And cursed under his breath when he realized how much that was happening was “off.”
Wil? No. She’d been openly terrified by it. Scared enough to cut him off and send him back to the airship with no more answers than he’d had before other than the woman was feral and crazier than Tabitha. It wasn’t acting, he’d been certain. A person’s eyes do certain movements when fear takes over. Widening, a small twitch, slight movements trying to take it all in and find a way to escape. No different than prey caught by a predator. Wilhelmina had that very look when she’d discovered exactly what curse Kane carried.
It meant another conversation with Wil. She had to be close by, watching him. It meant that she could’ve warned him about Nick.
If there was anything to warn him about.
Nick had every opportunity to kill him in the shop, and he didn’t. Still, Kane was no stranger to agendas, and he added Nick to his mental list of suspects. Being a private investigator often meant trusting no one until they gave him a reason to trust them.
Something else nagged at him. He had to distance himself from Tabitha. Until he knew what to do with his curse, he was a danger to her. The nightmares about hurting her, trying to bite her when she’d kissed him. It was too much.
Wil’s voice startled him, came out of nowhere as if she were next to him.
“You a damned fool, Kane Shepherd.”
Kane stopped and rolled his eyes.
“My first name is fine. Really. Less of a mouthful.” A few people walking by looked at him as if he’d lost his mind, picked up their pace when he nodded to them.
“You went to the home of the Devil, himself, and he let you go. You either a fool, or the luckiest white man ever walk in Charleston.” He heard her chuckle. “We need to talk, you and me.”
“We’re talking now.”
“I need to see your face,” Wil said.
“Thought I scared you.”
“Tell me another one, white boy,” the Conjure-Lady said, chuckling. “You don’t scare me. That vile curse you got, that a whole ‘nother story. I be in the garden at sunset, right when the sky can’t decide if it wanna be purple or red.”
“And if I don’t make it?”
She laughed, the sound grating and loud in his ear.
“Then you gonna let nine more lives slip through your fingers, and one of them you actually care about.”
Chapter Eleven
Kane looked around the garden impatiently. The sun was setting, the orange sky streaked with purple hues. Cicadas whirred, their song so loud he wondered if he and Wil would have to shout to be heard over each other.
He’d come back to Anderson’s house and gone to his room to freshen up. A shower, a change of clothes, and a small meal later, he was in the garden waiting on the Marsh Witch to show her face. He’d seen Tabitha in passing in the house, but she’d had her back to him. He’d paused a few times, wanted to give in to his wish to talk to her.
Yeah, Shepherd, he thought to himself. You looked through her Grimoire, snooped in on her past, lied to her, and kept things from her. She’d love to chat. He shook his head at his own stupidity and took a deep breath, letting the salt air clear his lungs, tried to let it wash away the thoughts.
He couldn’t get her off his mind.
And now he couldn’t go near her. The Wendigo? He’d never heard of it, but it just added to the pile of bullshit already on his plate. Who would levy a curse like that on him? Gentry? No. It wouldn’t gain him anything politically. The show he’d put on yesterday was nothing more than a display of power. He had the Revolution cornered, and they couldn’t afford to lose more people. Not while so many were vanishing in the nights. Charleston would start running low on manpower soon, and then the Revolution would be defenseless against an occupation. It made sense for Gentry to possibly be part of that. But a curse on Kane, himself?
Not likely.
That would be more Danwood’s thing, if the slob was a magic user. Which he wasn’t.
He’d never met Nick before, and he’d walked right into the Priest’s shop. Frankly, Kane didn’t know if that proved that he was either brave or incredibly stupid. Kane could’ve been dead, and Nick hadn’t made to harm him in the slightest. In fact, Wilhelmina had caused him more harm than Nicodemus.
Then again, she’d been casting a spell
“You like to ponder,” a voice said, the whisper coming from behind.
Kane spun, tried to find her. A corner of the garden had gone dark as pitch. He braced for an attack from Richard, felt some relief when Wilhelmina stepped out of the shadows. She grinned at him, showing her blackened teeth.
“You’re a Shadow Wraith as well?” Kane asked, keeping his guard up.
Wil shook her head.
“No, I could never live as one of them accursed and pitiful things,” she said, walking toward a bed of lavender. She knelt down, stroked the purple blossoms lovingly as she spoke. “They ain’t the only ones who do tricks with them shadows. They shadows theyselves, so they tricks a little more complicated than mine. And they come easier to them.” She looked up at Kane and smiled again. “You a lost man, ‘Just call me Kane’ Shepherd. Done found yourself in a bind.”
“That’s what you wanted to talk to me about?” Kane asked. “I thought this was about the disappearances.”
Wil stood, walked toward him as she spoke.
“It is about a great many things. Your curse, the Curse of the Wendigo. The disappearances. That proper white man showin’ up with an army and killin’ them nine good strong men. But there’s somethin’ you gotta do for me.” She was close to him now, her breath rancid with the stench of rotted meat and pipe smoke. “They one that disappear. A few weeks ago. Before you arrive. Someone that mean the world to me.”
Kane raised an eyebrow. “Lover?”
Her eyes went to steel as she spoke one word to him.
“Sister.”
Kane nodded. Great, he thought. More siblings. He caught himself. Hadn’t Tabitha and Anderson said it was men disappearing? He put the thought away. He’d ask Anderson, later.
“Where did she disappear from?”
“She live here in town,” Wil said, turning away from him and moving over to a bush. The branches were leafed and lined with a purplish-black berry, flowers purple. “She was local Conjure-Lady. Like me. Help with the sick.” She grunted. “She and her apprentice. Better woman than me. I prefer my isolation.”
“Okay,” Kane said, glancing over his shoulder at the door. The last thing he needed was Anderson wandering out into the garden and spotting him chatting with the Marsh Witch. He looked back at her. “So where do you think she is? Do you have any leads?”
Wilhelmina turned away from the bush, looked at him, her face determined.
“I know were my sister is,” she said. “And you gonna find out tonight.” She walked toward him slowly, raising a finger at him as she spoke. “You gonna see a man go. You gonna follow. I done seen it comin’.”
“You have foresight?”
She grunted again.
“You Magicians don’t have no corner on the market on spells.”
“Who am I going to see?”
She smiled at him, shook her raised finger as she spoke.
“Can’t tell you. Don’t know. Just shadows, them visions. Your woman can tell you that.”
“What about my curse?”
She dropped her hand, her features instantly twisted in anger.
“What about it? It a curse. I can’t help you.”
Kane stepped toward her, towered over her, his anger building.
“Bullshit,” he said. “You don’t want to help me because you’re scared. You know something about it.”
She grit her teeth at him, then stood tall and regard him slyly, her eyes narrow as she looked him up and down.
“Hand me your amulet, Magician.”
Kane fished the thing out of his pocket and tossed it to her. Under any other circumstance, a Magician would never
just hand over their lifeline to their power to another.
His was broken, so what did it matter anyway?
She caught it in mid-air, looked it over, ran a clawed finger over the cracked surface of the amber as she let out a low whistle.
“You done a number on this here trinket,” she said, sounding impressed. “I hate to see who was on the business end of that spell.”
“She’s no longer with us.”
“I bet not,” Wilhelmina said, turning over the amulet. She grinned at Kane as spoke again. “I have this.” She tapped the amber with a long, dirty nail. “I have all you need to fix your little toy.”
Kane raised an eyebrow.
“No offense, but how does a witch…sorry, a Mambo know enough about a Magician’s amulet to fix one?”
Her grin broadened as she handed the amulet back to him.
“We commit a crime by not knowin’ what we can about other forms of magic,” she said. “If we keep to ourselves, dont share knowledge, then we no different than them white men who look at someone like me and think we no better than animals. Just dont need to be mixin’ practices, is all. Ain’t no good, a Magician tryin’ to cast a Mambo’s spell.”
Kane looked up. The darkness in the corner Wil had come from began to swell and churn as the sun set further, the sky starting to go to blue. She moved toward the shadows, talking over her shoulder as she went.
“You don’ try to stop nobody tonight, Kane Shepherd. You follow. Follow your friends. Let them guide you.”
The shadows enveloped her, pulled her in hungrily, then shrank back until Kane could see the stone wall in the corner.
The sound of the door opening to the garden startled him. He spun and saw Wilson standing there, wide-eyed and apologetic.
“Sorry, Mr. Shepherd, sir,” he said.
Kane waved it off.
“I’m just jumpy. Nerves. What is it?”
“It’s General Anderson, sir. She said we’re clear to begin the watch.”
* * *
The city lay quiet, dark save for a few windows in buildings where people were running lanterns for the evening. Charleston had once been a major port town in the South, and some of the buildings had been offices and warehouses. Others had been businesses. All were now homes to squatters, the great port of Charleston all but forgotten and left to ruin. The cool air carried the smell of the ocean over the city, and Kane could hear birds off in the distance, gulls and herons searching for food in the night. He leaned back against the door, hiding deeper in the shadows of the stoop as he looked out over the street. Farnsworth’s kept quarters in the old courthouse building across the street from Kane’s vantage point. It was simpler than the elaborate buildings in New Chicago, the front three archways brick underneath a set of columns that gave it the appearance of a Roman temple. The courthouse was now a main headquarters for the Revolution, a place for the ranking officers to gather and hold town halls with the people of Charleston.
Wil had warned Kane that someone he actually cared about would be in trouble tonight. He’d asked Wilson watch over Derricks, Benson was watching Nick’s place, and Kane figured that the General would be safe in the house with Tabitha there. He hadn’t warned Tabitha to watch over her. Anderson was a fireball, and Tabitha wouldn’t shy away from a fight. Not lately. As childish as she could be at times, she’d shown him over the past few weeks how formidable she could really be.
Brave. Kind.
Tabitha wanted to mend things. He could tell. So did he. But how? And how would she react to him keeping something else from her? Kane didn’t know much about curses, but he knew enough to be worried about how far this thing would go. What would happen to him if he actually got the taste of blood? Of Tabitha’s blood? Curses needed at catalyst, something to trigger them. There wasn’t any such thing as an instant curse. They took time and steps, each worse than the last.
He knew that curses could kill, and not just the person who carried the curse.
He had to tell her. No more secrets. He had to get out of the habit of keeping things from her.
That meant talking to her.
He was surprised that his shoulder still hurt from where she’d slugged him earlier. He wondered what would happen if he approached her. Would she hit him again? Throw an ice blast at him?
Kiss him? Cry?
He shook his head and grunted.
This is what I get for being involved with a wild card. Suck it up, Shepherd.
The temperature dropped again. The air changed, something shifting in the dark. Kane’s ears perked up at the sound of breathing, quiet and rasped, coming from a dark alley next to him. He moved into the corner of the stoop until his back was pressed hard against the stone. He breathed out, his heartbeat speeding up as he let the spell form on his lips.
“Aspectu aethereo.”
His vision rippled, seemed to struggle. He urged it on, watched the world go to black and white, the darkness moving away to gray. He noticed immediately that he felt no fatigue. Nothing. It was no different than walking or looking out the window. It set alarms off in his head. He should at least feel like he was straining, like he was carrying a burden. It’s how he’d felt whenever he’d cast without his amulet before. Now it was as natural as walking.
Something blue moved over Broad Street like water, stopped in front of the courthouse. A shadow.
Richard.
“Shit,” Kane whispered. He’d have to tell Anderson later. Figure out how to do a focused attack on Harbor Plantation without attracting the attention of the Special Forces.
After he delivered Richard’s head on a pike.
He watched as the shadow stopped in front of the courthouse, then rose up into the figure of a man. Richard looked around as the dark peeled back from his unnaturally white skin and into his black, buckle-lined body suit. His back was to Kane, his shoulders hunched as he stared at the courthouse. He pulled something out of a pouch he wore on his belt. Kane saw a glow in his hand but couldn’t make out what it was.
Shit, what if it’s the Seeker? Damn!
Kane let the spell go and held his breath as Richard turned, searching the area with his eyes.
“Piggy’s magic is here, then it’s not,” he said, his voice low. “Interesting.” He grinned, a few locks of greasy, long black hair shifting to cover his face as he turned back to the courthouse. He sank down into the ground, moving again as a shadow as he flowed up the front of the building like unholy water moving in the wrong direction.
“Farnsworth,” Kane whispered to himself. “Christ.” He waited until Richard was out of sight, then moved from his hiding spot and bolted across the street and ducked into the middle archway. He tried the door. Locked.
“Ethereal incindio!” Ethereal Burning!
His hand warmed, then cooled.
Damn.
He thrust his right hand out as he spoke the spell again, relief washing over him as a tendril of fire shot from his palm and melted the lock and door handle away. He pushed the door open and bolted into the building. The place was dark, the gaslights off and the moonlight through the windows not significant enough to go by. He recalled the layout Wilson and Anderson had given him earlier. Kane looked around, trying to find the door to the stairwell. Farnsworth slept in one of the offices, according to Wilson, waking only now and then to make rounds around the building to ensure that things remained secure.
The sound of something being knocked over rattled from behind the double-doors that led into the courtroom. Someone grunted, another crash. Breaking wood. Chairs?
Silence.
Kane ducked into a dark corner of the hall, hid down behind a desk as the doors opened and Farnsworth stepped through. The man stopped, stood stock still in the doorway, swaying slightly as he stared straight ahead. Kane looked at Farnsworth’s face, the blank stare and slackened features raising the hairs on his neck.
Richard stepped out from behind him, grinning as he looked up at the large man and pointed at the door.
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“Go home, slave. You belong to the Master now.” Richard looked out into the lobby, his eyes resting on the desk where Kane hid, and the man smiled as if he could see him. Kane reached with his hearing as the demon turned to Farnsworth and whispered in his ear. “We don’t want to lose him.” The Shadow Wraith vanished into the dark, moved like a ghost across the floor and out the front door. Kane listened for the bitter sound to fade, then reigned his hearing back in.
Farnsworth walked toward the door, his pace slow and almost casual. Not like the Farnsworth Kane knew. The Farnsworth Kane knew marched where he went, walked with purpose. Wilson was often jogging just to keep up with the Captain’s large gait.
Though there was likely no point in hiding, Kane knew that Cliff and Garrett would be waiting on Richard to finish doing whatever he was doing to lead people out of the city. It seemed they typically traveled as a pack. Better to stay out of sight. He waited until Farnsworth was out the door, then followed him. Farnworth walked in a straight line, his shoulders slack, his arms dangling by his sides as he turned and walked down the street. A few more people fell into step with him, each also acting as if they were in a trance. Kane ducked in and out of store fronts and bushes, watching every move as Farnsworth and the other men walked through the city, past the toppled statues of John C. Calhoun and Andrew Jackson toward the Battery. They turned left, moved the opposite direction of the mansion, and made their way toward the pier. A boat was docked, large enough for a small crew, masts high in the air.
Sail boat, Kane thought. Clever. No clockworks, no sound. Likely a hand gesture system to communicate. Kane knew a small amount of sign language from his tours on the barges when he was younger. It was a necessity when it was impractical to shout over the sound of the turbines in the engine room.
It was a side of the Battery Kane hadn’t seen yet. What had once been cannon turrets were now overgrown with plants and trees, and part of the wall had crumbled away. The pier sat next to the collapsed portion, still solid, though he could tell from the buildup of spider webs on the walkway that it wasn’t regularly used.
Gaslit Armageddon (Clockworks of War Book 2) Page 12