“Do you know a woman named Jenny Voorhaven?”
The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place her. In my line of work that happened a lot. People introduced themselves at the bar; we became great pals for a night while I listened to their incredible sob story—I’d heard some doozies—then I never saw them again.
“Maybe,” I said.
“She was found on your doorstep, or at least what was left of her. They’ve asked for help from the FBI.”
“Who?”
“The locals. There hasn’t been a murder in Friedenberg in the past ten thousand years.”
“You’re exaggerating,” I said. But not by much.
“Voorhaven was from Ohio, died in Wisconsin, and … well, they can’t exactly figure out how she was killed.”
“They’re the FBI, and they can’t figure it out?”
“It appears she was torn in two, and since everyone knows that’s impossible . ..” Megan’s voice said that she knew differently.
So did I. I’d seen Jimmy tear something in two not two days ago.
Jimmy. Ah, crap.
My breathing increased to hyperventilation rate. Megan must have heard it because she said, “Liz?” and then she said it again, really loud. “Liz!”
“I’m here. Just let me think a minute.”
And when I thought about it, I knew that Jimmy could not have traveled from the Ozarks to the Great Lakes, then back to Sawyer’s, and on to southern New Mexico, stopping to tear apart someone on the way. He was damn quick, but he wasn’t that damn quick.
On the heels of those thoughts came another, and I strode across the floor, yanked Jimmy’s list from the pocket of my discarded jeans, and found Jenny’s name smack-dab in the middle. No wonder it had sounded familiar.
Jenny had been a seer from Cleveland; she’d no doubt missed the e-mail and phone call warning her to stay away. I had a bad feeling there might be others right behind her.
Most seers weren’t like me, capable of defending themselves against supernatural bad guys by virtue of their own supernatural strength and speed, which was why only Ruthie had known the seers’ identities once upon a time. Even so, they didn’t usually go far without a DK to protect them; all of Jenny’s must be history.
I could see what had happened clearly. Jenny in hiding, cut off from anyone she knew. Confused, lonely, scared, she’d waited as long as she could stand, then she’d come to me for help.
She’d arrived on my doorstep, rung the bell, then heard the whisper that announced a demon. She’d called for me, screamed, maybe cried, while the woman of smoke had smiled and torn her into pieces.
Sometimes this leader of the light job really, really sucked.
“Did that nai— Ne— Neph.” Megan broke off with a growl of annoyance. “Did that freaky, disappearing bitch goddess do it?”
“Yeah.” Either her or one of her minions. Didn’t matter. Jenny was dead.
“Liz?” Megan murmured. “What’s going on?”
“She was a seer, like me.”
While I’d been thinking, I’d also been pulling out my laptop, waiting for it to boot up, then to connect with the Internet. I checked my e-mail. Three seers had replied, agreeing to stay put. They could guide their remaining DKs while in hiding, and according to them there was suddenly a lot to do. It appeared that the Nephilim had regrouped and were having a field day.
I sighed. Nothing to be done but keep trying to plug up the floodgates as best we could with what we had left.
I’d hoped for more responses—hell, I’d hoped for one hundred percent—but other than those three e-mails, all I’d gotten was spam.
“Megan,” I said, “there might be more coming.”
I wasn’t sure how to stop them.
“Your building is wrapped in yellow crime-scene tape. A blind person could see it from the space shuttle. If I were a superpsychic seer hiding from the bad guys, I’d take one look and run like hell.”
There was that. My mood lifted slightly, then plummeted.
“They might come to the bar. She probably has something watching the place.”
I didn’t think the Nephilim would bother with Megan, but then again, they did like to kill just for the hell of it.
“I don’t want you hurt.”
What I wanted was to send a DK to camp out on a barstool, but I didn’t have any to spare.
“I’ll be fine.”
I didn’t answer. Megan was tough, but she wasn’t that tough.
“I’ll get someone to help.” Who, I had no idea.
“I said I’d be fine.” Megan was getting testy. She hated it when anyone intimated that she couldn’t take care of herself, her bar, her kids, or anything else she considered hers.
Like me.
“I’m sure you will be,” I lied. “But if the Nephilim send a toady to watch the bar, I can send a DK to kill it and anyone else who comes along. It’s just good business.”
“Oh,” Megan said slowly. “Well, that makes sense.”
Now all I had to do was find one. It occurred to me that Summer should know a few DKs from her centuries of being one. Maybe she had a better way to contact them than I did. Who knew?
As soon as I hung up with Megan, I called Summer again. She didn’t answer; I suspected that flying, even without a plane, took all of her attention, and she let any incoming calls go to voice mail.
Sawyer came into the room while I was leaving a message, his dark coat speckled with dry grass, pollen, and a few burrs. I should brush him before we got into the car.
I shook my head. I could not treat a wild animal like a pet. That was a good way to get bitten. Or worse.
“Summer,” I said when her “leave a message” message ended. “Call me when you hear this. I—” I paused, not wanting to admit it, but unable to find another way to say what had to be said except, “I need your help.”
Sawyer snorted. I glanced his way. He didn’t know about Jenny, the dead seer, so I told him. It always felt bizarre, talking to a wolf, but I knew he could understand me. He just couldn’t answer me. In words.
In actions, he got his point across fairly well. As soon as I was finished, he picked up my discarded jeans in his mouth, dragged them across the carpeting, and dropped them on my still bare feet. The message was clear.
Get dressed and move your ass.
I was oh so tempted to drive straight back to Milwaukee and protect Megan myself. But along with that temptation came the certainty that such a move would play right into the woman of smoke’s hands.
I wasn’t sure why she hadn’t come after me again; it probably had something to do with Sawyer, or the turquoise, maybe both. If I allowed myself to be sidetracked, if I backtracked, disaster would follow.
Sawyer and I were on the road within half an hour. I stopped in at the desk, grabbed a complimentary Go-cup of coffee and a disgusting cellophane-sealed cheese Danish. I also took one for Sawyer, but he sneered at it, so I ate that one, too. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d had any food.
I suspected Sawyer had made use of his time in the long grass to not only take care of business but chomp on a rabbit or a mouse. How a mouse could be more appetizing than a mushy Danish, I had no idea, but perhaps I’d feel differently if I had pointy ears and a tail.
“As soon as we send your mother to hell, we need to figure out a better way of contacting seers. Set up some kind of contingency plan for emergencies.”
The one we had was pretty half-assed, but I’d discovered that a lot in this world was. Humans weren’t perfect and neither were their plans.
Sawyer, who’d been hanging his head out the window, pulled it back in and waited for me to continue.
“I know, our whole life is one long emergency, but still, cell phones, even e-mail, probably aren’t the best idea. I’m thinking the Nephilim, having lived longer than long, have bought some pretty impressive technology.”
Cell phones could be traced. Monsters, with their abnormally good hearing, cou
ld listen in on conversations they had no business hearing. Hackers came in all shapes, sizes, and supernaturalities.
We rolled into Detroit before noon. Trulia Street was located in a somewhat seedy section, the house cozied up to all the others on the block with very little space in between. The gray bungalow was surrounded by a small patch of dried grass; the bright red shutters only served to emphasize the bars on the windows.
When we rang the bell, the snarl of a very large dog on the other side made Sawyer’s hackles rise. He pushed himself between me and the door, crowding me backward until I nearly tumbled off the porch.
A sliding sound followed by a click revealed a tiny window at eye level. The inside of the house was so dark I couldn’t get a good look at the eyes beyond a tiny sparkle as a murky cloud-covered sun traced across the glass.
Then the peephole slammed shut. I tensed, prepared to pound on the door and shout a while, but the locks were released, bolts were pulled back, the door swung open, and a voice murmured from the darkness, “Ciao, bella. Been waitin’ for you.”
CHAPTER 15
Though the door was wide open, I still couldn’t see anyone in the long, dark tunnel of the front hall, but I could hear that dog growling. He sounded both monstrous and mean.
“Are you—” I paused. How was I supposed to ask if the woman who belonged to the haunting, melodious, somehow sexy voice was a witch? Was that considered polite? Or an open invitation for the dog to eat me?
Sawyer walked inside, legs stiff, hackles still raised. He lifted his head, sniffed the air, shook himself as if he were soaking wet, then glanced at me with an expression I could only label confused.
“Am I who, bella? Or perhaps you mean what?”
She laughed, the sound so rich and full of joy, I couldn’t keep myself from smiling. I wanted to laugh with that much happiness, too, but I had a feeling I might never do so again.
“Since you mentioned it,” I began.
“This is no place to have such a conversation. You on the porch, me in the dark, your poor wolf—”
“Dog,” I blurted.
“Certainly,” she answered without missing a beat. Her voice was not only beautiful, smooth and clear, like an aria soaring through a darkened opera house, but lightly accented. English was not her first language; however, she’d been speaking it for a very long time. “You must both come inside, then shut and lock that door behind you.”
I hesitated. Locking myself inside with Lord knows what, and her dog, might be a very dumb move. I tried to avoid them.
“Elisabetta,” she murmured, and I tensed, though my name wasn’t a secret any longer, if it ever had been. “I am Carla Benandanti.”
Well, that was convenient, although anyone could name themselves a good witch. Didn’t mean that they were.
“You were sent to me by a woman who is both your friend and mine.”
“Ruthie,” I whispered.
“She told me you would come.”
“You spoke to her?” I took an eager step forward. “Recently?”
“No. She’s a bit dead, is she not?”
“Then when did she tell you—”
“Years ago.”
“Years ago she knew that I’d come here?”
“Ruthie knew many things.”
She had me there. Of course, Ruthie could be self-fulfilling her own prophecies. She’d been the one to send me to Detroit in the first place.
“Including,” Carla continued, “that you would need a benandanti at some point in the future. Come along, bella, and your little dog, too.”
Didn’t bella mean “pretty” in Italian? Or maybe it was “beautiful.” I had a sudden flash of the Wicked Witch of the West. I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too.
The wicked-witch thoughts made me even more nervous. I was supposed to be visiting a good witch, but one never knew anymore who was good and who was bad and who might turn evil if an evil wind blew.
As if in answer to my thoughts, a sudden breeze came up and nearly slammed the door in my face. I grabbed it just in time, glancing over my shoulder, scowling at the evidence of another swirling thunderstorm on the horizon.
What was up with all the storms lately? They seemed to be following me wherever I went. Since I had no control over the weather—yet—I returned my attention to Carla, who waited for me to decide. Was I coming in or was I running away?
I hated all this uncertainty. I had powers, so did Sawyer; together we should be able to keep a benandanti from killing us.
I stepped inside and locked the door behind me. A flash of movement at the far end of the hall had me heading in that direction. Sawyer had seen it, too, and his nails clicked against the scratched wooden floorboards as he led the way.
He slunk into the living room, gaze darting everywhere as he searched for the dog that still growled intermittently. The room was empty but for—
Wow, talk about the wicked witch. Except for the lack of a green complexion, Carla Benandanti could be Elphaba’s twin: long, drawn, pasty face; hooked nose; a wart or two combined with bony fingers; and long, skinny feet covered in slippers the shade of rubies.
I glanced up and met the woman’s laughing eyes. Bright blue, they seemed to sparkle—with life, with joy, with … magic. Every power this woman had was reflected there. I couldn’t believe an evil witch could have eyes like that, but I also couldn’t believe a good witch would choose the appearance of a hag.
“I can see what you’re thinking,” she said. “What’s a witch like me”—Carla swept her age-spotted hand down a skeletal body clothed in a black sacklike robe—“doing in a place like this?”
She might as well set a pointy hat on her silver-threaded, long black hair and be done with it.
“I am who I am,” she continued when I didn’t comment. “I have no need for glamour.”
“Do you have the talent?”
“I choose not to use it. Beauty is fleeting, only the soul lasts forever.” Her smile was like her laugh and made some of the heaviness in my chest lighten. “I prefer not to draw attention to myself. It’s safer.”
“Safer how?”
“A beautiful woman is seen by everyone and remembered. An ugly one is easily forgotten.”
Sawyer trotted past, breaking my concentration. He sniffed every corner, peered under the furniture and behind the curtains, but found nothing.
“Where’s your dog?” I asked, and the benandanti’s smile widened. “You have an invisible dog?”
“I have no dog at all.”
“But—”
She waved a hand and vicious snarling filled the room. Sawyer, who’d had his head beneath a chair, jumped, thumped his head, and backpedaled, growling as he swung around to face his attacker. The expression on his muzzle when he encountered only us was priceless.
“I conjure the sound whenever the doorbell rings,” Carla explained. “It scares most people away.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
She shrugged. “Then I conjure a dog.”
“Why continue to live here if it’s so dangerous?”
“Some places are magic, and this is one of them.”
I’d felt such energy swirling through the air atop Sawyer’s mountains as surely as I’d felt the chill brush of evil the first time I’d seen the Strega’s lair of glass and chrome pushing into the overcrowded skyline of Manhattan. Even though Jimmy and I had burned the place to a cinder, I doubted anything built there would ever put to rest the ghosts that remained.
This house had an aura, an essence, a waiting presence, but not of evil. Of anticipation, a sense that good might happen if you only knew where to look, who to ask, what to do. The longer I stood here, the more my skin tingled, and the louder the air seemed to hum.
“I came here as a child with my parents,” Carla explained. “My father worked in the automobile factories. It was a good life. Much better than the one we left behind. We were happy. So much so that it seemed like magic. Later, I learned that
it was.”
“What were your parents?”
Every witch I’d encountered thus far had been something else, as well. Sawyer was also a shape-shifter, his mother an evil spirit, and the strega a vampire. That didn’t mean there couldn’t be a witch who was just a witch, but I wasn’t betting money on it. Magic came from somewhere; magic was born in the blood.
“My father was human; my mother a walker.”
“Ruthie said benandanti means ‘good walker,’ which, according to her, is a good witch with the power to end bewitchments.”
“All true. I took my mother’s place. I am both witch and walker.”
I glanced at Sawyer, who was still sniffing everything. “Like him?”
“Not a skinwalker. No.” I didn’t ask how she knew what Sawyer was. I’m sure they had some kind of witch radar. “Benandanti can only shift by bathing in a moon-drenched lake. When I fight our fight, I will descend to the underworld through the water.”
My confusion must have shown because she elaborated. “A benandanti is a werewolf who leaves behind its human form when she descends to the underworld to battle the wicked.”
Sawyer trotted over and sat in front of Carla, staring into her face as if she were a long-lost friend. Considering what she’d just revealed, perhaps she was.
“I thought the wicked were on earth,” I said. “The Nephilim.”
“The Nephilim are the offspring of the greatest evil ever known, the Grigori. In the Bible, they’re often referred to as the wicked. There have been times over the centuries when the Grigori have tried to break free.”
“But a benandanti has always stopped them?”
“Thus far.”
“What would happen if the Grigori succeeded?”
“It is written, Within the kingdom of the beast will once again be a mingling of men and demons.”
I got a shiver. There was so much I didn’t know. I should probably take a course. At least buy a copy of Doomsday for Dummies.
“Where was this written?”
“The Book of Daniel.”
A copy of The Bible for Dummies probably wouldn’t be wasted, either.
“Kingdom of the beast means the Antichrist,” I murmured. Whoever that was this week.
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