4 The Infernal Detective

by Kirsten Weiss

  The sun’s rim, a flat, white fingernail, dropped behind the mountains.

  She skidded to a halt and poured the salt in a narrow circle around her. Her hands shook. White salt on white snow, she couldn’t see what she’d drawn, could only hope the ring was complete.

  She threw the energies into the salt and light blazed from it. Success. She cast the beam of her flashlight in a wide arc.

  The creature was smoke, dripping teeth, talons. Claws flashed, white and serrated. The beam cut through it like a blade and the creature folded in on itself, reformed. Two more swept in behind it, circling her flickering barrier. More shadows appeared, hurled themselves at the shield. It shuddered, disorienting her. They were moving too quickly.

  Darkness oiled across her skin, probing, hungry.

  She was running, hunted. Hooves pounded behind her. Something swished past her cheek, an arrow thunked in a tree. She swerved through the trees, slid down a gully, tumbling over rocks. She was the fox and they were the hounds, and they were unrelenting. They’d seen the darkness inside her. She had to be destroyed.

  Shadows slithered into her mind, wriggling.

  Riga’s sister, crying. “You said you’d protect her!” Pen was gone. It was all her fault.

  Fear coiled in her belly, burning.

  Donovan lay on the ground, scarlet staining the snow. His eyes stared sightlessly at the sky. Far-off, someone screamed. Her?

  Riga shook her head. The screaming was real.

  She felt a sudden lightening, and her vision cleared. Three of the shadows peeled off from the attack, moved into the trees.

  Another scream, high and thin. Human.

  Riga clenched her fists. Someone was out there. Barbara?

  Think. Think. Think.

  She poured her energy into the circle of salt. Magic is more than talismans and herbs. To work, it must be empowered by the magician. It required concentration, understanding, will. She was losing on all counts.

  She couldn’t hold the shield until daylight.

  The creatures hammered at it, snarling, and each blow made her quake. Darkness grew at the corners of her vision, clouded her gaze. She rubbed her eyes. God, she was tired. She dropped to one knee.

  What the hell were these things? They were corporeal, but she sensed they had their feet in the other side as well. Or was she on the other side?

  The world spun. No time. No matter. She had to get out of here.

  A curtain lowered, heavy black velvet. Drowsy, she bent her head.

  Another scream. She jerked her head up. But which way was up? The night forest had become a sickening kaleidoscope of shadows and light. And the shadows were winning.

  She shook her head. Think!

  Someone was directing these things, had animated them. So there was a link between the controller and the controlled. She could break it. And then… They might continue to attack. She’d need something more powerful, something that disrupted the creatures themselves.

  She pulled a spell from the recesses of her mind. It was a simple rhyme, designed to prevent electrical problems, but if she switched some of the wording… She focused on the energies from above and below. Reached for them…

  There was no above, no below. Was she spinning or was the forest? She groped for the energies, but all was black. The connection was lost.

  She was on all fours. The circle broke and they were upon her. She’d failed Donovan, and her heart cracked open.

  The world went white. The energies were there, they were always there. If she could only find them, find Donovan, hang on. Riga reached with her senses, felt something that wasn’t there.

  She clung to it, and the world exploded.

  Chapter 23

  “Hey, doll. This is getting monotonous.”

  Riga staggered atop a rocky hillside. Beneath her rolled a white mass of fog, pierced by the orange spires of the Golden Gate Bridge. A young sailor in WWII-era Navy whites looked over it, his hat tucked beneath one arm, a cigarette dangling from his lips. She knew him, the first ghost Donovan had crossed over. He’d come to her before, in moments of less than consciousness. But she didn’t understand why her – Donovan had done the crossing. “Vinnie?”

  “Who did you expect?”

  “Am I dead?”

  He rolled his eyes. “No. Though you still might freeze to death,” he said cheerfully.

  “Is this a vision? Or am I dreaming?”

  He waggled his eyebrows. “You dream about me?”

  “Vinnie...”

  Entrails of fog curled around her feet.

  “I could be your subconscious. What do you think that would mean? Dr. Phil says—”

  “Forget Dr. Phil.” Vinnie had spent the years between his death and cross-over glutting himself on daytime TV. “What am I doing here?”

  He sneered. “Well, obviously you’re here to get a message.”

  “And why are you the messenger?”

  “Because you’re my penance. Do you want the message or not?”

  “Shoot.”

  Vinnie winced. “Thanks a lot, Miss Insensitive.”

  “Sorry,” she said. The ghost had died from an accidental shooting.

  “Okay, here goes.” He cleared his throat. “You stand on a precipice. Choose carefully, yadda yadda yadda.”

  “Yadda yadda yadda? That’s my message?”

  “No, that’s the part I forgot. I’m not a damn postman.” He drew on the cigarette.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “So why are you here? You’re not… Are you part of the astral… police?”

  Vinnie spit out his cigarette, laughing. “Asstral police! ASStral?! Where do you dames come up with this stuff?” He pointed. “Hey, look over there!”

  Riga turned, saw only rolling fog.

  “It’s an ASStral! Get it? An ASStral!” He hooted.

  “Worst. Guardian angel. Ever.”

  “Aw, hell. You know I ain’t no angel. I was in the Navy.”

  “And your message is useless. You’re as bad as the fortune teller I just left.”

  He sobered. “You’re not going to listen to that old hag, are you?”

  “Why not? What do you know about her?”

  He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Don’t know nothing.”

  “You knew who I was talking about. Was she lying to me?”

  He took a step back. “Wouldn’t say lying.”

  “So what would you say?”

  He put his hat on, adjusting it carefully. “I guess she told the truth as she knows it.”

  “But?”

  “Uh…” He pointed. “Hey, it’s an asstral!”

  Reflexively, she turned to look. When she turned back, he was gone.

  “Damn it! Vinnie, get back here!”

  The fog thickened, coiling around her waist.

  “Coward!” What wasn’t he telling her?

  A tug at her solar plexus and she was flying. The bridge receded to orange specks, disappeared in a sea of white.

  Pain.

  Cold.

  More pain. Women’s voices.

  Riga opened her eyes. She sat against a tree. Someone had wrapped a plaid blanket around her, but the cold had soaked through her slacks, gripped her back muscles in a vise. She groaned, and rolled onto her elbow.

  “No, that doesn’t work,” a woman said.

  “What if you grabbed it this way?” a familiar voice asked.

  Riga squinted. A flashlight lay tilted against a pine, making shadow canyons of the rough bark, backlighting two figures. “Pen?”

  “You’re awake!” Pen picked up the flashlight and stumbled through the snow to her. The ankles of her cargo pants were crusted with white, and she wore a black parka zipped to her chin.

  “What are you doing here?” Riga staggered to her feet, clutching the blanket. “Where’s Ash?”

  “Afreen called me. And I ditched him.”

  “Ditched him how?”

  “Climbed out the window.”
/>
  “Dammit, Pen…”

  “Afreen asked me to come alone!”

  “And so you did. Brilliant.”

  “Thanks,” Pen said, oblivious to the subtext.

  Afreen stood behind Pen, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. The hem of a pink tunic fluttered beneath Afreen’s white parka and she carried a bare, hefty-looking pine branch in one hand. A dark scratch marred her face, where Riga had clawed it with the barrel of her shotgun. “I couldn’t drag you to your car by myself,” Afreen said. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

  Riga brushed the snow from her butt. “And what were you doing here?”

  “Following you.” Afreen colored.

  Riga narrowed her eyes. “I see. Does your father know?”

  “No! You can’t tell him!”

  Riga turned, and found her leather satchel and flashlight, picked them up. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty. Why?”

  Old enough to make trouble without asking permission then. “Why were you following me?”

  “I heard you talking to my Dad on the phone about Barbara Yaganovich. And since she was a borderline dark magician, and you’re… I thought I should see what happened.”

  “And what did you see?” She slung the satchel over one shoulder.

  Afreen shuddered. “The wolves. I saw them attack you.” The words came in a rush. “I didn’t know what to do, so I started to go for help, but they saw me, and then they… They… I didn’t think there were wolves in Tahoe.” Her voice shook with remembered fear.

  “There aren’t.” Coyotes, bears, the occasional mountain lion, maybe. And now, ghouls. “Did you see who drove them off?”

  Afreen’s eyes widened. “You did. They were around you and then there was this blue electricity that seemed to come from you and then zat! They were just gone. What did you do?”

  Good question. Last Riga had checked, her spell was failing. She was failing. “Let’s get out of here before any more… wolves show up.” Had Barbara sent them? Or were they another gift from the black lodge?

  Pen hurried beside her. “What do you think? Are you getting your magic back? Afreen said your spell was smoking.”

  “Let’s get back to the cars,” Riga said repressively. She glanced sidelong at Afreen. A magical compliment from a hunter wasn’t necessarily a good thing, but at least Afreen hadn’t seen what had really attacked them.

  The girl propped the branch on her shoulder.

  “Is that the only weapon you brought?” Riga asked.

  “What, this?” Afreen tossed the dead branch beneath a pine. “We were just trying to figure out that gun takeaway you used on me.”

  Riga glared at her niece. The little traitor. She’d known Riga had taken a gun away from Afreen, and still they were friends? “Don’t get rid of it. We’re not out of the woods yet.” She sighed. “No cliché intended.”

  “Oh.” Afreen hurried back to the tree, and grabbed the branch.

  “I’ve got bear spray,” Pen volunteered.

  “Keep it handy,” Riga said. “Afreen, what do you know about Barbara Yaganovich?”

  The girl hurried to catch up, huffing. “I heard she couldn’t handle the dark magic and went crazy. Most of the dark magicians do. Go nuts, I mean. That’s why hunting lodges exist – to deal with the dark ones when the police can’t. But Barbara kept to herself, didn’t seem to hurt anyone, so none of the hunters bothered with her.”

  How kind of them. “What else?” Riga asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “And the local black lodge? How have you been ‘dealing’ with them?”

  “We’ve been watching Vasily. And they’re not local,” Afreen said. “Black lodges are like online discussion groups. The members could be anywhere.”

  Riga’s lips crooked. “But they use the astral instead of the Internet?”

  “No, they probably just use the Internet. It’s less work.”

  “So tell me about this black lodge,” Riga said.

  “I think you know more than we do. Dad was really upset when you told him about the human trafficking. He’s afraid…” Afreen bit her lip.

  “Afraid of what?” Riga asked.

  Afreen looked into the forest. “Just afraid. Did you hear something?”

  Riga stopped, extended her senses. Pines, their sap slowed by winter, cool and old and at rest. Animals rustling. The stones, waiting. “We’re clear.” She continued down the path.

  Mr. Gupta didn’t seem the type to be “just afraid.” The trafficking enraged and disgusted her, but had shaken him. Why?

  Chapter 24

  Riga knocked on the burnished door to Annabelle and Jordan’s suite. The lighting in the hallway was low, discreet, the floors made of hardwood, and lined with narrow, southwestern-style rugs. Alpine oil paintings hung on the walls. In nooks, tables displayed local art. This was the floor for high rollers.

  Jordan opened the door in a plaid shirt and jeans. He ran a thick hand through his hair, failing to muss the indentation where his hat had sat.

  “Hello, Riga. Come in.” He stepped back, holding the door wide.

  Riga walked into the foyer. A rustic iron chandelier hung from it, its light dancing off a round table with a high floral arrangement.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Is Annabelle here?”

  “Riga!” Annabelle strode into the room, a bottle of water in one hand, her face glistening with sweat. She unzipped her pink yoga jacket with her free hand. “I’m so glad you stopped in,” she said, fanning herself. “I just finished my workout.”

  “Then I’ve caught you at a bad time,” Riga said, “but I needed to speak with you.”

  “There’s never a bad time for visitors. Sit down!” Annabelle walked into the living area, her ponytail bouncing, and Riga and Jordan followed. The singer sat on a low chaise lounge and pulled the soft, beige-colored blanket from its back and across her lap. The window behind her overlooked the lake, black except for a shimmering trail of moonlight. “How are you doing, honey? What a terrible thing to happen. Poor Madison. How’s Briian doing?”

  “Not sure.” Riga sat on the ottoman before the singer, and let her leather satchel slide to the oriental carpet.

  Annabelle leaned forward and patted Riga’s hand. “I just am so sorry about all this – for poor Madison and everyone who cared about her. What a terrible thing.”

  “I’m afraid it gets worse,” Riga said. “There’s something I need to know.”

  “What?” Anabelle asked.

  “Was Cam Mitchell blackmailing you?”

  Anabelle touched the base of her neck, and the square diamond on her hand glittered in the light from overhead. She shook her head. “Blackmailing?”

  “Cam had some photos of you on a memory stick.”

  Jordan’s face went white, then suffused with red. “Goddammit! That son of a bitch!”

  Annabelle blanched. “Jordan! Don’t… I don’t understand. What photos?”

  Jordan moved between the two women, forcing Riga to slide backward on the ottoman. “Never mind, Annabelle. It’s not important.”

  The singer stood. “Don’t tell me to never mind. What is she talking about?”

  Jordan looked over his shoulder at Riga, shot her a pained look. “Nothing. It’s just a mistake.”

  Annabelle put her hands on her hips. “How do you know it’s a mistake? Riga hasn’t even explained what she’s talking about yet, but you seem to know all about it! What are you keeping from me?”

  He rubbed his hands across his broad face.

  Annabelle stepped around him. “Riga. Finish what you were going to say.”

  “Cam had photos of you in… compromising positions.”

  “Compro… Stoned out of my mind, you mean?”

  Riga nodded.

  “That used to happen quite a bit,” Annabelle said. “I was a red hot mess. Still am, in fact, but getting better. I don’t know what was in those pictures, and don’t much care. If the tabloids ge
t ahold of them, then I guess I’ll manage.”

  Jordan put a hand on her shoulder. “Honey, you don’t need to explain anything. I said I’d take care of it, and—”

  “Stop taking care of things! This is my problem, Jordan.”

  “Well, since we’re married, I think it’s ours.”

  Annabelle shrugged him off. “Jordan, I love you. But you can’t… fix me!”

  “I wasn’t trying to fix you, I was trying to protect you,” he said.

  “But I don’t want you to. I have to deal with my addiction. Me! I love you and appreciate your support – God knows I don’t deserve it. But in the end, the only one who can make my life is me. And that means dealing with the consequences. What do you know about these photos, Jordan?”

  “A photographer came to me,” Jordan said. “He had pictures of you, threatened to send them to the tabloids. He wanted money. I paid him.”

  Annabelle made an angry noise.

  “I paid him,” Jordan said loudly. “And then he came back for more. Cam knew the guy, and agreed to help me. He got inside his studio, found the pictures, and erased every damn drive the S.O.B. had.”

  “So why did Cam bring the photos here?” Riga asked.

  “When the photographer first came to me, he only showed me two of the pictures. I could see there were other people in the room where it… happened. But I couldn’t see who they were. I wanted to know if there were other people I’d have to deal with. Cam was going to give me the drive, but he skipped out, kept avoiding me. I figured he’d changed his mind, decided he was going to try to use it against us, too.”

  Riga put her head in her hands. Cam had been avoiding Jordan for the same reason he’d been avoiding Riga – Cam wasn’t Cam anymore. On the positive side, Donovan had managed to fool them with his Cam impersonation – no one seemed to suspect he was among the undead.

  “Paying a blackmailer!? Jordan McCall, sometimes I think you don’t have a grain of sense!” Annabelle pushed past him and stormed out of the room. A door slammed.

  Jordan’s shoulders slumped.