It squealed in anger. “In life, I was Harkim, now I am Ezragoggeth,” it wailed. Ah, give the girl a Kewpie doll!
I pushed up my sleeves, hoping this would work. Until then, I’d only read about exorcisms, seen a few in movies, and heard about them from an aunt.
“Who called you, Ezragoggeth?”
The thing writhed some more. “The lady in blue,” it whined. Blue? That brought me up short. Usually, it’s black or white or gray ladies.
“What does she want with you?”
“My charge was to deliver a message, you Witch, that is all!”
“Right, okay. Hold your horses.” I stomped into the library to get a book of shadows of Grandnanny Maldec’s. She was a healer about a century ago and dealt a lot with possessions in her day. I flipped through the pages, irritated. Seriously? This is what I’m doing after being conked on the head by a nut? There are some days when I wish I hadn’t gotten out of bed.
I found her favorite exorcism spell and dragged my sorry ass back to the living room.
The spell said to draw a pentacle on the floor with white chalk, then a circle around it to cage the spirit in. Well, I hadn’t done that, so I skipped to the second step. Holy water and an incantation while walking counterclockwise around the circle, saying the spell. Holding the heavy book balanced on my left arm, and the spray bottle of holy water in the right, I made my way around the room.
“Regna terrae, cantata deo, psallite Cernunnos.” I let my voice get low and solemn, and I spritzed the holy water into the circle. The Mark-thing kept trying to climb the walls, screeching and slashing the air. “Caeli Deus, Deus terrae, Humiliter majestati gloriae.”
You just can’t beat the Catholics when it comes to exorcism rites. They wrote the book on it. They wrote all the books on it, actually. My aunts used to laugh and say Catholicism was a Pope and a catechism away from paganism.
I droned on. The thing was really long, but I was pretty sure it was working. With every word, the thing’s hold on Mark seemed to weaken until it released and floated above Mark’s unmoving form. I skimmed along in the book where it suggested I was dealing with a “raven” ghost. Messengers meant to scare or deliver messages, basically. Given the box it came in, my guess was, someone hired it on the condition once the box was opened, the thing would be free.
Dorcha stood beside me, at the ready.
“I swear to all the tiny gods. Back in the box, you jackwagon,” I said. “I command thee! Into the box, Ezragoggeth! Into the box, I command thee, Ezragoggeth! Into the vessel, Ezragoggeth! Into the vessel, I command thee, Ezragoggeth!” At last, the nasty thing barked an appropriately nasty farewell and slid into the box like dirty water down a sewer drain.
I wasted no time breaking the circle, refastening the latches on the case, and taking it to the tub. I sprinkled salt on it and ran the bath half-full of water. It was a stopgap. I’d have to figure out what to do with it later. The salt water would ground it out for a while.
It really was just a messenger. If it had been here to kill me, I’d be dead, or the ward spells would have told me.
Back in the living room, Mark was moaning on the floor. I helped him up to the couch where he lay, looking dazed, for a few minutes. Then he turned over and barfed all over the rug.
I sighed. “Want me to call you a cab?”
He nodded. I went for my phone and was startled to see seven missed calls and three texts from Qyll, all commanding me to, “CALL AT ONCE.”
“Tessa?” Mark croaked. I sat on the coffee table in front of him, wincing. This just had not been my day. He swallowed and looked up at me with the eye that wasn’t swelling closed. “I lied. I came over here to ask you out. But, I’m rethinking that intention at the moment. I rescind my feelings of romantic affection. At least for the time being. No offense.”
I couldn’t help it and burst out laughing, even though my head hurt. “It’s okay.”
“However, this is going to blow up the server for my site tomorrow.”
Mistrial after jurors deadlock in murder case of missing teen
A mistrial was declared today after a Human/Other jury said it was deadlocked in the murder case of Charles Carrico, a Class Four Demon, charged in the 2012 disappearance of Johnsburg teenager Branton Hobert, Human.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ust as I set Mark into his cab, another car pulled up. I caught sight of a familiar face within.
“Get in.” It was Qyll. “There’s been another murder.”
“Heather Mumford is going to be here any minute.” I peered into the vehicle. “She might have some important information.”
“She’s dead,” he said shortly. “That is where we are going.”
“Shit.” As fast as I could, I ran inside, pulled off my sweaty jammies, and slid into jeans, a leather jacket, and my red boots. I pulled my hair into a half-hearted bun and grabbed my bag of tricks.
“You keep an eye on things,” I told Dorcha. “No hunting. Guard the house.” She assumed her sphinx pose, unblinking.
Heather Mumford, it seemed, had died shortly after her second phone call to me. The first, which I had stupidly forgotten to check up on, was when I was at Professor March’s house. Qyll was trying to reach me while I was busy with the ghost and Mark. When I didn’t answer or return his calls, he grew worried and stopped by to check in and/or take me to the new crime scene.
“What happened to you? You look rather disheveled.”
“I have a secret admirer with a sick way of showing how much she likes me.”
Qyll’s expression asked for more.
I sighed. “Somebody sent me a nasty-gram. A crazy ghost in a box.”
“Ah. Have you any idea why?”
I shrugged. “The message was to mind my own business.”
“Was this a personal or professional warning?”
Huh. “I actually don’t know, now that you mention it. I assumed it was personal, because it was summoned by a woman and mentioned me having enemies far and wide, but who knows?” I didn’t want to tell him about my visit to Bathsheba.
“It may be necessary to increase security for your domicile and person. A posted guard and a personal attendant, perhaps.”
“Nah, professor word nerd, I’m good. I can take care of myself. You can get me a better security system though.” I laughed.
We were silent for the rest of the ride. I leaned against the window and tried to rest and collect my thoughts. Maybe Qyll was right, but I didn’t care. The fewer people around me, the less chance of them dying.
When we arrived, FBI vans, police, and an ambulance were all parked haphazardly on the grass in front of three houses. Neighbors were being shooed back to bed as they drifted out of their homes wearing bathrobes and house slippers. Heather lived in a shotgun house in Germantown. As we made our way toward the activity, a short stocky woman with a very hard look on her face came charging toward us. Behind her was Pryam, an equally hard look on her chiseled features.
“Agent Toutant, is there a good reason you are here?” the small woman snapped as she approached. She had short permed grandma-ish hair and big round glasses that gave her the look of a malicious owl. The skirt of her suit hit at an unfortunately frumpy mid-calf length. And I hadn’t seen anyone wear nude pantyhose in decades until that day. She reminded me of my fourth-grade teacher, the one who accused me of using words I didn’t know the meaning of in my schoolwork. (I had a precocious vocabulary, sue me.)
My hackles instantly rose as the woman turned on Pryam. “I expressly declined the need for any further personnel from this department, and as Special Agent-in-Charge, I would think you would understand that command, madam. And yet, here he is.” As an afterthought, the woman turned back and glared at me. “And whoever this is. This is a restricted area. FBI personnel only.”
“Excuse me, who are you?” I allowed every possible ion of rudeness to creep into the words.
“Reddick.” Pryam’s glare shot daggers. “Deputy Assistant Director Mc
Reynolds, this is Special Agent Tessa Reddick. She’s here at my behest and with the knowledge of the entire field office as well as the Assistant Director.”
The short woman’s nostrils flared.
Her boss hadn’t told her I was part of the team.
She looked like she wanted nothing so much as to suckerpunch me. “Deputy Assistant Director and Chair of the Commission for Internal Affairs Marjorie McReynolds.” I let her glower at me until she finally said, “You must be the staff Witch.” The way she said “Witch” managed to cram every condescending, bigoted, stereotypical, fearful comment ever made about my kind into one tiny word.
“Yes, ma’am,” I managed through gritted teeth. “Special Agent with the department of Supernormal Investigations.” I stuck out my hand in an overly chummy way. When she didn’t return my handshake, I hugged her. Full-on squeeze. “So glad to finally meet you, Margie.”
I thought her eyeballs were going to shoot off her face and smack me in the neck. I don’t often get to describe people as “apoplectic”, but it totally fits here.
Pryam jumped in, her voice controlled. “The last time I checked, this is my department and I say who is necessary and who isn’t. Toutant, Reddick, get inside.”
I could feel the little woman’s eyes burning holes in my back as we hustled up to the house. “She seems pleasant.”
Qyll sighed. “Indeed, in the manner of a particularly loathsome skin rash. You’ve no idea.”
Pryam eventually brought up the rear. I could almost hear her growling. We went toward the back of the house and picked our way over a deck that had―for lack of a better description―been smashed. In the kitchen, a trail of dirt and debris crossed it toward a narrow hallway. Tables and other bits of furniture lay broken along the line of caked mud.
“This way.” Pryam said. She wore a smart plum-colored pantsuit and an ivory blouse. Me, I was glad I opted for my customary cowboy boots because the mess was probably going to ruin her fancy heels.
“Suspects?” Qyll asked.
Pryam shook her head. “The last call we have on record is to 911. It’s hard to understand what she’s saying, but she was apparently trapped in the bathroom. The call prior to that”―she turned to stare at me―“was to you.”
I sighed. For a hot second I wavered, then said, “She was supposed to come to my house. She wanted to talk about something, but I swear, I don’t know what.”
The interior of Heather’s home had been ransacked. Furniture upended, drapes torn. Even the ceiling fan hung cockeyed from a couple of wires. A shotgun house is called that because all the rooms are in a row. You’re supposed to be able to fire a gun from the front door and the bullet won’t hit anything on the way to the back door. This looked a lot worse than a shotgun blast.
Down a short hall was the bathroom. Heather’s body was… pinned to the shower wall. The arms were spread wide open, one leg flush against the tile, the other with the foot bent up toward her hip. Her mouth gaped, and there appeared to be mud packed in there. It was as though the wall was made of mud and she was being sucked in. Or pushed out.
Remnants of black magic swirled in the air like evil dust motes. The animotoids were just starting to crawl in, chewing and sucking.
“Heather Mumford. Demon name is…” Pryam made a sound like a banshee underwater. She was looking at some notes on her smartphone. “Worked for an insurance company. Claims to have crossed through the Rift in Tennessee, moved here about ten years ago. A member of the Church of the Earth.”
Qyll prized open an eyelid. “There’s mud in here, too. And in her nose and ears. What a ghastly way to die.”
“Agent Toutant. I suggest you let the forensics team do their jobs.” Her highness McReynolds was in the doorway with her arms folded, glaring at us. If glaring was an Olympic sport, she’d have a dozen gold medals and one silver, because Catholic nuns are really excellent glarers, too and would have given her a run for her money.
“Where did the killer come in?” I asked.
“Back door is bashed in, mud everywhere,” Pryam said. “No sign of digging or earth removal anywhere in a two-mile radius.”
I peered at the body, imagined my protective bubble drowning out the bickering of Pryam and McTrollface. What hit me first and hardest was fear. Heather had been absolutely terrified when she died. As I said, I’m not much of a Sensitive, so if it was powerful enough for me to get hit with it, it must have been bad. I squatted down to look at the mud holding her legs in place and saw a tiny piece of paper.
“Do we have exit location?”
Pryam’s head jerked toward me. “No,” she said roughly, frowning.
“Just entry prints?”
She nodded. When the two women went back to their 21st-century version of chest-beating, I pointed out the paper’s dirty corner to Qyll.
“What is that? What do you have there?” McTrollerson shoved into the bathroom. It became incredibly comical at this point, because there was just not enough room for three full-sized Human adults and an adult Dark Elf. My shoulder was pressed against the wall while the toilet pressed into my back. Pryam was practically sitting in the pedestal sink.
I stood up. Very carefully.
Qyll brushed by me, a move I wished he’d made slower. Standing next to McReynolds, he towered over her at near six and half feet to her, what, five foot nothing? “Madam, I must say it is with the utmost care and thoroughness that I do my job,” he murmured, with a hint of a smile. I almost giggled, but it would’ve ruined it.
He slowly removed his latex gloves, not unlike a burlesque dancer in a cabaret, one, then the other, and tossed them aside. “You’re rather tense, madam.” He gently touched her elbow. McReynolds’ eyes had gone huge and unfocused, mouth slightly open, breathing quicker. “I know you don’t want to stand in my way.” He held his hand on her a moment longer then let it slide off.
“Tessa? Let’s go.” He nodded to Pryam whose face was a bemused grimace then beckoned to me. We went past McReynolds while she still stood there agog, words a gurgle in her throat.
Outside, I laughed. “Nice. Haven’t seen you use that Elven glamor thing in a while.”
“It is technically illegal, using magic on an unknowing Human, but I didn’t have her do anything. I didn’t extract information of any sort. I think I am safe from retribution. You’ll notice Pryam didn’t mind.” Qyll gave me one of his very rare smiles. “We needed to get out of there before Pryam had more than she could handle with McReynolds.”
“Did you see that paper?”
He nodded. “I’ll have it set aside for us to examine later.”
Hobarth Scrittlby, Sanguimancer
Hygienic, safe, and affordable!
Bonded and insured
Blood magic done while you wait!
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
got home close to four a.m. Qyll let me out on the sidewalk in front of the shop.
“Shall I come in with you?” He asked as I got out of the car.
Yes, I thought. Come all the way in. Have you seen my bedroom?
“No, it’s ok. I’ll give you a ring later.”
“I’ll wait a moment. Make sure you get in safely.” His face was hidden in the shadow.
“Suit yourself.” As I turned to head round to the back, I saw the glimmer of glass all over the concrete. The entire front window of the Broom Closet was smashed.
I tilted my head back and roared at the sky. “ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME?”
Qyll was by my side instantly, service weapon drawn.
Stepping carefully, I went through the door, readying spells in my mind. A faint smell of cinnamon hung in the air. As I went to find the lights, a small animal sound in the shadows, near the back of the store, accompanied a slight, pained sort of movement.
“Oh goddess, Dorcha!” I rushed over to her.
“I’ll call this in,” Qyll said.
By the scant streetlight coming in, I could see she was bleeding all over the place. Her paws were akimbo,
one ear nearly torn off. She struggled to stand and ended in an awkward crouch, mewling. Her angry, terrified eyes tore at my soul.
As I crouched low and went to touch her leg, she hissed and took a mighty swipe at me, catching my arm.
“Dammit, cat, I’m trying to help!”
Qyll stepped carefully through the debris behind me.
Dorcha backed away, continuing to spit and growl. I felt my arm above my elbow and winced. Qyll had his flashlight out in a moment, and we considered the damage. My arm was a mess of leather and blood. The huge cat suddenly stood as though nothing were wrong, sprinted past us toward the front door, then leapt into the air. Just before she vanished into the gloom, she shifted. I caught a glimpse of a humanoid foot and a white trailing garment.
The sound that came out of my mouth was pure distilled rage, with a healthy dose of fear, for good measure. Whatever that was, it wasn’t Dorcha, but it was Other. I looked down at my arm. Blood dripped all over the floor. I went cold all over.
“It has my blood.” Dread crept through my words. “Whatever… it… that asshat was, it has my blood.” That was worse than a broken shop or my missing cat. The shop could be fixed, and Dorcha will be found, but if something has your blood, you’re in for a world of hurt. It makes you―me―vulnerable to all manner of attack. And you just never know when that shoe drops.
“What did you see?”
Qyll helped me to my feet. “I don’t know who it was. But I will. Let’s go upstairs.” He was still in the lookout mode, but the thief was long gone.
Though the true Dorcha was nowhere to be found, the rest of the place appeared as I had left it, a mess from Mark’s ghost-o-gram but nothing else awry.
Wordlessly, I motioned Qyll in. As he crossed the threshold, he gasped and jerked, tumbling to the floor, as though an electric current coursed through him.
“Shit. Shit! I am so sorry!” I clapped my hands over my mouth, even as I whispered a couple of quick incantations that would prevent the apartment from launching into full-on security routine. The spells can sense the intruder’s intentions so if he had crossed the threshold with ideas of harming me, he’d likely be dead already.
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