An older, hawk-faced woman stooped over Riga, clasping her shoulder. Her eyes, feral and bottomless, glinted red in the light. She was gaunt, pale, dressed in tight black pants and a furry jacket, and beneath that a red, embroidered vest, and ivory-colored blouse. A long silver braid hung down her back, tied with a leather strip. “All right then?” She clapped Riga on the back.
Riga felt a surge of relief. “Aunt Livinia!” A ghoul loped toward her, and Riga cried out. “Behind you!”
Her aunt’s arm blurred. A blade flashed, a bright flame, and the ghoul’s head rolled to a stop at Riga’s feet. The ghoul’s body collapsed in upon itself.
“The neck is their weakest point.” Another blur, and Livinia was gone. Her aunt attacked a trio of ghouls, and more body parts flew.
What. The. Hell. Her aunt Livinia was… She shook her head, stopped trying to make sense of things.
Shadows swarmed down the hillside, threatening to engulf Riga’s other aunts at the edge of the woods. Riga lurched toward them, pulled from the above and below. Her aunt Livinia was here, her aunts were three again, and Donovan would be restored. She felt a burst of confidence, felt the energies flow through her, spoke a word.
A ghoul knocked her sideways and she was rolling, cursing. Something wet and burning lashed her shoulder. Skeletal hands flipped her on her back and the ghoul was atop her. Dammit, she was not going to be trapped fighting on the ground again. She posted one arm, driving the other up into its neck, digging her fingers into its eye sockets. The skin on her fingers burned but she held on, wiggled onto one hip, twisted, brought her knee to her elbow and hooked her leg around the thing’s head, prying its skull backward. A sickening crunch, and the head popped off, rolled. The bag of bones and ectoplasm and rotting flesh collapsed, disintegrated. A wave of desiccation flowed outward and she gagged.
Swallowing her bile, she rolled to her feet.
Livinia’s blade flashed, cut through one of the ghouls and the creature collapsed. Damn, her aunt was good. And in spite of her fear, her anger, Riga ran toward her. A ghoul popped up, blocked her. Riga didn’t think, and clothes-lined it. The ghoul’s head went flying. She didn’t watch to see what happened next, leaped inside the ring of salt Livinia had poured. Heart hammering, she took up a position, back to back with her aunt.
Peregrine and Dot had vanished beneath a mountain of shadows. Sparks laced through it, lightning in a roiling cloud. More shadows and ghouls poured down the mountain, through the trees, over the roofs of the buildings.
Livinia panted. “Nice combat skills you’ve got. You’ll need your magic, though. There are too many for hand-to-hand, and I’m getting tired. Reach for it, Riga.” With a flick of her wrist, she sent a throwing star spinning into a ghoul’s neck. It gagged, brushed it aside, tearing the rotting flesh.
Riga groped in her bag, and pulled out a vial of holy water, yanked the cork free. “I don’t know how.” Her breath was quick, light. “I’ve tried using my own blood for the magic, but it doesn’t work, makes me sick.” She splattered a ghoul with the water and it clawed at its eyes, smoking and shrieking.
“You’ve tried to be like my sisters, you mean.” Livinia’s canines lengthened. “You’re not like them. Neither am I.”
Shadows swirled around the salt circle, testing it.
“Forget blood,” Livinia said. “Call Her. She’s in you, Riga. She’s beyond blood. You’re in the circle, you’re safe. Get focused. My sisters are alive, for now, don’t think about them. But we need you to bring your magic.” Her voice grew edged. “Focus.”
Riga thought on the archetype, Hecate.
Goddess of the moon, the underworld, the crossroads, magic, ghosts, necromancy.
“There are many roads within necromancy.” Another throwing star materialized between Livinia’s fingertips. “I had to find my own path.”
The crossroads. An intersection.
Shadows swirled around them, their breeze stirring her hair. Grains of salt shifted, blew across the circle.
No, she realized. The in-between. What had Barbara said? To reach Hecate she had to reach inside, reach the in-between? Was that what she’d tapped into in the clearing yesterday? To draw from the above and below, she used a visualization. But how to visualize the in-between?
“Sooner rather than later.” Livinia’s voice was strained.
She closed her eyes. The in-between was everywhere, and nowhere, but to find her own in-between she’d gone inside. She imagined streams of black, ghostly, luminescent, pulled them from her naval center, felt them fill her. Her hair whipped around her head. The electrical spell. She attached it to a word. Hot and cold rippled from her crown to her toes. A roaring. Behind her eyelids, she saw a surge of white light.
The doors slid shut.
Silence.
“Nice timing,” Livinia said.
Riga opened her eyes.
Livinia sheathed her blade, tucked it between her belt and her vest. “I knew you could do it,” she shouted over the wail of nearby sirens. “Seems like an awful lot of fuss though. Someone conjured these creatures, and that took a lot of magic. I wonder why we’re so important?”
“It’s a long story.” Riga laughed shakily. Livinia was here. Donovan would be okay.
Dot and Peregrine trudged toward them, brushing something sludge-like from their clothing. Peregrine waved, clutched her arm. Livinia waved back.
“So.” Livinia turned to Riga. “Shall we put your fiancée back where he belongs?”
A shot cracked.
Livinia stumbled.
Riga grabbed her, sagged beneath her weight. Together, they sank to the ground.
Dot shouted.
Peregrine darted into the woods, light pouring from her hands.
Blood. Warm, sticky. It flowed from Livinia’s chest, through Riga’s fingers.
God, no. Not Livinia. Riga’s vision blurred. She applied pressure to the wound, tried to think, to bring order to the chaos.
Okay. They had to move. The shooter was still out there. “Livinia, can you move? We have to get to shelter.”
Livinia coughed, spraying blood.
Of course her aunt couldn’t move. Riga was panicking, not thinking clearly. She looked around. A Volvo was parked on the street, between her and the back of a dry cleaners.
Dot fell to her knees beside them. “Livinia? Is it bad?”
“The shooter’s still out there.” Riga’s voice shook. “We have to move. Help me carry her behind that car.”
Dot took her sister’s feet, and they half pulled, half dragged her behind the Volvo.
“It doesn’t matter.” Dot came to kneel beside her sister, stroked her graying hair. “Peregrine will get him. Oh, Livinia. Why?”
“I had to know,” Livinia said weakly.
“It doesn’t matter now,” Dot said. “None of it matters.”
“It matters.” Livinia gasped, and her body relaxed. Her eyes gazed sightlessly upward. The color drained from her body, her flesh shriveled. Livinia turned to dust.
Riga stared without seeing the crumpled clothes, the bits of bone.
Dot burst into tears.
Peregrine came to stand beside them. “Where…?” She stared at the dust, comprehending. “Oh.”
Dot sobbed.
Peregrine lowered her head. “Whoever shot her, was helping to control the ghouls and shadows, is gone.” She looked up, her eyes glistening. “At the end, Livinia really was more vampire than human.”
“It doesn’t matter!” Dot cried.
Peregrine wiped her cheek with the back of her palm. “No,” she said gruffly. “I guess it doesn’t.”
“Peregrine. Dot. I’m… so sorry,” Riga said, her voice thick. Her mind revolted. Her aunt Livinia – a vampire? – gone. Grief choked her – for her aunt, for Donovan.
“Not your fault.” Peregrine gathered up Livinia’s clothing. Ash poured from it, ghosted down the dark street.
“We’ve always been three.” Dot picked up Livinia�
��s knife, clasped it to her chest. She hiccupped. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“I know,” Peregrine said. “I thought she’d be the last of us, what with the vampirism.”
“We should go,” Riga choked out. “The police may come to investigate that shot.” The alley was strewn with remnants of ghoul, and she still had the contents of that safe in her bag. She didn’t know how she could explain either to the police.
Dot wept quietly as they made their way back to the SUV. Peregrine’s lips clamped firmly together, and she kept one arm beneath her sister’s elbow, supporting her.
In the SUV, Riga paused, rested her head on the wheel.
Livinia was gone. They’d lost.
Chapter 27
Riga poured three snifters of brandy from the bar in the penthouse library. Dot huddled on a leather couch facing the fire, its embers burning low. Her sister stood at the window, and watched the morning sky turn to steel. Wordlessly, Riga handed them glasses.
Riga had taken them back to their hotel rooms. But once the bandages had been applied, none of them wanted to sleep, to be alone. They’d retreated to the safety of the penthouse.
Peregrine raised hers in a toast. “To Livinia. She always said she wanted to go out fighting. And to a life well-lived.”
Donovan’s father walked into the study, knotting his tie. “A bit early for a drink, isn’t it? And why are you three dressed like cat burglars?”
Riga looked at the floor, tried to speak, couldn’t. She felt as if someone had carved out her insides. Empty.
He stopped, let the tie hang, unknotted. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“Aunt Livinia,” Riga said. “We were attacked. She was killed.”
He rocked back on his heels. “My God. I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to feel sorry for.” Dot’s voice cracked. “This was our fault, from first to last. Livinia warned us against testing Donovan, that your son’s magic might have unpredictable side effects. I doubt even the black lodge knew what the result of their interference would be.”
Mr. Mosse took a quick step toward them. “Test my son?”
“Test Donovan?” Riga froze. “What are you talking about?”
Dot put her head in her hands. “He has magic. He’s more than a medium. We were suspicious of his pursuit of you, wanted to understand him better.”
Carefully, Riga put her brandy down on a polished end table. “And that’s why you talked him into trying to bring his father back? To see how his magic would work?” Her fists curled, nails biting into her palms.
“We thought we could manage it,” Dot said, “but then the black lodge felt our magic and intervened. Who could have anticipated the results?”
Riga breathed noisily. “You two—”
Mr. Mosse put a hand on her arm. “Wait, Riga. There’s a bigger issue here. Why is a black lodge – this occult fraternity – watching you? Or my son?”
“Your son, we’re afraid,” Peregrine said.
“It’s Gregorovich,” Riga said. “He supports the lodge financially and they’re helping him with… me.”
“By getting my son out of the way,” Mr. Mosse finished.
“I think so. Vasily believes I’m… I don’t know what he thinks.” Riga jammed her hands in her pockets. “But the bigger issue is really how do we put Donovan back in his own body?”
A log collapsed in the fireplace, sending up showers of sparks.
“We’ll figure it out.” Peregrine shoved the sleeves of her black turtleneck up to her elbows.
“You told us you needed Livinia for the spell,” Riga said.
Her aunts looked at each other.
“Is it true or not?” Riga asked.
Slowly, Dot said, “To put things back the way they were, Mr. Mosse would have to leave Donovan’s body. And the thing is, Mr. Mosse is alive now. As necromancers, we have no power to make him leave.”
Peregrine nodded. “And as to you, Riga, we felt your magic tonight. Your spell was… remarkable. But it’s not necromancy – not as we understand it, at least.”
Dot shook her head. “You were right all along, Riga. You’re no necromancer. I don’t know what you are.”
“We’d hoped that if Livinia didn’t return in time, once you found your powers, so to speak, you could help us with the spell to bring Donovan back,” Peregrine said. “But you’re not one of us. You can’t help us restore Donovan and his father to the way they were.”
Riga’s lips tightened. She was going to get Donovan back, because she had to, period. “I don’t think they should be put back the way they were.” Riga regarded Mr. Mosse beadily. “But I can fix this.”
He gave a start. “What? How?”
She smiled. “My magic may not be necromancy, but I still know a trick or two. Peregrine, Dot – you figure out how to get Donovan back when the time comes.” Riga upended her satchel on the coffee table, and pulled a pair of hospital gloves from her rear pocket. “Now let’s find what Vasily’s been trying to hide.”
Riga tugged the gloves on, snapping them at her wrists, and sorted her loot into piles. One: stuff to give back (how, she had no idea). The other pile, Vasily. The Vasily stack was short – some deeds and an external computer drive.
She handed a pair of gloves to Donovan’s father, pushed the deeds across the table. “What do you make of these?”
Pursing his lips, he pulled the gloves on, flipped through the papers.
Riga went to Donovan’s laptop computer, open upon his desk, and connected the drive. “Hell.”
Dot tottered to her side. “What’s wrong, dear?”
“The drive is password protected. Peregrine, I don’t suppose you could hack into it?”
Peregrine cracked her knuckles. “Let me take a look.”
An hour later, she raked her fingers through her silvering hair. “We need the password.”
Donovan’s father dropped the pile of deeds on the desk beside Peregrine. “The only question I have about these deeds is why they were kept in a hidden safe.”
Riga rubbed her eyes. They felt sticky, grainy. She needed sleep. They all did. She yawned. “Okay. I’ll work on the password. Peregrine, Dot, you two work on the spell to get Donovan back in his body. Mr. Mosse, I need your help with these deeds.”
He smoothed the front of his black suit jacket. “Of course. Though I’m not sure what I can do.”
“Let’s go to your office – you’re expected there soon, aren’t you?”
He checked his watch. “Yes, I’ve got an appointment in forty minutes, and my secretary needs to brief me beforehand.”
She steered him out the door. “They’re called personal assistants these days, and I’m sure she won’t need the full forty.”
They took the elevator down to Donovan’s office. Ignoring the pink streamers of sunrise, the lake in the window beside her, Riga sat in the leather lounge chair. She kicked her feet onto the footstool.
He regarded her askance, and sat behind his massive desk. “What are you up to, Riga?”
She picked up a glass paperweight, angled it in the sunlight, watched the colors change. “We’ve… I’ve been so busy putting out fires, that we haven’t had much chance to talk. How are you doing?”
“I’m worried about Donovan.”
She put the paperweight down. “And the casino.”
“Yes.”
A beat passed. Two.
“You seem to have settled in well,” she said.
He leaned back in his chair, interlacing his broad hands across his stomach. “The technology has changed, but the principles of running a casino remain the same. My son’s assistant has been a help.”
“I’m sure. And Reuben?”
“He knows the operations,” he said cautiously.
She smiled. “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“No reason.” She rose. “I need to talk to Donovan.”
“Ah.” H
e picked a pen off his desk, uncapped it, capped it. “That’s a bit awkward. As far as the world is concerned, Terry is his wife, not you. Your last visit made the lawyer suspicious.”
“Tell her I’m his private investigator.”
He raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Will she believe it? Are women private investigators now?”
“Surely you noticed the female police officers at the station? She’ll believe it.”
“Then I’ll see what I can do.”
“Have you seen your son since he’s been in jail?”
“Yes.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“Of course. We didn’t just stare at each other in silence.”
Riga gnawed the inside of her cheek. Donovan’s childhood wasn’t her story to tell. But she had a sense that this was part of the unresolved business that kept his father here. “Do you know what happened to Donovan? After you died?”
He gestured toward the room. “Clearly, he did fine without me.” His voice held a trace of bitterness.
“You should ask him,” she said. “Can you see him today?”
“I was planning on it.”
“Good. Will you ask him?”
He nodded. “If you think it’s important.”
“I do.” She went to the door, paused, turned, and pressed her back to the door, hand on the knob. “I met your wife briefly. She was lovely.”
He looked down at his desk. “Yes. She was special.”
“Why didn’t you join her when she crossed?”
One corner of his mouth turned up. “That’s the nice thing about eternity – on the other side, there’s all the time you want. I’ll be with her soon enough.”
“She stayed because of Donovan. Why did you?”
“The same.”
“Are you sure?”
“What are you getting at?”
“The only way Donovan is going to get his body back is if you cross over. Examine your motives. They may not be what you think.”
Quickly, he stood, legs planted wide, his chair rolling into the bookcase. “I’ll do anything to get him back where he belongs.”
4 The Infernal Detective Page 21