by Naomi Clark
I thought she was probably thinking the same thing, because her
sympathetic cop face slipped. “There is no evidence to connect Rhian’s…lover to her murder, Mr. Baxter.”
“Then why aren’t you out on the streets looking for the bastard who did kill her?” He slammed his hands down on the table, and glared at me. “I want proof she had an affair. I’m not paying you a penny until you prove to me she cheated.”
I frowned at him, wondering if I wanted his money that badly. Nothing good would ever come of bringing Baxter and Moss together. The incubus would break him, plain and simple. “Listen man, I get how horrible this is for you. I really do.” I aimed a pointed look at Anna. I wasn’t heartless. “You’re not going to gain anything this way. Wouldn’t you rather remember Rhian as you knew her? Why chase down ugly facts that won’t help you?”
“Don’t discourage him,” the Voice scolded me. “His pain is so sweet. Keep him hanging on.”
I shifted uneasily in my seat. I hated myself for it, but the Voice’s happiness over Baxter’s misery made me…calmer. For the first time since the exorcism, I felt okay. Not happy, but okay. Like I wasn’t about to hit Baxter with my bottle, and then cut my throat with the glass shards.
Baxter stared at me with hatred in his eyes, and the Voice sucked that up too. “Have you ever been in love, Mr. Banning?” he asked me.
His patronizing tone hurt my teeth. “I had a hamster once that I was pretty close to.”
He ignored me. Probably for the best. He shot Anna a scornful look, finished his beer, and stormed away without a word. I guess I wasn’t getting paid tonight after all. How the hell am I supposed to pay for my protein shakes now?
“That was a waste of time,” Anna sighed.
“I don’t know why you even came,” I grumbled at her. “What did you get out of that, exactly?”
She sat back, shaking her head. “I don’t know, to be honest.” She ran her fingers around the rim of her glass, and I watched the motion, fascinated. She had long fingers, slender and ring-free. “Since last night at Hush, I feel like I’ve lost my way with this case, Ethan. I don’t know where to go next. I feel...foggy.”
Moss’s influence? I wondered.
“She’s susceptible to demonic influence,” the Voice told me. “Not everyone is. Worth knowing.”
Yeah, definitely worth knowing. “Don’t get down, Anna,” I told her. “You probably just need a decent night’s sleep and a spa day.”
She offered me a wan smile. “Chance would be a fine thing.” She finished her lemonade and stood. “Let’s go. This was a waste of time.”
I followed her out, hating how despondent she sounded. Anna was supposed to be all-action, all-authority. This downcast Anna was all wrong. To me, anyway—the Voice loved how miserable she felt.
“She’s pining for the incubus! How terribly sweet.”
I really hoped that wasn’t true. If Anna ended up like Rhian...I shoved that thought away. She wouldn’t. She hadn’t slept with Moss, after all, hadn’t even kissed him, as far as I knew. She’d be fine. She had to be.
* * * *
Back home, I crashed on the sofa with Mutt and fired up my laptop. I felt kind of dumb googling “local witches”, but no more than I had throwing myself into Crane’s baptismal pool. I found a lot of flashy websites for palmists and tarot readers, people who could put me in touch with my departed loved ones, people who could sell me love potions, good luck charms, and people who could help me stop smoking. I found a lot of fishy psychics and wannabe Wiccans out there, and they all had websites promising me whatever my heart desired for a low, low price.
I didn’t really believe any of them, any more than I believed buying a funky vegetable slicer would make me eat mountains and mountains of coleslaw. I was no expert in the occult, but I had a feeling genuine witches didn’t bother putting sparkly purple unicorns on their websites.
I was about to give up for the night when I stumbled across a site I did like, plain and simple, just the facts, and not a unicorn in sight.
It was a single page, all done in professional blue and gray tones. “Salome Giovanni, tarot readings, palm readings, and arcane knowledge,” the site headline proclaimed. There was no photo of Miss Giovanni, whose real name was probably Martha or Ethel, or whatever, but there was a phone number and an email address. I figured she’d probably be out collecting owls’ beaks under the full moon right now, so I fired off an email asking to make an appointment as soon as possible.
“It’s never going to work,” I told Mutt, who regarded me with wide-eyed interest. “She’ll probably give me a shot of newt sperm and send me on my way.”
“Nothing you do will work,” the Voice reminded me gleefully. “Nothing but death will rid you of me.”
Yeah, I was getting that. Feeling as gloomy as Anna had looked in the Coburg, I went to bed. I hadn’t actually slept in my bed all week, and I hesitated before climbing in tonight, thinking of my nightmare about Anna again. I went to the top of the stairs and whistled for Mutt, who obligingly bounded up to share the bed with me.
“You realize you’re the first person I’ve ever shared this bed with,” I told him as we bunked down on top of the duvet. It was too hot and sticky to even think about getting under the covers. “Technically you’re not even a person. How sad is that?”
Mutt licked my nose, the closest I had come to a kiss in the past year or so too. I’d take it. Dogs were uncomplicated, if nothing else.
* * * *
I guess Baxter’s anger and Anna’s misery had filled the Voice, because I didn’t dream that night. In fact, I woke up feeling pretty okay about life. Which made me feel pretty paranoid, because it meant something was probably going to go horribly wrong.
Shrugging it off, I shuffled downstairs to see what food I had in the house besides dog food. I managed to rustle up a piece of toast and some coffee, while Mutt chowed down on his breakfast, which looked much more appetizing. I reflected that I really had to chase Baxter for payment or I’d starve to death. I had no job lined up after this one and no clients beating down my door. I probably should have gone to college and got myself a back-up career. Mom always wanted me to be a plumber. Plumbers never went hungry, apparently.
I checked my emails while I ate, and discovered that Salome Giovanni had a gap in her schedule this afternoon. Great, so did I. An afternoon-long gap, in fact. I fired back an email to confirm the appointment, wondering if I was doomed to another Overture Church performance.
I was surprised to see an email inquiring about a job. I scanned the details quickly–suspected cheating spouse, unexplained late nights, and suspicious receipts, that kind of thing. The woman sounded upset and uncertain, from what I could pick up through the email, which tugged at my heartstrings a little. I called her and arranged an initial consultation for Monday. That gave me some time to chase Baxter for my fee and hopefully tie off any loose ends from his case.
I mean, I’m pretty much done, aren’t I? Okay, so Baxter didn’t like the facts I’d found for him, but he couldn’t deny I’d done the job he’d hired me for. Whilst the police hadn’t found Rhian’s killer yet, that was their affair, not mine. Anna hadn’t officially brought me into the case; I just tagged along. I could call it closed now, I figured. Sure I can.
Except...
“It doesn’t feel over,” I told Mutt, who’d come to sit on the sofa with me. “You know, I just feel like there’s still work to be done.”
I couldn’t put my finger on it. I didn’t have much interest in confronting a kidney-stealing prostitute killer, so it wasn’t that. I guess it was the Tamsin Searle thing. She was involved somewhere and I hadn’t figured out how yet. It bothered me, and I wasn’t sure what I could do about it.
So I did nothing, just flicked through the TV channels like usual, until it was time to go v
isit Salome Giovanni.
“You’re wasting your time,” the Voice told me as Mutt and I left the house. “Nothing is going to work except suicide, and you’re too cowardly to take that route.”
I wasn’t so sure. If the Voice pushed me hard enough, if I became a danger to Anna–or anyone else–and I saw no other way out...
“I’ll push,” the demon promised me. “I’ll push until you break.”
I didn’t doubt it.
* * * *
Salome’s place matched her website, nothing showy, nothing flashy or overtly mystical. She had a rented office space in a building at the edge of town, a quiet neighborhood, neatly-kept and lined with saplings. It was nice. Bland, but nice. Not the kind of place I expected to find a practicing witch.
The building wasn’t air-conditioned, and sweat dripped down my back as I hauled my ass up the stairs to Salome’s third floor office. I’d left Mutt in the car, with the air-con running high, and I suspected he was having a much nicer time than me. By the time I reached her office, I felt exhausted.
I took a moment to assess the place before going in. All the offices looked to be small businesses–solicitors, computer repairs, that kind of thing. The doors all had frosted-glass panes with the business name printed on the glass in bold gold lettering. Classy. I wondered if I’d get more business if I had an office.
Probably not. I’d probably have to wear a suit too. I didn’t become a PI so I could struggle to put on a tie every morning.
I rapped on Salome’s door, pushed it open and peered around the office. A huge painting of a naked woman cavorting with a snake over the desk kind of distracted me, or I might have noticed the real woman first.
Tamsin Searle.
I couldn’t mistake her–she looked just like she did in the photo of her and Rhian, all sultry good looks and killer curves. I spent a second just staring at her, trying to get my head around her presence. She stared back with a slight frown on her lips. “Are you Mr. Banning?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said slowly, trying to figure out how to proceed. I mean, it wasn’t like she’d done anything wrong, apart from not being at home. On the other hand, said home was the sight of at least one murder. Anna would definitely want to speak to her. Hell, I’d want to speak to her too, if I hadn’t decided to take Baxter’s money and run.
I decided the best course of action for now was to sit down. The seat was soft red leather, same as the one Salome/Tamsin sat in. She smiled at me like I was some odd-but-cute animal she found in her garden. “May I call you Ethan?”
Her voice was soft and silky, like a sex-phone girl. She’d make Moss a very happy incubus, I suspected.
“Yeah, Ethan is fine.” I shook her hand, noting the long, witchy black nails, the only obviously witchy thing about her. She wore a conservative gray suit with a navy blouse with simple, silver jewelry. She looked...normal.
“She’s not,” the Voice warned me. “Don’t trust her. She’s…unusual.”
Not too helpful, really. “So, you’re Salome,” I said, trying to fill the awkward silence I’d created with my private dicking.
She nodded. “Your email was rather vague, Ethan. Maybe we can start by discussing what you need from me.”
“Yeah.” I tapped my nails on the desk, recalling how Crane reacted when I told him about the Voice, before we wrecked up his church and gave him real proof. “So, Salome, where do you stand on demonic possession?”
A few emotions flickered across her face, first surprise, then interest, and then caution. Then she went blank, beautiful face smooth and empty. “I’ve done some demonology work in the past, but it’s not my specialty. I’ve never met anyone who’s genuinely been possessed,” she replied. “Most people who claim to be possessed are actually mentally ill.”
I wish. If I could solve my problems by knocking back antipsychotics, I’d be …well, just like my dad, I guess. “I’m not mentally ill,” I assured her. “This is real demonic possession. You know, head-spinning, bed-levitating, and all that shit. Not that any of that has happened yet, but I’m expecting it any day.”
“Don’t tell her anything,” the Voice spat at me. “She can’t be trusted.”
Not like you then, I thought sourly. I watched Tamsin, trying to figure out her reaction. She nodded as I spoke, like she soaked it all up, looking more like a therapist than a witch. Her face was still blank, but I saw a quality to the emptiness, as dumb as that sounds. Like she focused really hard on not giving anything away.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened? How you ended up here?” she suggested.
I did, all the while fighting to block out the Voice, who screamed at me to shut up and tell her nothing. It worried me how adamant the demon was. I knew there was something fishy about Tamsin–that much was obvious. I was pretty sure she was a genuine witch with actual powers of some kind, not one of the sparkly unicorn types. Maybe the Voice was only so freaked out because she did have actual powers–she might be a real threat to the demon. I hoped so, anyway.
As I talked, I noticed Tamsin’s blank mask slipping. That keen interest was back, coupled with something I could only call calculating. Now that had me paying a bit more attention to the Voice.
“What you’re describing doesn’t sound like possession, exactly,” she told me, jotting notes down on the pad in front of her. “It sounds more like a bond–symbiosis. After all, if you’re correct in saying the demon was largely drawn out of you, then what’s left isn’t so much the demon itself as demonic essence.”
“I don’t see much difference, personally,” I told her. “Either way, I’ve got a shitty little demon inside me that I want to get rid of. The technical terms don’t matter.”
“Not to you, maybe.” Tamsin set her pen down and laced her fingers together, regarding me with that calculating look, not bothering to hide it anymore. “But there’s a very big difference between having an actual demonic entity inside you and just having a psychic remnant of one, and it affects how we deal with this.”
I guessed I’d have to take her word for that. “How do we deal with this?”
“Well, we can’t do anything here,” she replied. “You’ll need to come to my working space so I can conduct a proper assessment and see how deeply infused the demonic entity is. I suspect I’ll end up referring you to a specialist, but I should be able to help you deal with some of the…side-effects you’ve described.”
“What, like a charm or a potion or something?” I asked. I had only the vaguest, Disney-esque idea of what witches did. I kind of hoped it involved some naked dancing, but judging by Tamsin’s serious expression, I wouldn’t be that lucky.
“I won’t know what will work best until we’ve done the consultation.” Once again that calculating look passed over her face. She was sizing me up for something. I shifted uneasily in my seat.
“How soon can we do that?” I asked.
“Now, if you like. My workspace isn’t far away. I can drive us straight over.”
No!” The Voice shrieked so loud my ears rang. I flinched and watched pure greed flash over Tamsin’s face. She obviously didn’t realize how transparent she was, or she thought I was too distracted to notice, maybe. Even if I hadn’t noticed, the Voice was doing the psychic equivalent of setting off fireworks in my head, making Tamsin’s hungry expression impossible to ignore.
“Bad intentions. You can’t trust a witch, especially not this one. She stinks of black magic.”
Does she now? Like the dark, bitter magic the Voice told me surrounded Rhian, I wondered. I leaned back in my seat, contemplating the witch in front of me. Of course the Voice would tell me not to trust her. She threatened it.
On the other hand, Tamsin and Rhian had an indisputable link between them. That means I have an obligation to investigate, right? Private dicking.
She waited fo
r an answer from me, tapping her claw-like nails impatiently on the desktop. She wanted me to come with her. That alone made me suspicious. Women usually wanted me to go away from them.
“Do you want to do this or not?” she asked.
“Kill her,” the Voice snapped. “Kill her before she destroys you.”
She cocked her eyebrow at me, letting me know the Voice had stolen my vocal chords. “I’m definitely going to be referring you to a specialist,” she said, rising from her chair.
I rose too, figuring I may as well go with her. Maybe she’d turn out to be perfectly innocent, unaware of the dead hooker the cops had pulled from her bath tub. “What kind of specialist?” I asked, letting her guide me out of the office. “You mean like a wizard, or what?”
She laughed, sounding smoky and seductive. “I mean a demonologist. There aren’t many around nowadays, but I know one or two.”
“There aren’t many around because people who mess with demons end up dead,” the Voice informed me with a chuckle. “If she knows demonologists, they’re fakes.”
“They’re not fakes,” Tamsin told me. “You know, your voice gets quite attractively husky when the demon uses it.”
I couldn’t think of an appropriate response to that, so I stayed quiet while we made our way downstairs. Outside, Mutt had his nose pressed against the car window, and his tail wagged manically when he saw me. I glanced at Tamsin, loitering by a battered black car. “I’ll follow you,” I told her. “Can’t leave the little guy out in this heat.”
She nodded and sauntered to her car. We set off at a crawl, apparently witches like to stay well under the speed limit for some arcane reason. As I followed, I debated my next move. Sure, Tamsin Searle/Salome Giovanni might be innocent. She might have nothing to do with Rhian’s death, or any of the other girls the cops had found. There was always that chance.