Broken Heart Tails (18 page)

“Are those real?” The little girl’s sky-blue eyes were as wide as saucers. “Can I touch one?”

“No.” Ash slid the daggers into their holsters. “Don’t you know that sneaking up on people can get you killed?”

“It hasn’t yet.” The girl was dressed in overalls and a yellow shirt. Her feet were bare. Her brown hair was a rat’s nest with twigs sticking out of it. The overalls were dirty, too. Cobwebs were stuck to her shoulders. “You gonna buy that house?”

“No.” Ash looked her over speculatively. “What were you doing inside it?”

              “I’m not allowed to play here.”

              It wasn’t a denial. Well, goddamn. Ash was trying to work up the nerve to go inside the home she’d lived in for nearly sixteen years and this little sprite was visiting it regularly. She made Ash feel like a coward.

              “I bet you’re not afraid of anything,” said the girl. 

              “You’d lose that bet.” Ash stuck out her hand. “Call me Ash.”

              “That’s a weird name.” She grabbed Ash’s hand and pumped it. “Margaret Lynne Huntson.”

              Huntson? Looked like her past knew she was arriving and had thrown a party. “Is your father named Rick?”

              “Yes. Do you know him?”

             
He almost kissed me. I almost fell in love with him.
“No,” she said. “I don’t know your daddy. I’m a good guesser.”

              Margaret Lynne Huntson considered this possibility. Then she peered up Ash suspiciously. “What’s my mommy’s name?”

              “Maggie?”

              Margaret’s gaze re-evaluated Ash’s intelligence. “You’re not a good guesser. You’re just lucky.”

             
Wrong again, kid.
If life had been different, this might be her little girl. No. Rick was never meant to be hers. The Convocation had made damned sure she would embrace her so-called destiny.

              “My birthday was yesterday,” confided Margaret. “I’m officially seven years old.”

              “That’s fascinating. Hey! Isn’t it almost dinner time?”

              “Nope. You look like my Rock n’ Roll Barbie, only she has better hair.”

              “Oh, yeah? Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

              But Margaret was bored with hairstyle insults. She chewed on her thumb. “What’re you doing here?”

Oh, for the love of humanity. Why couldn’t this kid just go away? “Ever hear of the Ghostbusters?”

“Ghostbusters don’t wear pink.”             

“I do.” Ash squatted down and got eye-to-eye with her. “Do you know why this house is haunted?”

              The girl’s eyes flickered. Once again, Ash felt like she was being judged. “Daddy says a girl lived here. Her name was Natasha. A bad man killed her parents and took her away.” She tilted her head. Dirt was smeared under her chin. “Do you think he killed Natasha, too?”

“Yes,” said Ash. “He did.”

“No, he didn’t.” Her declaration startled Ash. “So, are you gonna talk to the ghost lady?”

“What lady?”

              “She’s in there. Sometimes, she calls me Tashie. I don’t think she’s mean,” said Margaret. “Just sad.” She ran to the fence and pulled off a honeysuckle blossom. “Hey, do you know how to get the honey?”

Ash’s stomach squeezed. “Why don’t you show me?”

“You just take this part out, very carefully.” Margaret gently tugged the stamen out and showed it to Ash. “Then you lick it.” Her little pink tongue darted across the fuzzy end. “Do you want to try?”

“Maybe later.”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “That’s what grown-ups say when they mean no.” She tossed the flower to the ground. “I gotta go home now.”

Ash watched her run down the driveway and wondered how her bare feet could take the biting abuse of the gravel. She crossed the street and pivoted right, skipping down the sidewalk.

She was walking in the direction of Rick’s old house. Three blocks up, two blocks to the right, and one block left. Did he still live there? Or had he just moved into the same neighborhood? Oh, hell. Why did she care?

Her gaze caught the discarded flower. Then she looked at the house.

It was time to face her ghosts.

*  *  *  *  *

The furniture was gone. Ash didn’t know why she thought it would all be here, dusty and disused maybe, but in place. In some part of her mind, she’d believed everything would be the same. She had wanted her memories to be intact. She wanted confirmation that she had once been normal, sane.

But there was nothing here.

Just an empty house.

Still, she hesitated outside her parents’ bedroom. For a long moment, she stared at nothing, preparing her mind for the worst. Then she pushed open the door.

Late afternoon light filtered through the double windows on the right side of the room. From there, she could see the porch and the high grass of the front yard.

She felt nothing.

All the same, she edged to the left and opened the closet door. Empty. Like the room. Like the house. Like her heart.

Her adrenaline spiked as she walked to the center of the room and let her gaze take in the space. There was no evidence of the violence. The carpet and padding had been discarded, leaving only the scarred and stained wood floor.

Memories of that night floated through her mind. She had taken them out and examined them so often during the years, the pain and horror framing those moments were like flaking gilt.

Ash checked all the rooms, saving hers for last. It was stupid to walk around and remember. Her parents had loved her. And the last words they’d ever heard from her was
I hate you
.

Damn it! She needed to cast the spell and destroy the only reminder left of her old life. Instead, she walked through the kitchen, which no longer had its appliances. The counters were filthy. The wallpaper peeling. The linoleum floor cracked.

She entered her bedroom and paused.

It was smaller than she remembered, even without her bed and desk. Dust exploded from the brown carpet with every step she took. And there to the left of her bed, the infamous window—the one she had used to escape that awful night.

As she walked toward it, she felt the release of magic. Her hip daggers came out automatically and she spun around in a circle. Had another Convocation messenger followed her? Or did this magic-wielder have an even more sinister purpose?

“Tashie.” Heart pounding, she looked to her right and saw her mother—or rather a green-edged reproduction. She stood near the window, hands clasped in front her, her eyes focused straight ahead.

A spell.
Mom knew magic?
Her logical, practical, kisses-don’t-heal-boo-boos mother was a magic-wielder?

Ash looked down and saw her feet encased in a green glow. She’d stepped on the trigger. It worked the same as pushing a button on an answering machine. When you pressed it, the message appeared.

“Obviously, your father and I are dead.”

Pragmatic to the core, Mom.
Ash smiled fondly and tried to pretend that she didn’t feel as if she’d taken a sword blow to the gut.

“I don’t know how much time you have, so please listen. You must go into the attic. On the far right side in the left corner is a board that doesn’t quite match the others. Pry it up and take the box. Inside are answers. Not all of them. I expect you to find the rest. Remember that your mind is your greatest weapon.

“After you get the box, you must find Sed. He will guide you the rest of the way. He’s a good man and the best warrior-mage alive. He will train you and he will show you how to use your gifts.

“We tried to give you a normal life, but we tried to protect you, too. Maybe too much. Ah, my darling, it’s too late for regrets. I love you.” Her mother looked to the right and then Ash’s father appeared. With his receding hairline and thick glasses, he looked like an absent-minded scientist—which, of course, he’d been.

He smiled and waved. “I love you, Tashie. Please know that no matter what passed between us, we loved you more than our own lives.”

He placed his arm around Mom then their images flickered and disappeared.

Ash stared at the empty space. Too late. She’d gotten their message too late. Not long after she’d killed the skinwalker, the Convocation rescued her. She awoke in their facility, disoriented and frightened.

Ash stepped back and then forward. She jumped up and down. It was no use. The magic had dissolved. Her parents were gone. She squelched the rising need to weep. No! She had shed her tears. She’d learned to control her emotions. Emotions made her weak, made her lose focus.
Heart of stone, mind of steel.
That had been her mantra for ten years.

Frowning, Ash examined the room. Usually such spells were cast so that only the person who was intended to hear the message could trigger it. Once delivered, the magic dissipated.

So how the hell had Margaret Lynne Huntson activated the spell?

With this thought circling, she went to the hallway and pulled on the rope that opened the hatch. The ladder unfolded from the door and she climbed into the dust-filled attic. There were no windows up here, no light. Ash whispered a glo-spell and white sparkles filtered into the small, dark space.

She hurried to the right side and to the left corner. Finding the board was easy because it had already been removed.

The box was gone.

*  *  *  *  *

When Ash zipped the Mercedes into the driveway of Rick Huntson’s house, she noticed the red smoke billowing out from the shattered front windows.

Shit.

She got out of the car and ran up the clean-swept walkway. The door had been torn off, so it was easy to get inside.

The stink of sulfur nearly knocked her on her ass. She could see through the smoke, but the dark magic was another matter. It was so thick in the house, she could almost breathe it.

“Ash the Destroyer.”

The voices came from nowhere. From everywhere. Dread filled her. Demons. They were only creatures not afraid of her because one, they had no souls to take, and two, they were immortal. Nobody could kill a demon—not even her.

Who the hell had sent demons to the Huntson house? How had they known the location of the box?

“Leave, assholes.” She sent the command booming through the house.

The evil bastards laughed.

Oh, fuck you, too!
Ash closed her eyes and delved into her inner being. The souls she’d consumed over the years swirled together, long strands of color that fluttered like ribbons tossed by the wind. She chose Morrigan, who had been a white witch directly descended from a goddess.

Imbibing a soul meant taking the personality, the form, the memories, the skills, the magic, and hell, even the clothing. Her clothes became part of her as she morphed, and when she assumed a new form, she was dressed in whatever clothing the souls had died in.

The transformation took precious minutes. Soul-shifting wasn’t like putting on a costume. She had to combine herself with the other, weaving the two of them together until they were bound. That was only the first part. The second was the re-forming of her body as it morphed to match the other’s shape.

As Morrigan, she grew taller, her body more lithe, her limbs more graceful. She wore a diaphanous blue gown. Her long, black hair was braided. She was also barefoot.

Ash opened her eyes and saw the situation not only from her perspective, but from Morrigan’s. 

The witch knew what to do. She raised her pale, thin arms and muttered a long incantation. Ash didn’t understand the words, but she got their meaning.

White light exploded from her palms, expelling the smoke, the dark magic, and the sulfur. The demons screeched like whipped bitches.

Their malicious presences disappeared.

“We sense a child.” Ash-Morrigan ran up the stairs. She opened the door to the left. Here was a little girl’s room—with its pink walls and stuffed animals and scattered books.

She bent low and lifted the bed skirt. Margaret lay pressed against the carpet, her eyes wide and her body trembling. She’d had a bath and was dressed in pink pajamas.

“Ash!” She scrambled out and threw herself into Ash-Morrigan’s arms.

Shocked, she tried to hold on to the wiggling mass of Margaret Lynne Huntson as she staggered to her feet. “How do you recognize us?”

“What do you mean?” Margaret’s tear-stained face lifted just long enough to study Ash-Morrigan. “You look like you.”

She didn’t have time to ponder Margaret’s amazing statement. “We must go. Where is the box?”