Davina sat across from me and winked. “That grandson of mine behaving for you?”
“He better,” I replied. “He’s my right hand these days.”
“It’s nice to see you again, Katie.” Emmaline came over to the sofa and sat next to me. “I always feel so insignificant at these things,” she whispered with a faint smile. I imagined she was referring to her youth, and since we were close in age she wasn’t the only one in the room who was still on the biological upswing.
“I see your point,” I whispered back, trying to sound commiserative but not really feeling the same level of insignificance.
The door opened and in walked José, the flamboyant hairstylist to the wealthy. He froze in his tracks halfway into the room and glanced at his watch. “Am I late?” I could tell by his expression that the thought mortified him. This man was all about image, and being the last one to enter the room must have made him question his lack of promptitude, a mark of imperfection.
“Damn fool,” Davina muttered under her breath, revealing her intolerance for the man.
“Calm down, José,” Fin said. “You’re punctual as ever.”
His tightened shoulders visibly deflated as he continued into the room and helped himself to a drink. With Joan Crawford flair, he swept across the room and dropped into one of the wingchairs, crossing his leg and swinging it like a pendulum as he regarded me from the other side of the table. I regarded him back, refusing to surrender to his glare.
“Unfortunately, Alma and Pete won’t be joining us tonight. Prior engagements that couldn’t be avoided.” Lillian looked displeased by that, like a woman who wasn’t used to being refused. Behind all that genteel manner I imagined she could be a real snake when necessary. I respected that as long as she never aimed her venom at me.
A woman with black hair tightly slicked back into a chignon announced, “Dinner is ready.” One of Lillian Whitman’s staff, she wore a gray sheath dress and conservative black shoes.
“Thank you, Claire,” Lillian said, standing up. “Shall we?”
Everyone stood and followed Lillian into the dining room. The rectangular table was big enough to accommodate fifteen people, at least. The far end of it was set for the six of us. We sat where Lillian instructed, in a carefully orchestrated order that put me at the end corner with Fin at my immediate left. She took the seat at the head of the table near my right. I noticed an extra place setting directly across from me, on her other side. When she saw me looking at the empty chair, she explained. “It appears my granddaughter lacks the punctuality gene. But I’m sure she’ll be joining us shortly.”
Claire came into the dining room with a large platter of rack of lamb in her hands, followed by two men carrying the rest of the meal. She placed the platter in the center of the table. The men did the same with the sides. The wine was already on the table when we arrived.
“Who wants red?” Fin asked, standing up and reaching for the bottle of Pinot Noir. He examined the label. “Oregon. Hmph. I prefer a New Zealand, but this will do.”
Lillian smirked. “It’s bad enough I collect my Sauvignon Blanc and meat from the other side of the world. It’s the least I can do to support the American economy.”
He proceeded around the table, filling our glasses with the wine. José was the one dissenting party who blocked his hand, preferring bourbon over grape. When he was reseated, Lillian nodded toward the food in the middle of the table. “We serve ourselves around here,” she said, glancing at me. “I hope you don’t find that offensive.”
I shrugged. “Not at all. I prefer it.”
Since no one wanted to be the first, Dr. Greene reached over the table with his plate and grabbed a couple of lamb ribs with the tongs resting on the edge of the platter. Then he offered them to Emmaline, who reminded him that she was a vegetarian.
“I had the asparagus and roasted potatoes prepared just for you, Emmaline,” Lillian said.
We’d all just about filled our plates when our missing dinner guest popped into the room. “Sorry, folks. Minor catastrophe at the pub.” Fiona MacPherson planted a kiss on Lillian’s cheek and took her seat. She glanced at me as she shook her napkin open and placed it in her lap. “Hey, Katie.”
Without answering, I just stared at her. Seemed like a significant oversight for her to fail to mention who her grandmother was. I’d gotten to know her well over the months, and surely she was aware of my relationship to the Crossroads Society. I guess that explained her cautious response when I asked her about Blackthorn Grove. It also explained why Fin didn’t seem concerned at all when I mentioned Fiona as an eyewitness to me leaving MacPherson’s with Christopher Sullivan the night of the murder.
Nobody will be laying a hand on a MacPherson in this town, he’d said. And now I knew why.
“Well,” I began. “I’m just going to throw the question out there before I get too deep in this plate of food. The MacPhersons are family?”
Lillian placed a small bite of lamb in her mouth and chewed it thoroughly before swallowing and answering my question. “Fiona’s mother was my daughter.” There was a hint of sadness in her tone, and the reference to was explained why. “Her daddy, on the other hand—”
“Grandma, please,” Fiona quietly interrupted.
Lillian relented and resumed eating, while the rest of the table averted their eyes and acted like they weren’t party to the conversation. The MacPhersons were clearly a sore spot in this house, and I wondered what skeletons in the family closet created the rift. A conversation for another day.
“We might as well get down to business,” Fin said. “Address the elephant in the kitchen, so to speak.”
“More like a goddamn whale,” Davina commented, jabbing a spear of asparagus with her fork.
Fiona lowered her head to stifle a snicker. She must have been well-seasoned in the snide conversations around this big house, having probably lived around her grandmother’s circle all her life.
“As you are all aware,” Fin continued, “Victor Tuse is dead, and the spirit has moved on to a new host. What most of you don’t know is that it made a very bold attempt to possess Miss Bishop the other night.” A muffled gasp went around the table as all eyes levelled on me. “But as you can see, it failed. It did, however, manage to possess Christopher Sullivan, one of Chatham County’s esteemed assistant DAs.”
Emmaline’s fork fell to her plate and bounced onto the table. “I just saw his picture on the news this morning. He’s been missing for a couple of days.”
I glanced at the one individual who could identify me as the last person to be seen with him. Fiona was staring back at me with a slight grin. Fin or Lillian must have prepped her, because she looked unfazed by the news.
“Mr. Sullivan is dead,” Lillian interjected. She looked at me but spoke to the room. “I’m afraid Miss Bishop had no choice in the matter. It was her or the spirit.”
I felt sick from the way they were all looking at me, like I was a monster. “Christopher and I were seeing each other. It chose him because of that, and I’ll never forgive myself for what happened. I’m sorry—”
Fiona’s face turned bitter. “Don’t you apologize for what that thing did. If it wasn’t Christopher, it would have been someone else. It could have been Sea Bass, or Elliot if he was still in the picture. It was baiting you, Katie.”
“It tried to kill me.” I felt somewhat relieved that I had at least two allies in the room.
“No,” Lillian countered. “It wouldn’t have killed you. That would have defeated the purpose. It wants to become you, Miss Bishop.”
We were back to formalities and last names, and I suspected that meant I was about to hear some difficult things. I guess there wouldn’t be a better time to segue into my latest news. “I had another dream last night. Another dream of a tattoo. I think the other spirit is trying to break free.” And if it did and it managed to get that tattoo inked into its host’s skin, it was all over. The bones would be unearthed from their crossroads gr
ave and some pretty nasty things would be unleashed on Savannah, and then the rest of the world. “Maybe we should all go down to that dungeon to make sure it’s still in the grimoire,” I suggested, glancing at the floor where it was imprisoned somewhere under the house.
Fin’s face froze. I couldn’t tell if he was confused or considering it. The loud, boisterous laugh that bellowed from his mouth clarified it for me. “Well, you go right ahead, Miss Bishop. Maybe you can take a bag of peanuts along to feed it. Like an elephant at the zoo.”
“That’s not necessary, Fin,” Fiona spat. “Jesus, you can be an asshole sometimes.”
I guess I just assumed it was protected behind some hermetically sealed dome. “Yeah, Fin. Why don’t you let me in on the big joke,” I said, getting irritated myself with his sarcasm. I was the one taking all the risks, and he had the nerve to ridicule me for suggesting something perfectly reasonable.
He sobered from his amused spell and leaned into the table. “Miss Bishop, there’s a good reason the grimoire is buried a hundred feet underground. The architects of that tomb would have dug deeper if they hadn’t hit a shelf of stone. Only a fool with a death wish would go down there unprepared.”
I looked back and forth between Fin and Lillian. “Are you telling me no one is going down there to check on that book to make sure it’s still there?” The thought almost made me laugh.
A muted snicker escaped José’s mouth. “What? Do you think we’re idiots? Ignorant Southern bumpkins?” His cowlick bounced off his forehead as he huffed and turned back to his plate.
“Cameras,” Lillian said, shooting José a dirty look. “We monitor the book with cameras. It’s much safer that way. We do send someone down there periodically, but not without proper preparation which includes a rather extensive ritual involving the bone. A magical shield of sorts.”
“Fire with fire,” Fin added. “The way to control something otherworldly is to fight it with its own power. Legvu is a master of the bone, which also means he’s ruled by them.” He took a bite of lamb and chewed it leisurely, staring at me unwaveringly for an uncomfortable minute before continuing. “The way to catch a bone god is with the bone.” He looked at Lillian thoughtfully. “Have we checked the grimoire today?”
Lillian seemed annoyed by the question. “What do you think, Fin?” After a moment, her relaxed expression returned. “Of course. Everything looked to be in order when I checked it this afternoon. But I can assure you we’ll be keeping a closer eye on it now that Miss Bishop has had her little premonition.”
I didn’t like the way she dismissed my dream, my “little premonition.” “That would be wise, Lillian, seeing how my last dream turned out to be a reality.”
Her condescending attitude changed. “I mean no disrespect. It’s a stressful time for everyone, and I tend to deal with stress in a cavalier fashion.”
Davina put her fork down and clanked it loudly against her plate, drawing everyone’s attention. “I guess this would be a good time to explain why we’re all sitting around Lillian’s table eating her fancy food and drinking her overpriced grape juice.” I nearly looked away in embarrassment as she reached into the neckline of her dress and continued farther down into her cleavage, extracting a small satin bag. “Always keep what’s precious close to your heart,” she said. “No one’s getting their hands on this without killing me first.”
She tossed it across the table. I hesitated as it landed next to my plate. “What’s in it?”
“Open it up and see for yourself.”
I glanced at Fin who nodded his approval. The bag weighed nothing, which made me wonder if there was anything at all inside. But when I untied the string and shook the contents into my hand a thin, flat object settled into the center of my palm. A light current of energy traveled over my skin toward the tips of my fingers. “I still don’t know what this is.”
“That’s the weapon you’re gonna use to catch the son of a bitch,” Fin announced, coming up short of actually clarifying anything.
I snorted and tossed the object on the table. “Yeah, right.”
“Watch your mouth, girl!” Davina spat, nearly coming across the table before Fin put his hand on her forearm to keep her in place. “You don’t throw the bone like it’s a piece of trash.”
The tone in her voice shook me. I’d already pegged the Ozark woman as something fierce disguised under the guise of age, and the ferocity of her voice successfully commanded my attention. I reached for the bone and gently picked it back up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“That wasn’t very polite of me,” she interjected, settling back into her chair. “Please accept my apology, Katie.”
Fin sighed deeply and combed the top of his head with his fingers. “Now let’s all just settle down and start this conversation over.” He gestured to the object in my hand. “As insignificant as it looks, Miss Bishop, that little piece of bone in your hand is a powerful weapon. Took us a while to figure it out, but better late than never.” He turned to Davina with a steady look. “The floor is yours, Davina. Just remember who you’re speaking too and try not to interject any threats. We don’t want to give Miss Bishop’s beast a reason to come out, now do we?”
“I’d like to see the dragon,” Emmaline said with a glint in her eyes. She smiled at me but quickly receded back into her seat when the rest of the table admonished her with their glares. Fiona grinned at me devilishly, clearly finding the whole spectacle entertaining. “I’m sorry, Katie. That was rude,” Emmaline apologized.
Davina continued before I could reassure Emmaline that I wasn’t offended. “It’s a bone charm. Ideally it would be made from the same bones as the ones Legvu buried at the crossroads. But in light of the fact that we haven’t found them yet, a hyena bone will have to do. A trickster for a trickster. It will be weaker, but that charm will stun old Legvu enough for us to suck him right back inside that book.”
“Legvu?” I repeated.
Fin clarified. “You see, as soon as the second spirit is freed from the grimoire, and based on the latest dreams you’ve been having we can assume that’s either happened or about to, the first one will join it. They’ll reunite in the same host. The next time you meet that host, Miss Bishop, you’ll be looking at Legvu himself. He’ll just need that final tattoo to fully manifest his power and show you his true form.”
Great. I was no longer up against half a god. My next battle would be with the almighty Legvu himself. “How are you going to get him back inside the book?” I was skeptical about how the whole business of capturing him was going to work.
“Don’t you worry about that,” Fin said. “As soon as Legvu is ‘stunned’, as Davina put it, he’ll leach right out of his host and climb inside that bone charm that’ll be calling his name. A fly drawn to shit, as they say. After that, all we have to do is toss the charm in the room with the grimoire and that book will take care of the rest.”
It all sounded too easy, and I knew better than that. “So all I need to do is wave the charm in the host’s face and voila?”
“Well, it won’t be that easy,” Fin said.
“You have to get it inside of the host,” Davina clarified. “Then we’ll cut the bone charm out of him—or her—once Legvu is trapped inside of it. We’ll have a small window of time before he recovers and finds his way back out.”
Short of a laugh, I snorted. “Oh, well, is that all? You mean I have to get the host to eat that piece of bone?” Yeah right. Here you go, Mr. Host. Chew on this.
Fin’s expression hardened. “Shove it down his goddamned throat or up his ass. I don’t give a damn how you do it, Miss Bishop.”
“Fin!” Lillian admonished. “Watch that foul mouth of yours at my table.” Fiona finally broke down with that laugh she’d been suppressing since the conversation began, which only made Lillian more agitated. “You might as well leave, Fiona,” she told her granddaughter. “You’ve been looking for a reason to get up from this table before you even sat down.”
>
Fiona finished her glass of wine in a single gulp and stood up, smirking at me with her hand to her ear in a call-me gesture as she walked out of the room. I had a feeling our friendship was about to jump to the next level now that my secrets were out. I also had a feeling she’d known about those secrets since the day Fin walked into my shop. Every time I stepped inside that bar and she served me a drink, she knew exactly what I was. Now she had the green light to acknowledge it.
“You’re a smart woman,” Davina continued. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” She leaned into the table and pinned me with her wise and seasoned eyes. “I don’t care if you have to sleep with that damn thing to get close enough to cut him open, just get that bone inside of that host.”
19
When I walked into the shop the next morning, Sugar was sitting in the chair behind the front counter. She barely glanced up from the magazine she was reading, pretending very poorly not to pay me any mind. I walked past her toward the coffee pot.
“You know what you need?” she asked as I poured a cup.
“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
She dropped the magazine and joined me at the coffeemaker that cost all of fifteen dollars. “You need one of them fancy express-o machines. Class the place up a little bit.”
I stirred a pile of generic creamer into my cup and headed for my station. “It’s espresso, and I don’t have money to burn on frivolous gadgets. Besides, something like that would ruin the unique ambiance of this place.”
“Yeah, you probably right,” she agreed, pouring her own cup. “Wouldn’t want folks to think they walked into Chez L’Ink instead of this fine establishment.” She followed me like a puppy dog and dropped into a chair to watch me prep my station. “Well?”
“Well what?” I asked.
She deadpanned me and took a sip of her coffee before getting to the obvious point. “You gonna tell me about that bone charm Davina gave you last night?”
Crossroads of Bones (A Katie Bishop Novel Book 1) Page 17