by Eli Constant
“Sure, you do. But it’s no match for a killer with a gun.”
I wanted to fight him on that, but he didn’t know the full extent of what I was learning to do—how I could draw a person’s life force from their body through the smallest cut imaginable. I just needed an opening, to taste the blood and the decay that being alive causes within a body. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Course, if there’s a graveyard nearby when I’m being mugged, the tables might turn.”
“Don’t even joke about that, Tori.” Terrance lapses into herd mentality, where any mention of The Rising and zombies causes the pulse to race and memories of news bulletins that showed entire towns being overrun by the dead. Time heals, but it doesn’t erase.
“Yeah, sorry. I’m on the other end of the spectrum though, Terrance. Hated for something people like me did. Sometimes, all I can do is joke.”
We sit for a little while longer. I make tea. He’s lost in whatever thoughts my words have brought to life. Or maybe he’s thinking about the case—the fires, the bodies.
When he leaves, he tells me to answer my damn phone next time he calls.
I tell him he’s spilled a little coffee on his shirt. He looks automatically, finding there’s no stain. I smile, he rolls his eyes in irritation.
Do you ever wonder if an interaction with someone in your life could be your last?
Maybe I should say something more poignant next time. Just in case.
Chapter Twelve
I’M RESTLESS AFTER Terrance leaves. Like my body is a ball of barely-contained electricity and if I don’t power something awake, I’m going to burst into bolts of lightning.
My phone ringing saves myself, and the rest of the world, from an electro-charged necromancer.
“Hey, Dean. What’s up?”
“Yeah, I was wondering if you were... erhm... coming to work today?” He sounds a bit pathetic asking. It’s weird, as he’s normally prone to sarcasm and giving me a hard time, rather than the meek and mild routine.
“I wasn’t really planning on it. I had a rough night. And it’s a clear schedule today, isn’t it?” I racked my brain, trying to think if there was anything on the calendar for today. I was sure, well ninety-nine percent sure, that there wasn’t.
“Yeah, I thought so too, but there’s someone here who claims to have an appointment with you. He’s a bit rough-around-the-edges.” Dean must be in my office, away from whoever is waiting to see me.
“Weird. Okay, I’ll be down in a second.” I’m a bit irritated that I have to dress to impress, rather than continuing to feel like an electrical cord looking for an outlet, but maybe it’s a good thing. The more I have to do, the less I think. And my thoughts aren’t leading to the best of places right now. Kyle leaving me. Bodies with missing hearts. Pentagrams and ley lines and arson.
I opt for business casual, putting on a pair of dark jeans free of holes, a peach-hued blouse see-through enough to need a cami, and my... Adam’s leather jacket. It’s faded, and tired, but it’s what I want to wear to meet this mystery client.
Locking the apartment door on my way out and shoving my keys in my pocket, I take the stairs two at a time. Dean’s already unlocked the business entrance for me.
Not seeing the client when I first walk in, I head to my office. Dean’s behind my desk, his fingers clasped together and supporting his chin as he stares at the door, presumably waiting on me. A few feet past the threshold, I realize someone’s sitting in one of the high back chairs. They must be quite small, because the chair really isn’t the tallest in the world.
Coming into view, I see the last person I expect in the world.
Mordecai Jones.
“Mordecai, what a pleasure,” I say, sort of half-bowing which causes Dean to quirk an eyebrow. “Dean, this is Mr. Jones. He runs a taxidermy place on the outskirts of Williamsburg County.”
“Oh, sure. Mr. Jones. I’ve heard of you.” Dean stands up awkwardly, and there’s a little catch in his throat as he speaks. Apparently, whatever Dean’s heard about my dwarf king friend wasn’t exactly flattering.
“Ms. Cage,” Mordecai stands up and holds his hand out to me. I take it, shaking firmly. His face is still as interesting as ever, with its large pale scar and valleys of wrinkles. “It has been a while.”
“It has. Since...” I let my voice trail off, thinking about how he’d helped save Mei from psycho doctor. Clearing my throat, I speak again. “I was beginning to think you’d dropped off the face of the world, or were just avoiding me. I left a message a few months ago to check in with you.”
“Yes, I received it.” He doesn’t expand on that, which gives me the impression he was avoiding me after all. “I’ve something I need to discuss with you, Ms. Cage.”
“If you’d like us to handle a funeral for you, Mr. Jones, it might be best to schedule a proper appointment.” Dean sort of squeaks out the words. He’s walking slowly, but purposefully, towards the exit to my office.
“No, no funeral, boy,” Mordecai says firmly, his voice threading power through the room towards Dean. I see my employee shake a little, his eyes going wide. “This has something to do with Ms. Cage’s other job.”
“Other job?” Dean is curious enough to pause in his race for safety. “What other job?”
“Her work with the police, boy.” Mordecai bites of the word ‘boy’ and he sounds like a school teacher reprimanding a pupil. No hint of his accent bleeds in, but his power is a quiet rush of low tide waves.
“Oh, right,” Dean gulps. “Well, I’ll give you some privacy then.” He rushes the rest of the way out and closes my office door a little too hard, causing the few knick-knacks I have lying about to shake a little.
“You scared the hell out of him, Mordecai. That wasn’t necessary.” I move and sit down at my desk, crossing my arms and leaning on the dark wood surface.
“Humans annoy me,” he grumbles, “I do not see how you, Queen of the Blood, can consort with such fools.”
“I was raised in this world, Mordecai. Humans aren’t all bad. There are some who are very, very good.”
“Good,” he snorts. “Bad. Shades of grey in between. They’re all cannon fodder when next the supernatural world claims flesh. You ought not get attached, Ms. Cage.”
“We’ll have to agree to disagree, Mordecai.” I clear my throat and lean back in my chair. “Now, you wanted to see me about something... something to do with the fires and the murders?” I hazard a guess, unsure what else he could possibly want that’s associated with the police.
He nods slowly, also settling back in his chair. I hadn’t realized he’d continued to stand as I’d sat. I probably shouldn’t mention that his height played a role in that. “Yes,” he further confirms. “My land is home to a fair few creatures looking to stay hidden from both the worlds you belong to, human and supernatural. They want nothing in this world save quiet living. I am here on their behalf.”
I’m surprised that Mordecai hasn’t dropped into his natural brogue accent now that Dean has gone, but realize the forced neutral of his voice might be so habitual that he only drops it when he needs to call the reality of his power, rather than the whisper of it he’d used on Dean.
I wait for him to expand. When he doesn’t, I speak. “Okay, and what do they need exactly?”
“The land is in upheaval, Ms. Cage. It cries. The ley lines are a switch and they’ve been turned on too long for any good to come of it.”
“Aren’t ley lines always ‘on’ so to speak? They’re veins of power, humming beneath our feet. They don’t turn off and on like a light switch.” I cross my arms, curious what he means.
“Aye,” he says, finally saying something that feels more naturally him, “but when the power is tapped, it surges through the land. Think of it as ripples in a lake. One stone drops, the wave of the ley line courses through the ground then settles back down. It is but a tickle against the skin of we creatures in tune to the great mother. But, say, many stones are dropped, one after the ot
her. The ripples go on and on, never ceasing. That builds and builds. A crescendo through the soil. A scream of magic that burns hot as hellfire.”
“And it... hurts you? You and the supernaturals that live on your land?”
He nods again. “Aye, Blood Queen, but what’s more... it hurts the world. It hurts the world and she do cry from the pain of it. And it won’t be long before her mouth do open, wide and gaping, to let in all manner of buried darkness. The God Stones quake, Blood Queen. They vibrate and they bleed from the hurt of it.”
“All manner... of buried darkness,” I repeat slowly. “That sounds ominous, Dwarf King.”
“Aye, ‘tis. A Hellmouth. And a great deal worse than those you humans dreamed of in your Anglo-Saxon arts.”
My lower lip falls, and I sit there mouth gaping. “You’re joking,” I half laugh. “I mean, that’s something out of a television show. That’s buff the vamp slayer, for heaven’s sake.”
“I’ll give the humans one thing,” Mordecai says standing, “sometimes they glimpse our side of the world better than they should.” He moves to my office door, but turns around before opening it to leave. “The wayward souls that hide on my land deserve peace. The great mother deserves peace. The stones demand it. You’ll not find the dark coven who has violated this land, hearts gone and spirit trapped, but you will find the leaders who pushed them to their bitter ends. It will take two in the end, to represent the originals. Woman. Man. Witch. Warlock. Find them at the heart trail. Spill their blood to break their connection to the ley lines.”
“And what happens if I can’t find them and kill them?” I ask seriously, brow furrowed. I didn’t want to end someone’s life, not even the wicked witches of Bonneau.
“Then look to the center of their spell, the pentagram soul. Look to where the Hellmouth will open to ruin the human world you so love. And say goodbye.” With that, Mordecai exits, leaving a wake of shadow and fear behind him.
I run out of the office and bolt for my apartment stairs. Dean tries to get my attention as I move, but I ignore him.
When I’m upstairs, phone in hand, I call Terrance. “Hey, can I come to the station? We need to talk.” I must sound frantic, because he’s at home with his family but says he can be there in thirty minutes. I’d have asked him to come to my house, save me the trip, but the nervous lightning-bolt energy is back. And I need to move.
As I’m walking out the door, boots on this time, because... yeah... I’d gone down to meet Mordecai with no shoes on—which was brilliant, sort of like those ‘go to school naked’ dreams, but not quite so traumatizing—I call Liam. He doesn’t answer, so I leave a message with the briefest summary of Mordecai’s warnings possible. I figure he’ll find me when he can, if he wants to. I wonder how many more times he can see me run into Kyle’s arms before he finally gives up.
Though, in my heart, I don’t think he ever will.
“PLEASE DON’T GIVE ME shit today, Andrea, I really can’t handle it.” I’m staring at the police department secretary, who’s looking more prim-and-proper than usual as she holds me hostage at the desk.
“I told you that Chief Goodman isn’t here today, Ms. Cage. I’ll take a message for you and give it to him tomorrow.” Her voice is at its most infuriating, all high-pitched sweetness and she’s obviously enjoying giving me the run-around. She’s like... a pitcher of supposedly sweet tea. Ice cold, condensation running down the glass. Inviting. Glorious.
Then you take a sip and you realize that shit’s sugar-free.
“And I told you that Chief Goodman is coming. He’s on his way.” I lean against the desk, cradling my head in my hands. An ache is building right above my right eye, which usually means a migraine is imminent.
“I’m not going to explain this to you again, Ms. Cage, because you seem willfully determined not to understand me. He. Is. Not. Here. Today.”
As soon as Andrea says ‘today’, the bell jingles to announce a newcomer to the station. “Morning, Andrea,” a familiar voice rings out. Immediately, a little color drains from Andrea’s face and I can’t help but give her a small smile. “Tori, why aren’t you waiting in my office? You know you could have gotten comfortable. Sorry it took me a little longer than expected. The kids didn’t want me to go and the baby threw up on me.”
“No problem, Terrance. Andrea and I were just having a pleasant chat about the weather.” I roll my eyes at him to emphasize the sarcasm.
“Ah,” he says, nodding. “Well, you head on into my office. Andrea, would you be a dear and get us two coffees from the break room? Should be a new stack of to-go cups under the sink.”
Now, the color floods back into her face and I can tell she wants to protest. But when your boss asks for something... you do it with a smile.
“Sure, Chief Goodman. Coming right up.” She throws me a sneering glance before heading back to the breakroom. I chortle as I walk, and I know Terrance, for his part, is grinning a little behind me. Andrea really needed to learn to pick her battles. And I wasn’t the war she was ever going to win.
When we’re settled in Terrance’s office, steaming coffee in hand and a sour-faced Andrea departed, Bonneau’s Chief squares his shoulders and looks me pointedly in the eye. “So, what’s going on, Casper?”
I cringe at the nickname. He teases me with it now-and-again, but there are others on the force who say it in a derogatory way. I’m their own personal ‘spook’ squad, though only Terrance knows the truth about me.
“I had a visit from our old friend Mordecai today.” I play my fingers against the smooth surface of the to-go coffee cup. The ridge where the thick paper wraps over itself to make a cylinder feels like a scar on the surface, and reminds me of Mordecai. I’ve wanted to ask, more than once, about how he got the scar on his face.
“Jones left his land,” Terrance says, his interest piqued. “Must be something big for him to do that.”
“It’s sort of... unbelievably big, Terrance.” I take a sip of coffee, but realize it’s black without sugar, which makes me cringe. The pain in my head’s subsided though, with the absence of Andrea.
He waits, patiently, for me to expand. I bite my lower lip, and realize nothing I say is going to be any worse than the day I admitted to him that I was a necromancer. I mean, if he could believe that, then ‘hey, there’s going to be a giant portal for demons in the middle of town if we don’t stop this arson-happy warlock and witch who killed the rest of their coven to tap into a crazy amount of ley line power’ probably wouldn’t even make him hesitate.
So I told him everything Mordecai had said, and warned.
And he just sat there, taking it all in like a man who didn’t just hear me talking about Hell coming to Bonneau. I didn’t care what Mordecai said. It did matter if a human was good, bad, or a shade in between.
And I’d fight for the good ones, the humans who looked me in the eye and called me friend even though I was everything their species feared, until my last breath.
Chapter Thirteen
“NO, LIAM.” WE’RE A western standoff in my apartment. Kyle’s still not come home, I don’t even know if he is coming home tonight, but I don’t think it’s smart to have Mr. Fairy here teaching me necromancy tricks and supernatural trivia in case he does walk through my door looking for peace... instead of the reminder that another man... being... magical thing wants my affections too. “I’ve brought you up to date on what I’ve found out. I told you every syllable Mordecai uttered. Now you can leave. I don’t have the energy for anything else right now. You know more than Kyle at the moment. Isn’t that some sort of little victory you can go celebrate?”
“We’ve not practiced in some time, Victoria. You must be prepared for what’s ahead.” Liam breaks away from our duel and heads towards the sofa. He folds himself down onto the cushions, as pretty as a picture, sitting like we’re not arguing and he hasn’t got a single care in the world.
“Prepared for what, Liam? You say that, but you never tell me what I’m preparing for
—am I just becoming a better necromancer for the sake of it, or is some big bad evil coming my way?” I don’t relinquish my high ground. He’s going to relent, and he’s going to leave.
“You are Blood Queen, Victoria. A necromancer so powerful that I’d suspect no one’s ever rivaled you, or will rival you. Do you not wish to reach the edges of your destiny? To touch the corners of the power that races through your veins?” He speaks so casually, one leg crossed daintily over the other. Yet, his words are like that speech in the movie Independence Day—a string of words that lights faith and action up inside of a person’s psyche. Well, I have news for Liam. He’s no Bill Pullman.
“Yes, I’m a Blood Queen. And I’m going to be Queen of a fae court on top of that, if Frodo and his band of white court Keebler elves has any say in the matter. But there is no reason, no absolute fucking reason, why we have to practice supernatural bullshit tonight.” I point at the door. “So get out.”
Liam smiles, that slight, frustrating, fetching smile that makes him look roguish and juvenile delinquent. The smile that says ‘I’m looking to be slapped by a beautiful woman. If you do it, I’ll enjoy it’. “If you’re going to insult my court, and my king, you could at least be accurate. Frodo is a hobbit. And it is the Light Court, not the white court. Not that I mind you being less-than-friendly towards Oran and his flock. I was imprisoned at their hand, after all.”
“Okay, Liam. I’m done. I don’t want to argue anymore.” I turn around and get a mug to fill with cold coffee from the pot. My microwave isn’t the newest thing in the world. I have to guess whether it’s going to superheat at thirty seconds or still be ice cold after two minutes. I go with caution, as per my usual, and punch in forty-five seconds, a happy medium.