by Skye Knizley
Levac unfolded his notepad. “Doing what?”
“I was looking for a tomb buried in or around Chicago,” Davidson said.
“Rosemary Kerr,” Raven said.
Davidson took another sip. “Exactly. All Murph had was a name, taken from an old map.”
Raven rested a hip against the back of the sofa. “Why was he looking for this Kerr person?”
“I have no idea, but he was willing to pay top dollar if I found her,” Davidson replied.
“Was it information worth killing over?” Levac asked.
“Again, I don’t know. All Murph gave me was a name. He didn’t even know when she died,” Davidson said.
“Is there any other reason that Murphy might have been killed?” Raven asked.
“Dozens. He’s a thief, and not a bad one. He doesn’t steal from street people, he steals from the wealthy. The kind of people who can pay for someone to hunt him down if he took something valuable enough,” Davidson said.
Raven straightened and paced to the window that overlooked the street. A snow plow was busy pushing a pile of snow at a snail’s pace while spitting out sand in a futile effort to keep the streets clear. It was only a matter of time before the state declared an emergency and shut the roads down. She was surprised it hadn’t happened already, the roads were dangerously impassible for everyone without heavy tread and four wheel drive.
“That’s not exactly helpful, Mr. Davidson,” she said.
Davidson set his glass down and moved to the refrigerator, where he retrieved another beer. “I’m sorry, Agent Storm, it’s what I know. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a beer?”
“No, thank you. Have you found anything about this Rosemary Kerr person?”
“A little. I know she lived about two hundred years ago and I know she was burned as a witch, one of the last in this area,” Davidson said.
Levac frowned. “A witch? Is there any indication she had any real power?”
Davidson stopped pouring his beer. “There’s no such thing.”
“I’m guessing that’s a no,” Raven said. “How did you find when she died?”
“A lot of searching at the public library. Look, I doubt Murphy was killed over some old witch. There has to be another reason,” Davidson said. He raised his beer to the light and looked through the dark amber color. “Only decent thing ever to come out of St. Louis. Beer shouldn’t be yellow, Agent Storm.”
Raven turned and looked at him, letting her senses work. He believed what he was saying, but there was something else. He was nervous and Raven didn’t think it was because of them. He looked and smelled afraid.
“Mr. Davidson, what’s got you so shaken?”
“What do you mean?” Davidson asked.
“You’re nervous and you’re holding something back. Tell me,” Raven said.
Davidson sipped from his beer. “You’re feds. I’m on parole, what part of that don’t you get?”
Levac put his notebook away and took a step closer to Davidson. “Now you mention it, Mr. Davidson, you do seem on edge. Is there something you’re not telling us, sir?”
“I told you, just nervous. If you decide I’m in violation of my parole, I go back inside for a very long time. That’s not a prospect I look forward to,” Davidson said.
Raven didn’t believe him. He didn’t smell right, didn’t stand right, there was an air of nervousness and fear about him that was out of place. He’d been inside for two years and was big enough most inmates would avoid him just to avoid getting pulverized.
“Tell me about Rosemary Kerr,” she said at last.
“I did,” Davidson replied. “A crazy woman who was put to death as a witch two hundred years ago. Murph was looking for her, that’s all I know.”
He smelled of lies and Raven could hear the increase in his heartbeat when he spoke. He wasn’t afraid of going to jail, he was afraid of what he’d dug up. There was more to the story and it might have gotten Murphy killed.
“What else? What aren’t you telling us?”
Davidson studied his beer. “Nothing. Just let it go, Agent Storm.”
Levac shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir, we can’t and refusing to answer law enforcement questions is a parole violation, the very thing you’re trying to avoid. Help us help you, sir. What is it?”
“Just…rumors, and some strange things that have been happening since I took the job,” Davidson said.
“What strange things?” Levac asked.
Davidson sat and turned his beer glass in his hands. “Sounds in the night, creaking floorboards, feeling like I’m being watched.”
Raven moved closer to the table and tried not to look as impatient as she felt. She could smell that he was lying. “When did this start? When you found she was a witch?”
“No,” Davidson said. “When I found the old house.”
She didn’t know what made her start to turn. Some instinct or a flicker of motion caught from the corner of her eye, maybe. Whatever it was, she gasped and began to turn as the front windows exploded inward. She had just enough time to yell a warning before she was peppered with broken glass and snow with such force that she was thrown across the room. When the sudden gale ended she pulled herself to her feet, ignoring the pain from dozens of cuts in her arms and face. The windows were shattered and the snow outside continued to fall. Through the gloom she could see a blue glow, like neon tubes at night.
“What the hell was that?” Levac asked, pulling himself to his feet.
Raven drew her pistol as the hair rose on the back of her neck. “I don’t know, but its getting closer. Check on Harley!”
She moved toward the window, holding her weapon in front of her in a two handed Weaver stance. Outside, the blue glow continued, accompanied by a fizzing sound like firework sparklers. As it came closer, she saw it was a woman dressed in a gown of royal purple and silver. Black hair hung down her back and high boots caressed her thighs, visible through slits in her dress. In her hand she held a globe of blue energy that snapped and crackled like an old fluorescent bulb.
“Hold it right there!” Raven yelled.
The witch looked up. “This doesn’t concern you, half-breed. Mr. Davidson, give him to me and you will live.”
Her voice sounded older than she looked, as if she’d smoked for decades in a darkened room and only just now come up for air.
Raven raised her pistol and thumbed the hammer back. “I don’t think so, lady. Drop the lightbulb and put your hands over your head.”
The witch paused and cocked her head as if listening to a distant voice. She then nodded and rolled the ball back and forth between her hands. “Fürstin Tempeste. No matter, Davidson is mine.”
The woman’s confidence was unnerving. Most people, particularly preternaturals, were taken aback by the Automag being pointed at them. It had a reputation, but here this witch was, walking up the path as if she wasn’t threatened in the least. It made Raven’s thumbs itch.
“Final warning. End the spell and put your hands up,” she said.
The witch shook her head and tossed the ball of energy in a casual manner like someone pushing away an irritating fly or errant strand of hair. Raven had time to breathe before the ball hit her in the chest. The impact knocked her backwards into the room and into the wall, where she fell leaving the wall above her cracked and burned. She tried to roll over, but couldn’t move. It felt as if she had thousands of stinging insects crawling over her body, stinging and biting every inch of her skin.
“Ray! Ray, are you alright?” Levac said, appearing in her line of sight.
“Don’t touch her!” Davidson yelled. “The spell will jump if you do, it will pass in a moment. Did you see where the witch went?”
“I’m right here, Mr. Davidson,” the witch said, entering through the gaping window.
Davidson sl
id to a stop and began backing away from her. Raven could only see his feet, but the fear in his voice was obvious.
“How do you know my name?” he asked.
“You took something from us, Mr. Davidson. I want it back,” the witch said. She raised her hand and began tracing in the air, her fingers leaving green burning sigils behind.
Raven struggled to sit up and shake off the spell, but nothing happened. She wasn’t a mage, but it didn’t take a genius to know Davidson was going to get roasted alive if she didn’t do something, but she couldn’t move. Her fingers wouldn’t respond, it was like she’d stuck them in a light socket and turned on the switch.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Levac said. Raven could tell by his tone her had his best Columbo smile in place.
“Who are you?” the witch asked.
“Special Agent Levac, ma’am, with the FBI. Would you lower your hands, please? I don’t know much about magik, but you’re about to set fire to the drapes,” Levac said.
He couldn’t help himself, Raven knew. He preferred to take suspects alive and go by the book, he always had. One day it was going to get him killed. She hoped that day wasn’t today, Sloan would never forgive her.
The witch frowned and stopped tracing sigils. “Police? I have no desire to hurt you, Knowlessman. Make Mr. Davidson return our property and I’ll leave him in peace. Consider it a Yuletide gift.”
“I’m not sure I can do that, miss, ah…what was your name?” Levac asked, fumbling for his pad.
The pain in her fingers was lessening and Raven was able to sit up, her back to the wall. Levac was standing between the witch and Davidson with nothing more than a pencil to protect himself. A dozen green glowing sigils floated between them and he was holding a pencil. Raven didn’t know if it was the bravest thing’s she’d seen, or the dumbest.
“I am Soraya,” the witch replied. She trailed off and looked annoyed. “What is this magik? I shouldn’t have told you that!”
Levac produced his pad. “Just plain old-fashioned police work, ma’am. Soraya, that’s a nice name. My wife was telling me there was a new nurse in N-ICU by that name. That’s not you, is it, miss?”
Soraya shook her head. “What is a Nick-You?”
“Doesn’t matter, ma’am,” Levac said. “What is it Mr. Davidson took from you? I’d like to try and help.”
“Nothing!” Davidson snapped. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
Raven grabbed her pistol and began to drag herself up the wall. The pain was almost gone, but her whole body felt as if it had fallen asleep. All she could feel was pins and needles that threatened to buckle her knees and open her hands. She watched the altercation between Levac, Davidson and Soraya as she moved, wondering what the hell Levac was thinking. Was he distracting her, or did he really think he could solve this peaceably?
“Now Mr. Davidson,” Levac was saying. “I don’t think Miss Soraya would come to your house making these accusations if something didn’t actually go missing.”
Soraya made a face. “Of course not, constable. He took something that belongs to us, I am here to take it back, by force if need be.”
Levac scribbled in his pad. “That won’t be necessary, what did he take, ma’am?”
Raven regained her feet and took a hesitant step forward, trying not to hiss at the pins and needles in her soles. Her eyes were locked on Soraya. Every fiber of her being, at least the ones that weren’t torturing her, told her that Levac’s sway was going to fail at any moment and Soraya was going to lash out.
Soraya shook her head. “Enough! I do not know what this magik is, but I will listen no more. Give me what is ours or face my wrath!”
“Now, ma’am, I’m just trying−”
Levac was cut off by a bolt of boiling green energy that hit him in the chest. He fell backward and tumbled over the sofa to land in a heap by the table.
“Silence!”
Soraya turned her attention to Davidson, who turned and ran, dodging bolts of energy until he vanished through the side door into the garage.
Raven didn’t bother with yelling “freeze” or any of the normal warnings. She simply raised the Automag and shot the witch through her left eye. Soraya never even had a chance to scream. The bullet passed through her skull, decorating the wall with her brains, and she fell to the ground where she began to dissolve. Raven glanced at the mess then chased after Davidson, weapon at the ready.
The garage was like that of many backyard mechanics. Rows of neat tools and parts, boxes with questionable mechanical contents and the overpowering smell of old hydrocarbons mixed with orange hand cleaner.
Raven stepped inside to find Davidson stuffing a wad of clothing into the saddlebag of an old snowmobile.
“Hold it, Davidson,” she said.
Davidson shook his head. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
“She’s dead, you’re safe,” Raven said.
“You don’t get it,” Davidson said, slapping the bag closed. “I’ll never be safe, not here anyway. Soraya wasn’t alone, you haven’t stopped them!”
Raven kept him covered with her weapon and sidestepped, putting herself between him and the outside door. “Who? Who haven’t I stopped?”
Davidson began pulling on a heavy leather jacket. His hands were shaking so bad he was having some difficulty getting his arms into the holes.
“A coven. Witches, I don’t know how many,” he said.
Levac entered rubbing his shoulder. He was disheveled and had a bruise on his cheek, but was otherwise unharmed. “What did you take?”
Davidson stopped and looked away. “Nothing.”
“You’re a decent investigator, Harley,” Raven said, “but you’re a lousy liar. What was Soraya looking for?”
“I don’t have it,” Davidson said.
“Have what?” Levac asked.
“A statue,” Davidson said.
He sagged onto a mechanic’s stool. “It looked valuable and the place was empty, Murph certainly wasn’t paying me enough for the risks I was taking. It looked like a decent payday so I took it.”
“What did you do with it?” Raven asked.
“I lost it.”
Raven ejected the Automag’s magazine, swapped it out and began putting a fresh round into the used one. “You what?”
Davidson studied the floor between his boots. “I got into a poker game the night I found the statue. I was drunk, the pot looked too good to pass up and I was out of cash so I gave up the statue.”
“And you lost,” Levac said.
“Yeah.”
Levac sat on another stool. “Help me out, here, Harley. You knew the witches were looking, didn’t you?”
Raven holstered her weapon and turned away, pacing and listening to the conversation. Levac was always better at this part of the job than she was.
“They found me at the club, two of them caught up with me outside. I barely got away,” Davidson said.
“And that’s when you went to see Grimes,” Levac said.
“I was telling him I was in trouble and had to lay low. Reub’s a good guy, he understood and didn’t ask any questions,” Davidson said.
It was finally making some kind of sense. Davidson didn’t seem like a bad guy, just often in the wrong place at the wrong time. He reminded Raven of her father, who’d had that problem when she’d met him in 1943.
“How did they find you?” she asked, rummaging in a toolbox by the door.
Davidson shrugged. “I don’t know. Reuben didn’t say he’d had any visits, so magik, I assume.”
“Or plain old detective work,” Levac said.
Davidson stood and moved toward Raven. “Do you mind?”
Raven glanced at him. “Afraid I’ll find something?”
“What? No! It’s my stuff and I ain’t done nothing−”
>
Levac cut him off, “Trespassing, theft, illegal gambling, lying to a Federal officer and we can probably add obstruction.”
“Is there anything else you want to tell us?” Raven asked.
Davidson stubbornly closed the toolbox she’d been playing with. “No. I admit, I stole the stupid statue and lost it in a card game, but that’s it. Can I go now?”
He glared at Raven and she arched an eyebrow in response. “What did this statue look like?”
“It was a skull, black, with gems for eyes and teeth decorated with white crystals or diamonds. I never had the chance to find out,” Davidson said. “It was ugly, but the stones had to be worth something.”
Raven frowned. She’d heard, somewhere, about a skull that had washed ashore after Black Aeon exploded. The rumor was it had belonged to Morganna, not her personal skull, but something she’d kept under lock and key. Was it possible?
“Was it a real skull?” she asked.
Davidson shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m not a specialist. It was cold, black, covered in stones and the witches had it in the center of an altar surrounded by candles.”
The coincidences were piling up with the snow. It couldn’t be happenstance or luck, the finger of destiny was involved and it was going to be a train wreck before they got to the end. She could feel it.
“What are you thinking, Ray?” Levac asked.
Raven raised her eyes. “We put Harley in protective custody and track down these witches.”
“You think it’s connected?” Levac asked.
Davidson shook his head. “Murph didn’t even know about the skull.”
“Are you sure about that? You stumbled across it tracking down the name he gave you, didn’t you?” Raven said.
“Yeah but−” Davidson trailed off and stood, pacing. “I mean, if he wanted the skull why didn’t he just ask for it? It would be easier to find than some dead broad.”
“I can think of reasons,” Levac said. Raven met his eyes and nodded. There was much more to this than there seemed. Casters in broad daylight, mysterious statutes and two dead? This was more than a simple crime of passion. But then, they always were.