“Sorry, it’s just me,” I said, waving.
“Oh my Goddess, Ivy,” Arachne said. “I forgot you were here.”
I walked over and scooped a chattering pair of vampire fangs from the floor, setting them back on the counter. They were a good reminder that demons and faeries weren’t the only scary things that walked our streets.
“Thought you were alone?” I asked.
“Yes, I just locked up,” Arachne said. She chewed on a lock of hair, which made her look awfully young.
“Don’t know how anyone can tell in this place,” I muttered. “Hey, it’s almost dark. Someone walking you home?”
“My brother should be here any minute,” Arachne said, nodding.
Arachne came from a large Wiccan family who lived a few blocks away. They wouldn’t have far to walk.
“Cool, see you later,” I said, rushing for the door.
Color was returning to the kid’s face and her hands were barely shaking. With her brother on his way to walk her home, and Kaye, Hob, and Marvin in the back, she was safe as houses. Now that I knew Arachne was free from danger, I could leave.
“Safe travels, Ivy,” Arachne said.
“Safe travels,” I said.
Exiting through the front door, I left the cool air conditioning of Madame Kaye’s Magic Emporium behind. It took an act of will not to rush back inside. Well, that and the door being locked.
A wall of heat hit me like a ton of bricks straight from the kiln. The sun was low in the sky leaving lengthening shadows in its wake, but temps remained in the triple digits. Great, if the night had to bring out the clawed and creepy, couldn’t it at least provide some relief from the heat? Life was so not fair.
I pulled a baseball cap out of my back pocket and tugged it down low, hiding my eyes. Monsters were a danger, but eye contact with the wrong street punk could get me just as dead.
I started walking up toward the East End and felt sweat trickle down my spine after three steps. A few more loping steps and my shirt, now soaking wet, stuck to my back. This heat was absolute misery. The air was completely still, a rarity for a harbor city. Not for the first time, I wondered if this heat wave was truly natural or if it had a paranormal cause. Strong magic could mess with weather patterns; Kaye says it snowed for three days after she called on the Barghest killing spell. I’d have to ask Kaye about it after my meeting with Forneus.
If I lived that long.
Chapter 5
Joysen Hill has a bad reputation. According to Kaye, murders, rapes, and muggings on The Hill were daily news headlines back in the 1980’s. The new millennium brought beautification and gentrification to sections of the East End, but The Hill still drives fear into the hearts of most long-term Harborsmouth residents—as it should. Shiny new building façades are just the candy coating, created to hide a rotten, oozing center. These days there’s a shortage of journalists brave enough to bite into that story and get to the festering heart of the matter.
Faeries and other supernatural nasties, that’s the real problem with The Hill. Most of the fae who live in our city find homes on Joysen Hill and its environs. The hill warrens make an ideal paranormal habitat—plenty of dark places to slink away or hide in plain sight, glamour optional. The poor folk who live on The Hill don’t have time to care if their neighbors have too many limbs or drip ectoplasm. The few human property owners are too greedy or apathetic to be bothered by fangs and fur. So long as you mind your business and pay your rent, you don’t exist; a situation which suits the fae and other beasties just fine.
Crime may not make the daily headlines anymore, but that doesn’t mean Joysen Hill is safe. Monsters, both human and supernatural, continue to thrive on the desperate and impoverished people who end up on The Hill. The baddies have just become better at hiding their messes.
Residential streets are packed with dilapidated tenements and moldering low-income housing that landlords should be ashamed to collect rent from—that is, if they had souls. In Harborsmouth, calling your landlord a soulless leach may be more accurate than you think. The worst slumlords of this city? Vampires. I guess it’s hard to understand why your tenants want trivial things like heat and running water when you’ve been dead so long you don’t remember warmth…and running water is something to be avoided.
Unfortunately, the fanged creeps are known for their stake (har, har, har) in local real estate. A coven of vampires entered Harborsmouth in the 1800’s and bought up large tracts of land for pennies. They now own most rental properties in the East End.
These landlord scum will bleed you dry in more ways than one. Most vamps make their money from the genteel properties on the edge of the East End that overlook the scenic waters of Back Bay. So why bother renting to the poor on Joysen Hill? You know that saying, “You can’t squeeze blood from a stone?” Humans will do a lot to keep a roof over their head and, unlike stones, they contain a nearly sufficient supply of blood. Wealth and dinner; I guess sometimes it pays to be immortal.
Think the dank, over-populated apartments are bad? You haven’t seen the true evils of The Hill until you’ve explored the less traveled places that exist shrouded in perpetual shadow. A warren of side streets and alleys lay like a tangled spider web over the hill. It is in these dark back streets that the drunk, unwary, and downright stupid find themselves mugged, knifed, or worse. It’s not unusual to wake up anemic and penniless after a night partying on Joysen Hill—if you wake up at all.
Market Street, the main thoroughfare, runs up Joysen, from top to bottom, like it was cut into the hill with a straight razor. Walking up Market Street after dark gave me the willies. Florescent lights in grimy windows flickered on, as the hill got ready for business. Joysen Hill may no longer house the farmer’s markets of a hundred years ago, but one thing hasn’t changed in the last century—on Market Street, everything is for sale.
There were plenty of people poking their curious heads into shop stalls searching for bargains and treasures. I shuddered and looked away. The hungry leers they attracted were a constant reminder that not all of these happy shoppers would make it through the night unscathed. Of course, most humans can’t see the true forms of the creatures hawking their wares on Market Street. They’re the lucky ones.
I edged into the road, dodging cars rather than jostle the reaching legs of a huge arachnid. I jinked left, as a driver in a rusty old Thunderbird honked his horn angrily, and caught a glimpse of human-sized cocoons writhing and wriggling, hanging from the fire escape of the building to my right. Gorge rising, I gulped down car exhaust laced air, and skipped farther away from the “weaver” selling tie-dyed tapestries.
My second sight is a peculiar thing. If I look directly at a magic veil or faerie glamour, I can see the true monster that lies beneath. When I cast my gaze to the corner of my vision, the images swim together and I can make out the illusion that most people see. The glamour usually takes advantage of existing details and elaborates on the given theme.
For example, the arachnid with black, furry legs looked like a Rastafarian with long, black dreadlocks. The average passerby would see a man with round mirror glasses weaving tie-dyed tapestries, but I saw the spider, eight shiny eyes gleaming, as he wove a web soaked through with blood as it encased another victim. And that wasn’t a spliff hanging out of his mouth. Spiders don’t smoke. No, he was nibbling on a tiny cocoon wrapped snack—probably a small dog, but it could be the body of a small child.
I’d have to let Kaye know about the increased monster activity on The Hill. She needed to notify any hunters in the vicinity about the blatant feeding on humans. We didn’t have the manpower to keep all of the predators at bay, but you have to draw the line somewhere. Taking a flamethrower to creeps who perform bloodletting in the streets, and hang their human meals to ripen like prosciutto, seemed like a good place to start.
I sped up, calves burning, determined to make it to the top of Joysen Hill in one piece. If I kept moving, and didn’t touch anything on the way, I’d p
robably make it to the church safely. There were easier pickings in the crowd and the night was young.
Sacred Heart sat at the pinnacle of Joysen Hill, the highest point of the city. From the bottom of the hill, with its steeple silhouetted against the rising moon, Sacred Heart appeared to be high enough to whisper in God’s ear.
Hopefully Radio G-O-D would send up a prayer for a certain psychic detective. Heck, I may not subscribe to any religion, but if I knew the number, I’d dial up a request. The night denizens of Joysen Hill were slithering and lurching their way onto Market Street…and they all looked hungry.
I walked as fast as I could without technically running. Running in the presence of predators is always a bad idea. If you run, they have to give chase. And there is no shiny trophy or colored ribbon at the end of that race. No, all you’ll find at that finish line are pain and terror…and the answer to what appetites that particular monster is looking to satisfy. Getting eaten? Not always the worst case scenario.
“Oberon’s eyes,” I muttered.
Gripping the charms in my pocket, I stifled a shiver and trudged further up the hill.
*****
I don’t know if it was due to Kaye’s charms, Radio G-O-D, or my Don’t You Dare Come Closer glare, but I made it to the steps of Sacred Heart unscathed. The towering stone façade would have been imposing, if I hadn’t just walked the front lines of Joysen Hill.
With a sigh, and more than an ounce of trepidation, I started the ascent to Sacred Heart’s front door. I hoped it was unlocked. Skulking around at night searching for a back entrance would likely get me killed.
I raised my gloved hand, but hesitated. If I couldn’t pray on the steps of God’s house, where could I ever? I bowed my head and sent up a prayer to the man in charge. I figured it was like leaving milk and cookies for Santa long after you’d left your belief in the jolly old elf on the school playground. You may not be a believer, but it couldn’t hurt, right?
Reaching forward, I pressed the latch and pushed inward. To my relief, the door was unlocked. Scanning the street one last time, I stepped inside the church lobby.
I wasn’t struck by lightning. Fancy that.
Stepping into the church narthex was like plunging into a cold pool of water after an hour in the gym sauna. After being outside in the heat, it felt damn cold. Encircling stone walls radiated cool air that chilled the sweat on my skin and sent a shiver up my spine.
The large wooden door swooshed shut behind me, leaving the sounds of Market Street behind. A hushed silence descended like a heavy velvet theatre curtain, signaling a beginning and an end, and choking off my surprised gasp. Doors closing themselves? Creepy. Dead silence? Even creepier. I froze in place and waited to see what else the church had waiting for me.
When nothing happened, I rolled my shoulders and tried to loosen muscles threatening to strangle my neck. The point between my shoulder blades burned like someone had dropped a cinder under my bra strap. I stretched each arm across my chest, trying to work out the kink in my back, letting my arms drop with a shrug.
“Okay, Ivy, get a grip,” I muttered.
Now that my breathing and heart rate were easing back to normal, I felt foolish. The idea of the door closing itself was silly, right? That thought should have calmed my jangling nerves, but instead it raised an alarming question; if the door didn’t shut itself, then who closed it?
I turned a slow pirouette on the ball of my left foot—the right was poised for action. Kick, foot sweep, or run—I was ready for anything. I stared into the ink black shadows, trying to determine my next move.
I may work out most days, but I wasn’t overly strong. Rather than weight training, I focused on muscle toning and cardiovascular endurance. Valuing lean muscle over muscle bulk meant I didn’t look threatening, but I could run like a gazelle. My theory? Always be aware of your surroundings, and if you have no other options…run like the hounds of Hell are hot on your tail. Odds are good that they probably are.
Of course, running wasn’t always the best option. Most beasties like to play with their food, especially when their chosen meal plays chase. Sometimes you had to get your hands dirty. I could hold my own in a fight, so long as it was quick and dirty. Again my strategy was, get away from the big baddy. I knew numerous moves to disarm and immobilize, but I preferred not to get into a fight on holy ground. I may not be religious, but some things just seem wrong. I spun around one more time, hoping I wouldn’t have to get into fisticuffs with whoever closed the door.
No one was there.
The lobby was dark, lit only by two shaded lamps that did little to keep the night at bay. One of the lamps had a faulty bulb, or bad wiring, and the flickering light created shadows that danced eerily along the walls. Eager to leave the creepy vestibule, I plastered a fake smile on my face and entered the church proper.
Stepping into the nave was like staring directly at the sun…without sunglasses. White light shone brightly from the front of the church and I blinked tears from my eyes. Shapes moved within the light, but I couldn’t make out who, or what, they were. Turning my head to the side, I snuck a sideways glimpse at the area surrounding the altar.
As I suspected, the light subsided to the golden glow of reflected candlelight. The bright light was of supernatural origin. Good to know. A priest, Father Michael I presumed, stood at the edge of the chancel. He was leaning forward and talking quietly with a huddled form dressed in rags who I guessed was one of the unfortunate East End homeless.
I left the priest to his private discussion and headed to the nearest pew to wait my turn. My knees protested as I genuflected stiffly, before taking a seat. Next time I visit this place? I’ll take my chances with nightmare visions and catch a cab.
I bowed my head, trying to look properly respectful, and fell asleep. So much for getting off to the right start. In my defense, it had been a very long day.
I woke to someone shaking me and did a double-take when I realized that person wasn’t Jinx. Pulling away, and putting some distance between us—I did not want to see any freaky priest visions—I mumbled an apology.
“No need to apologize,” Father Michael said. “Can I help you?”
“Um, yes, my name is Ivy Granger,” I said, handing him a business card. “Madame Kaye was going to call ahead…”
“Yes, we’ve been expecting you,” Father Michael said. “Kaye mentioned you had an encounter with a demon.”
A gleam entered Father Michael’s eye and a smile quirked his lips. He rubbed his hands together and looked positively delighted. Crazy priest.
“Yes, earlier today,” I said. “But he’s coming back tomorrow morning and I need to be prepared.”
“Tomorrow?” Father Michael asked. He fidgeted with his hair, leaving his glasses slightly askew. His birdlike features, pointy nose and chin, bony wrists and ankles, and eyes too small for his face, were accentuated by constant, nervous nodding. He looked like he was excitedly pecking seed from the ground, or hesitantly head banging. Kaye thought this guy was cute? I had no idea her taste in men ran so…avian. “Oh wonderful, wonderful. Follow me. We have so much to prepare. Come, tell me all about this demon. I cannot wait to make his acquaintance.”
I bit my lip and groaned inwardly. Leave it to Kaye to find the one priest in the city who actually enjoys showdowns with demons. I was glad that he was willing to help, but his eagerness worried me. What if he couldn’t handle Forneus? It wasn’t like this was some routine exorcism. Crap. I didn’t even know if he had ever performed an exorcism. For all I knew, Father Michael’s entire experience with demons could be rolling twenty-sided dice behind a dungeon master’s screen. It was no wonder he seemed excited.
Mab’s bones! Was I about to lead a priest to his death?
I followed Father Michael down the central aisle, past rows of pews, toward the white light. It wasn’t as blinding now, but I wished the supernatural thing causing the light had a dimmer switch.
Father Michael was rambling on about ho
ly water, vestments, and other demon-fighting gear—I think—waving his hands enthusiastically. I stumbled along behind him, shielding my eyes with one hand, until we reached the raised section at the front. The toes of my sneakers bumped the wooden steps leading up onto the bema, a portion of the church that was surely reserved for priests only.
I hesitated, wondering if I should follow Father Michael any further. The priest, oblivious, continued on. He was enthusiastically reciting demon hunting theory and wasn’t even paying attention to his surroundings. I sucked in a breath as he waved his arm through a candle flame and nearly lit his vestments on fire. Chances were good that this guy would get himself killed.
I followed Father Michael up the wooden steps and completely forgot about my worry for the man’s safety. Something else held my attention. The white light retreated, narrowing into the form of a white horse sporting a gleaming, spiral-shaped horn from the center of its regal head.
I stared, slack-jawed, trying to remember how to speak.
“Is that a freaking UNICORN?” I asked.
“What?” Father Michael asked, startled from his rambling. “Oh, you can see Galliel. Curious. It is a rare thing for anyone to see a unicorn.”
Father Michael was starting to look at me greedily, like a lab rat or a specimen in a Petri dish. Oh no, this amoeba had a mind of her own and I had no intention of being this guy’s new plaything.
“Look, I don’t know what Kaye said about me, but I’m just a human with a barely useful psychic gift,” I said. I folded my arms across my chest and tried not to tap my foot. I didn’t have any patience for people who saw my gift, rather than me. It was an old beef that still stung. “If you can’t stick to the demon problem, then I’ll find someone else.”
Who was I kidding? I was lucky, thanks to Kaye, to find this guy on such short notice. There was no way I’d find another priest who could help me deal with Forneus before the demon showed up for his 7 AM appointment at my office. I held my breath and hoped he’d back off. I needed his help, but I’d be out that door if he kept treating me like his own personal science experiment.
E J Stevens - [Ivy Granger, Psychic Detective 01] Page 5