Red House (22 page)

“We all are.”

“He made me hurt my brother. I was trapped in my own body and I couldn’t do anything about it. Like I was tied up and had to watch.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, her mouth quivering. “I could feel what he was feeling. He likes to hurt people. He gets…he gets off on it. He likes for people to be afraid.”

Sometimes I wished brain bleach was a real thing. Putting myself in her place and imagining what that must have been like twisted my stomach into knots, threatening to bring up pretty much everything I’d ever eaten. “He killed his family, years ago. Nobody ever knew why. I think he was insane and I think he had some magical ability. Pretty strong ability.”

Shelby was silent for a long moment. “Do you think that’s what made him crazy?”

I’d asked Ray that very same question once, after trying to find out what killed my friend. He didn’t have an answer beyond the comfort of his arms. Rozella was already gone. The only other people who had any inkling of what I was were only too eager to confirm my worst fears. Hell, they were the ones who’d planted those fears in me. Shelby wasn’t really asking about Haschall, any more than I was when I wept in Ray’s arms. After all these years I still had no real answer, except for maybe one.

“I don’t know about him but I’m not crazy yet.” I grinned.

Laughing, she said, “Like hell. You hang out with a vampire. And Blake is so freaking hot but I kind of get a shaky vibe off him, but you’re dating him. Plus there’s the ghostbusting.”

“I prefer ghost evicting, thank you very much. So what do you say, Shelby? You in this?” I was thinking of that magic space again, the head space we put ourselves in to do these things. It was not the normal world by a long shot.

She nodded. “I’m in this. I’m good. I don’t have your experience but I’m gonna do the best I can.”

Gesturing with the sage I said, “Come on, it’s your turn.” After I finished with the brief smudging ritual she surprised me with a quick hug.

Satisfied she was focused, I left her to seek out Daniel. He stood staring up at the Nathan Bedford Forrest portrait, mouth curled in a sneer.

“Whaddya know, Bubba?”

“I know they’d be better off with a Forrest Gump poster on the wall. I know I can smell my own dried blood and it’s making me twitchy as all fuck.” He turned his blue gaze on me. “I know I don’t like your plan but since I don’t have a better one I’m just gonna do as I’m told.”

“I’ve got to get him in here to capture him, you know that.”

“Yeah but why not summon the guardian spirit first? Wouldn’t that help?”

“Haschall’s got the place wrapped up so tight, I don’t know if we could bring another spirit into the house right now.”

He looked over his shoulder at Shelby. “You think she’s right about the McCrickard woman and her maid being half-sisters?”

“It’s not like it’s unheard of,” I said, referring to owners sleeping with their slaves. “You did it.”

“You wouldn’t be standing here if I hadn’t,” he said, a touch defensive.

“I’m not making judgments, just an observation.” I sighed. “Too bad vampires are in the closet. I’d love to see the look on the faces of the rest of the living relatives when they got a load of the family tree.” The rest of the living relatives fell squarely in the white and uptight category.

“You say that like you don’t think they could love me for the bloodsucking monster I am. That’s what family’s for, darlin’.”

“To love you even when you’re a monster? That’s not been my experience.”

Daniel slung an arm around me, pulling me uncomfortably close to the dried blood on his clothing. “What do you know? You’re not a monster. Deplorable taste in men doesn’t make you a monster.”

I giggled, then he giggled, then we were both giggling, clutching at each other to keep from falling. The smoke sizzled against Daniel’s aura, making him hiss in pain. I moved away, apologizing. Then I started to pass the sage around myself, pulling its energy into me with each inhalation.

“You need one of them to do that for you?” Daniel watched from far enough away the smoke didn’t touch him.

“I’m good.” The task complete, I focused again on the sage, this time putting it out. “Been doing this by myself for a long time.”

“So what you got that protects vampires? A broken Buffy action figure?”

Laughing, I wished I did have something for him but I’d hadn’t yet found anything that would work. All the usual protective herbs and charms only hurt him.

The lights flickered, buzzing as they flashed on and off. “Ruh roh.” I laughed, burning off the last of the nervous giggles.

Knocking issued from the other side of the wall, quickly turning into pounding as whatever was making the noise realized it couldn’t get to us.

Daniel said, “Looks like they found our hidey hole.”

Blake and Shelby left their respective corners to join us. The three of them stood in front of me looking expectant. Did they think this was the appropriate time for a motivational speech?

I did my best to rise to the occasion. Shaking my fist in the air I said, “Go team!”

Blake snickered. Shelby said, “What, not even a we few, we happy few, for our trouble?”

Leave it to a girl who used the screen name Ophelia to quote Shakespeare at me. “How about this? We’re here to kick ass and chew bubblegum, and we’re all out of bubblegum.”

“That’s not very original,” Daniel said.

Blake chimed in. “How about, I’ve got a bad feeling about this?”

I followed his gaze to the Forrest portrait above and behind us. The general’s bearded face stretched and contorted, blending with Haschall’s features as the ghost tried to enter the room.

“We won’t be able to keep him out much longer,” Shelby said. Her voice trembled but she held her ground.

“I need a few more minutes.” I touched Blake’s arm. “Can you strengthen the wards to give me time?”

“On it.” He walked away, Shelby trailing behind him and asking if she could help.

Daniel sneered, the tip of one fang peeking out. “I don’t get it. Why him?”

I made my way to the altar in the center of the room. “You’re jealous? For real?”

He followed. “Well, it’s just…hell, everyone knows jailbait and vampires go together like peanut butter and jelly. But she’s giving him puppy eyes instead of me.”

“I told you, she’s not jailbait.” I sat cross-legged in front of the altar. “When this is over I’m going to have a good laugh at you being jealous because some girl you don’t even like is mooning over Blake instead of you, but right now I got work to do.”

A volcanic scream of primal rage shook the walls, sending plaster dust falling from the ceiling and several of the paintings tumbling to the floor.

His aura warring between tight control and hunger for a fight or blood or both, Daniel popped out his fangs around a wicked grin and said, “They’re here.”

Chapter 18

An eight by ten gold framed image of Saint Cyprian served as the current centerpiece of the altar, flanked by two purple candles. It had belonged to Rozella and I’d had it stored in my “under the bed” box for years. Keeping my breathing even and steady, I reached out, tapping into the natural magic all around. Opening myself to it, drawing it into me so that it blended into the magic I was born with. Power coursed through me.

“Saint Cyprian, hear me.” I spoke softly, without much confidence. “Lend me your strength and guidance.” This did not come natural. Having been raised in a Protestant household I never learned to pray to a saint. It was one of those things Rozella left me to figure out for myself because she knew I wasn’t comfortable with religion.

I felt right at home with magic. My eyes half-closed, I sent out energy in a slow wave. First it lit all the candles we’d placed around the room, then with another gentle nudge all the incense began to emit smoke.

“Saint Cyprian, hear me. Lend us your strength and guidance.” My voice was stronger now, though still not strong enough. That one arm tied behind my back Lorraine warned about was really making itself known. It was probably presumptuous of me to even try to appeal to the saint without having first established a relationship with him, but we needed all the help we could get.

The others stood somewhere behind me. I didn’t need to turn to see them, I could feel their individual energy. Shelby was the coltish impatience of youth over a deep reservoir of natural talent. Fierce control wrapped tight around a dark heart was Daniel. Blake–Kalidas–blazed like a supernova.

Shelby began the Goddess chant again. First quiet, then building in volume. Blake added his own chant in some language I could not identify, fluid syllables rolling off his tongue and sparking in the air. Daniel sang something that sounded like an old gospel song but I couldn’t quite make out the words to identify it. Giving up on addressing Saint Cyprian directly, I let the threads of sound weave around and through me. The disparate rhythms gradually wove into a single cadence that thrummed in my blood. I didn’t realize I was humming until the candles on either side of the saint’s image climbed high, twin gold towers of fire piercing the darkness.

Magic filled the room. It pressed against the surface of things until it flowed right into every molecule, bending them into something new. Everything looked the same. Nothing felt the same. A witch sat flanked by a priestess, a sorcerer, and an agent of death. Rozella’s face flickered across the framed image of her patron saint. I reached for the power she offered me and took it.

With a breath I extinguished the candles. The chanting and singing ceased as the others followed my lead. Darkness enveloped the room, silence pressing down heavy upon us. I counted in time with my heartbeat, letting magic settle into our pores and work its way to our blood.

“We’re ready.” I packed up Saint Cyprian and readied the altar for the next task, stowing my glasses away safely once more.

Shelby sat on her knees. With chalk from my bag she drew a circle around herself. Blake added protective herbs on top of that. Daniel took up position several feet away, shotgun ready. It would take only seconds for him to reach Shelby. All she had to do was break the circle.

I said, “You sure about this?”

“I want him out of my granny’s house.” She watched as Blake held his hands over the circle, giving it one final layer of protection with a push of energy into the barrier.

I withdrew a glass bottle from my bag, setting it carefully on the floor about four feet away from Shelby. A restaurant sized hot sauce bottle, it now held a tangle of herbs and leaves along with nine straight pins and nine coffin nails. The next thing out of the bag was the bowl of graveyard dirt I’d collected the day before. Using a small funnel, I poured a line of the dirt from just past the circle around Shelby to the bottle trap, then poured dirt in the bottle.

A pint of whiskey came next. I hesitated after opening it. Taking a quick drink, the booze burning a trail down my throat, I coughed and held up the bottle. “Last call, y’all.”

Daniel moved like lightning, snatching the pint from my hand. “Hell, yeah.”

“Easy now, don’t drink it all.”

Nearly two inches of the liquid had disappeared. “From now on I’m gonna have you a carry some emergency blood for me.” Daniel passed the bottle to Blake.

Blake drank without comment and returned the bottle to me. Shelby said, “Hey, can I?”

“No.” I gave her a perfectly raised eyebrow. “Besides, you’re locked up tight in there.” I indicated the circle. Filling the bottle trap a third full of whiskey, I said, “I need you guys in place.” Daniel moved back to where he’d been standing earlier. Blake strode to the door.

I pulled a cigar out of the bag, lighting the snipped end with a light push of magic.

Daniel complained, “That’s one of my Cubans, isn’t it?”

“Quit your bitchin’.” I puffed on the cigar, trying not to gag, then blew smoke in the bottle trap. Meeting Shelby’s eyes, I held her gaze for a long moment, trying to silently communicate that is was okay for her to back out. She read me loud and clear, answering with a single nod.

Blake watched from the door. “Do it,” I said.

He opened the door and scraped away some of the salt to lower the ward. Now we just had to wait for our invisible enemy to join us.

It took twenty-three minutes by Daniel’s watch. The son of a bitch was toying with us, probably waiting outside the door the whole time. Fighting the urge to fidget and pace, nerves stretched taut, the cigar smoke freaking killing my allergies, I waited. And waited. I had to set the cigar on the altar dish to keep the smoke away. No one spoke. No other spirits entered the room. Finally the shade of Stanley Haschall announced his presence with a precipitous dip in the temperature. I exhaled to see my breath fog then looked for Haschall.

He stood halfway between the door and Shelby. His visage composed of varying shades of black and gray, making him look a bit like a waterlogged charcoal drawing. Splotches of dark blood stained what had been a white shirt in life and darkened large spots on his black coat. He trained his eyes on Shelby, black pools of emptiness. Looking deeper into the auric field I could see the same red emanating from him that surrounded the house. This was both good and bad. Good, in that I was on the right track in thinking he was the cause of the barrier and dealing with him would remove it. Bad, in that, damn, he was powerful.