Spellsmoke: An Urban Fantasy Novel (A Fistful of Daggers Book 2)

by SM Reine

  “Why do you think I did? Sounds to me like I’m being spared the killings. How many have died so far?”

  “Loads,” Lincoln said.

  “Maybe I’m safe from the killer, then. Maybe he just wanted everyone else. He’s gotta know who I am—what I mean to the community. They’re naming a school after me.” John had never looked so proud as when he said that. It managed to shine out from underneath the swollen tissue smothering his features. “You oughta check for a common denominator between the other victims that I don’t share. I’m telling you, there’s something.”

  “Well, none of them were as important to folks as you are,” Lincoln said. Even the Cassidy family hadn’t employed as many men as John had at his lumber mill. “I’ll look into it.”

  “You better.” John sagged against the bed, wheezing out a sigh. He started coughing again.

  Lincoln watched the digits on the pulse oximeter dip. It slowly climbed back to normal levels—so slowly. At some point real soon, that number was going to dip, and all the machines would alarm, and John’s heart would never beat again. “I can’t believe something could take you down and we’d not even get a diagnosis for it.”

  “You remember that time we pulled a bear tag? For the bow hunt?”

  Lincoln wasn’t sure how it was connected, but he nodded. “Yeah, I remember.” They didn’t give out many bear tags during hunting season. They’d decided to do the hunt old-fashioned, man versus wild, and go after it with a bow instead of a hunting rifle.

  “That bear should have died when we shot it in the skull,” John said. “It was a clean shot.”

  “Cleanest I’d seen, before or since.”

  But the bear had somehow survived. It had kept moving for hours with an arrow through its brain. When the bear finally stopped running, it remained alive, lowing on the ground until John and Lincoln caught up.

  They should have kept a safe distance. A dying animal was still deadly.

  Yet they’d walked right up to it and met its eyes. They’d seen the death in them.

  Lincoln hadn’t pulled the tag, so he wasn’t meant to kill the bear. John had broken the laws of man by putting the bow into his son’s hands and telling him exactly where to aim.

  It was God’s law that gave Lincoln the right to put that bear out of her misery.

  That had been the summer of his sixteenth year, and Lincoln had been a man after that. He’d dressed the bear himself. He’d kept one of its claws.

  “I’ve been limping with an arrow inside me for years,” John said. “When it’s time, it’s time.”

  “You’re not the bear,” Lincoln said. His throat was so tight.

  “Don’t argue with me,” John said, like always.

  Like always, Lincoln’s reaction was reflexive. “I’m sorry, sir.” There was no more putting it off. John had said it himself: when it was time, it was time. “Ashley asked me to come. She wants to know where your other son is.” He took the photograph out of his pocket.

  John’s mouth twitched, chin shivering, the folds of his neck deepening. “I thought you were better than that.” He wouldn’t even glance at the picture.

  “Being man of the house means taking care of the girls. I’ve always looked after Ashley. She wants this information bad, Dad. She really wants to find her cousin.” Lincoln extended the photo again. “Is it true that this child was yours?”

  “You think I’m stupid? Irresponsible? Think I’d just cast off a kid for fun, like it was nothing?” John asked. His voice trembled as he grew louder.

  “No, sir,” Lincoln said.

  “Don’t you think I’d have kept John Junior around if I’d wanted him to be part of the family?”

  It’s true. John Junior is real.

  Some part of Lincoln had truly believed that Ashley and Susannah were making everything up.

  Right until he said that name.

  “I’m not trying to second-guess nothing, sir,” Lincoln said. “Ashley just—”

  “Just nothing, you insolent prick.” The bear was getting mad, stretching his claws as he tried to sit up in bed. “Get out of here. You’re gonna kill me with this talk, and I don’t need no help climbing down into that grave!”

  Lincoln didn’t want to leave.

  John had gone to the hospital once in Lincoln’s childhood, when a negligent coworker had punched a nail through John’s hand. Afterward, the old man had come home with everything wrapped up and blood on his shirt. Lincoln had been maybe four years old. Still been small enough that he’d climbed into his daddy’s lap the instant he sat down. Lincoln hadn’t been happy until he’d heard the beating of John’s heart under his cheek.

  Of course, John had kicked him off, told him not to be a baby. Lincoln had to keep strong when John got hurt because someone had to look after the girls.

  Lincoln had to be stronger now more than ever, too.

  But his dad was scowling at him, so mad he’d spit all over his own chin, and Lincoln wasn’t strong enough to push back against the man who’d taught him how to push in the first place.

  “I wanna know about him too,” Lincoln said. “Maybe you could tell me about his mom. What happened with that?”

  “I know what this is. It’s not about Ashley at all. Never thought I’d live to see the day you became a mouthpiece for your mom,” John said. “Tell Susannah she’s not getting nothing.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You think I’d have done so good for myself if I hadn’t made the hard decisions?” John asked. “I did so much good for this damn community. For your damn family. I handled as much church business as Father Davidek for more than twenty years! And they’re naming the new school after me. I did right by you, didn’t I?”

  Lincoln didn’t have a choice but to nod. “I’ll always be grateful.”

  “You better be.” John subsided, sinking against the bed again. He groaned and rested his knobbed hand over his swollen forehead. “It’s hurting.”

  “I’ll get someone,” Lincoln said.

  He went outside, found the nurse, told them about his dad’s pain. But he didn’t wait to see what they did about it, and he didn’t catch up with Noah over the investigation.

  Lincoln climbed back into the pickup with all Sophie’s belongings and headed for the sanctuary.

  Chapter 26

  The hours passed quickly in Summer Gresham’s company. Sophie had so much to discuss with her. It turned out that Summer was also not a native to this world, having grown up inside a Haven: a bubble universe barely any larger than the valley that contained the sanctuary.

  “I’m glad in a way,” Summer said, effortlessly lifting a large box to shelve it over her head. “I was well loved in the Haven. Without that foundation—without that safety—I would be a completely different person. It’s also where I met my husband, and I’m grateful for that too.”

  “I’ve heard of these Havens,” Sophie said. “My understanding is that they were prisons designed by angels to contain angels. To hear that such a place was not only safe, but pleasant… Well, it’s fortunate, I suppose. In some ways.”

  They were searching a shed for ritual supplies. The pack had a lot. Most had been left behind by a coven before Genesis, leaving them unclaimed and gathering dust. Nothing was catalogued. To find the specific items Sophie needed, they had to look through every single box, trash bag, and broken suitcase.

  That left plenty of time to swap stories. After Summer talked about the Haven, Sophie regaled her with tales of growing up on her isolated farm. How she’d always had infinite activities, including books to study, movies to watch, and games to play with her guardians. She hadn’t realized most people lived differently until her adolescence. “Incidentally, that was also when Omar joined the ranks of my guardians,” Sophie said.

  Summer perked up at the name. “Was this Omar special to you?”

  Special didn’t sufficiently summarize it.

  “He was the first person who didn’t care for me like family,” Sophi
e said.

  Summer nodded. She understood.

  They continued to search the storeroom.

  Sophie only realized how much time had passed when her stomach began to grumble. She looked through the narrow, dusty windows to see that the valley was darkening.

  Lincoln Marshall was also walking up the path to the storeroom. His face was drawn in grim lines, even for him.

  Summer leaned over Sophie’s shoulder to see what she was looking at. “Wow. That’s Lincoln Marshall? He’s not like I remember.”

  “He is fairly scary looking,” Sophie said.

  Summer exploded into laughter. “Sweetheart, I know scary. That’s not scary. He looks like he tumbled through war between John Deere and Calvin Klein and came out the other side shredded.”

  Superficially, perhaps, Lincoln cut an attractive figure. “Be careful around him,” Sophie said.

  “Is he not nice to you?”

  “He’s very nice at times, but men of his ilk often are. Civility veils ill intent.” Sophie sighed. “In his words, he doesn’t like blacks.”

  Summer cringed. “Oh no.”

  Lincoln entered, so they had to stop talking about him. He studied the shed with that look he used when entering any new environment: noting doors, potential weapons, and avenues of escape. Sophie had seen him do it a dozen times on the trip, even when in places he should have felt safe. His paranoia never ended.

  “Abel said he’d protect you,” he said. “I don’t see Abel.”

  “It’s okay, I’m his daughter,” Summer said. “I’m not an Alpha, but I’m awesome at shapeshifting. I’m a great bodyguard.” She planted her fists on her hips. “I could protect her from just about anyone. Anyone at all.”

  His jaw tightened. “Good. Because we need somewhere new to stay. We’ve gotten kicked out of the Woodbridge motel.”

  Summer dropped a couple more things into the box they’d emptied for Sophie’s ritual supplies, then handed it to Lincoln. “You two can stay with us. The accommodations aren’t fancy, but you’ll be surrounded by people with super-strength, and I guarantee that nobody will notice two more bodies.”

  “The last time that I stayed here for protection, things didn’t go very good,” Lincoln said, shifting the box to his shoulder. “I’d be surprised if the Alphas want me anywhere near you guys.”

  “It doesn’t really matter what they want,” Summer said. “They might be in charge publicly, but they’ll do whatever I tell them to.” She stepped outside and flagged down a shifter wearing a bright orange vest. “Can I borrow your clipboard? Thanks.”

  She flipped through the pages, and Sophie peered over her elbow to see the map of the campsites throughout the sanctuary. The maps were color coded. Empty tents were highlighted in yellow, and few in number.

  “There must be even more shifters here than I realized,” Sophie said.

  Summer nodded. “Yeah, it’ll be tricky to find tents for you guys.”

  “Tents, plural?”

  “Yeah. We’ve been separating people by gender identity to give everyone a tiny bit of privacy. Men and women only cohabit if they’re in a relationship, or if they’re related.”

  Lincoln immediately said, “She’s my girlfriend.”

  Surprise jolted over Sophie. He had adamantly denied any kind of personal relationship before. Now he didn’t even think before trying to lay claim to her.

  Sophie didn’t like it.

  Summer didn’t seem to, either. “Nice try, Marshall. Even if I hadn’t already heard the opposite from Sophie, my shifter nose can smell lies from miles away.” She flipped through the pages again, her mouth twisting thoughtfully. “I might be able to do something to keep you two together. Let me talk to my mom. Do you guys mind staying here for a few minutes?”

  “Certainly,” Sophie said.

  Summer glared at Lincoln for a full ten seconds in warning silence before walking away. He let out a breath once she was gone. “Damn. Those Wilders are intense.”

  “I think she’s scared of you,” Sophie said.

  “Of me? Why?”

  “Do you really need to ask that?”

  He scowled and set the box down by the doorway. “Shifters don’t gotta be scared of anything.”

  “They’re still people,” she said. “Summer is a kind young woman, with the heart to match.”

  “And the muscles of a jacked wolf to match those too,” Lincoln said.

  “Physical attack is far from the only threat.”

  “So I’ve gotta hang out with shifters who hate me. Great. Can’t be any worse than the bullshit in Grove County.” He lifted the lid on the box to look inside. “You got a lot of stuff out of there.”

  “Everything I need, hopefully,” Sophie said. “We should be ready to speak to Inanna within days—as soon as I can find a witch capable of helping me cast the initial circle.”

  “And then I can get myself exorcised.” He eyeballed the other buildings around the shed. This side of the valley had all the semi-permanent structures. The hospital tent, food services, some shipping containers. He pointed to one building behind the shed. “Is that the office?”

  “Summer said it is. Why? Do you want to borrow their facsimile machine?” Sophie was very proud of herself for being able to summon the name of office equipment, and she grinned as she asked.

  “I’m thinking that if Abel doesn’t want to give me contact information for Elise Kavanagh, I should just get it myself. They’re gonna have a way to call her in there. A phone directory or something.” Lincoln seemed to have made up his mind. He smacked the brim of his hat a couple times to dislodge dust, then jammed it back on his head. “If you tell Summer that I’m sneaking around—”

  “I’ve no intent of doing any such thing,” Sophie said. “You deserve answers. How do you want to do it?”

  “Just sneak in and go as fast as I can. There is no hiding from shapeshifters. The trick is to get the information before they can get to me.”

  “Then we’d best move,” Sophie said.

  “We?”

  “I’m not missing out on an opportunity for mischief. Stealing a phone number from a werewolf pack sounds like much more fun than waiting.”

  His eyes creased at the corners. “All right then.”

  Excitement built within Sophie as she followed Lincoln to the office. They crouched underneath the window together, and he peered over the sill to look inside. “There’s only one person inside,” he muttered. “I’ll jump in as soon as he’s gone.”

  Sophie nodded, her heart bouncing in the back of her throat. “What do I do?”

  “You’re my lookout,” he said. “Every good heist needs a lookout.”

  “You’re an expert in heists?”

  “I’m an expert in heists that end in criminals getting arrested,” Lincoln said. “When we get caught, tell the truth. This is a B&E. They’ll smell lies on us if we try to divert.”

  “B&E?” she asked.

  “Breaking and entering. It’s a law term.” He checked over the windowsill again, then sat back next to Sophie. “He looks like he’s packing up to leave.”

  “I imagine he must be going to dinner,” Sophie said, nodding down at the communal heart of the town. People were already lining up to wait for their turn to eat. “We should have plenty of time to search while everyone is preoccupied.”

  The sanctuary wasn’t quite as depressing as the sun fell. Once the street lamps and witch lights began activating, the tent cities were bathed in a warm amber glow. The bodies flowing over the trails could have been dressed for any era at that distance—she’d never have been able to tell. The quiet, sepia-toned tableau reminded Sophie of faded daguerreotypes.

  “We didn’t get kicked out of the motel because of you,” Lincoln said.

  “I know,” Sophie said.

  “How? You weren’t there.”

  “Not for that incident, but I am primary witness to my own life. I’ve done nothing to deserve hostility. If we were kicked out, it w
asn’t because of me.”

  Lincoln snorted. “Your arrogance is gonna get you in trouble someday. It’ll be a lot worse than just getting booted from motels.”

  “Even if it gets me in trouble a hundred times, it will be worth it to avoid the pain of doubting myself,” Sophie said.

  “Self-doubt is healthy,” he said. “You could use more of it.” He checked the window one more time. “The shifter is gone. Let’s move fast.”

  They hurried around to the front of the building. The door was unlocked, which Sophie only found surprising until she remembered that any shifter would be strong enough to punch a hole in the tin siding to enter the office, locks or no.

  The office was tidy and organized, if not exactly clean. The shifters didn’t seem bothered by dirt all over their floors. The trash can by the door was overflowing. The keyboard on their solitary computer was stained from skin oils.

  “I’m gonna look for a directory or contact list,” Lincoln said. “Keep an eye out the window.”

  Sophie pressed her shoulder to the wall, watching as far down the hill as she could. The gravel path was clear. Tree branches linked in an arch over its entrance, shadowing the furrows dug by prior footfalls.

  Words ached within the cage of her clenched teeth. The sound of Lincoln shuffling through papers was a reminder of what he planned to do at the first instant possible: remove Inanna from his soul. It was blasphemy to the highest degree. It was like burning the Library of Alexandria all over again.

  “Are you still certain you want Inanna gone?” Sophie asked quietly.

  Lincoln’s shuffling didn’t pause. Metal clanked as he closed one filing cabinet drawer and opened another. “More than ever.”

  “What if the exorcist is unable to separate her from you? What then?”

  “Elise knows lots of people,” he said. “Someone’s gonna be able to save me.”

  “But what if they can’t?”

  “They will,” Lincoln said.

  Sophie let the flimsy curtains fall over the window again. Lincoln had removed several folders and was swiping through them at the desk, his head bowed so that the brim of his hat concealed his eyes. He always looked like he was frowning because of the lines on either side of his thin-lipped mouth, but the shadows of falling evening made him look even angrier.