VoodooMoon (20 page)

I stretched languidly, like a cat waking well rested and contented from an afternoon nap. I might have even purred. Despite the slight soreness in my muscles and between my legs, I did, surprisingly, feel well rested and contented. My brain was a bit fuzzy yet, not sure why I felt so good, but instinctively I reached to the other side of the bed, and found it empty.

That was when I came fully awake. I was in Ian’s bed, and I felt warm and glowy inside and out because of the delicious things we had done here, not once but three times last night. But Ian wasn’t here. I rolled on my back and waited for relief at his absence to hit me. It didn’t. Neither did the expected regret, need to rush out, or reluctance to see him again. I waited another moment. Nope. Nothing. What I actually felt was disappointment that he wasn’t there to kiss me, or something else, good morning.

Oh, crap. What the hell was happening to me? One night with Ian had turned me into a complete mush ball. For a moment I wondered if I had been bespelled. I quickly dismissed the idea. Ian might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t the kind of creepy perv that cast infatuation spells. Besides, he knew if he did that once it wore off I’d kill him, or worse.

I was going to have to face the facts. If there was any kind of bedazzlement going on, it was the natural kind. Ugh! That was worse than being magicked. A spell would wear off in a day or two, and I could blame any ridiculous thoughts or behaviors on the spell. But, nope, I was laying here feeling giddy and grinning like an idiot and I had no-freaking-body to blame but myself. Or, Ian. Yes, I’d blame Ian. Damn him for being so…so…Ian!

I grabbed the pillow next to me and buried my face into it, as if I could hide from reality for a few more minutes. Then, I took in a breath and was assailed by Ian’s scent. Warmth flooded my body from the tips of my hair to the tips of my toes, but was highly concentrated in center between the two points. “Arggh!” I half-heartedly screamed into the pillow. I sucked in another whiff of sexy necromancer, making my toes curl with want, and tossed the pillow aside.

Doing my best to not think about the feel of Ian’s skin next to mine, I looked around the apartment for a clock or something to tell me what time it was. The sun coming in through the tall, pane-less windows spaced evenly across three two walls and washing the entire apartment with a bright and cheery glow indicated late morning or early afternoon. In daylight the room looked larger and more spacious than it had the night before. Though, in all fairness, my focus had been pretty tight on Ian. We could have been in the public market stadium surrounded by onlookers and I never would have noticed.

Finally I saw the small clock on the table next to the bed. It was just past ten in the morning, which meant I’d gotten even less sleep than I had thought, considering it had been dawn the last time Ian and I had drifted off. Yet I felt pretty good. I wondered how Ian was feeling, he’d obviously woken before me.

Where was Ian, anyway? I did another sweep of the apartment, no Ian. The door to the bathroom was open, and though I couldn’t see in, I could tell it was empty. He better not have went to the market without me. I shook the thought out of my head. No, he wouldn’t do that. I was just about to get out of the bed and look for my clothes, then Ian, when the apartment door began to slowly, quietly swing open.

I sat up and quickly grabbed the sheet that lay over me and clutched it to my breasts, suddenly overcome with a ridiculous shyness. Oh, get it together, Moon! I chided myself silently. I was acting like a teenager with her first crush, all giggly and silly. It was ironic, because even when I had been a silly teenager I hadn’t acted this way over boys, or sex.

Pinky had a frank, no nonsense style of parenting. When Anya and I hit puberty he had explained sex, the feelings it could induce, the repercussions, and how to be responsible, both physically and emotionally. He’d done the same with River, of course, but, as is the usual happening with younger siblings, Anya and I had already filled her in. I understood my body’s physical needs and had never gotten those mixed up with my emotional needs. I hadn’t even thought I had emotional needs, at least not pertaining to men and a sexual relationship. Not until now. Not until Ian. Now I felt all squishy and tied up in knots in side and, something I had never been about my body, a little bashful. That was complete lunacy, especially after the way I’d presented myself to him naked on his bed last night. I took a deep breath, willing away the tremors in my belly, and dropped the sheet.

But the person that came in the door wasn’t Ian. I gasped and grabbed the sheet again, tugging it around me as tight as possible as a small, silver haired woman entered the room carrying a large bundle of something.

“Oh, Agent Moon, you are awake. How did you sleep dear?” the older woman asked.

“Um, fine, thank you. Please, call me Fiona,” I said, a bit feebly. I had no idea who this woman was but I was meeting her while completely naked and in a bed not my own. I figured we’d already hit first name status.

“Fiona, such a pretty name,” she said, moving over to the table near the middle of the room and depositing her bundle. “I’m Helena Gary, Master Ian’s housekeeper. You can call me Helena, but I’ll tell you now, Ian only calls me Mrs. Gary. Sometimes that boy is too proper for his own good,” her smile was so motherly it made me warm inside.

I laughed. “Tell me about it.”

Mrs. Gary walked over to the counter behind the table and clicked on a crystal powered hot plate, filled a teapot with water from a pitcher and set it on the burner. “Well, I was just going to bring those up for you and leave them, but since you are awake, how about if I go ahead and run you a hot bath. Master Ian said you’d like to try out the tub.”

“A bath would be lovely, but I’m sure I can manage it on my own.” I said.

“Nonsense. I’ll run the bath while you have yourself some tea and wake up. And don’t argue with me, I kind of like fussing over a female once in a while. Between Master Ian, the guards and my husband I’m surrounded by men all the time. Here, you can wear this for now.” She picked the bundle back up and tossed me a flannel robe as she bustled past me into the bathroom.

Despite her completely unruffled demeanor at finding me in her boss’s bed, her words seemed to indicate that Ian didn’t often have women over. At least not any that had hung out long enough to meet his housekeeper. That sent an absurd thrill of pleasure through me.

I put on the robe and padded over to the counter with the tea pot. There were mugs, several glass canisters of tea leaves, a jar of honey and a steeper all ready. I loaded the mesh steeper ball with a generous amount of tea from a canister labeled “nettle and mint”, put the ball in a cup and poured the hot water over it. I stirred in a spoonful of honey, then took my mug and followed Mrs. Gary into the bathroom.

Water was flowing out of two spigots in the wall into the huge marble tub. “That is some tub,” I said.

“Yes, I think it and the one like it in my apartment are some of the only things Master Ian brought from his family’s compound. Besides books, of course.”

“You live in this building?” I asked.

“Oh yes, on the floor below. There are rooms for traveling Necromancers that come into the city to register or find work and a couple of the single security guards live here as well.” Mrs. Gary answered.

I sipped my tea and watched her in silence for a moment while she unbundled the items she had brought in with her. She was about four inches shorter than me with an average build, with just a little of the softness that comes with age, which I assessed to be somewhere in the early to mid-sixties. Her face was round and only slightly creased and she had big brown eyes that were warm and welcoming. She wore a dress of thin blue paisley material that ended halfway down her calf and doeskin moccasins. Her long silver hair pulled back in a braid that reached halfway down her back and tied with a ribbon that matched the blue of her dress.

She turned to me, holding three bottles of colored liquid. “What flavor bath oil would you like? I have lilac, lavender, and rose.” I must have made a face because she quickly said, “These are from my own collection. Ian doesn’t keep an assortment of female toiletries in his bathroom.”

“Wow, am I that transparent?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer.

The older woman laughed, “Well, you don’t exactly wear your heart in your eyes, but I’m an old woman. I’ve learned to see things others can’t, even in themselves.”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I just said. “The lavender would be lovely. Thank you.”

She poured the oil in the tub and a beautiful lavender perfume rose in the steam, scenting the entire bathroom in just a few seconds. Then she turned and gestured to the stack of clothes on the counter. “I took your clothes down to wash, I’ll have them sent over tomorrow. There are towels and clothes there for you. I think the clothes should fit just fine, but if not, let me know and I’ll find something else.”

“You have clothes that will fit me? I’m afraid I’m a bit taller than you.” And a bit more endowed in the chest area, but I didn’t see the need in adding that part.

She laughed, “Oh, dear, you would look quite funny in my clothes! No. We have a storehouse with clothes and boots of all sizes. You would be surprised at how many necromancers from far away villages show up in rags. Despite the progress Master Ian has made with the Guild here in Nash, in the outlying villages, especially those not a part of the City-State, and communities in the Outer Zones, necromancers are called frauds and treated shabbily.”

“Really?” I asked, with genuine curiosity.

The tub was over half full of water so she turned it off. “That is hot, so you will want to let it cool a few minutes.” Then she settled onto the edge of the tub to answer my question. “The years during the Cataclysm, and afterwards were hard on people, and people who used their powers, no matter what they were, made it even harder. Unfortunately Master Barroes ancestors were not the only ones that used their abilities, or pretended to have abilities, to cheat people. There are many places where necromancers have to hide their abilities in order to keep from being harmed. There are communities in the South, across the sea where all magic users are looked upon suspiciously and necromancers are stoned or burned, just for being born with the ability.”

I didn’t know any of this. I wanted to ask questions, but she was really warming up to the subject so I just leaned back against the counter and listened.

“There isn’t a month that goes by that we don’t have some bedraggled poor soul, sometimes whole families, come straggling in, looking to get registered and looking for work. Many sell anything they can to get passage across the sea just because they heard of the Guild. As far as I know it is the only Necromancers guild in any of the Allied cities.”

“And you take them all in?” I asked, a little stunned.

“Master Ian does. We keep of clothes, blankets, necessities, and toys for the children. Like I told you before, there are rooms on the third floor for visitors. They stay here while the Guild finds them work. That is also why we have security staff around the clock. It helps them feel safe, something some of them have never had. Many are sent to necromancer-friendly villages and Master Ian has started networking with other Allied City-States in hopes that other Guilds will be set up. Not everyone who comes is a necromancer, and even those that are we may not be able to find work for them in that field, but we take in anyone who asks and we help them all find work.” Her smile was wide and full of pride. It was obvious the older woman thought a lot of Ian.

“That is amazing,” I said. And, I meant it. I spent a lot of years hating necromancers, but not even I would want to see someone stoned to death or starving just because of the power they possessed. Besides, I didn’t hate all necromancers. The guys that worked down at the morgue used their powers in a good, productive way, and I liked them. You couldn’t persecute someone just because of the abilities they were born with. It wasn’t what they had, it was what they did with it.

“There is more to the Guild, and to Ian that meets the eye,” Mrs. Gary said.

“Yeah,” I replied, “I’m beginning to see that.”

She smiled. “Well, I’ll leave you to your bath.”

“Okay. Thank you.” She started to leave the room but I called her back. “Oh, Mrs. Gary, wait. Where is Ian?”

“He is down in his office doing a bit of work. The new semester at the Academy starts in a week or so and I think he wants to have his lesson plans all made up in case he has to have someone substitute for him. He works so hard. I’m sure he’ll be back upstairs by the time you are done.”

“Enjoy your bath,” she said, and disappeared, closing the bathroom door behind her.

I disrobed and slipped into the hot water. The feel of the hot water sluicing around me was delicious. It soothed the aches and soreness from last night’s fight with Bokor and the later, more sensual battle with Ian. I leaned back in the tub, letting the scented oil soak into my body and thought about what Mrs. Gary had just told me. There was definitely more to Ian Barroes than met the eye. The warm fuzzy ball that had been in the pit of my belly since I woke up doubled in size.

The public market was situated on the bank of the river opposite from the living and business districts of Nash City, yet still inside the old, original city wall. The market stadium was a huge oval building with rooms and hallways that circled the outside, but the main part of the building was open to the sky. The walls were a series of concrete steps. According to my City History professor at the Academy, the building had been built as a place to where sporting competitions had taken place. During the Cataclysm, despite its open roof, it had been used as shelter for hundreds of refugees. Mages had used shield spells to keep rain and weather out of the building, much like the larger shield spells that had been used to cover everything within the city walls and protect the buildings and inhabitants from the harsh storms of the cataclysm. Today, a smaller weaker shield powered by crystals and charged regularly by mages employed by the City kept rain out so that the market could be open rain or shine.

On any random day there were dozens of vendors and merchants from Nash or nearby villages selling their wares at the market. The regular merchants had permanent spots separated into small shop areas by sheets of cloth hung over ropes strung on poles. Their merchandise was spread out on wooden tables or strung up along the cloth walls on ropes. A steady stream of customers from Old Nash City and New Nashville browsed, picking out fresh vegetables, soap, and other daily necessities.

The first week of every month, market week, was quite another story. Hundreds of merchants from all over the Appalachian Peninsula, as well traders from across the Mississippi Sea that came in on trading barges crowd the market to sell their wares and buy goods to take back to their communities. Farmers and crafters from Mountain communities pulled their full wagons right up into the market and sold their merchandise right out of the back. Other’s carted their wares up onto the steep steps of the walls to set up their tables. Tables and carts and bins laden with dried fruit, hemp cloth, bees wax candles, carved wooden children’s toys and other staples and goodies vied for space. Shoppers from all over Nash crowded the narrow walkways, browsing the stalls for goods that weren’t available in the local areas.

The lots around the outside of the market were just as crowded and busy during Market Week. Near the market building there two rows of lean-tos and shacks that housed blacksmiths, metal smiths, tanners, and other tradesmen that found it convenient to have their businesses close to the market. Merchants and shoppers who couldn’t afford a room at an Inn for the duration of their stay pulled their own wagons up and pitched tents and built cook fires. Around the far edges of the market lot Gypsy clans circled their wagon homes.

It was mid-week so the Market Week crowd was in full swing. We arrived shortly after noon. The smell of odor of grilled meats and vegetables and fried sweet cakes from the food vendor stalls and vegetable stew and corn cakes from campfires permeated the air. I had only had time for one more cup of tea before Ian and I had left and my stomach was quite empty. My mouth watered at the smells.

“Everything smells so good,” I said, as I led the way through the throng to River’s stall. “I’m starving.”

Ian smiled apologetically. “Yes, I know, I am too. I’m sorry I didn’t let Mrs. Gary fix us something to eat, it just would have taken too long, and she tends to make a feast when she cooks. It could have been another hour or two before we got out of there.”

“A feast sounds good right about now, but I completely understand. We have too much to do to sit around getting fussed over by your housekeeper. But I reserve the right for a future date,” I said, and barely controlled the urge to slap my hand over my mouth. Had I really just implied there would be future opportunities for me to be at Ian’s apartment. Yes, I had. And I had done so very casually, as if it were no big deal.

One night of sex and I was already talking as if Ian and I were in some sort of long term relationship. Despite his words last night about wanting more than a quick fling, I had no idea what he really wanted, and we hadn’t had time for a conversation this morning. When I had emerged from the bathroom after my bath, dressed in the khaki pants, light green shirt and brown canvas vest Mrs. Gary had brought up Ian and the housekeeper were both in the apartment. Ian was at his desk, making notes and Mrs. Gary was bustling around cleaning and trying to get Ian to let her bring a tray of food up. Ian explained that we had to leave rather quickly, and reluctantly she had relented and went to clean the bathroom. Her presence in the apartment, as I sat on the sofa and put on my boots, kept the conversation between us to platitudes on the weather.

On the drive to the market in Ian’s rickshaw the conversation had been about the case and what we hoped to find out from the Gypsy. All mentions of the night before were about the events in the alley and the pub. Neither of us brought up the reason we were riding together from his apartment with me garbed in his clothes. Nor did we discuss the several sweaty hours we’d spent together in his bed or what they would mean for us. That was fine with me; I didn’t really wanted to have that talk yet. While I was in the completely dark about what Ian wanted, I had even less idea what I wanted.

Maybe the din of the crowd around us had drowned me out and Ian hadn’t heard what I’d said. No such luck. He reached out and grabbed my hand, stopping me in my path, pulled so that I turned towards him then tugged one more time so that I was right up against him. One arm snaked around my waist, pulling me close, and the other slid up to the nape of my neck. I shuddered, the memory of his mouth and hands on me slamming into me. He lowered his mouth to my ear and said, “You can count on it.” Then brushed a quick, hot kiss against my parted lips and released me.

I stood there, breathless and stunned for a moment. He’d just kissed me in the middle of the public market. Belatedly, I thought I should punch him in the throat for such an offense, but my bones were all melty and it just seemed like too much effort. I opened my mouth to protest. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, something about not liking public displays of affection, but before I could catch my breath and find my voice he grabbed my hand again and was pulling me through the crowd.

“Here, I can’t give you a feast right now, but I can at least feed you,” he said, stopping in front of a food stall. Instantly forgave the kiss and decided he could do it again in front of the whole city state if he wanted to if I got to have something to eat.

We ordered grilled cornbread fritters filled with little bits of lamb, roasted vegetables, and goat cheese. The vendor wrapped them in newspaper and drizzled the tops with honey before handing them to us. I took mine and dug in immediately as we continued on our way to find River. It was so warm and tasty.

I must have been making noises reminiscent of last night because Ian said, “Damn it, Fiona. I’m doing my best to be professional today, but if you keep making those noises like that I will be forced to drag you off somewhere private and really make you moan, this case, the Blades, and missing mages be damned.”

For a moment I was stunned enough to stop eating. Then I looked over at him and the expression on his face was so comically pained, I couldn’t help but laughing.

“Oh, think that is funny do you?” A wicked grin spread across his face.

“A little,” I said, licking honey off my finger. His eyes went wide and for just a moment I thought about teasing him just a bit more, seeing just how far I could push him. But, from the heated look in his eyes, I had no doubt he would follow through on his threat, consequences be damned. But, as much as I wanted to be somewhere spending the rest of the day having hot animal sex with Ian, the people damned by the consequences wouldn’t be us, they would be the innocent women that were still missing. “But, you are right, work comes first, so I’ll try to contain my glee while I eat. It will be hard, this is damned good. But I’ll do it to save your sanity. I do, however, reserve the right to take you up on that moaning offer in the future.” This time I knew exactly what I was saying.

His eyes went so dark with desire that for a moment I thought he was going to make good on his threat and drag me off somewhere. Instead he just reached for my hand, put it to his mouth and slowly licked a bit of honey I’d missed off my pinky finger. “Oh, you can definitely count on that.”

He dropped my hand and I shoved another bite of fritter into my mouth to keep from moaning. “Come on,” I said, around the fritter, not caring at that point that it was unmannerly and completely unsexy. That actually worked for me at the moment. “River’s stall is right over there.” I pointed and started walking. Ian took another bite of his own fritter, laughing quietly, and followed.

****

River had a large stall on the main floor of the market stadium that backed up to and included three steps of the wall. The colorful cloth walled stall was filled with bins of both fresh and dried vegetables and fruits. A table along one side held small bins of dried herbs. Another table held small cloth pouches and clay pots of herbal mixes, teas, and medical remedies, each carefully labeled with contents and instructions for use. Shoppers crowded her stall and a short line was formed to the side for those who were waiting to get in.

I was always amazed with how productive my little sister made her tiny roof-top garden. Imagine what she could do with a whole farm, or even as the head of a farming compound or commune. I shook the idea from my head. As much as I wanted my sister to be happy and successful, River had dismissed the idea of taking such a job every time any of the family had spoke of the idea. But, in truth, neither Anya nor I mentioned it very often and Pinky never did. The thought of River going off where we couldn’t watch over her was more than we could stand. Though she was a grown woman, she would always be that little lost baby to me. If I were completely honest I would have to admit both Anya and I loved the care and attention River doted on us. If she were to move away we couldn’t watch over her, but more, she wouldn’t be there to take care of us.

“Oh, hello!” River saw us and came over her cheery face split in a grin and her blond hair flashing in the sun. “I wasn’t sure when to expect you, but I told Miss Leona we would be stopping by sometime today so she is expecting us.”

“Do you need to wait until your customers are gone?” Ian asked eyeing the crowd at River’s booth.

“Nah. Bonnie can handle them, just give me a second,” she said and walked over to say something to the young girl that helped her out during market week. Bonnie was twelve and lived in a hemp farming compound and traveled in every month with the farmers and merchants. She wasn’t officially of legal work age, but helping River for the week gave her something to do. River paid her the same wage an adult would make so that she could help her family and still have a little spending money of her own.

We watched silently as River flitted around greeting customers before rejoining us, followed by the guard Sam had sent to watch over her. “Okay. We can go now.” We followed her out of the market building to the tent crowded lot. “Miss Leona’s wagon is right over there, the one with blue flowers painted on the side.” She pointed to a group of brightly colored wagons about fifty yards away from the entrance.

The three of us headed in the direction of the wagons, but River pulled on my arm so that we could walk a little bit behind Ian, and motioned to her guard to walk behind us a bit.

“Spill it sister!” she whispered as soon as Ian was out of earshot in the bustling crowd.

“Spill what? I don’t know what you are talking about,” I whispered the lie smoothly.

“Ha!” she laughed. “Maybe we should start with where you were when I went into your room this morning to ask you if you wanted to come to the market with me to talk to Miss Leona before the crowds showed up?”

When I kept walking along silently, she continued. “Or maybe you can tell me why, when I touched your bed post, I got a vision of you asleep in a bed covered in…was that real linen?”

I snapped my head around. “You saw that?” I said through clenched teeth. “River!” I sputtered, trying to keep my voice low.

“I wasn’t trying! You know I can’t control it!” her voice was indignant. “So, I know you weren’t at home. I know those clothes you have on don’t belong to you. And, I only know of one person you know that is rich enough to afford real linen bed sheets.” She cut her eyes towards Ian.

“So, spill it sister! I want details!” she said out loud.

Exasperated and unwilling to discuss the subject at all, much less in the middle of a public market just a few feet from Ian, I clenched my teeth and said, “There is nothing to tell. It was just a thing. One night. It’s nothing.” I said it, but I didn’t even believe it myself. I knew it was more than that. Our little exchange a few minutes ago had proved that. But I didn’t know exactly what it was yet, so I wasn’t ready to discuss it with my sisters yet. Especially not right at this moment.

River didn’t look convinced. “Okay, I won’t push. Just remember one thing, sister of mine. I usually only see things that are going to make a huge impact in our lives.”

She dropped her hand from my arm and quickened her pace to lead the procession to the gypsy camp. I didn’t have time to process what River had said before we reached the camp and were standing in front of a red wagon with blue flowers painted on the side. I put it out of my mind and focused on the task at hand.

The wagon was more like a small home on wooden wagon wheels, complete with a door brightly painted blue and small window on one side with a matching blue window box that held growing herbs. The area in front of wagon looked homey and inviting with various small chairs and tables circling a small, stone ringed fire. Hooked wrought iron bars held an ancient looking cast iron soup pot and an even more ancient looking water kettle over the smoldering fire.

“Miss Leona?” River called.

“I’m here, child. Give me a moment to get my old bones moving,” a surprisingly strong voice called out from inside the wagon.

“Take your time, Miss Leona,” River called back.

A few minutes later the door swung open and a woman emerged carrying a wood tray with a ceramic tea pot and four mugs. From River’s description I had expected a doddering old lady, but Miss Leona was far from that. She stood straight and tall, and her skin was a smooth mahogany, the only lines in her face were around her eyes and lips. It was impossible to tell her age. While she looked to be anywhere from forty to sixty, her eyes held a wisdom that said perhaps she was quite a bit older than that.

A vampire, perhaps? I had my answer when she stepped onto the first step and into the full sunlight and didn’t blink or flinch. Vampires had varying degrees of allergic responses to sunlight, but there was always some sort of reaction, most especially eye sensitive. Even Jarrett, who had the highest tolerance to sunlight of any vampire I had ever met, wore a hat or hooded cloak to keep the sun out of his eyes, and always wore long sleeves. Miss Leona wore a short sleeved tunic the color of fresh churned butter tucked into faded denim pants and covered with a brown leather vest, but no hat or eye gear. So, not a vampire.

Ian strode over and stood at the base of the steps, “May I help you with that, Madame?”

“Well, aren’t you a sweet one? Sure. Here, set it there on the table by the fire.” She handed him the tray then descended the stairs and crossed over to us where we stood. She greeted River with a kiss on the cheek.

“Miss Leona, these are the people I was telling you about this morning, my sister Agent Fiona Moon and her partner Ian Barroes.”

“Very nice to meet you all. I was just about to have some raspberry leaf and stevia tea. Will you join me?” she asked, graciously.

“Oh, not me,” River said. “I need to get back to Bonnie. It’s too busy today to leave her alone for too long.” She waved goodbye and headed back to the market stadium, her guard following silently behind.

“Please, have a seat,” Miss Leona said, gesturing to the assortment of chairs around the fire. Then she grabbed a thick towel off of a stool near the fire and used it to grasp the tea kettles handle and poor water into the tea pot. After replacing the kettle, she sat down and Ian and I sat in chairs facing her. “Now, what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from an agent of the Black Blade Guard and the Head of the Necromancer’s Guild?”

“You know who I am?” Ian said, taking the mug of tea she poured and offered to him.

“Of course I do, Master Necromancer,” she answered, handing me my own mug of tea, then settling back in her chair. “I am the Mambo of my tribe, that gives me the responsibility of knowing the laws of the lands we visit, especially those that pertain to any of the tribe. There is a necromancer amongst us, and we spend a lot of time in Nash City. Though, as a gypsy, she is exempt from the registration law, I see to it that she is informed of and adheres to all of the rules put forth by your guild.”

“I see,” Ian said with a smile. “I have no doubt you do.”

“Mambo, that is a religious title?” I asked.

The older woman’s dark brown eyes were wary. “In some tribes, yes. It ours it is both a religious and legal position. I am the head of our tribe, though I answer to a council of elders, just like your own Senate.”

“I see. It is actually the religious part of your job that we are here to ask you about,” I said.

The wariness in her expression morphed into pure fear, but her voice was clear and steady, though a bit tight. “Agent Moon, it has been two months since my tribe has visited Nash City, has the laws governing religious freedoms changed?”

Ian answered before I could. “No, Madame. We aren’t here to accuse or harm you or anyone in your tribe. We just need some information and River thought you might be able to help us.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“You know River would never have agreed to introduce us to you if we had any ill intentions.” I added.

She relaxed a little, but not completely. I wasn’t sure what to say to put her at ease. If she were nervous or upset, she’d be less likely to give us the information we needed. While I was trained to talk to all sorts of hostile and scared witnesses and victims, this was a fear I had never quite faced. Luckily, Ian came to the rescue.

“Please, forgive me if I overstep by asking, Madame, but were you perchance alive during the Religious wars?” he asked, his voice the same soft and soothing tone he’d used with Millie.

The tension started to flow from her, then left completely when she looked at me and burst into laughter. I must have looked as baffled as I felt. There was no way she could have been alive during wars that took place over two hundred years ago during the beginning of the Cataclysm.

“Oh, goodness, child, don’t looks so perplexed. I’m a hundred and ninety-two years old. I’m a dhampir, my father is a vampire,” she laughed.

The aged wisdom in her eyes made a lot more sense now. Dhampirs are children born of human mothers and vampire fathers. They are rare, but not unheard of. Usually the N-V virus renders both females and males infertile, but like with every other disease, it can affect some individuals differently. A small percentage of male vamps can father children for several years after their initial infection. An even smaller number of those never become infertile. Dhampirs do not have to take their nourishment from blood and most don’t have the same allergy to sunlight. They aren’t as long lived as their vampire parents, but they do age slowly and usually live to be three to four hundred years old.

Miss Leona focused her attention on Ian, her body completely relaxed now. “You are very observant, Master Necromancer. I am a Cataclysm Child. Few of us, the children born during the first decade of the cataclysm survived past infancy. I credit my parentage for my survival. Dhampirs are heartier, even as infants, than normal children. I was too young to remember the wars, but I remember quite clearly the time after. The time forbidding practice of any religion, even quietly in your own home. It was a horrible, bloody time, and even now, across the sea, there are still regions where such laws exist. Our tribe once traveled far and wide, but we’ve come to like Appalachia and this land has become our home. There are very few villages in Appalachia that allow religious persecution. We steer clear of them and have lived in peace for many decades. Unfortunately, nightmares take longer to go away. I am sorry, Agent Moon, Master Barroes, that I leapt to conclusions so quickly.”

Now I understood her reaction, and didn’t blame her. The anti-religion laws had been banished in Nash long before I was born, but I had taken the required history course at the Academy, and Pinky had told us stories.

During the Cataclysm the religion wars broke out because people believed the weather and natural disasters of the cataclysm were happening because their deity was angry because of other religions, science, and “godlessness”. People started killing each other in the name of their God, determined to put an end to other religions and non-believers and thusly the Cataclysm. Soon, all across Appalachia anti-religion laws were implemented to stop bloodshed, but had ended up creating more. People were dragged from their homes for possessing religious paraphernalia and put on work gangs or in extreme cases put to death. The anti-religion laws lasted much less time than the religion wars. As the Cataclysm came to an end and weather patterns shifted so that freak storms were less frequent, travel between communities was easier, and the Council of Elders started working with the City-States to rebuild and become allies, the anti-religion laws were redacted and more lenient laws were put into place. Now every citizen had the freedom to choose or not choose to follow a religion as they saw fit. The only prohibition was on publicly trying to convert others or requiring people in a community to confess to a particular belief. By Nash law, religion was a personal choice that could neither be taken from or forced on any person.

“I am sorry you had to go through such a time,” I told her, sincerely. “I also apologize for not wording our reason for being here a little more clearly.”

“Nonsense. No apologies are necessary. I’m just getting a bit doddering in my old age. Now, how may I help the two of you?”

“Have you ever heard the name Bokor?” Ian asked.

“It’s not a name, but a title. A Bokor is a type of Voodoo Priest. But I think you already know that.” Her look was sharp.

I smiled. “We weren’t completely sure. We are investigating a rash of disappearances and possible murders. Last night I came into contact with a suspect and before he got away he told me to call him Bokor. We thought it was a name, but someone who grew up in a gypsy tribe recognized it. She said her tribe had sometimes camped with a tribe that practiced the Voodoo religion and she had heard the title there in relation to their Holy Man.”