by Tricia Owens
"For many years there have been rumors about your family." He dropped his gaze to the pink stuff in the bowls. "I thought you knew. This is…awkward."
"So's being attacked by a bunch of shifters." I stabbed a hand through my hair and cursed beneath my breath. "How long? Since before I was born?"
He nodded. "It began with your mother."
My laugh was mirthless. "So all this time—the people I've dealt with—they've all believed I'm in cahoots with the Oddsmakers? Like I'm their muscle or something?"
"Not everyone believes this, of course. But there is a significant, notable faction that does."
"Among the shifters."
"They make up a large part, yes."
"And you?"
I already knew his answer, but I wanted to see what Orlaton looked like when he was genuinely offended. It would make me feel better to see proof that I had an ally.
But Orlaton wouldn't look at me.
"I see you as my neighbor, Miss Moody. You have yet to prove yourself a threat to me. If that changes, I will…reassess."
I could only stare. "Then you believe I work for them. You believe I've done things."
He frowned and threw the pipette on the table so hard it shattered the implement. It shocked us both. Orlaton's lips were white as he said to me, "The truth is, I believe one day you'll be pushed to do something horrible. It's my goal to not be anywhere near you when this occurs."
I was crushed. Goofy, nerdy Orlaton believed I was a bad guy. I'd stuck up for him with my friends, but all along he'd not harbored the same faith in me.
"Wow," I murmured. My face felt hot. Suddenly Tomes was too small and claustrophobic. I needed air.
"Miss Moody—"
"I have to go."
He lifted his arm, like maybe he was going to reach for me and offer some lame comfort, but I wasn't sticking around to find out. I spun on my heel and strode quickly back through the bookstore.
"You can't isolate yourself!" he called after me, his voice dogging me like a poltergeist. "You need allies, Miss Moody."
"I thought I had some," I snarled to myself.
"Miss Moo—Anne—don't become what they fear!"
But it was too late. I already was.
~~~~~
Once I was back in Moonlight, I headed straight through the bead curtain that separated my living space from the shop floor. The walls of my bathroom streamed blood and more dripped from the ceiling until I blinked my eyes hard to clear the curse. The mirror above the sink showed the reflection of a short, pale man who'd eaten his own lips. Disgusting.
These were curses I was familiar with, though, so they barely registered as I took my toothbrush out of the cup it sat in and filled the cup with water. I pricked my finger with a needle and streamed several drops of my blood into the cup of water. I didn't have a paint brush so I grabbed a cotton eye makeup remover pad.
In my bedroom I reached beneath the bed and pulled out the Tupperware storage container that held the few personal items I owned as well as winter sweaters and scarves. Beneath the Santa Clause outfit that I wore each year at the annual Santa Run, I found the journal full of Emily Dickinson poems that I thought my uncle had painstakingly copied out for me. It was even more valuable to me now that I knew what it actually was.
Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I dipped the pad into the blood wash and carefully brushed it down the first page of the journal, over the inscription that read, To my favorite niece. Stay fierce and stay smart! I liked that Uncle James had always referred to me as his 'smart niece' rather than his 'beautiful niece' when introducing me to people. It was a little thing, but it had shown me from a young age what was most important to him.
I set the cotton pad aside and waited, but nothing happened except that I'd made the page all soggy. I blotted the sheet dry with a corner of my bed sheet and turned to the first page of poems, which featured one of my favorites, It Sounded as if the Streets Were Running. As soon as I made the first pass with the pad, the letters on the page magickally rearranged to create new words. Excitedly I swiped the pad over the entire sheet and once all the letters had settled, began to read what was revealed to me.
But though I'd expected a secret missive, I was let down. The first page was a description of dragon familiars and ways that they could be used by a sorcerer or sorceress. It was elementary information that he had taught me when I was very young, with only a couple of tips that were new, though hardly game changers.
I washed the second page with the makeup pad and waited impatiently as the poem on the page dissolved and new words appeared.
This page featured descriptions of magickal beings, their physical attributes and magickal abilities and/or powers. It was a guide of sorts which I ran through cursorily, noting with interest that gargoyles weren't listed, either because Uncle James didn't know anything about them or hadn't anticipated that I would ever run into the apparently rare creatures.
The next washed page revealed a list of businesses in Las Vegas that Uncle James vouched for. I recognized about six of them as being run by magickal beings and figured this must be a community-friendly listing in case I needed to do business in-house, so to speak. Some he'd marked with asterisks, but with no explanation as to why. The Keyhole was one such entry. So was the art gallery across the street.
Finally, the next page proved to be something other than static information or an educational guide. Uncle James wrote directly to me:
Anne, it is imperative that you know that a terrible danger is looming over the world and there is a good chance that it may originate here in Las Vegas. The power that we're all drawn to is exactly what's drawing the insects, and these insects seek to commit terrible deeds.
That was more like it. I scooted back until my back rested against the headboard and I drew my knees up to my chest, resting the journal against it. It was a flimsy defense against supernatural prying eyes, but it was the best I could do. I dropped my eyes back to the page and continued reading.
Your mother and father agreed to wage war against these insects. I never told you because your father asked me not to. He knew you well, Anne. Even at four years old. He knew the fire that would be ignited in your blood if you learned how they had lived their lives. He wanted to protect you and I do, too.
But I think it's time to allow you to make your own decisions.
I shook my head, sick with the knowledge that this journal had been sitting beneath my bed for two years. Two years! I prayed nothing that I read would prove to be time sensitive.
Your mother was a magnificent dragon sorceress. Our family's blood comes from the ancient dragons, but in the womb the power went to your mother. I'd always accused her of being a greedy twin and this proved it. I am a dragon sorcerer, too, even though I've told you I am a warlock. I'm sorry for the deception, but for a long time now it has been dangerous to be descended from dragons. Though I haven't been concerned for my own safety, I've been concerned for yours. A house of two dragons, even if one is as weak as I, would attract attention. But I'd hoped that a lone, young sorceress who was discreet with her power, would not.
"Yeah, I blew that one, Uncle James," I said bitterly.
Still, I was amazed to learn that he had been a dragon sorcerer. Really, there wasn't a reason I should have suspected it. He had never used his power that I remembered. He'd simply told me that he was a warlock.
I'm not powerful, but your mother could do great things. This is why the beings known as the Oddsmakers called upon her to perform various tasks for them.
And there it was. Kleure's accusations were the truth. I took a deep breath to quell the rising emotion in me. I didn't want to be angry with my parents or ashamed of them. It took willpower to continue reading when I feared what I would learn.
Neither your mother nor your father would tell me what they did for the Oddsmakers and on their behalf. But I do know this: whatever she did, it kept your mother awake at night. It prompted her to ask me to watch over you should a
nything ever happen to the two of them. Yes, parents of young children have been known to plan ahead in this way, but I sensed urgency in your mother's request. To me, it felt as though she were planning for the inevitable, not for the worst case scenario. It made me question the nature of her tasks for the Oddsmakers.
Opening that Pandora's box may be the last thing I do.
That was the end of the page. My heart began to pound as I turned to the next poem in the book. Using the wet pad, I washed down the sheet as I had before. Another sheet of my uncle's writing appeared for me to read.
When you were a year old, something arrived in Las Vegas.
A chill rippled across my skin. It was as though the air conditioning had kicked on full blast.
There were rumors of what it could be. They were only that: rumors. No one had seen it in daylight. No one had seen it by streetlight. No one knew if it was a shapeshifter or if it was a monster. It was too quick to be identified. Too smart to be caught. Clever and wicked, was how people described it.
Dangerous, was what I thought.
I let out a long, low breath, telling myself to calm down. It occurred to me then that the wards were down and the shop door was unlocked. I saved my spot in the journal and jumped out of bed. Out in the yard, I reset the wards around the property. Instantly I felt better, although guilt weighed on my shoulders as I returned to the shop and locked the front door.
Back in my bed once more, I picked up the journal with hands that trembled. I sensed that everything that I knew of the world was about to change in the next few minutes.
Your mother admitted to me that she had been ordered to hunt down this newcomer for the Oddsmakers. I wasn't to tell anyone. It was a secret mission. I thought it was a strange one. Why didn't the Oddsmakers seize the creature themselves? We all knew they possessed the power to do so, so why send your mother?
The mystery was never solved to my satisfaction. One day, four months after the sightings of this creature were first reported, your mother informed me that it had left Las Vegas, never to return. I was relieved that she hadn't been hurt.
But, Anne, I am convinced that your mother lied to me that night.
I only wish I knew what she had been lying about.
Had Uncle James believed she had lied about the creature leaving Vegas? Or had he meant he believed that my mother had, in fact, destroyed the creature and not simply run it out of town?
My thoughts turned naturally to the creature that had attacked Diana. Were they one and the same? It made sense. Revenge could no longer be sought against my mom, but it could be found through me.
I read on.
Iris kept many secrets from me. I'm convinced she was forced to use her sorcery in ways she was afraid to tell me. She wanted to protect me. She wanted to protect you most of all. But perhaps there is danger in this ignorance. I'm beginning to think that this is the case.
She and your father were killed by a dark entity, though the story you've been told is that their deaths were an accident. You were only four and impressionable. I believed that telling you the truth would only make you grow hard and bitter and determined to seek revenge. However, now, as I am on the verge of meeting with the Oddsmakers for the first time, I have to question whether I have the right to stop you from doing what you want.
Iris was your mother. Jacob was your father. They were taken from you. Maybe you should be allowed to take in return.
Nothing more was written in the journal. I closed it, unsure if Uncle James had meant that final line to galvanize me into seeking revenge. Even if he hadn't, that was where my heart was aimed. The problem was I didn't have a target.
I'd already eliminated Dearborn. Vagasso was next, but I didn't know how to find him and he seemed similar to a bear or a tarantula in that you didn't go after them on their own turf. I had to wait for Vagasso to expose himself and then strike.
But what about that creature that the Oddsmakers had ordered my mom to hunt down? Its description sounded suspiciously like the creature that had attacked Diana. I needed Vale to come home. I had the feeling he might have the answers to questions I didn't know I needed to ask.
First, though, I needed to grill a certain small Voodoo doll.
Chapter 6
When I entered Celestina's shop, I saw that the curtains were drawn around the alcove where her reading table sat. This indicated that she was with a client, a fact confirmed by the small sign hanging from the curtain rail which directed me to have a seat and be patient.
Patience wasn't possible at that point. I walked to the middle of the room and looked up at the hanging Voodoo dolls. The Diana-doll waved one small arm at me.
"How's it going?" I whispered so as not to interfere with Celestina's reading.
"I'm inside a doll made of cotton balls and burlap. What do you think, Anne, dear?"
I didn't envy whoever ended up marrying Christian and gained Diana as a mother-in-law.
"I don't know how these things work," I said, motioning at the doll. "Is there anything we can do to make you feel more comfortable?"
"Do you have a Barbie townhouse available for rental?"
"Ha ha, sorry. Just sold my last one." I was tempted to move her into a haunted doll house. As soon as I could find one. Magickal items were often listed in the missed connections section of Craigslist. You just had to know how to separate the hook-up ads from the magickal insider ads. "Listen, I was wondering if you could go over a few things with me about your attack."
The doll swung back and forth on its fishing line. "I told you everything I know. It was too dark to see much."
"Right. I understand, and maybe you won't be able to tell me anything more, but…did you get an impression of the size of the creature that attacked you?"
"It wasn't larger than an elephant. It wasn't smaller than a rabbit. It was dark."
I nodded understandingly even though I wanted to swat the doll out of the air like a volleyball. "Maybe narrow it down a bit to, I don't know, between a dog and a lion?"
The doll continued swinging. "Alright."
"Did you hear the sound of claws or did it have hooves, do you think?"
"I don't—I suppose I recall hearing a clicking noise."
"Good, good!" This was like pulling teeth but we were making progress. "What about air pressure? Was the air still or did you ever feel a breeze?"
"I couldn't tell if it had wings," Diana-doll snapped at me. "I would have said as much. I—"
She cut herself off quickly, but I'd caught it. "You, what?"
The Voodoo doll stopped swinging. Though its button eyes couldn't convey emotion, I nonetheless sensed that the doll was annoyed.
"Nothing. I was wrong, so it's irrelevant to consider."
"Diana, please. Just tell me. Any little thing can help."
For several seconds the doll said nothing and didn't move. I began to wonder if Diana's consciousness had finally succeeding in leaving the doll. Then:
"When it first appeared, I thought it was Vale, because it spoke to me with its mind."
"I thought so, too," I admitted to her.
"But it wasn't him," she said firmly.
Her certainty made me feel better, but I didn't like being so ignorant. Why didn't I know more monster lore? I definitely needed to read through Uncle James' guide and memorize everything he'd written. 'Know thy enemy' was sounding like a pretty good idea.
"What other creatures have the ability to speak telepathically?" I asked her, hoping the list wasn't too long.
"That's the problem, dear." The doll sighed. "I don't know of any besides gargoyles."
~~~~~
I opened the shop because I'd hoped that servicing customers might clear my head and allow me to think about the situation rationally rather than emotionally.
It seemed unlikely that Vale had been the one to attack Diana. She knew him reasonably well. She would have recognized him, shadows or no. Plus, the creature had been asking questions about me and Vale. Sure, that cou
ld have been a ruse to steer suspicion away from him, but why torture Diana for info he didn't need? Nothing about Vale had hinted that he could be cruel in any way. That didn't seem like something you could hide, especially from a girlfriend.
No, I was positive it wasn't his gargoyle, but it was something around the same size, with claws. That left a lot of options.
With my chin propped on my hand on the counter, I watched the two teenaged boys who hovered around the section that held monster hunter paraphernalia. The items there weren't really meant for use in hunting monsters—I'd be run out of town for encouraging such an activity—but it was how I called that section of the shop in my head. The shelves there held weapons of all sorts, from wooden knives to sharpened katanas, to curved scimitars and small crossbows that fired silver arrows. My favorite was a shield the size of a pizza, covered with silver eagle heads whose beaks would come alive and snap the hell out of whatever came in contact with them.
One of the boys reached for it and immediately yelped and jerked his hand back.
"It's protected by blood wards," I told them.
Startled, they both jumped back from the shelves.
"What are blood wards?" the younger boy asked.
"Duh, you need to spill blood before the ward lets you through," his friend told him after punching the younger boy in the shoulder. "Then the weapon is keyed to you."
"That whole section is warded," I warned them. "So you can look, but I don't suggest you touch. Not until you're ready to commit blood and buy."
"Why can't we test them out?" the older boy asked, scowling slightly.
"Test them out how?" I replied, bored. "Two of those blades leak poison. The arrows will melt once they penetrate skin. That axe on the wall will inject barbed metal thorns into your palm that won't release you until you've named and killed a victim. Which one did you want to try out?"