Grave Matters: A Night Owls Novel (11 page)

Until he pulled the Seven of Swords.

There it was again, the Thief card, popping up as the external influence on Trina’s current situation.

It’s her reading, not mine. It’s not the same thing.

“Someone unethical,” he told her, “someone who doesn’t have your best interests in mind, or might try to take advantage of your grief.” The air-conditioning kicked on, a sudden blast of cold that made the lit candles gutter.
The hell does Gage have that on for? It’s October.
The gust pushed the cards out of formation, laying the Thief over the Knight of Cups.

That was when he remembered there weren’t any vents here in the back. In summer, they hooked fans up to move the cool air in from the front of the store. Last winter, they’d pooled their cash and bought space heaters for the booths.

He looked up at Trina. When she exhaled, he could see her breath. “Cold in here,” she said, and pulled James’ coat around her shoulders.

The table started shaking.

“Earthquake?” Her dark eyes were wide with fright. “Do we get those in Rhode Island?”

“I don’t . . . I don’t know.” But he did know. He knew from the thrumming of the table beneath his fingers, the temperature drop that made mid-January feel tropical, and the sudden taste of grave dirt filling his mouth.

They weren’t alone.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He snatched up one of the quartz crystals he kept on the table: half for its calming properties, half for pure decoration. “Trina, here, hold this,” he said, and she reached for it.

But she didn’t get to take it. “What’s it f—” Her head snapped back so fast he heard vertebrae crackle. A shudder racked her whole body, set her vibrating at the same frequency as the table. Cavale tried to get up to go to her, to hold her still, but no matter how hard he shoved against the chair, he couldn’t stand. Phantom hands clamped on his shoulders, holding him pinned.

Then the rattling stopped, and Trina’s head dropped back down. Cataracts filmed over her eyes; her skin had gone grey.

It was a textbook possession.

Might as well get some answers.
“Who are you?” Cavale asked. Any second now, he expected one of the other readers to poke their head in to see what the commotion was. Guilty as he felt not expelling the spirit right away, some old teachings died hard. He wasn’t quite as cold as Father Value, didn’t think of Trina as an interesting anomaly, but as he’d told Val this morning, neither did he believe in coincidence. The Thief card was up and a spirit was in control of his client. The two had to be related. “What do you want with me?”

When she opened her mouth, all that came out was static.

That’s what happened with Elly’s ghost.
“I’m sorry. You’re not getting through. Can you . . . can you nod if you can understand me?”

Trina’s head bobbed, once.

“Okay. Good.” He looked down at the Knight of Cups, made the leap. “Am I talking to James?”

Nod.

“Are you, uh. Are you here alone?”

Nod.

“James, have you been with Trina this whole time? Since your accident?”

Her head turned side to side, but the dark shadows in the middle of those filmy eyes never left Cavale’s face.

“No, okay. So someone brought you back. Recently?”

Nod.

“Within the last few days?”

Nod.

“Do you know why?”

Head shake.

“Do you know who it was? Was it someone you knew?”

Shake. Hesitate. Shake again.

“Let’s talk about where, then. Have you been at home or with Trina?”

Shake.

“With the person who called you?”

Nod.

“Do you know where they were holding you?”

Nod.

Cavale tapped his lips. Twenty questions was going to take forever. He almost wished he had a Ouija board back here. Or a map. Pen and paper. Anything.
My phone.
He slid it out of his pocket and woke it up. “Can you spell the place out for me on this?”

Trina—
no, this is James
—thumped the table to get his attention. Those pretty hands came together, thumbs hooked, fingers splayed. They fluttered like wings.

“A bird?”

Nod. Then they unhooked, and her right hand came up jerkily to tap at her collarbone. Moved up an inch.

“Throat. No, neck. Crow’s Neck? They’re holding you in Crow’s Neck?”

Nod.

When Trina’s hand dropped back into her lap, a smudge marred the skin of her throat. It twisted, becoming less and less a smear. Cavale watched in horror as it squirmed into lines that assembled themselves into that damned sigil. “Udrai,” he whispered. “Is that who’s holding you?”

Trina’s head whipped violently from side to side.

The temperature was rising.
I’m losing him. The necromancer’s pulling him away.
He wanted to ask more questions, to glean as much as he possibly could about whoever was controlling the ghosts and ghouls, to find out just what the hell it was they
wanted
while James still had control. But he only had seconds left now, and maybe Father Value hadn’t taught him compassion, but God damn it, he’d
learned
it once he got away. “James, Trina misses you very, very much. She loves you. I know she wishes she could have said good-bye. Do you hear me? Do you understand?”

Nod. Nod, and nod, and nod. Tears streamed down Trina’s cheeks, but they weren’t hers.

One last exhale, and Trina slumped forward. Cavale caught her head before it could smash into the table, easing it down gently. Now he could stand, and he rushed around to kneel at her side.

She came around after a minute, groaning softly. The tears were gone, her eyeliner not even smudged.
Must’ve been ectoplasm.
“Cavale? Did I faint?”

It was easier than telling her the truth. “Yeah. Only for a moment. I thought you were looking kind of peaked when you first sat down. Have you been feeling all right?”

“I guess I’ve felt a little under the weather,” she said. Amazing how simple it was to get people questioning themselves, with the right kind of nudge. Elly used to say he could be a grifter if he wanted, he was that good. Except he always felt bad when he did it. Not exactly a good trait for the job.

“Maybe you should take it slow for the rest of the day. Go home and get some rest.”

Trina nodded. This time the movement was natural.

“Do you want to sit here for a while, make sure you’re okay to drive?”

“No. I’m all right.” She stood and slipped her arms inside James’ coat sleeves. “It’s funny,” she said. “I haven’t been able to smell him on this since I’ve started wearing it. But I just got a whiff of his aftershave.” She picked up the Knight of Cups and smiled. “Do you think he knows, wherever he is? How much I miss him?”

“I’m sure of it.”

*   *   *

T
RINA HADN’T WANTED
time to recover, but Cavale needed a few minutes to regroup once she’d gone. He tidied up the room for the next reader, picking spots of dried wax off the tablecloth from when the candles had sputtered. The necromancer was in Crow’s Neck. They had some tie to Udrai, but Cavale thought it was unlikely a forgotten deity—was Udrai even a deity?—would have dedicated priests or priestesses. James’ accident was only a couple months ago. If he went back and looked at the obituaries, would he find a gunshot victim in the papers around the same time? Would he find a picture of the ghoul from this morning there as well?

Judging from the lack of disgruntled faces peeking out from the other rooms, no one had heard a damned thing. Which was a relief—he could convince Trina nothing had happened, but other readers? No, not likely. Though one of the guys a couple doors over claimed he was a medium. His lack of reaction had Cavale seriously questioning that now. He ought to have noticed.

He picked up his cards and his crystals and carried the books he hadn’t been able to read to the front. Gage let them sign books out, as long as they came back in perfect condition. He made small talk as Gage cashed him out and noted down the titles, but his mind was busy churning over what James had said. Or nodded.

A man stood outside by the door, handing out business cards. He was bundled up against the chill, coat buttoned all the way, scarf covering his mouth. He was overdoing it a bit, Cavale thought; but then again, he never tended to wear a heavy enough coat for the weather himself.

“Take a card? Psychic services and spiritual advice,” the guy said. He had a heavy smoker’s voice, and collapsed into a cough to go with it. At least he hacked into his elbow, like the public health posters suggested, rather than into Cavale’s face.

“Sorry, buddy, I’m all set.”

“First session’s free, though, so you know it’s the real thing.” He went for the ballsy, obnoxious move of sticking one of his cards in the top book like a bookmark. “You hold on to that and think about it, maybe.”

Cavale sighed. This wasn’t all that unusual, people standing outside Hecate’s Cabinet trying to poach their business. Gage was protective of his stable of readers, so he didn’t allow the competition’s flyers up in the store. He also didn’t hire just anyone to come and take his customers’ money. Most of the people who came in to audition for a spot were turned away. “Barking up the wrong tree, my friend. I work here.”

“Oh. Uh . . . Oh.” The guy peered at Cavale and his stack of books. “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you.” He backed away, cringing as if Cavale might haul off and hit him. Usually these guys railed on about free speech and public sidewalks when he tried moving them along. It was a refreshing change.

Cavale was glad to be on his way home. It had been a long day, full of weird shit, and he was ready for it to be over. Not that in his world things like this ever truly stopped coming—he’d be out of a job if they did. But a few hours of what passed for normalcy wouldn’t go amiss, and he was looking forward to a night in with pizza and beer and research.

As he walked to his car, he couldn’t shake the sense that someone was watching him. He sat behind the wheel awhile, looking around for anyone conspicuous, but nothing stood out. He pulled a chunk of quartz out of the glove box and tucked it in his pocket, but it didn’t alleviate the feeling.
Probably just tired. And paranoid,
he thought, but he didn’t really believe it.

When I get home, I’m burning a whole bushel of sage.

10

I
T
CAME DOWN
to two things: Cavale was asleep, and Elly woke up famished. She heated a square of the beef and cheese casserole . . . thing . . . in the microwave and wolfed it down while she read the notes he’d left for her before he crashed.

It wasn’t much to go on.

Udrai, servant (?) to Ereshkigal. Minor deity? High priest? Will do more looking tonight.

He’d described the encounter with the spirit for her, too, a quick rundown that left her wishing she’d been there to witness it. Not that she’d necessarily have noticed anything beyond what Cavale had, only . . . They worked well together, the two of them, and maybe something would have come of it.
We’ll go over it when he wakes up. He’ll be thorough.
She’d suggest mesmerizing him, the way she’d done to Chaz, but Cavale had never been susceptible to it. Father Value had trained too many defenses into them for either of his children to fall asleep because someone else wiggled their fingers and told them to.

She was shoveling the last forkful into her mouth and contemplating seconds when her phone rang.

Katya.

Usually it was a Renfield that called her, or one of the vampires lower in the
Stregoi
hierarchy, but certainly not Katya herself. She was above such mundane communications.
Unless something’s gone very wrong.
She slid the icon to answer. “Hello?”

“Eleanor.” Katya’s voice was hushed, annoyed. “I need you to come into town but not to the bar. There’s a cafe on H Street, Oliver’s. Do you know it?”

Of course she did. These last few weeks, she’d walked all over Southie learning its layout, seeking out alleys and escape routes. “Sure, with the dancing coffee cup in the window.”

“Yes. Come now. I will meet you there.
Do not go to the bar.
”

“Is everything all right? Did something happen?”

“When you get here, I’ll tell you. Hurry, now.” Then she hung up, leaving Elly to stare dumbly at her screen.

She thought about calling the bar, or one of the lackeys, to see if they sounded at all frazzled. She could call and hang up, even do it from Cavale’s phone to mask that it was her. But Katya was her boss as much as Ivanov; that had been made clear to her from the start. If her orders were not to go there, the
don’t call
was implied. “Shit.” She grabbed her things and scrawled a note for Cavale:

Called into work. Weird vampire shit. I’ll be fine.

She paused a moment, eyeing her empty dish, and added:

Thx for breakfast. Wasn’t poison.

Then she grabbed her keys and kit and left.

*   *   *

S
HE COULDN’T RESIST
cruising past Ivanov’s bar on her way to meet Katya, to make sure it wasn’t on fire, or that a crowd of vampires weren’t brawling in the streets. It probably skirted right up to the line of her orders:
don’t go in
and
don’t call
carried an element of
don’t be seen
with them, but Elly’s car was nothing flashy. She’d never given any of the
Stregoi
a ride, and tended to park down the street a ways, so the chances of someone recognizing it were slim.

It was early yet, not even seven thirty, so the bar was far from hopping. The after-work crowd had had their drinks and gone home by now. The social drinkers would be finishing their dinners elsewhere before they trickled in for beer and shots and yelling at the sports channel. That only accounted for the humans, of course. The vampires—who were not, in fact, tearing one another apart on the sidewalk—were likely off taking care of their nightly business before they’d show up at Ivanov’s. So what the hell could be making Katya so secretive?

Is she setting me up?
It had been on her mind during the drive up, but it seemed unlikely. She hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t crossed any lines or fucked over the
Stregoi
. Last night she’d played her part as backup during the meeting with the
Oisín
, and done nothing else vampire-related since. So it
shouldn’t
be a trap she was walking into, but she parked a block down from the cafe anyway, and checked the straps on her silver spike. She considered trading it out for an ash stake instead, but at least with the silver, if it all turned out to be a misunderstanding Katya would heal.

If Katya
was
planning on tearing Elly’s throat out, though, she wasn’t telegraphing it. She’d planted herself on one of the stools in the cafe’s window, peering out from behind the dancing coffee cup’s boogieing knees. The place had undergone renovations recently, in an attempt to draw in both the old-school Southie residents and the newer, hipper citizens with their fatter wallets. You could still get coffee and pastries at decent prices, but the menu had expanded to include overpriced fancy things, too. The decor was classic and clean: hardwood floors, beige walls hung with paintings from local artists for sale, shiny chrome equipment.

The vampire had a cup of coffee in front of her, untouched. As Elly slid into the seat beside her, she passed it over. “I don’t know how you take it.” She pulled packets of cream and sugar from the pockets of her scuffed leather jacket and set them down beside the cup.

Whatever comfort Elly had taken from Katya picking a public place disappeared. The woman was
never
polite, certainly wouldn’t buy Elly a cup of coffee like they were equals. She eyed it warily, tried to sniff conspicuously as she took off the lid.

“Oh, come now,” said Katya, some of the snap returning to her voice. “Do you really think I’d poison you? Or, what, drug you? If I want you to do something and you balk, I’ll Command it.”

Fair point.
She took a sip, to smooth Katya’s ruffled feathers, and hoped the woman wasn’t bluffing. “Old habits. And, uh. You have to admit this isn’t how we normally do things.”

Katya scowled, the tips of her fangs peeking out from beneath her lips. She might not always leave them fully extended, but she never retracted them all the way, either. Sharp, pointy canines, all the better to eat you with. It made her face all the more foxlike. “No, it isn’t. But our work tonight calls for a level of discretion.”

Elly looked pointedly at the window. Anyone walking by could see them sitting here . . .
Conspiring? Is that what we’re doing?

Katya shrugged. “It’s what we do after this that needs quiet. I didn’t want to discuss our plans in the bar, though. Too many ears pricked, listening for opportunities.”

That surprised her. Ivanov seemed to have the
Stregoi
so well in hand. “Is there someone there who’d try to challenge Ivanov?”

“Here is your first true lesson in our politics,
myshka
: Everyone is looking for a way to fuck us over. Only a handful will ever try, but if someone were to succeed, you’d want to be in their good graces, yes?”

Where is this going?
Possibilities raced through Elly’s mind. Katya was making her own play, maybe, or she was getting in tight with someone else who was. Or she was testing Elly’s loyalties, or . . .

“No, no, no.” Katya sighed. “I see it on your face. Not me. Never me. And you are here because he trusts you. Which means I do, too. Even though I saw you pondering using that spike of yours when you came in.”

Elly didn’t bother denying it. “Where is it we’re going, then?”

“Hunting.”

“Creeps?”

“No. They’ve gone seeking easier prey, I think. This is worse. This is one of ours.” She drew the bracelet out from her sleeve and toyed with one of the fangs. “The boy from last night. Theo.” It spoke to Katya’s age that she called Theo a boy, rather than a man. When you got to be as old as she was, nearly
everyone
was a child.

He’d been so . . .
normal
when they went out to meet the
Oisín
. “What did he do?”

“He’s gone missing. The Renfields say he came to the bar just after sunset. He wouldn’t even acknowledge them, just went into the back and tried to get into Ivanov’s safe. One of mine tried to stop him and now she’s at Mass General with a broken jaw. He picked her up by the chin and threw her. Stupid girl,” she said, but there was pride in it.

“Why would he do that, though?”

“Unhappy with his paycheck? How should I know?”

“What about his maker, that woman from the meeting with Ivanov. Dunyasha?”

Katya placed her hand over Elly’s. The heat from the coffee cup warmed her palm, making the vampire’s marble skin on the other side feel icy. “Remember what I said, about someone always listening. If she were to learn of this, and find him first, she might get it in her head to protect him. Best we bring him in ourselves.”

“What about the Renfields, and whoever else was there? Won’t they talk?”

Katya smiled. “I got there quickly. They can’t discuss what they don’t remember.”

*   *   *

T
HEY WALKED ALONG
the streets side by side, hands shoved in their pockets against the cold. Well, Elly’s were. Katya, she imagined, did it to keep up appearances. It seemed to be a common theme with the vampires—Val had spent days teaching Justin how to do things the human way when she’d first turned him, which made an odd kind of sense. Before, he’d
been
human—he didn’t have to think about how fast to walk, how many times a minute to breathe, the limit of what he could lift for his size and shape. Living people simply
did
those things. Vampires had to bring their own natural inclinations down to a human level.

Not for the first time, Elly wondered how they’d all—vampires, Creeps, even the Brotherhood—managed to stay hidden all these centuries. In the past, it was probably helpful that communication hadn’t been instantaneous. Today, though? When the majority of people in any crowd could take and upload video almost before an incident was over? People would post anything to the Internet—fistfights on a subway train, skateboarders wiping out and breaking bones, protests turned violent—but when she’d gone looking, not a single video that declared
Vampires are real! Here’s proof!!!
was anything of the sort. She saw tricks of the light, and flat-out tricks filmed by charlatans, but no actual
proof
. No one popping claws or fangs, or doing any of the things Val and Justin and the
Stregoi
could do.

If it was out, though . . . She couldn’t imagine much of an accord between people and monsters. Tempting as it was to have help from, oh, the army with taking the Creeps out, would anyone draw a distinction between Creeps and vampires? Could she, when it came right down to it? What about succubi like Sunny and Lia? They didn’t hurt anyone, but they weren’t human, and that’d make them targets. The Brotherhood?
Pressed into service, likely.
No. You kept it hidden, you kept it quiet, and if you were smart, you assumed someone with their finger on a big red button or with access to lab-filled bunkers fifty stories below a mountain knew all about you anyway.

They tried Theo’s apartment first. He lived over near Castle Island, where crowds thronged in the summertime to watch ships in Boston Harbor, or to eat hot dogs while watching the fireworks on the Fourth of July. The complex was a square brick building, five stories high, twenty apartments per. Theo’s was on the third floor, on the side facing away from the water. They knocked, but no one answered.

Katya pressed her ear to the door, listening. Then she got down on her hands and knees and stuck her nose against its bottom edge. “He’s not there,” she said. “Let’s go in.”

“Do you have a key?”

Katya snorted. She grabbed the doorknob and twisted. Metal groaned within the lock mechanism as she let out a low string of swears in Russian. With a final tortured clunk, the knob gave way and the door swung open. “Keys,” said Katya. “Feh.”

Inside was a shambles. Not in the way Chaz’ apartment was, with what he called bachelor pad chic, but in the
there was a fight here
sense. The blackout curtains had been ripped from their rods. The couch was torn to shreds, stuffing everywhere, as though a tiger had come in and used the cushions as claw sharpeners. Drawers were emptied, their contents strewn around the room.