced Gar and black demon blood splattered out. I steeled myself against the pain and reached in and fished around for the horseshoe. It was like sticking my hand in a vat of hot oil. I gritted my teeth but I managed to snag the tiny charm.
I pulled it out and examined my hands. The skin was bubbling and pockets of pus had already formed on my left hand.
I walked behind the counter to a sink, where I washed off as much of the demon blood as I could, then ran the horseshoe under cold water.
I was dizzy, so I dragged myself over to the barstool and slumped down, head in my hands.
My head was still ringing when Willow walked into the restaurant. Or, more accurately, someone wearing Willow like a coat.
Hecate was in the house. My theory was correct. Danvers had been using the naiads as a vessel for Hecate to possess. He’d sacrificed his own wife to his cause. I would rip out his heart with my bare hands when I got the chance.
She slid onto the stool next to me.
“Hello, lover,” she said. She put her hand on my thigh. I removed it.
“I’m not your lover, Hecate,” I said. “Never will be.”
She smiled. “Don’t you like my new look? She’s so young and supple.” She ran her hands down Willow’s body. “Want to take her for a spin?” she purred. “Oh, that’s right. You already have.”
I shuddered at the thought of her having access to Willow’s memories.
“Let her go,” I said.
Hecate smiled at me with Willow’s lips. “Make me.”
“Quit being a child,” I said. “This isn’t going to end well.”
“Not for you, anyway,” she said. Willow was still in there somewhere. I could feel it.
“You don’t have your full powers while you’re in there,” I said. “Let
the naiad go.”
My casual tone didn’t fool her. “Let me go and I’ll let her go,” she said. “Want to talk to her?” Her eyes rolled back and then Willow was there.
“Don’t do it, Nyx,” she said. “It’s not worth it.”
“But it is,” I said. “You are worth it. I’d tear down the world to make sure you’re safe.”
A trickle of blood came out of her nose, then her head snapped back and she was gone.
I didn’t see a way out of it. The prophecy said I’d set Hecate free, but it didn’t say anything about her staying that way. I’d figure it out later. But first I needed to rescue Willow.
I owed her, more than I could ever repay.
“What do you want me to do?”
Hecate explained succinctly. “Bring me the bead.”
“There’s something I want from you in return,” I said.
“Bargaining at this late date? How adorable.”
“Are you ready to deal or not?”
“What is it that you want from me?” she asked.
“I want you to set Wren free,” I said. “No repercussions. You let her go.”
“Done,” she said.
That was way too easy. Doubt must have been plain on my face because she added, “I know you don’t believe it, but I love my daughter. If she is happier without me, so be it.”
I considered her words and then nodded. It was possible that even Hecate had a tender feeling or two.
“That’s not all. I want you to give me Danvers,” I said.
“He has been my loyal servant for many years,” she said. “And you expect me to hand him over to you?”
She wasn’t sure if Willow’s body would hold her and was starting to panic. “Yes.”
“I will not help you,” she said. “But I will not hinder you. You must fight your own battle.”
“I intend to kill him,” I replied.
“Many before you have tried,” she warned. “Now go. Your friend does not have much time left.”
“Then the clock is ticking for you as well,” I replied.
“If I go, she goes,” Hecate said. “Her husband seemed willing to chance it, but are you?”
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