‘We will,’ he assured her. ‘In fact, I’ve texted Walsh and Oliva. They’re going to meet us at the house in an hour. We’re going to get rid of that thing, one way or another.’
‘Okay,’ she conceded. ‘If we get it done, I will have dinner with your boss.’
‘Fantastic.’ She could almost hear him smile down the phone. ‘I’ll swing by now and pick you up. Can you get the talisman out of the safe in the office..? That’s the first door that’s off the lounge. You might as well put your little gift in there too while you’re at it.’
‘Are you sure you’re alright with that?’ She asked, knowing that there were a lot of people who did not feel comfortable around firearms, nor want them in their home.
‘It’s not a problem,’ Parker assured her. ‘The code for the safe is your birthday.’
‘Oh… Okay. Thanks.’
With an awkward series of goodbyes and I’ll see you soons, Martha hung up the phone and placed it back down on the breakfast bar, not knowing what she thought about that little piece of information. In many ways, it freaked her out but the pragmatist in her thought that it was a good number to pick as very few people would think of it.
Brushing off her discomfort, she collected her gun and headed for the office, which in reality was a decent size square room that had a desk, computer, some file cabinets, shelves and the safe, which was in plain view, underneath the shelves. She opened it up and put the gun and ammunition boxes inside and retrieved the talisman, which was back inside its plastic evidence bag, carrying it with her to her bedroom along with the box of supplies. She stored all of her new items at the bottom of her new wardrobe, amongst the few pairs of shoes and bags that had remained in her built-closet back at the Ford residence. It seemed like Amanda had literally packed up all of her big sister’s belongings, making the probably correct assumption that she would not want to go back to stay there, even after the corrupted magic in the house was neutralised. Martha was actually relieved. It meant that she had at least a good base of belongings to restart her life with but she would still need to eventually go shopping.
But that was something for another time. Her most immediate problem was figuring out if she had an outfit that was simultaneously suitable for possibly killing a demon and for dinner with her best friend’s boss. That she was more frightened of the latter event said more about her than she cared to admit but she could never have been considered a social butterfly.
Now, the other threat, that was something she knew how to handle and she’d be lying if she did not admit that she was looking forward to seeing exactly what had killed Amanda’s father. If she had been wrong about the man that made her childhood a misery than there was some vengeance to be extracted and if she knew how to do anything, it was making evil bastards pay. The question that remained was - who was more evil, a supernatural entity or William Ford?
Chapter 31
Walking into the Ford house, Martha regretted not coming back sooner. The feeling of corruption that she had felt in the study had spread throughout the whole house, polluting the once populated family home with magical energy that had been left to rot.
While Parker went in search of Walsh, who was apparently doing a metaphysical sweep of the premises, Martha went upstairs to the study, finding Olivia inside. The blonde pagan was setting up for her afternoon’s work, placing white candles and earthy-smelling herb bundles in two arching barriers around the top and base of the summoning circle, directly around which she had placed another array of white candles, intersected by a ring of what looked like rock salt. Martha offered her an awkward greeting before asking if it was safe to enter, which the woman nodded, warning her to keep out of the magical area that she had created.
Moving around the edge of the room, Martha took position in front of the tall, wide canvasses at the back. She watched Olivia work with a keen amount of fascination, not really understanding the process but finding it intriguing nonetheless. The pagan was wearing shiny black trousers that were skin-tight, under a long, sheer, scarlet and yellow short-sleeved blouse and heeled black boots that came up to her knees. Her blonde locks were pinned back from her face, which was once again starkly beautiful, done up with an expert touch of make-up that would have been too subtle for a photographer’s camera but a little bit much for a ritualistic demon cleanse, making Martha wonder if she too were invited to join them and her father.
She would not ask, however. It was not the place.
Olivia got to her feet and stared down at her work. From what little Martha knew about magic, it all appeared very impressive but she did not look happy, which encouraged her to ask if there was something wrong. The magic expert assured her, ‘No, we’re pretty much all set. I just wish that I knew exactly what it was that we were summoning here. I feel like I’m flying blind and there’s nothing that I hate more than being unprepared.’
‘I might be able to help with that,’ Martha stated. ‘The last time I was here, when I found the circle, I sensed something about the books, which I told you, but there was something else.’
Turning around, she looked at the canvasses behind her, indicating the middle painting which was a wide oil painting depicting a group of approximately twenty men and women, frolicking on what appeared to be a stormy coastline. They were in various states of undress, curvaceous women with flowing vestments reaching only to their upper thighs, others with their breasts on display and tall, muscular men with their modesties barely covered by loins of cloth. Trees in the background swayed in the storm, matching the cavorting middance poses of the crowd. Impressive but like so many other dated paintings that Martha had ever laid eyes upon.
Surely it told a story, but she couldn’t bring herself to care what.
Instead she told Olivia, ‘I can’t really explain it but when I found the circle, I did so by essentially following the threads of energy that were in the room at the time. They went from the books, to here, before going to the middle of the room where the circle was drawn. It might be nothing but I think it hold some sort of significance to what the victim was doing that night.’
Olivia came to stand next to her, pursing her lips in sceptical concentration as she regarded it. ‘He summoned a demon to engage in some sort of mythical orgy?’
‘Stranger things have happened,’ Martha said but agreed that the notion was extreme.
‘Well, I’m happy if you want to try and do a reading of it before we get started. But hold off until everybody is here and…’ She crossed the room to a long holdall that she had placed by the door and retrieved something from a side pocket, bringing it back to Martha. ‘Put this on.’
Dangling from her hand was a thin, silver chain with a simple disc-like pendant that had a pretty, curvy five-sided star carved out of it. A little bit wary, Martha accepted it but did not put it on, causing Olivia to clarify. ‘It’s a protective amulet that I blessed. I want you to keep it.’
‘Okay,’ she said, carefully undoing the clasp and fixing it around her neck. ‘Thanks.’
‘Not a problem.’ Olivia smiled, and it seemed so very genuine that Martha felt bad.
‘Olivia, I think that we need to…’
‘No,’ the blonde pagan interrupted her. ‘We don’t need to have that conversation.’
‘We don’t?’
‘Look, Martha,’ she explained. ‘I’m really not the kind of woman that gets into it with another woman because of a man. As far as I’m concerned, I can’t think of anything trashier. I like you and I think that you’re great at what you do. Nothing else should matter.’
‘No, it shouldn’t,’ Martha agreed.
‘You obviously need an assurance that I’m not going to cause trouble or hate you if you and Parker are testing things out again, I understand that. You won’t find confrontation here.’
‘I appreciate that.’
‘Fantastic,’ she said. ‘Now, should we get the boys in here so we can do this? I’m absolutely starving and there’s a Chicken Scarparie
llo out there with my name on it.’
Chapter 32
Given that the stakes were much higher than when she had touched the talisman the night before, Martha did not feel confident going through that again in the confines of William Ford’s study. At least not on her own.
It took some persuasion to convince Walsh to even step into the room, let alone accept her proposal that they work together. He had about as much experience combining psychic abilities with another person as she did but conceded that it was not only possible but the best option that they had to finally find out what had really happened the night that his girlfriend’s father was killed. For Amanda’s sake, he agreed and that was that.
Parker sealed the door, locking them all inside of the room. Olivia put down a line of salt along the threshold and along the still-broken window to essentially seal in any energy that they may conjure up. She was thorough and conscientious, all qualities that made Martha respect her even more. She was glad that MPIA had somebody that was so dedicated to her craft.
Standing next to Walsh, Martha should have felt intimidated. Dropping metaphysical defences around any other psychic was always going to contain a fair amount of risk, leaving both of them vulnerable to dangerous psychic attack or an unforeseen clashing of power. They both thought that the risk, in this instance, was worth the potential reward and they had already sized each other up before and deemed each other powerful but not a threat. She barely knew the young psychic that was dating her sister but she trusted him. It was enough.
The process was not all that more complicated than her own touch reading. All of the basics would be the same, they just needed to be in physical contact with both of their defences down before laying hands upon the canvas. It was determined almost right away that they should do a trial run to make sure that they did not kill each other, before going for the painting, which also should have made her nervous but she understood the caution.
Martha took the lead and dropped her defences first, allowing her personal energy to rise up into a layer just above her own skin. When she was ready, she nodded and waited for Walsh to do the same, trying not to be nervous. With her own senses so keen, she felt the exact moment that he let his own power run free. If her own personal energy was like a balmy summer day, then Joe Walsh’s power was the dry, raging heat of a wildfire. He was so powerful and it was raw, untamed. It rushed straight for her as if it wanted to engage her own power but it was not an aggression, it was curiosity. Just as deadly if not controlled but she knew that the young psychic was smart enough to keep it loosely leashed. He knew his own strength and was not about to let his energy hurt her, the trust she had placed in him rewarded.
‘Okay,’ Walsh said, assuring them all that things were fine. ‘Should we..?’
He held out a hand and Martha took it. Their individual powers ran along the lines of their arms and met in the middle, flaring and crackling as they mingled like fiery whips that she was convinced would attack anybody that tried to come between them.
‘Are you ready?’ she asked. He nodded. At the same time, they reached for the painting.
Flat hands pressed to canvas. Their unified power flared and rushed through both of their bodies, down their arms and into the intricate brush strokes, seeking out information that would help their cause. When it found what it was looking for, it did not move them both into a vision like what had happened to Martha in the early hours. Instead, the power cast itself out into the room, transforming it with an ethereal shimmer that blended the past with the present, the real with the metaphysical until the whole room became staging for the memory to play.
‘Holy crap…’ Oliva marvelled from behind them. ‘I can see it.’
Martha briefly had a thought that that was good because it meant that there would be an impartial witness but then suddenly, the ghostly figure of a man was standing in front of her and Walsh, gazing longingly at the painting. The sight made her gasp for it had been a very long time since she had laid eyes upon the man that had so appallingly raised her and she could not believe how much he had aged, how dejected was his stance and how small he appeared.
Wearing the smart ensemble that his body had been dressed in on the crime scene photographs she had seen, William Ford looked dishevelled but still oddly debonair. In his shaking, aged hands, he held the talisman that he had been given, blessed by a practitioner who had later died. Martha wondered if he knew of the death, if it weighed heavy on his conscience. She also wondered how somebody so physically unimposing could have been the cause of so many years of her own personal angst.
The ethereal memory of William Ford sighed deeply and then put the talisman around his neck. He moved slowly, as if he were very tired, as he walked around the summoning circle, speaking words that she had never heard before and she became vaguely aware of Olivia, standing in the background, still in the mortal plane, listening intently to the incantation that was used and of Parker, standing by the door, not really a part of things but alert nonetheless.
There was suddenly a crack of power, a heaviness filling the space in the middle of the room. What appeared was blurry, misshapen like a corrupted image on a television screen. She could not make it out, no matter how hard she concentrated and willed it into clarity. She could however hear a voice, disjointed but filled with disdain as it asked the mortal what he wanted, lambasting him for his ignorance and mocking his lack of true magical power.
‘You know what I want, you monster!’ Mr Ford bellowed. ‘Show her to me.’
The voice cackled, feigned ignorance, told him he was unworthy of its attention.
‘Oh, pish!’ the man scoffed, a turn of phrase Martha had heard many, many times. ‘You are the one, are you not? You have what I seek. I demand that you give her to me!’
The owner of the voice seemed to hesitate and then change tactics, adopting a more persuasive tone as it asked what the man would offer it in return. Martha saw the disdain in the summoner’s face, knew that he had no intentions of playing the game the way it was meant to be played and, for the first time, felt afraid. Because she now knew why he had been killed.
‘I don’t think so, you fiend!’ William Ford yelled. ‘That’s not how this is going to work. You will give me what I want. You will tell me where she is!’
The voice laughed at his incompetence once more, declined and then bid him goodbye.
‘No,’ Mr. Ford, beseeched, finally in subjugation. ‘Please. Just give me what I asked for. I’m sorry for my arrogance. I just want to make it right. Fix my mistakes.’
The presence lingered, as if it were deliberately being stubborn but in truth it simply liked to hear the human before it beg and plead. It was a ploy. It was all a big, evil ploy.
‘Please,’ the man said again. ‘Please, just give me my daughter.’
The demon relented, feigned an understanding for the man’s obvious grief. It said that it would help him but that it needed something in return. Mr. Ford conceded with a defeated nod. The demon laughed softly, asked that he approach the circle so that he could give him what he deserved, the price for making everything right, what it would cost to fix his mistakes.
Martha silently begged the man she had hated for so long not to listen.
William Ford did what the demon asked, moving solemnly to the circle but with hope in his wrinkled, blue eyes. He was such an old fool.
Martha braced herself for what she knew was coming.
The demon stuck, its victim caught unawares, lunging forwards out of the inadequately protected magic circle. It gripped the man by the front of his shirt, tossed him across the room where his elderly body slammed into a table full of books. The same books that Martha had noticed before. It did not relent however, clasping him again and throwing him to the other side of the room, into the artwork that was standing on the easels at the back.
Where Martha and Walsh still stood, touching canvas, in the real world.
Martha fought the overwhelming urge to break the contact a
nd rush to the man’s aid but deep down knew that she couldn’t. You can’t change what has happened in the past. You can watch it unfold but you can never intervene. Even when it was the vicious assault of a family member unfolding before your eyes. There was nothing she could do and it crushed her.
The demon picked William Ford up, bringing him back to the middle of the room. The man was hurt but he was still alive. He begged forgiveness. He pleaded for his life. It was not enough. It would never have been enough. For he had angered a monster and monsters do not care about forgiveness. They only know how to destroy. The monster laughed in his face, told him that the world was going to be better off without him and with one last show of force, threw him across the room and out of the closed balcony windows, which shattered against the sudden impact, parting ways and allowing the human man that had been flung against them to plummet to what they all ultimately knew was his death.
Walsh pulled away from the canvas first. Martha stood there for a long time in shock before removing her hand from the painting. She did not sense the power that had filled the room ebb away. Nor did she notice that she was standing there alone until a thought occurred to her and she snapped out of her daze and stepped around the third canvas to the back of the paintings, searching for something that she remembered being on the back of all artwork that came through William Ford’s possession. When she found it, she sighed heavily and shook her own head.
Walsh followed her. With a fine layer of concern in his voice, he asked what she was looking for. She pointed at the white printed inventory label that had been stuck to the rear of the frame. It denoted important information about the artwork but most importantly it listed the name of the painting. The young psychic read it and immediately understood.
William Ford had not been talking about Amanda when he beseeched the monster who sent him to his death. He had been talking about Martha.
Sins of the Father (Bloody Marytown Book 1) Page 21