Otherworld 11 - Waking the Witch (7 page)

T
here was no chance of finding a bar open in Columbus—I wasn’t even sure there was one. So we headed over to Battle Ground. Jesse bought the beer, then announced he had reason to celebrate. He’d found the deadbeat dad he’d been hunting.

“Bet your client is happy,” I said.

“Thrilled. I just hope it means they’ll get the guy to pay up. You should see this woman. Juggles two part-time jobs so she can be there when her four kids go to school and back when they get home. Lives in a dump and takes in typing work so she can pay for paint to spruce the place up. And the bitch of it? Once, when she was ready to crack, she admitted that she hadn’t wanted four kids. She didn’t think they could afford so many, but her husband came from a big family. He wouldn’t let her go on the pill and would keep ‘forgetting’ to use protection, knocking her around if she complained.”

“Bastard.”

“Yeah.” He took a gulp of beer. “I mean, my family life wasn’t the best. I think my dad had a suspicion I wasn’t his kid—the whole half-demon thing—so he didn’t want much to do with me, but then I see people like this family, and I realize I had it okay. Anyway, I’m really hoping this guy gives up and pays. And if not, let’s just say that my next visit won’t be so friendly.”

“If you need backup, I’m a phone call away.”

“Or closer. At least for a few days. My case is done, meaning I’m now at your disposal. I just need to head to Seattle and grab clean clothes, and I’ll be back tomorrow.”

I must not have looked as happy about that as he’d hoped, because he said, “Or not ...”

That had been the plan, right? That he’d join in as soon as he could. Only I’d been doing pretty good so far. I’d made a few mistakes, but I’d learned from them. That was the point of going solo.

I didn’t want to offend Jesse by refusing his help, though, so I fell back on my best strategy: honesty. I really wanted to do as much of this job as I could. If things got ugly, I’d call him in a heartbeat. For now, though ...

“You want to try it on your own. I think it’s a good idea, actually. Lucas should have had you running solo long ago. If it’s okay with you, though, I’d like to keep my hand in. Research, sounding board, backup, whatever you might need. That okay?”

“Definitely.”

“Good.”

JESSE DROPPED ME off at the motel. I waited until he’d left, then hopped on my bike and headed for the police station. I hadn’t told him what I was planning. There are lines you shouldn’t cross as a private investigator. Breaking into a cop shop is one of them.

After twenty minutes outside the building, I was beginning to think I wouldn’t be crossing this line tonight either. The station wasn’t empty.

Earlier that day, at the diner, I’d asked about nighttime law enforcement. It was obviously a very small department and I’d hate to need police backup at night and be unable to contact anyone. They said there hadn’t been a night dispatcher since the last budget cuts. Any calls after midnight went straight to the chief’s house. The officers did patrol sporadically, but on a schedule known only to the department. That, though, should have left the station empty, and it was—empty of cops, at least. After hours, though, was cleaning time.

Cleaning a place the size of a bachelor flat shouldn’t have taken long. But apparently Bruyn didn’t know that and paid by the hour. When I’d cast a blur spell and slipped in, the woman was lounging in Bruyn’s office, doing a crossword, her work not yet begun. I went back outside to wait.

After another twenty minutes, I began running through my repertoire of disarming spells. I had a sleep one that seemed promising. It was a “Mom spell”—one of hers I’d gotten through her contacts.

Mom had been a teacher of the dark arts, but she’d always kept me sheltered from that part of her life. Her contacts knew of me, though, and once I hit teen-hood, they’d started reaching out, hoping there was enough of my mother in me that I was chafing under the guardian-ship of two do-gooders.

That just proved they didn’t know my mother as well as they thought. She was hardly an upright citizen, but she didn’t embrace the dark side because she was evil. It simply made good economic sense. She used those contacts—as I did—with extreme caution. I gave them useless tidbits about the council and the Cabals, and in return, I could call on them with questions I couldn’t ask Lucas and Paige.

Part of the wooing process is gifts. That’s where the spells come in. They give them to me, saying stuff like “your mom would have wanted you to have this.” I collect the spells. I practice them. I store them away in my secret safe deposit box and, when they fit the bill, I use them.

As for why a sleeping spell would be a secret dark magic spell, it was—like most of the spells I kept in my box—not the result that caused concern, but either the materials needed to cast it or the spell’s potential side effects. In this case, the side effect was narcolepsy.

Like my less savory contacts, these spells have a place in my tool-box, and if inducing a few weeks of narcolepsy in an innocent woman would help me stop someone who’s killing innocent women, then I didn’t see a problem with that. Trouble was, the spell, like most dark magic, required dark ingredients. Only grave dirt in this case, but I hadn’t brought any with me.

I was debating a search for the local cemetery when the cleaning woman came out for a smoke. That didn’t give me time to ransack the station, but I had another idea.

I hid in the shadows as she pulled out her lighter. Then I launched a teeny, tiny energy bolt. The lighter exploded. The woman dropped it, shaking her hand and staring down at the remains.

Muttering, she kicked the lighter into the grass, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a matchbook. As she opened it, I launched a drizzle spell. As water trickled down, she scowled up at the rain gutter and cursed Bruyn for not fixing the apparent holes. When she went to light her cigarette, her matches were damp and useless.

More curses as she stuffed the cigarettes back into her bag. Now came the big test. How badly did she need that smoke? I held my breath until she yanked out her car keys and stomped off to her vehicle.

When she was gone, I slipped into the station. I knew from my diner small talk that there was a security alarm, installed a few years ago after evidence—small amounts of drugs and money, then a gun-disappeared from lockup. I knew how to disarm most systems, but didn’t need to-the cleaner hadn’t turned it on.

I found the case file easily enough. I knew I had a limited amount of time before the woman returned, so I took only what I needed, bypassing the files Bruyn gave me and the crime-scene photos I got from Jesse. I copied the rest as fast as I could, then hurried out and was gone before the cleaning woman came back.

WHEN I GOT back to the motel, it was almost two. As tired as I was, I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t used to being alone at night except at home.

There was a time when I couldn’t wait to leave home, but when I was finally old enough to move out, I didn’t. We had a big enough house. Paige and Lucas didn’t mind me being there. I pulled my weight with chores and I paid rent. I liked where I was. Liked it too much maybe.

My phone chirped. Paige, quietly sending a text to call her in the morning. I read it a few times, hearing her voice in my head and relaxing.

It helped. But not enough. I hit speed dial. It rang three times. Then Adam’s drowsy voice came on, yawning a hello.

“You said to call you later,” I said. “Is this late enough?”

He swore.

I smiled. “Couldn’t resist. Go on back to sleep. I’ll call in the morning.”

Another yawn. “No, I’d better take the update while I can.” A squeak of the bed, as if he was sitting up. “So what’s happening?”

I told him. He didn’t laugh at my fake black mass lead, just said, “Those mannequin props don’t sound like anything from a black mass, real or fake. What time of year did you say that guy stumbled on the stuff?”

“Last fall.” I thumped back onto the pillow. “And something tells me it was late October.”

“Yeah. I’m betting it was on display because it was
supposed
to be on display.”

“A haunted house for Halloween.”

“It’s a possibility. Ask around.”

We talked until I was the one yawning. He chuckled and said, “Now it’s my turn to keep you awake.”

“I can just hang up.”

“That would be rude.”

“Yep.”

“Okay, I’ll let you go. And I won’t pester you with a dozen texts tomorrow, but call, okay? I know you don’t want me holding your hand. But toss me a bone. I just spent two days listening to lectures on research techniques. I’m dying here.”

“And who signed you up for the conference?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Aren’t you done anyway? I thought your last thingy was canceled.”

“Thingy? Glad you take such an interest. Someone asked me to sub on a panel tomorrow afternoon, and since you don’t want me around ...”

“There’s a hot chick on the panel, isn’t there?”

He snorted. “Just an old colleague of Dad’s that I couldn’t say no to. Meaning I’m stuck here another day at least, so you’re stuck amusing me. Got it?”

I smiled. “Got it.” I yawned some more.

“Okay, okay, I’m hanging up. Call tomorrow, though. Preferably before three A.M.”

A RAP AT the door woke me. I groaned, rolled over, and squinted at the bedside clock. 7:12. Another rap, louder now.

“Miss Levine?” A woman’s voice.

I rolled out of bed, grabbed jeans and a T-shirt, and yanked them on as I called, “Just a sec!”

I opened the door to a smiling middle-aged woman holding a takeout cup of coffee and a bag. I was pretty sure this place didn’t have room service ...

“I work at the coffee shop around the corner,” she said before I could ask. “I was asked to deliver this to you at seven o’clock.”

“Okay...” I took the bag and coffee.

“There’s a message, too.” She took a sheet from her pocket and read it. “If I had to wake up at an ungodly hour, so do you. Get to work and don’t forget to call me.”

Adam.

“We don’t usually do delivery, but I figured I could make an exception,” she smiled. “Especially when he tacked a ten-dollar tip onto the bill.”

I thanked her, then said, “Before you go, I’ve got a crazy question for you. I was talking to a friend of mine in Portland last night, and she swears she was here last fall. Said some service group was running a haunted house in the old furniture store. I think she’s got it mixed up with another Columbus, but now we’ve got a bet on it. You don’t remember anything like that, do you?”

“Sure do. Our high school put it on. The kids were raising money for a family whose place burned down. They couldn’t afford house insurance after losing their jobs at the sawmill. The kids even got Manny Radu to let them use the empty furniture store, which, believe me, was an accomplishment in itself. His grandkids were all for it, though, so the old man couldn’t say no.”

Manny Radu—I’d heard the name around town. Cody’s father, who must own the empty building, which would explain why Cody had been there. The rest explained what I’d found at the empty shop—everything teens need for a makeshift house o’ horrors. As someone not far past her teens, I really should have seen that. My brain was too rooted in the supernatural world. That’s what I saw, even when a simpler explanation was right in front of my nose. I had to remember that.

After the woman left, I set my coffee down and opened the bag. Two muffins-double-chocolate and blueberry bran.

I texted Adam a thank-you. I’d just started eating the chocolate muffin when he texted back
Put that one down and eat the bran. It’s better foryou.

I laughed and carried the case file and my coffee and muffins outside, ignoring the cold concrete under my feet. There were weathered plastic patio chairs along the front walk and I pulled two of them over—one to sit in, one as a footrest. I stretched out, sipping my coffee, nibbling my muffin, and reading the interview reports.

I was almost done when a room door opened and a little girl of no more than seven came out. Her hair wasn’t brushed. Her face was smeared with spaghetti or pizza sauce from the night before. As she started across the parking lot, someone shouted for her to close the door. The girl picked her way across the lot to a soda machine and got a Coke. Breakfast.

Seeing her made me think of Kayla, and what the folks at the diner had said—how her grandmother had kept her from a life like that. I needed to speak to Paula Thompson today. If she wasn’t pleased with Bruyn’s investigation, I could probably win her support.

I made a to-do list. Lucas would be so proud of me. Thinking of them, I checked my watch, but it was still too early to call their hotel, so I e-mailed Paige, saying I’d phone later.

I was sending the message when the hairs on my neck prickled so strongly that I looked up. The parking lot was empty.

I cast a sensing spell, but there were too many people in the motel rooms. I pretended to return my attention to the phone, while sneaking glances around. Nothing. Still, I had the distinct feeling of being watched.

Um, yeah, it’s a motel. Could be the manager. Could be the perv in unit fourteen or the nosy lady in unit six ...

True. I tore a chunk off my muffin. As I was popping it into my mouth, a figure passed between two tractor-trailers parked at the edge of the motel lot.

I got to my feet and stretched. As I worked out a kink in my shoulder and feigned a yawn, a dark figure emerged from behind one of the trailers, then quickly pulled back.

I opened the door to my room, walked in, then cast a blur spell and slid out again. I made it halfway to the trucks when my phone rang. A Hawaii area code popped up. Paige. I ducked behind the nearest car and hit ignore. Footsteps scrambled over pavement. I peeked out and caught a flash of movement as someone ducked behind the motel office.

I took off after it, but by the time I reached the building, there was no one around. I cast my sensing spell. It picked up two people.

The chimes jangled as I went inside. The manager and his wife sat behind the counter, eating bagels and doing paperwork.