Valentine joined his partner at the door and watched as the engineering team loaded a massive crate into the back of the modified moving van they’d be using on this mission. It had almost twice as much room as the vehicle George had picked them up in, and the logos on the side made for perfect urban camouflage if they had to park it for an extended period of time in a neighborhood. He considered the markings on the crate and grinned in satisfaction. “Witches won’t know what hit ‘em.”
Paxton
Phoenix, Arizona—Friday morning
A good night’s sleep washed away most of the aftereffects of the vision, hallucination, or whatever the hell it was. When I shuffled out into the kitchen, Sikora was already there, filling an insulated Thermos from the coffee pot.
“Everything all right?”
He frowned as he looked up. “I think so, but we’ve got another all-hands meeting. Supposedly the mayor wants a personal update on our status.” He topped the coffee off with cream and sugar and screwed the top on. “How about you? You were out like a light by the time I got home, and Cassie wasn’t talking.”
I held out a mug for Kent to fill from the pot. “Third crime scene was a little intense.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Get something, finally?”
“Nothing helpful. No ghosts, but Cassie and I checked out the building next to the dump site. Some old print shop, I guess. We found a—witness, I guess you’d call her? But she bolted before we could get much out of her.”
“Anything I can use?”
I made air quotes with my fingers. “’They’ are watching me. And when I touched her I saw some intensely spooky shit. I’m torn on whether it was a premonition or some sort of mystical contact high off what was wrong with her. Either way, we’re not going back out unless we’re geared up.” I stirred some sugar into my coffee. “How does the task force lean on the number of killers?”
“That’s an interesting way to put it.”
“That’s an interesting way to answer,” I pointed out.
“It depends. From a forensic standpoint, the crime scenes haven’t panned out—there’s no hard and fast evidence. The conventional wisdom is, crimes like this, most of the time it’s a lone nut. This kind of crazy is hard for a couple of co-conspirators to swallow.”
“Most of the time. What are the exceptions?”
“The Manson Family. The Ripper Crew. Aum Shinrikyo.”
“’Ripper Crew?’ You’re making that up.”
Kent shook his head and hid a smile. “Before your time, kid. But it basically comes down to true believers being ready, willing, and able to kill for their cause. Hell, Pax, you’re old enough to remember 9/11. Same thing. The official profile in this case, though—one or two, max.”
“The big ‘They’ seemed a lot more ominous than one or two.”
“I was afraid you might say that. Load for bear, will you?” He squinted. “You been practicing with a pistol?”
I shrugged. “Not much. I still suck. Cassie’s a regular Annie Oakley, though. We go anywhere where I can’t bring a shotgun, she’s got us covered.”
“Knowing Mike Hatcher, I’m not surprised,” Kent said with a grunt. He gnawed on his lower lip for a moment. “If the next location is a dry well, I’m thinking we need to change our approach. Though I’m hard-pressed to say what that should be.”
I shrugged and took a sip of coffee. “Four and five are pretty close together. We’ll at least bang those out, today. If we come up empty there, what are the chances of you getting us into the last crime scene?”
Kent thought about it for a moment. “Forensics has released the scene, so it shouldn’t be a big deal.” His eyes widened as realization dawned. “You think the parents might be able to tell you something.”
“I wish I’d thought of it sooner, especially after yesterday. If there’s something keeping the ghosts of the victims from presenting, maybe that won’t be in effect for—” I trailed off, searching for the words. “Collateral damage.” It felt far too clinical for what it signified, but it also helped me try to forget the fact that there were a couple of scared kids on a countdown timer, somewhere, and that I’d burned up precious time with a single-minded focus on going from point A to point B.
“I’ll do my best to get out at a reasonable hour, tonight. We can plan on meeting up at the last crime scene unless you come up with something else between now and then.” He glanced at his watch. “And I need to get going.”
“Good luck,” I said.
“You two stay safe,” Kent muttered. “Don’t do anything crazy.”
I toasted him with my coffee cup. “In the past week, I’ve fought a cannibal Stretch Armstrong, a shadow demon, and a sorority witch. What’s this crazy you speak of?”
He made as if to leave, but hesitated. “Piece of advice, kid?”
“Always.”
“Sometimes, it’s easy to get hung up on the horror and the death. That’ll wear on you. I know. Way I keep myself straight, I try to keep the living first and foremost in my mind.” Kent shrugged. “Focus on the boys. Maybe I’m talking out of school, here, but this is a little different than anything you’ve ever dealt with. I’m not talking monsters and magic, I’m talking about people. If you can pull this off, you won’t have to pick up the pieces this time.”
“Fairy tale ending, huh?”
“What can I say? I’m a big softie at heart. Remind me later, I’ll show you what I’ve got on Evan and Ethan. We do this for the living. Hell, maybe there’s something in there that will help you find them.”
“Thanks for the advice, Dr. Phil.”
“Smart ass.”
I grinned at the table as he headed out the door. I’d missed this; the easy comfort of a close friend. Kent got my stupid jokes and kept me on toes, but more importantly, he never let me get too full of myself. I sometimes wondered just how I’d have turned out without having him around after my dad died. Oh, my dad had been a great example, but an orphaned teenager with sudden-onset wizard syndrome was a fertile field for the corrupting possibility of power. Having an example to follow, someone who didn’t take any sullen lip, but hugged like hell a few moments later, had helped me stay on the path I’d started on.
It was impossible to say if I’d have grown up to the be the same man I was now, given a normal life. Life’s funny like that. The bad things that happen are the ones that seem to define us most. The Chinese have a maxim that says that the hottest fire forges the strongest steel. Far be it for me to pat myself on the back, but I’d say the kickoff to the last decade of my life counted.
The trick, of course, was that the tests didn’t get any easier. A year ago, tangling with a serial killer in a house full of ghosts had been the low point. Now, an enemy that obvious seemed like a nice change of pace.
Moving to the cabinets, I pulled down a bowl and browsed through the Sikora’s cereal supplies.
Breakfast, after all, was the most important meal of the day. Even more so when wizarding.
CHAPTER 15
Helen
Quartzite, Arizona—Friday morning
Once they found it, the RV worked out nicely.
The exchange, alas, did not work out so well for the elderly owners. It had been dark enough, and the gas station parking lot empty enough, that Helen judged it was safe to let the boys off the chain. Once they handled the senior citizens, the coven drove their now-trio of vehicles to an empty parking lot and consolidated supplies. They were back on the road in under thirty minutes, the California vehicles tucked behind a strip mall.
At Helen’s orders, Bo and Ed hauled the broken remains of the RV’s original passengers out into the desert and buried them in shallow graves. The vultures would point the authorities to them at some point, but by then other scavengers should have made identification next to impossible. Secure in that thought, they’d traveled a few hours closer to Phoenix before making a stop at another rest area.
Helen supposed that she was driving her followers to
take unnecessary risks, but she was so close to regaining the grimoire that she could almost taste it. With the book, she’d be nigh-invincible. Without it, the only things she had to fear were her son and the feckless bureaucrats of Division M. Every other practitioner she’d ever met had lived in terror of what the agency could do. After what they’d faced in San Francisco, she was far from impressed.
Sure, they were able to intimidate mousy little Walter. The man had zero talent. Of course he couldn’t stand up for himself. She took a sip of hot tea they’d brewed using the RV’s electric stove and opened a road atlas to a map of Maricopa County, Arizona. She didn’t have to check the time; the vague itch in her bones when she considered the tracking spell told her that it had become available to her once more. Time to narrow things down.
Her second casting went much as the first—murmured words, the rush of mystical power, and the hovering drop of blood. The girls stood around the dinette table in a semi-circle, anticipating the location and the next step in their quest.
Helen’s first inkling that something was wrong was the extended period of time that the drop of blood hung over the map. As she watched, it began to oscillate back and forth, as though it was uncertain of what she’d told it to search for.
“Did he leave?” Kelsey whispered, as though reluctant to break the expectant hush that had fallen over the entire group.
“No,” Helen muttered. “It would point out the way if he had. This is something—”
The drop of blood froze, then fell toward the map. Right before it would have dropped on the paper, the single drop exploded into a dozen or more finer droplets and shot out toward the edges of the paper. At a certain, equidistant point from the rough center of the county, the drops touched paper and spread. Narrow lines of red described arcs until a perfect circle formed on the map.
All at once, Helen sagged in exhaustion. She hadn’t drawn on her own power for this spell, but she felt as though it had taken something out of her nonetheless. She looked up and scanned the faces of the girls. Their expressions ranged from shock to fear. That was a gamut she could appreciate, herself. Tea slopped out of her cup and onto the table as she raised it to her lips. The spill also soaked the map, but that was the furthest concern from her mind at the moment.
“What’s going on?” Roxanne demanded. “What does that mean, exactly?”
Giselle rolled her eyes. “She fucked the spell up. Obviously.”
Helen pressed the ball of her hand to her forehead. “Shut up,” she hissed. “I’m trying to think here.” She shuddered with her first deep breath; by the third, she’d calmed herself somewhat, though her heart still pounded in her chest. Finally, she spoke. “We’re in claimed territory.”
“What? What does that even mean?” Giselle folded her arms across her chest.
In a stronger voice, Helen barked, “Shut your mouth and listen, you stupid bitch!”
The other girl rocked back, eyes wide at the verbal assault. Eyes narrowing, she opened her mouth to retort. Kelsey grabbed her by the shoulder. “Enough. Listen.” She turned to Helen. “We’re listening. Please explain.”
“There are certain beings in the magical world. Corporeal, not like the Edimmu. They’re rare, not so common as they were in days gone by. Those that still live are often the eldest of their kind. Wendigo, kappa, werewolves—”
“Vampires?” Roxanne sounded almost hopeful, and Helen tried not groan.
“Nothing like what you’re thinking of. As best I can tell, once Stoker published his book they went extinct shortly thereafter. That subspecies, anyway. There’s a Chinese type that—look this is all beside the point. To make it simple, they’re the lions, and mankind is the stupid herd grazing on the grasslands.” She stared at the circle on the map. This is what I’m trying to stop, damn it. But I’m not ready yet!
Kelsey’s jaw dropped. “So, this circle, it’s like where a dog marks its territory?”
“Yes,” Helen agreed. “Only much, much worse. We can travel through the territory, but our magic probably won’t be reliable, and you’ll feel funny when you’re inside. In a normal situation that wouldn’t be a big deal. I’ve never felt one anywhere close to this big, though. The biggest was a mile. Whatever it is that’s claimed Phoenix, it’s a monster of monsters.”
“So, what do we do?”
Helen stared at the map. “We set up camp, and we wait. I think I understand why my son’s here, now. This is no coincidence. And either he’ll stop it, or it will stop him. Either way, the map will tell us. And once it does, we’ll know where to find the book.”
Paxton
Phoenix, Arizona—Friday morning
I’d thought the print shop was in a bad neighborhood. The site of the fourth body dump made it look like a playground.
As Interstate 17 passed north-south through Phoenix, it dipped below ground level. Noise barriers on either side made a convenient place for graffiti, and in this neighborhood, the narrow no man’s land between the edge of the frontage road and the high walls collected mounds and heaps of trash. The lighter stuff had probably been carried there by the wind, but as I turned the Explorer to the south and cruised to our destination I saw enough discarded tires to outfit a tractor-trailer rig.
The houses on the opposite side of the street weren’t much better. At least every other one seemed to be boarded up. The best visual indicator as to which ones were occupied seemed to be whether or not there was a walking path through the cluttered junk and debris in each yard. A few people smoking on porches turned to watch as we passed by, and a scruffy, half-starved mutt stared down the Explorer from its position in the middle of the road as though daring us to run him down. At the last moment, the mangy cur dashed aside, and I shook my head at the thing’s audacity.
On the bright side, we were packing more than enough firepower this time out. I’d tucked the Shockwave under the driver’s seat, and Cassie toted a Kimber Ultra Carry .45 in her purse. If that didn’t prove to be enough, I had my trusty pistol-grip Mossberg in the footwell between the front seats and the rear bench. We’d picked up another Mossberg during our post-inferno shopping spree, and it rested behind Cassie’s seat. Per her preference, it was a semiautomatic, full-length version identical to the one she’d used while deer hunting with her dad. My partner was no wilting lily.
“This is it,” she announced, and I glanced at the map screen. Sure enough, it was, and I pulled over to the right side of the road. It wasn’t an official parking spot, but it had the advantage of being well-positioned in case we had to make a quick break for it. I checked the mirrors and looked ahead. For now, the neighborhood seemed clear. Even the dog seemed to have disappeared.
I glanced at Kent’s notes and murmured, “Let’s make it fast.” I didn’t hold much hope that we’d have any more success this time around. The killers had left this body in front of one of the abandoned houses. Paradoxically, the yard was one of the cleaner ones on the block. I guess the police had bagged and tagged some of the debris in search of evidence.
“No argument here,” Cassie said. She looped the shoulder strap of her purse around her neck. With the compartment where she’d tucked the pistol left open, she’d be able to draw and aim in short order.
Gravel crunched under my feet as I stepped up and out of the road. The path to the center of the yard was clear, and I kept my eyes on the front of the house as I stepped forward. Graffiti-coated panels of plywood secured the front door and all but one window, where shattered glass twinkled in a broken-toothed grin behind iron bars.
“Anyone home?” I murmured with my arms out and palms down. For the barest of moments, I thought that I felt something, but the feeling faded, and left me standing clueless in the middle of trash-strewn desert landscaping.
“Pax.”
“Nothing. Just like the—”
“Look.”
I turned and followed Cassie’s eyes. A group of people walked toward us from the way we’d come, leaving a pair of running cars parked
nose-to-nose across the street. They strolled casually in our direction, as though blocking an urban street in the middle of the day was no big thing.
Turning, I checked the other way. “Shit.”
A primer-patched truck filled most of the road, and a big man in worn jeans and a plaid button-down slammed the driver’s door and headed this way. A Hispanic woman in a floral print dress joined him.
Cassie pulled the Kimber but kept the barrel pointed down at the ground. “Time to move, Pax.”
I led the way, and we hustled across the road to the Explorer. “Think we can cut through one of the other yards? This thing should be high enough off the ground that we don’t get hung up.”
“I don’t think we’re going to get a chance for that.” Cassie’s face was pale, and she nodded at the abandoned house behind us. I looked back—still more people had emerged from between the buildings on the other side of the street, and they moved toward us with the same implacable air of impending doom as the rest.
The strangest thing, other than the fact that there seemed no rhyme or reason to their various appearances, was the fact that they advanced without a sound. If the sight of Cassie’s pistol intimidated them at all, it was impossible to tell from the uniformly blank expressions they all wore. “This is going to be an interesting story,” I muttered. I pulled the rear driver’s side rear door open and retrieved the Mossberg. With the side-saddle rig of spare shells, it offered significantly more firepower than the Shockwave.
And it looked like we were going to need it.
I flipped the safety off but didn’t rack the slide. Leaving the chamber empty was for people who had more time to reload than I usually got.
Cassie raised her Kimber. “Have I ever told you I hate zombie movies?”
“Right there with you,” I said, sweeping the barrel slowly across the advancing mass. The impromptu block party consisted of well over two dozen people, more than could have easily fit in the three vehicles. The ones from the yard must have parked on the opposite block, which raised all sorts of interesting questions about how long they’d been following us.
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