Blood And Stone: A Novel in The Atalante Chronicles Page 14

  I nodded slowly as my mind worked through the details. “Majester would probably know of the Vision’s effects,” I said. “He’s using the bracelet to hide his abilities. Wouldn’t he have the Vision as well?”

  Corvix shook his head. “He isn’t tapped into the world’s magical field. Think of him like a TV without antennae.”

  Lester leaned back against the stove. He had his eyes closed. “Majester was wearing the bracelet before I called you in,” he said. “How would he know you would show up?”

  “Perhaps he figured a wizard would come looking sooner or later,” I said. “The Sentinels do keep an eye out for ritualistic murder cases.” I looked to Corvix. “Could a sorcerer make that charm?”

  The spirit crow shook his head from side to side. “Too complicated a ritual,” he said. “He would need help.”

  My mind rolled through a few possibilities before I asked, “Could Magdelena have helped him?”

  Corvix shrugged his wings. “Possibly. Vampires haven been known to dabble in magic.”

  Angela looked over the case files again. “Three drug dealers, two civilians. If Jobeth was a warning, why kill CeCe?”

  “CeCe might have been a liability,” said Lester. He moved around Angela and picked up Jobeth’s picture. “Mrs. Masters is a message, a challenge to the cops. It says no one is safe. CeCe was Magdelena’s lover. She probably found out more than she should have.”

  “Or the mental hold Magdelena had over her was slipping,” I said, leaning forward. “Prolonged exposure to a vampire’s gaze gives them power over your mind. They can bend you, like Renfield.”

  Angela nodded in comprehension. “So who dumped CeCe’s body?”

  As if waiting for that question to be asked, Corvix hopped to the end of the island opposite us and stretched out his wings to full length. A throaty, harsh-sounding language filled the room. Blackwell and Marks didn’t react too much to it but I could feel magical power being pulled in from Sideways. Corvix, despite being my familiar and spending the majority of his time on this side of the divide, was and always would be a denizen of the spirit realms. Any powers he could use would derive from the substance of that plane. I’d always wondered what he would be able to do if he truly let loose.

  Suspended over the case files hung a pulsing orb of black energy. It looked like an inverted disco ball. The chanting from Corvix continued. I could feel more power being drawn in from the spirit realms. Both of the sheriff’s deputies took a step back from the island, their eyes locked on the bulb of power. The pulsing of the orb grew more frantic as the chanting became more frenzied.

  Corvix’s voice uttered a final syllable and the orb exploded in a flash of incandescent black light. I shielded my eyes as best as I could with my hand. The light disoriented all of us for several seconds.

  When my vision cleared, I found myself suspended in mid-air in a seated position. I was a few feet above a familiar road. Looking around, I saw Angela and Lester across from me, standing in the middle of the street. We were on Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd in Dover. The sign for Midwood Drive was several yards behind the deputies. It was pitch black save for a pair of street lamps on either side of the street.

  “Nico,” said Lester, his voice brittle. “What the hell?”

  Chapter 15

  Corvix appeared behind me, perched on a chain-link fence. Both Angela and Lester stood in the empty street. Lester looked around and slid over to my side of the road. Angela followed a second or two later. We found ourselves in the unpaved entrance to a ramshackle body shop.

  “The night you asked about,” said Corvix, his feathers ruffling in satisfaction.

  “Have we gone back in time?” asked Angela. Her head was on a swivel. She looked everywhere before settling on me.

  I shrugged my shoulders and cast a glance back to my familiar. The truth was, I didn’t know exactly what Corvix had done. I didn’t know he could do anything like this. As disoriented as this made me, I could only imagine how the two cops must feel.

  The crow muttered something under his breath. “No, we haven’t gone back in time,” he said more loudly. “There are rules against that. This is merely a projection.”

  I mouthed an “oh” of understanding. To my right, Lester looked around and asked, “Like a virtual environment?”

  “Something like that,” replied Corvix. “Illusionary magic.” From the tone in his voice, I grasped that my familiar was surprised a non-magic user could understand the concept.

  “So we’re not actually standing on MLK?” asked Angela. She had settled down a bit, as had Lester.

  “You’re still in the kitchen,” said Corvix.

  I leaned back and heard a dull clink as the back of my chair touched the fridge. “I didn’t know you could do this,” I said.

  The spirit crow shrugged his wings. “I can’t maintain this for long.”

  I nodded appreciatively. “So show us what we need to see,” I said.

  My understanding of illusion magic is not great. It was never something my father emphasized in his lessons. When my father saw I could wield elemental magic easily, he had focused my training in those areas. What little I do know about illusions is that they are similar to defensive magic, like my shielding spell. The stronger the illusion, or shield, the more energy and concentration needed to maintain it. A friend of my father’s once told me that master illusionists were among the sharpest minds in the Assembly. For illusions, the details are everything. One missing detail, one element out of place could make someone disbelieve the whole thing.

  Corvix had a great mind for details, which was the primary reason I’d sought him out in the first place. Given the construct he had created, I’d obviously underestimated on his other abilities.

  It appeared to be the middle of the night. The street was completely deserted. Shadows hung over the trees behind the road sign for Midwood Drive. Across the street I could make out a lone mailbox and the ditch where CeCe had been found. None of the houses beyond the ditch had any lights on.

  “Creepy, isn’t it?” I muttered.

  “What?” asked Angela.

  “Nothing going on. The quiet before the horror begins.”

  As if on cue, a pair of headlights appeared to our left. They were moving toward us at tremendous speed, as if the driver were trying to get the pole position in a race. When the car came into view a moment later, we could see it was an old Ford pickup truck. It must have been twenty years old. The dark brown paint had faded over time. Dirt and pollen were caked on the vehicle, practically baked in.

  The truck swerved violently to the right, narrowly missing the two deputies. Both of them jumped closer to me by reflex, forgetting the illusion. They groaned when they struck the invisible kitchen island.

  “It would’ve gone right through you,” I said, stifling a grin.

  “You sure about that?” asked Angela. She was rubbing her side where the island had connected.

  Turning my head to give Corvix a wink, I said, “I’m sure. Mostly.”

  A haze of thick cigarette smoke obscured the driver’s face. The truck backed up, missing the lonely mailbox by a foot. Coming to a sharp halt, the driver put out his cigarette on the dashboard before putting the truck in park and getting out. The driver-side door opened and closed with a clank.

  The driver was a skinny man, with unkempt brown hair. In the dim light I could see a sleeve of tattoos running up his right arm starting at the wrist. He had his back to us. From the sides of the truck bed I could see plastic sheeting curling over. It was the stuff you’d lay down in a room you’re about to start painting. He spent a few minutes tugging on the sheeting. It looked like the ends had been connected to the sides of the truck bed. There was a thump that made my heart skip a beat.

  I looked over to the two deputies. Both of them watched in silent horror as the skinny man dumped Cecelia’s body in the ditch. He found something that looked like a matted ball of hair and threw it to the side of the road. CeCe’s hea
d, discarded like a piece of garbage. Anger soon replaced the horror. I turned back in time to see the man jump off the bed of the truck and walk around to the driver’s door.

  “Corvix, can you freeze the illusion?” I asked as I leaned forward to get a closer look at the driver.

  The scene stopped moving. Corvix made a hopping flight over to my shoulder. “Do you wish a closer look?” he asked.

  I nodded. The tableau shifted forward and we crossed the street in an instant. The man who had dumped CeCe’s body had a face I’d seen before. The pimples and blotches from prolonged meth abuse, the brown hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed in a week, the weasel-like features.

  It was the human from the drive-by.

  “Lester,” I said. “I’ve seen him before.”

  A moment later, we were back in the kitchen, facing each other across the island again. I explained to Lester and Blackwell where I had seen the man. As the deputy reached into his pocket for his cellphone, an image flashed through my memory. It felt foreign, like trying on someone else’s shirt. The skinny man was arguing with someone. Then there was a large object wrapped in sheeting being conveyed awkwardly onto the bed of a truck.

  “Christ on a cracker,” I said. “That manipulative bitch.”

  “What?” asked the deputies in unison.

  “There’s an address you need to have checked out,” I said, getting up and grabbing the pad and pen from next to my phone. I wrote down the address I’d visited the day before. “There’s an abandoned shop at the corner of 30th Ave and 50th. Have someone look into it.”

  Lester stepped out into the living room to make his calls. I put away the whiskey bottle despite the overwhelming desire to have more shots.

  “You should get a shower and get changed.” said Angela. “Odds are we’re not done for the night.” She’d stepped up behind me and put a hand on my arm. “Lester’s gonna be on the phone for a bit anyways.”

  Her advice sounded magnificent, so I headed upstairs. The shower was hotter than I normally set it, but the release in my muscles felt almost orgasmic. I stood under the shower-head and let the water roll down my neck and back. My ribs felt like there were made of shattered glass. In reality, they probably weren’t too bad, but that didn’t stop them from hurting like hell.

  Once I was out, I wrapped myself in a towel and headed to my room. Blackwell was standing in the hallway staring at the photographs on my wall. Her brow was furrowed as she scanned each picture and the information stapled underneath. I cleared my throat, which brought her focus to me. She winced when saw my exposed torso.

  “You look like one giant bruise,” she said. She stepped to the side to allow me access to my bedroom. As I started to walk past, she pointed at the wall and asked, “What’s all this?”

  I didn’t answer her immediately. I kept my bedroom door opened and dropped my towel without regard to her gaze. I could hear Angela take a sharp breath behind me. Whether that was due to the nudity or the patchwork quilt of scars on my back, I couldn’t be sure. I moved out of her eye line and got dressed. When I stepped back out, I was wearing a comfortable pair of ratty jeans and a Game of Thrones t-shirt.

  “Those are the people who’ve died on every case I’ve worked.” I said. I looked down to the first floor and didn’t hear Lester. “How long was I in?”

  “Half-hour,” she answered. She eyed me up and down before turning her gaze back to the wall. “I’m sorry. About what I said outside the Columbia.”

  I smiled and said, “You weren’t wrong.”

  “A mercenary wouldn’t care about the people lost,” she said. A half-hearted smile crossed her lips. “Why do you?”

  “Motivation. Lester still here?”

  “Nope. Left about ten minutes ago.”

  I nodded. “Did he get a sit-down with the meth head?” I asked, starting down the stairs.

  “He got bailed out last night,” said Blackwell.

  Her response made me stop halfway down. I slammed my fist into the wall, which sent Twitch skittering into the kitchen as if I’d set him on fire.

  “Son of a bitch,” I said.

  “How do you think he managed it?” she asked.

  “Magdelena,” I said. “The two vamps in the van were hers. One of them was in the hall outside when we met Manny. One phone call and they sent a hit squad.”

  I reached the last step and turned around to face Blackwell. She had a confused look on her face.

  “But why was he in the van?”

  “He was being punished,” I said. When her confused expression didn’t disappear, I walked into the kitchen. “Think about it. All the other bodies dropped in Plant City. Majester could control the investigation. CeCe ended up getting dumped outside Plant City PD’s jurisdiction. Lester and you get involved. I get brought in. Majester’s got loose ends to tie up.”

  Blackwell pulled out her cellphone. “Lester said he was heading into the office to get what he could on our guy,” she told me.

  I walked into the kitchen. Now that the booze was wearing off, every step made my abdomen clench. I could still move, which I felt was a bonus. Angela had taken the time to put the files together and put them back in the box. Corvix sat on his perch on the far counter. His midnight-black eyes watched me intently. I ran a hand over the island’s top.

  Half an hour ago I’d been staring at pictures of butchery. Men and women gutted like animals, left in public to sow fear. Scaring the public wasn’t difficult. Scaring criminals who had probably seen terrible things was the point. If Majester could get the other dealers in line with a few displays of graphic violence, so much the better for him.

  They had been screaming when they died. If I had to bet on it, their organs had been removed while they were still alive. They died while the Red King, or one of his lackeys, cut pieces out of them.

  I’d seen evil up close in the form of demons and devils. Those things are evil because they don’t know how to be any other way. They know the concept of “good” exists. They just can’t fathom the idea. The Red King and Magdelena didn’t have that excuse. The sorcerer was still human. Magdelena had been human at some point. They’d decided to butcher people simply for power’s sake.

  I didn’t realize Angela had joined me in the kitchen until she asked, “What’s on your mind?”

  I turned around and leaned back against the island. The deputy had lost something in the last few hours. She’d been earnest and gung-ho when I met her the day before. It looked like the pictures had taken a toll on her, too.

  “Power,” I said in reply.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “The organs. I know why they were taken.”

  I described the five-pointed ritual space I’d seen in the warehouse. Angela nodded and said, “I was wondering about that too. What is it?”

  “It’s for ritual magic.”

  “How’s that work?”

  Corvix hovered over and landed on the island. “A magic-user pulls energy from the surrounding world and channels it through his or her body,” he said.

  “Like a car engine and gasoline?” asked Angela. She’d crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter behind her.

  “Crude but correct,” said Corvix. “Like that engine, the human body can only channel so much energy.”

  “We call it overload,” I put in. “Any wizard channeling too much energy risks turning into a small-scale nuke.” I walked over to my phone and grabbed a pen and a piece of paper. It took a few seconds, but I drew a pentagon with five circles at the key points. “Geometric designs help contain and amplify magical energies. Triangles, pentagons, circles, any of them will work.”

  “What do they do?” asked Angela.

  “They allow a wizard to increase the power of a spell,” answered Corvix. “The design increases the energy put into it. The amount of the increase is exponential to the size and intricacy of the design.” He clicked his beak proudly.

  “So the Red King is using the r
itual design to do what, exactly?” asked Blackwell.

  I took a breath and exhaled slowly.

  When I didn’t speak, Corvix decided to step in. “It’s an empowerment spell,” he said. “He’s using the organs that symbolize life to increase his magical power.”

  “Is it a permanent increase?” I asked. I thought I already knew the answer.

  “Yes,” said Corvix. “He wants the power you take for granted.”

  “I don’t— “

  The spirit crow jabbed my hand with his beak, causing a small amount of blood to well up.

  “Dammit. I’m in enough pain already,” I said.

  “Hardly,” said Corvix, staring me down. “You have squandered your gifts. You use your magic for whoever will help pay the bills. Doesn’t matter what the job is.”

  “You swore to never talk about— “

  “About your failures?” the bird interrupted. Corvix’s tone had all the bite of a northern wind. “I am your familiar by choice. I have also been a witness and accomplice by choice.”

  I almost reached out to strangle the bird. Perhaps sensing my intent, Corvix’s feathers ruffled and I could feel him draw in more power from Sideways. I put my hand down and hung my head. “That wasn’t my fault,” I said.

  “You were reckless. That family suffered for it.”

  Angela stared at me but didn’t say anything.

  “Are you trying to make me feel guilty?” I asked the bird.

  Corvix puffed his chest up and released the power he’d been preparing. “I’m trying to remind you of the scope of your abilities. This Red King usurps power, power you have by birth and training. He engages in blood magic, a taboo that most necromancers don’t violate. Show this Red King why it is unwise to trifle with wizards.”

  Angela’s cellphone rang, cutting the tension in the room. Corvix returned to his perch in my study. I crossed my arms and kept my head down. When Angela put down the phone, her voice had gotten softer. “I’ve got an address and the perp’s name. We need to go.”

  I walked out of the kitchen and went to my study. I grabbed my jacket, my cane, and the second phylactery stone on the desk. “We’ll take my truck,” I said.