The process of release was surreal. I don’t know what the sheriff had been told on the phone, or what he’d told the rest of his staff, but all of them were apologetic and helpful. In a matter of minutes, the deputies returned our things and ushered us outside, where the Thor waited at the curb.
I waited until we were inside, behind the tinted glass, to yank open my shoulder bag and check on the grimoire. I’d felt its weight when I’d thrown the strap around my neck, but I didn’t want to get down the road and learn the entire thing had been a charade. I shouldn’t have worried—the book was safe.
“What was that?” Cassie announced in the stillness of the RV. “Are you sure you didn’t lay a whammy on them?”
“No. No way. I was asleep, I couldn’t have.” Right? I shook the thought off. They hadn’t acted as though they’d been pushed. The demeanor had been more one of fear. “Kent must have pulled some strings. That’s the only thing I can think of. I don’t know who he pulled strings with, but I imagine it will be one heck of a story.”
Cassie shrugged and started the RV. I’d been taking the wheel for my fair share of driving time, but it seemed ill-advised to jump behind the wheel in the parking lot of a police station when they knew I wasn’t carrying proper identification. “Westward ho, then, I guess.” She turned and winked. “Maybe your new badge will be waiting for you, secret agent man.”
Groaning and trying not to laugh, I settled in as she pulled out of the parking lot. I drove here and there without concern for being pulled over—it wasn’t like the motor home was going to set off any speed traps—but I felt rested enough that I wanted to take a quick look through the grimoire.
The pebbled leather surface of the binding felt warm in my hands as I slid it out of my satchel. It hadn’t been like that, back when I’d first discovered it a decade ago, but the feeling had been a noticeable change ever since I’d used magic to restore it from a pile of ashes. It wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling, really, but it raised the hair on the back of my neck nonetheless. I handled the book of magic with far more care than I did a loaded firearm, though, because the potential it offered was many times more destructive.
Cassie glanced over. “Research?”
“Yeah. Curious to see what the hell that traveling salesman thing, was. I’m not used to messing with anything corporeal.”
She grinned. “Sounds like you’re nostalgic for ghosts.”
I snorted and started paging through the book. The pages between the covers changed every time I opened them, and the book itself seemed to react to what I was looking for, whether I spoke it or not. In a way it was kind of like a psychic Siri, though it seemed to actually understand English, unlike the phone app.
The runic chicken scratches on the pages rippled and blurred into a stylized but readable English font. I frowned to myself as I read. I’d thought that I wanted information on what the creature was that I’d faced. The last time I’d used the book for this, it had helpfully displayed the spell the ill-fated Melanie had used to create the trio of familiars that had put me in the hospital. I don’t know where she’d gotten the spell, considering the grimoire had been unavailable to her, but the preface to the process had warned about the finite nature of the human mind. When Melanie had split her boyfriend into three entities, she’d left each one with the brainpower of a literal moron. Despite that, the familiars had been cunning and plenty strong. Cassie and I had defeated them only by the narrowest of margins.
I’d expected to see some sort of entry describing the nature of the salesman, but what the grimoire displayed was a new spell.
I’d been careful about considering new additions to my mystical arsenal since I’d regained the book. The glimpses of terrors I’d gotten when I’d wondered what mother had been doing with the book still featured in my nightmares, even though I hadn’t made it through the first paragraph before slamming the cover.
This, though, was rather benign. And as I considered the implications, I realized that it would have been something very nice to have against the salesman as well as Melanie and her familiars.
I leaned closer and set about adding to my repertoire.
CHAPTER 5
Valentine
Offut Air Force Base, Nebraska—Tuesday morning
After the aircraft taxied into the protective confines of the hanger on out edges of the base, the C-130’s ramp lowered to the tarmac with a clang.
A black, boxy panel van eased out of the cargo compartment after the loadmasters released it from a web of harnesses. It pulled to a stop outside of the hangar, not far where Valentine and Eliot stood waiting.
The driver, an older man with an unlined face but incongruously bald as an egg, lowered the driver’s window. He leaned out and stuck an unlit cigar between his teeth. “If it isn’t Sourpuss and Sourpuss. How goes it, boys?”
Valentine couldn’t help but grin. “Hey, Georgie. Nice wheels.”
Eliot’s expression was dourer. “You seem excited to be getting out and about, George.”
“Ain’t that the truth. Been cooped up in the science lab too long.” He cracked his knuckles. “Looking forward to the chance to bust some heads.”
“Now, now, gentleman,” a voice in a clipped British accent interjected. “I was under the impression that this was an intelligence-gathering expedition. Why else would you want little old me to come along?”
The woman who strode down the ramp after the van was slender and petite. She wore a tailored black suit and sensible low-heeled shoes. The very air she exuded made it evident that she was the senior ranking person in the group. Her voice was old, but even with the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes and a few minute strands of white in the rich, brownish-red of her shoulder-length hair, she could have passed for any age between thirty and fifty.
George shook his head. “You know they don’t let me out of my cage without adult supervision, Morgan.”
The female agent joined the group and smiled, then eyed Valentine’s cowboy boots with obvious distaste. “I see that some things never change. You can take the cowboy out of the country, but you can’t change his spots.”
“You’re mixing metaphors, ma’am.” Valentine smiled. “Good to see you, Morgan. It’s been too long.”
“And you as well, my dear.” She patted him on the cheek, then turned to his partner and gave him a friendly hug. “Eliot.”
Even with the warmth of that greeting, Valentine’s partner was still stoic. But the tone of his voice was pleasant enough. “Morgan. Glad you could make it.”
She drew back and studied him, her head cocked a bit. “Are we on edge?”
“Long night,” Eliot admitted. “You know how bad Valentine drives. I didn’t sleep a wink,”
Valentine said nothing in his own defense, but he looked at George and pointedly rolled his eyes. The bald man grinned.
“Be that as it may,” Morgan said. “If anything is—amiss, shall we say—I need to know, right away.”
“It’s under control,” Eliot replied.
“He’s fine,” Valentine said. He winked at Eliot. “He’s just antsy because we haven’t caught up with the coven.”
The senior agent studied Eliot for a long moment, then glanced at Valentine. “Fair enough. Do you need to fetch a vehicle?”
He shrugged. “We called in a favor and got a helicopter flight over. So we’re all together in the Mystery Machine if you’ve got the room.”
“This thing’s a hell of a lot better equipped than some green hippie van,” George growled.
“Scooby snacks?” Eliot said, with just a fraction of a smile. The other man glared.
Morgan rubbed her forehead. “Gentlemen. I’m hardly in the mood for this nonsense again.”
Valentine grinned. “Gosh, Morgan, it was so much fun the last time.”
“It hasn’t been long enough.”
“It was years ago,” Eliot pointed out.
She turned and stuck a finger under the dour agent’s nose. The corne
r of her mouth trembled, threatening to break into a smile. “Your partner is bad enough. Don’t you start with me, too.”
George’s voice stomped the round of chuckles flat. “Cut the love fest and get into the van, people. We got miles to go.”
Helen
Las Vegas, Nevada—Tuesday morning
The bellhop threw open the doors to the suite and announced, “Your rooms, ladies and gentlemen.”
Her trio of companions made impressed noises as they stepped into the rooms. It was by far the fanciest hotel room Helen had ever stepped into, but even though she now looked much closer in age to the others, she knew that she had to conduct herself in such a way that they wouldn’t forget that she was their superior. Overt demonstrations were great and all, but in her experience, power was most effective when used subtly. In that, the rhetorical knife-fighting of academia and the tension of prison had been more alike than not.
The hostages from the frat party walked mechanically into the suite, bearing the troupe’s minimal luggage. Lack of resources was a problem they needed rectify, but all in good time, she judged. She turned, brushed her fingers across the bellhop’s waiting hand and murmured, “You’ve never received a better tip.”
His eyes brightened. “Thank you! If you ladies need anything at all, call down to the front desk and ask for me. I’m Vinnie.” He discreetly tucked the empty hand into his pocket and pulled the door shut behind him.
Getting the suite of rooms had been as simple as asking for them. The hardest part had been getting to a manager of sufficient level to comp it for them. He—and the computer systems that ran the place after he made his data entries—believed them to be a group of high rollers. The subterfuge wouldn’t last forever, but that was fine. Once they got all their ducks in a row, they’d be moving on.
There was someone in San Francisco she needed to kill.
She stood and took in the luxury of the suite. The rooms were more richly appointed than anything she’d seen in over a decade, and she clenched a fist at the time and resources lost to her son’s meddling.
There’s still time, she reminded herself. There’s just not as much cushion as there used to be.
She called out. “The spells you managed to gather. I’d like to see them, please.”
Kelsey stuck her head out of the bedroom she was exploring with the others and headed toward the small pile of bags the frat boys had left on the floor. She retrieved a tattered backpack and held it out with a smile.
Helen unzipped the bag and dug through it. Other than clothes, all it held was a rubberized plastic folder. She pulled it out and let annoyance flash across her face.
“You’ve been keeping mystical relics in a Trapper Keeper?”
The girl gave her sheepish smile. “Yeah, but it’s Twilight Sparkle—it’s awesome, Helen.” Her own face fell as she realized that her mentor was anything but pleased. “They’re okay, right? It won’t hurt them, will it?”
Avoiding the urge to mutter under her breath, Helen pulled the Velcro catch open and paged through the contents of the folder. Compared to the wealth of knowledge she’d once collected, it was depressing to see how little her coven had managed to retrieve. Fragments for the most part, but most of what she’d collected over the years had been bits and pieces. The intact grimoire and the clay prison holding the Edimmu had both been incredible strokes of luck that had considerably expanded her knowledge.
The Sumerian spirit was lost to her, but she’d get her book back—regardless of the consequences to her son. Given the anger her acolytes held over the death of their friend at Paxton’s hand, she guessed those repercussions would be grave indeed.
She glanced around the suite. Kelsey stood nearby while Roxanne and Giselle fluttered through the various rooms, taking it all in. With no orders to guide them, the trio of frat boys remained as still and silent as the room’s sleek furniture.
“Ladies,” she said, forcing an authoritative tone into her words. Her voice was still her own, though it had the tendency to creep into a youthful timbre when she wasn’t paying attention. “Please have a seat, we need to have a discussion.”
The girls gathered as asked, expectant looks on their faces. Since the events at the frat house, all three had become more respectful. They’d known what she could do before. Her letters had guided them to the cached material now stored in Kelsey’s binder, after all. They’d learned to wield balefyr and one of their own had mastered the familiar spell, but when she’d drained the coed’s life in the frat house the group had crossed a boundary line. The difference in experience was still there, but her restored youth helped her fit into the group in a way that she hadn’t realized had been missing before.
In a way, she liked the feeling of belonging even as she told herself to make use of it.
“Here’s the plan. We stay here long enough to gather supplies. While we’re working on that, you ladies can forge familiars out of your boys.”
The girls looked at one another, and Roxanne asked, “How are we going to pay for supplies? You told us not to use credit cards.”
Or cell phones, Helen added mentally. One of the girls had sent a text message to a friend, of all things, on the road away from Iowa City. She’d put a stop to that, and she didn’t think any damage had been done, but the trio didn’t seem to be catching on to the entire concept of being fugitives. It was still a game to them, she suspected. For whatever reason, even though they’d left a trail of dead bodies in their wake since breaking her out of prison, her proteges were behaving as though this was some wild, extended holiday. Call it Girls Gone Wild—Witches on Fall Break.
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she held up the Trapper Keeper. “First official lesson. This is just a taste. If you think what you found on these pages was impressive, my grimoire will knock your socks off.” She hesitated, then added, “But this is serious business. As serious as it gets.”
“Why aren’t those pages so great?” Giselle asked, cocking her head to one side.
“These are fragments, pieces of a greater whole. So old that even the name of the book itself has been lost. And while there’s power on these pages, it pales in comparison to that of a complete book. Think of it this way.” She held her thumb and forefinger apart. “The grimoire is perhaps this thick. Five hundred pages, you’d think? But you’d be wrong. In all the years I held it, I read through over a thousand pages and only brushed the surface of its contents.”
“How is that—” Kelsey said, closing her mouth in mid-sentence.
Helen smiled. “Possible? The book was created with magic, sweetie. There are layers upon layers on each page.”
“But we need to get it back from your son,” Giselle observed. “If he still has it.”
“I’m certain he does, but just in case, our next stop will confirm its location, one way or another.” She raised a finger to cut off questions. “All in good time. Second lesson. Where does the power come from?”
Silence and shrugs.
I missed teaching. And I didn’t even realize how much. “The Chinese call it chi, which is good enough for our purposes, I suppose. Call it your life force, your spirit, if you will. But it’s not static. It can be used, consumed.” She ran her hands down the altered curves of her hips and raised an eyebrow. “Transferred. Which of you cast the balefyr spell, at the prison?”
Giselle raised her hand slightly, and Helen smiled and nodded at her.
“I guessed as much. You were sick for a few days after.”
“You’re right,” the younger girl admitted. “I felt like crap.”
“Rule two is, fittingly, two-fold. You’ve already found that it’s not the words themselves that create the effect, but the focus of your mind. I speak at times, but one person’s ‘abracadabra’ may not work for anyone else. On the flip side, consider magic like a fire. Once you have the spark going, you have to continue to feed it fuel to stoke the flames higher. If you overdraw your own power, you’ll make yourself sick, or worse. Solu
tion? There are other channels. You’ve learned some spells from this.” She waved the Trapper Keeper. “That’s not half as critical as learning how to siphon. If you can do that, well—” She held her hand palm up, suddenly cradling a ball of liquid fire. She angled her fingers down to roll it onto her knuckles, letting the living flame dance as she flipped them in a complicated rhythm. “There’s nothing you won’t be able to do, ladies.” Helen snapped her fingers, banishing the flame. “And I need you to step up. Because I can’t do this alone.”
The three girls were silent for a moment. Roxanne finally drew upon her courage and asked, “Do what, exactly? You haven’t really filled us in on what your goal is.”
“All in good time, dear. But my goal is simple enough.” She let a warm smile spread across her face. “We’re going to save the world.”
CHAPTER 6
Paxton
McLean, Texas—Tuesday morning
We drove far enough to put Missouri and Oklahoma behind our backs, then stopped for the night. The nice thing about an RV is never having to hunt for a hotel. The cheap ones—the rooms, I mean—are lousy with ghosts. It creeped me out how often people died in rented rooms. A motor home might be an unusual choice of vehicle for youngsters like us, but in my experience, it’s essential to a good night’s sleep. For some strange reason, ghosts tend to get pissed off when you sleep in their presence. Maybe they’re doubling-down on the cold shoulder their lonely existence is.
I must have gotten the nightmares out of my system in the jail cell because once I managed to pass out on the fold-out bed in the RV’s dining area, my sleep was deep and undisturbed.
Now, I know what most people might think. A good-looking young couple, working and living together, sharing terrifying experiences? They’re going to fall into bed with each other on their off hours, right?
Not this guy. Maybe if this was a TV show on the CW, but it ain’t. My car’s not nearly cool enough.
Don’t get me wrong, nothing makes you want to cherish life more than being almost strangled to death by a traveling salesman tentacle monster. That’s still not my style. I’m no priest, but I’ve got my code.
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