The Voodoo Killings

by Kristi Charish

  “I won’t use my elbow if you stop looking like you’re about to attack a cop.”

  “Fantastic, tell that to them.”

  Aaron and the captain were bearing down on us. The captain reached me first. “This isn’t over. As soon as we find evidence—”

  “You won’t,” Lee said, stepping in front of me.

  The look on his face told me everything I needed to know. He could care less about a few practitioners getting killed, probably thought someone was doing the city a favour; he just wanted me locked up.

  Marks looked as though he wanted a piece of Lee too, but Aaron stepped in his way. The captain might be an asshole, but he wasn’t stupid. Not wanting to risk an altercation with a lawyer, he left us at the front desk. Aaron hovered while Lee filled out paperwork and I collected my effects.

  “Kincaid,” Aaron tried.

  I ignored him, but when I turned to go, he blocked my way. He leaned in close and whispered, “Whoever is behind these killings, Kincaid, is running out of practitioners. Stop involving yourself.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “A warning.”

  I pushed past Aaron and followed Lee and Cameron out the door. To my relief, my Hawk was waiting for me.

  “How the hell did you pull that off?” I said to Lee once we were out of earshot.

  “You need evidence to charge someone,” she said.

  “But the body? There were charred remains—”

  “Dealt with,” Lee said.

  “All they can do is fine you for an illegal bonfire,” Cameron added.

  I stopped to stare at him. “You’re serious?” I knew Lee had crews to handle surface-side zombie mishap cleanup, but Max’s place had been crawling with cops. Forensics must have picked up some remains.

  Lee gripped my arm. “I have no intention of discussing the details. Keep walking,” she hissed.

  “Lee, I need to know who’s left practitioner-wise in Seattle.”

  Lee and Cameron exchanged a glance. She said, “That meet the killer’s specifications? You are it.”

  Why did I even ask?

  CHAPTER 25

  THE DEVIL’S IN THE DETAILS

  Gideon had left Max’s notebooks on my bathroom counter, except for one. There was a message left in Manhunt red lipliner on the mirror.

  I took the notes on clients, Gideon wrote. I need those to see if I can piece together wherever the hell my payment got to.

  I frowned. That lipliner was exclusively for summoning Nate. It wasn’t cheap. And I’d wanted to consult the client accounts specifically for the notes on Cameron, along with what the hell Max’s arrangement with Gideon had been. I should have said something back at Max’s.

  I collected what was there and headed to the desk in the guest room. I’d have to settle for reading Max’s technical accounts, where he recorded all the bindings and modifications he’d used. I found the ones on Cameron near the back of the notebook, and there wasn’t one page but many….What the hell had Max done?

  The gear-like symbols were both the problem and the solution. Thinking of them like clock bindings was accurate, because that’s exactly what they were: a clock meant to count down a set number of days until Cameron was finished his paintings. Once that time was up, the sixth and last gear would start to turn and unravel the rest of the bindings. It was an ingenious system: remotely raise a client at the time of death, guaranteeing there’d be minimal damage, and then create a fail-safe that would drop Cameron back to a corpse a week later. I had to assume Cameron and Max had discussed time frames and Cameron had thought a week would be enough…or all that was feasible within the bounds of Otherside.

  The problem was that nothing like this had ever been tried before. I figured out in no time that the bindings in Max’s notebook were incomplete since I could see lines on Cameron that had never reached the page. Either Max had still been adding to them or he was interrupted before he could write the final arrangements down. He’d never finished testing for side effects and complications. He hadn’t discovered the Otherside resonance issue, or the lack of healing, or he didn’t think those things were problems if Cameron was a zombie for only a week.

  Which presented an entirely different can of rotting worms. Cameron was down to the fifth gear. In theory, if I could keep the sixth gear from triggering, I might give myself enough time to fix the rest of the bindings so that Cameron would start repairing like a normal zombie. Or he might just go feral. Like I said, one big can of zombiefied worms…

  I felt the warning brush of cold before Nate slid into the chair beside me.

  “Nate, please say you found something good in Neon’s apartment.” He’d located it two floors up and one over.

  He shook his head. “Nothing. Not even a creepy serial killer journal.”

  “There’s got to be something. Souvenirs, phone numbers, Post-it notes—”

  “K, if she’s got anything, it’s hidden somewhere good. Are we even sure this chick really understood what was going on?”

  I remembered the look on Neon’s face before the poltergeist knocked me out. “Nate, she was obsessed with getting her hands on a Jinn. There’s got to be something—a list, a set of instructions. It might not be obvious. Get creative. Pretend you were the one hiding it.”

  Nate sighed. “All right, I’ll keep looking.” He dissolved.

  I looked down at the notebooks and tried wrapping my mind around the fact that Max was gone. I failed. I stood up and headed into the kitchen.

  Cameron was lying on my kitchen table as Lee sutured his wound. She’d abandoned the suit for a red silk dress covered in white flowers and had removed the thick layer of makeup. I picked up the sweet smell of formaldehyde as Lee tied off the last stitch then wiped blood from her fingers with a kitchen towel. She pursed her lips when she saw me, and after taking a sip of a brain concoction that vaguely resembled a pink cosmo and exchanging a soft word with Cameron, she came over to me.

  I didn’t think I had martini glasses…or food colouring…

  “How is he?” I asked.

  “Not good. I’ve done what I can for the wound itself. The formaldehyde-and-ether soak I embalmed it with should halt further deterioration, but Cameron is not well.”

  “How are the brains working on him?”

  Lee shrugged. “The wound isn’t healing and he is showing signs of internal decay.”

  I closed my eyes. In short order he’d no longer pass as a human. “How long until he has to move into the city?”

  “I’m not sure I would allow him anywhere but the docks. You’ve said it yourself: Otherside makes him too unpredictable. Did you find anything useful in Max’s notes?”

  I sighed. “Cameron was meant to be temporary. I might be able to diffuse the Otherside fail-safe Max loaded into his bindings. If I can figure out how to do that before it goes off and unravels the rest of his bindings, I should be able to fix him.”

  “That sounds like a yes, not a maybe.”

  “He was only supposed to last a week—just enough time to finish whatever paintings he was working on. That was the deal.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m a prime suspect in four murders, my zombie is broken, and your response is ‘I see’? Great.”

  Lee tilted her head. “I would be sorely surprised if Aaron was behind this, Kincaid.”

  “Were you listening?”

  “I was. If Aaron were behind this, you would never have left that station.”

  I started to object.

  “Think, Kincaid,” Lee said. “With Maximillian gone, and no access to my city, you are the practitioner within his reach who meets the criteria. He would simply have planted evidence at the drug dealer’s murder scene.” She shook her head. “The more I think on this, the more I believe he is a pawn, like Max was.”

  “You didn’t see how he looked at me, Lee.”

  Lee cleared her throat. “Be that as it may, I think it more likely your own prejudices are colouring your judgment.
In any event, even if he is involved, Aaron is not in charge.”

  “You said it yourself: there are other practitioners, underground.”

  “And that is where you should be until we identify the killer.”

  I shook my head. “That just concentrates the pool of available victims.” Like herding sardines into a net…

  Lee’s eyes darkened. “No one leaves or enters the city without my permission.”

  Lee might be ruthless and resourceful, but she didn’t understand serial killers. “The only reason he hasn’t breached your defences is that he’s had easier pickings up here and on the outskirts of the underground city. If I head down there, we’ll just be giving him a reason to try his luck.”

  Lee looked about as happy with that assessment as I figured she’d be.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. Randall. What could he want?

  “Lee, I need to answer this.”

  I’d barely said hello when he cut me off. “Kincaid, you still looking for people who have a grudge against zombies and practitioners?”

  In all the turmoil of the last two days, I’d completely forgotten I’d asked Randall to put his feelers out. “Yeah, but whoever’s behind the murders is a lot more dangerous than I thought. Stop looking right now, Randall. Don’t ask any questions. Anyone asks you what you know, especially Aaron—”

  “Too late for that, Kincaid. Besides, I know how to be subtle. Got it into my head to tap some of my family’s old community connections. Heard something you definitely need to know.”

  I didn’t want to be responsible for Randall being pulled into this mess. I covered the mic and glanced back towards the kitchen. Lee was working on Cameron again. No one would miss me if I made a quick pit stop at Randall’s to find out what he knew. I checked the time as I ducked into the bedroom. It was just before noon. The bar wouldn’t be open yet.

  “Look, Randall, I’m coming over. Can you keep the place closed for another half-hour?” The last thing I needed was someone overhearing us.

  “Sure, kid.”

  I grabbed my jacket and checked outside the bedroom window. No sign of Aaron or his sedan. “I’ll be there in ten.” I hung up.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Lee was standing in my bedroom doorway.

  I filled her in. She was even less enthused than I’d expected. “Don’t go, Kincaid. You are taking an unnecessary risk.”

  “Your objection has been duly noted.” I grabbed my bag and bike helmet.

  “At least take Cameron with you,” she said.

  “You just told me he wasn’t stable!”

  “Around Otherside. I believe he should be fine to go with you to the bar. Anyone would think twice before attacking two individuals.”

  “All right, I’ll take him. Watch for Nate, and let me know if he finds anything at Morgan’s. Call if anything disastrous happens, like Aaron showing up with a warrant.” I slid my jacket on and headed into the kitchen to wrangle my zombie.

  “Kincaid?” Lee said in a tentative tone I wasn’t used to from her.

  I glanced back.

  “It has come to my attention you are still in contact with the sorcerer’s ghost.” She held up her hand before I could say anything. “I do not wish to argue. Just be wary of those who mask their intentions by offering assistance.”

  She looked so serious, I could only nod.

  “And please be careful,” she called after me.

  I smiled to myself. “You only say that because you’ve never seen Randall’s baseball bat collection.”

  —

  I’d decided to take the back alleys in case anyone from the PD was following me. The smell of formaldehyde carried off Cameron and I was worried, if we got pulled over, the cops would pick up on it.

  “Bring back memories?” I asked as we pulled into Catamaran’s.

  He shrugged and shifted uncomfortably. “It looks strange in the daylight. Dirtier.”

  “Cameron, if you ever find a bar that doesn’t look seedy in the daytime, run for your afterlife, because there’s something wrong.”

  He snorted and slid off the bike before I edged it into my hiding spot behind the green Dumpster. I grabbed the back screen door then stopped, scanning the area.

  “What’s wrong?” Cameron said. He’d picked up on the change in my scent from the rush of adrenalin in my blood.

  I scrutinized the back of the bar, then resigned myself to the fact I was paranoid. “Nothing,” I said. “I’m just used to Randall’s damn cat taking a swipe at me.”

  My phone rang. Aaron. I didn’t answer.

  It rang again. This was the last thing I needed.

  “Just a sec, Cameron,” I said.

  “Before you hang up, I know you aren’t behind the killings,” Aaron said.

  I closed my eyes. “Yeah, because arresting and interrogating me is really the way to get that message across.”

  “You were standing at a fucking crime scene—”

  “What’s the deal with Neon?”

  It took a second for him to clue in. “Morgan? She’s another suspect, one who’s missing, but I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that?” Aaron hadn’t lost his touch. “Kincaid, I didn’t know you were a potential target. Where are you?”

  “I wasn’t a target? Aaron, just how many practitioners do you think there are in Seattle? And it’s none of your damn business where I am!” I hung up.

  “What did that accomplish?” Cameron said.

  “Either way, it should send him to Neon’s. If he was involved, he’ll know what to look for and where.”

  “And if he wasn’t?”

  “He’ll get a warrant and rip the place apart. Either way, it’ll help Nate.”

  I pulled out my pocket mirror and scrawled, Nate, heads-up for Aaron.

  “Come on,” I said to Cameron, and headed inside.

  Randall was nowhere to be seen. “Randall?”

  “Just a sec, kid,” I heard Randall call from the cellar where he stored the kegs. The only time he could haul them up was when the bar was empty. Why he wouldn’t hire more staff…

  He appeared a moment later in the doorway behind the bar well, the one that led to the basement. “Hey, kid, let me just grab you the names—” He stopped when he saw Cameron and his easy smile fell.

  “He’s okay,” I told him. “All fixed up.”

  Randall didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue either. He also didn’t take his eyes off Cameron as he stepped behind the bar and held up a beer mug with a questioning tilt of his head. “How are things holding up?” he said.

  I shook my head. The last thing I needed was a drink, and the less Randall knew about the whole disastrous mess the better. My conscience didn’t need anyone else turning up dead. “Let’s just say you were right, Randall—I need to learn when to quit.”

  He nodded but still couldn’t seem to pull his eyes off Cameron. Finally, he said, “You mind if the zombie stays outside? No offence—”

  I glanced at Cameron, who shrugged and started walking towards the back.

  “I’ll be out in a few,” I said, and waited until I heard the back screen door swing shut.

  Randall was still fiddling with glasses behind the bar. “You know anything more about the killer?”

  “Well, I know there was more than one. Trust me, that’s all you need to know.”

  He ducked down behind the bar to tap the kegs. “Kid, I got no problem saying this world keeps getting weirder and weirder. Get out while the going is good, come back when things blow over.”

  “Yeah, well, too late for that. Don’t think I’d make it past the city limits.”

  My phone buzzed. Nate. Before I could answer, I heard a scuffle from the front of the bar.

  “Randall, did you hear that?”

  “Probably your zombie,” he said. He was still kneeling behind the bar.

  “It came from the front.” My phone rang again. “Randall, give me a sec, I need to get this.”

 
; I headed over to where the pool tables were, in an alcove where I’d have a bit of privacy.

  “Nate, what’s up?” I said.

  “K, you alone?”

  “I’m with Randall. Cameron’s stepped outside because he makes Randall nervous.”

  “K, whatever you do, don’t look at Randall. I found something at Neon’s—a coaster from Catamaran’s with numbers written on it, including Cameron’s and the other victims’.”

  “Nate, it’s a sports bar. A lot of people meet—”

  “Yeah, but it didn’t seem like her kind of place. Remember she called you on slumming it there? Don’t answer me and don’t look at him, but did you know Randall’s kid died a few weeks back? Car accident, a bad one in the Philippines?”

  “No,” I said, struggling to keep my voice conversational. “That never came up.” In fact I remembered Randall saying that Michael was coming home in the next week or so….

  “K, be careful,” Nate said, but a noise, like a chair scraping across the floor, demanded my attention.

  I craned around the alcove to see three men at the front entrance. I couldn’t see their faces, but there was something about their movements that bothered me. Then they stepped under the light.

  One of the men was wearing a red baseball hat and lumberjack jacket, while the other two wore jeans and flannel shirts. All three wore heavy workboots. It took me a moment, but I recognized them. They were the same men Randall had scared off the night I’d come to pick up Cameron, the ones who’d accosted me. They hadn’t been dead long, but the decay was obvious. Randall, oblivious behind the bar, dropped something and all three zombies turned their attention towards him. I focused on seeing the Otherside to check their bindings: all three were four-lines.

  Shit. I put the phone back up to my ear. “Nate, call Aaron and tell him where I am.” Whether the zombies picked up my scent or heard my voice I don’t know, but all three turned their attention to me.

  “Got to go, Nate,” I said, keeping the three zombies in view.

  Randall swore. He was standing now, staring at the zombies as they dragged themselves across the floor towards me.

  “Damn phones,” he said. “That’s the one thing I could never figure out: how to get a four-line zombie to ignore the damn phone.”