At the Behest of the Dead (4 page)

It turned out he liked the combination quite a bit.

Chapter Two

I
woke to banging and assumed it was Mrs. Whitfield come to find out how the job had gone. Rolling over, I flipped open my beat up cell phone. It dripped water on the nightstand, but at least it displayed an amber glow from the tiny screen. I had missed three calls and all from Carlisle. I rubbed sleep from my eyes and glanced at the clock. Showing up at a warlock’s house at seven in the morning should be illegal.

I managed to stumble into my robe and make it to the door without tripping o
n anything. The dog sat on his pillow and raised one corner of his mouth to show teeth. Not much of a smile but at least he didn’t growl. I gave the room a cursory glance and didn’t find a stain or pile of dog shit. Well bully me. With any luck, that was Thora at the door and she could just take him right on home with her.

“Hi butthead,” I muttered as I walked by. He lowered his head but didn’t leave his pillow. His eyes traveled from me to the corner of the room
, and when I looked I figured out what was wrong with him.  Bilbo, my two pound tarantula, had eyes on the stuffed toy of a pup.

“Bilbo, if you eat that dog I’ll take you to the zoo and leave you.”

The spider did not deign to answer.

“Look Mrs. Whitfield …” I slid the metal blind aside and peered out the
three inch hole to find that my older client wasn’t there at all.

D
istaste showed on her face from the moment I opened the door. She tried to stay cool but I heard a gulp. I looked down to make sure I was wearing pants.

She was dressed like a cop trying not to look like a cop. Black polyester slacks to match her
car. A white button down shirt poked out of a rain jacket that she clutched together at her chest. Her blond hair was a curly mass that somehow gave her a fresh-faced look. She didn’t wear makeup. Her skin was pale and made even more striking because of her clear blue eyes.

She held a piece of paper in one hand at about eye level. She lowered it when she saw me and didn’t look impressed.

I’d never seen this woman in my life, but sometimes you get that feeling. Know what I mean? Like you need to get to know someone on an intimate level.

I realized that the paper
had my name and picture on it, and she’d been using it as an umbrella.

No gun that I could see. That probably meant she wasn’t easily rattled. I took a liking to the woman right away because not everyone could walk up to the front door of a
warlock and just bang on it like a long lost friend.

That had to be her black car in the drive
way, but it looked far too sporty for a regular cop. More like something the local police and state patrol would drive. Gone were the days of black sedans, because I think the police just want a cool ride to drive to work. Who wouldn’t want to dash around town in a jet black Charger with electronics jammed into every nook and cranny?

The sun rose behind a pair of clouds that looked grey and fat with rain
, but the sky also had a pink tinge. It was about to be a perfect late September day. The kind that made me want to stay indoors and read an ancient tome of foreboding, or maybe experiment with a few new potions.

Red sky at night, sailors delight.
I thought. Some would call it a harvest moon but I called it an omen. Pink skies always reminded me of blood. Mists of the stuff, like getting punched in the face so the spray of crimson obscures your vision for a split second.

“You Phineas?”

I hated having the robe on this early in the morning. I should’ve still been asleep and dreaming of demons sent over the cusp, like my little friend from last night. If I knew a cop was coming I would have put on something more malevolent. Sometimes it just came down to appearances, much like the cop standing in front of me. You wanna be a bad ass, start by looking like one.

“Yep,” I replied. “Phineas Cavanaugh, necromancer to the stars.”

“So you really do magic and cast spells?”

“If you’re looking for a parlor magician, try Google. I’m a busy man.”

She rolled her eyes and looked back at her car.

“Got an appointment?” The last thing I wanted was a cop showing up asking questions about my nighttime activities
, no matter how cute she was. I hadn’t done anything illegal. I was just wary of those in authority. It had been my experience that people in uniforms were the worst. People in uniforms bashed down doors and dragged people into the night.

“I didn’t know I needed one.” Her
eyes roamed over my porch. Maybe she was looking for a dispenser to take a number. She didn’t speak for a few seconds and that was just fine with me. The more uncomfortable she felt the quicker I could get back in bed and nurse my hangover. A lot had changed over the centuries, but one thing remained the same. Drinking absinthe could be a bitch.

The cop sighed and crossed her arms with a crinkle of rain jacket that dribbled water on my ‘Don’t Piss Off The
Warlock’ welcome rug.

“I’m Detective Andrews from the Seattle police department
, and I was hoping for some advice.”

“Lost love?
Wanna win him back with a potion? I can do that for a fee. But you have to pay for the ingredients and my time.” I paused dramatically then leaned so I towered over her. “My time does not come cheap.”

“You can
create a potion to make someone fall in love?” She stared at me. “Where were you in college when I was trying to get my Civics teaching assistant in bed?”

“It’s not that easy.” I smiled. “I can create an alluring aura so the recipient is enamored toward you
, but it fades in a day or two so you have to work fast and impress him or her in other ways.”

This was true, to a point. We normally don’t talk about our work for obvious reasons. I could make up something that would make a guy think
he was madly in love with her for a few weeks at best, but he would wake up from that little honeymoon with a wicked headache and a whole lot of anger.

It had never worked out for previous male clients because the only thing worse than a woman scorned was a woman fucked with.

“I’d like to talk to you about some work. We have a special case and I think we need some special help. I don’t want to be here but we’re pretty much out of other options.”

It’d been a long time since someone in any official capacity asked for my help. They used to, but the Randall case put an end to my steady stream of revenue. No one would have suspected a fifteen-year
police veteran of being a serial killer, but I knew differently the moment I met him because he reeked of the dead. After that debacle the jobs just dried up.

I sighed and opened the door all the way and gestured her inside. The Pomeranian barked twice,
probably realized he was in a stranger’s house, and went back to hiding from my tarantula.

I had the wall that made up the angled stairs removed when I purchased the place and added a wooden stairwell done up in ‘creepy
,’ along with paintings of tortured souls and bas relief demons staring out of the hallway walls. The corners had small shelves mounted with leering demons, angels, and hovering gods. I liked to think that it added to my allure, just like the robe. But just like my raiment, they served no other purpose.

She followed me into the kitchen, which was connected to a small but unused dining room. Shelves lined the walls and a workspace was built under it, currently covered with a big black velvet cloth. I liked to work at night because some ingredients don’t react well to sun. Plus, I’m, you know, a freaking necromancer.

I eyed the coffeemaker suspiciously.

“I’d offer you some coffee but I’m not sure how old it is. Maybe a day, maybe three.”

“I’m fine. If you have some water that would be great.” She had to notice the sparseness of the kitchen. The lack of appliances other than stove and refrigerator. I don’t eat at home much, and when I do it’s usually a microwave meal.

“Nice house. Had it long?”

“A few years.”

“Wife?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Uh, sorry to hear that?”
She chuckled.

I ran the tap for a second and then offered what I hoped was a clean glass. She regarded it with a dubious eye but took a sip anyway. I noticed her eyes were tired and dry. I opened myself to her aura but it was recessed. You can tell a lot about
a person from the circles that surround their body, but hers were withdrawn and dull. Combined with the lassitude she was attempting to hide, I knew what the problem was right away.

Addict. Probably pills.
I bet if I went through her car I would find a prescription bottle full of painkillers. Well, it wasn’t my problem, although I could help her. People need to want help. That’s the first step to a cure, no matter how strong a potion I prepare. Rehab works the same way and both are a bitch. Unless someone wants to change, they’ll be back to their old ways in no time at all.

“Don’t be. W
e have an on again off again relationship. Right now we’re off because she thinks I can’t get my life together.”

“Women, eh?”
She took a long pull from the glass. I could discount it as rain but I suspected the little drops on her forehead were actually tiny beads of sweat. Maybe it was close to her next dose, next fix, whatever it was she slid down her throat to make it through the day. I didn’t judge since I have had my fair share of addictive crap poured down my gullet over the years. Drugs, booze, and an assortment of weird stuff that only ‘we others’ knew about, but I would probably share if the price were right.

“You should be talking to my agent, Carlisle. He arranges my work.”

“I know about that bounty hunter, but this case isn’t like that. This is a real murder investigation, not chasing ghosts.” She waved her hand in front of her face like she was chasing away an annoying fly

“
Pulled the shortest straw?”

“Very funny. I just don’t believe in this magic stuff but I got volunteered. So be nice and tell me to go away.”

“Go away.” I smiled.

She stared up at
me for the count of three and then turned to go.

“Wait. Wait. I didn’t mean it.”

“Oh we’re good,” she said and headed for the door.

She wore sensible loafers that didn’t clomp across my hardwood floors.

“Oh come on, officer … didn’t get your name.”

“Andrews, d
etective.”

“Detective is your first name?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t be bitter. Why don’t you take a
seat and tell me about the case? That way you can go back with a clear conscience, knowing you did as your superiors asked.”

“Superiors? Who talks like that?” She sighed
, looked around the room, and then went back to the kitchen. I moved aside. She opened my fridge and studied the interior then sighed again and looked around with distaste.

“I can summon a Pepsi machine.”

“I like Coke.”

“How does that react to the other stuff?”

“Pardon me?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”
Probably not the best time to bring up the drug abuse.

She picked up her water glass and drank deeply. I watched but didn’t speak. Maybe she was just gathering her thoughts. Maybe she was about to slam the glass down and storm out again.

I decided to make the first move. “You want help finding a killer?”

“It’s just complicated and
, quite frankly, I don’t understand how anything can make the kind of wounds we’ve seen. People torn up, ripped in half. It’s enough to make you old and grey.”

“I don’t see a hint of it. Quite natural really.”

She looked up at me again but her face was stone.

“
I don’t help the cops. I used too.”

“Why not? We’re not bad guys.”

“Let’s just say I had a run in a few years ago and the case didn’t turn out like I expected.”

“They said you might be bitter. Did you kno
w they eventually ran Peters in on different charges? The guys in the slam knew, though. He was stabbed to death a month after he went into the pen.”

“Couldn’
t have happened to a better guy.” I stared into space as I remembered the image of his small and broken victims. The oldest had been nine. The youngest--let’s just say I put that out of my memory, and I have seen some wild shit during my very long life.

“It was before my time on the force.”

“Tell me what you know. At the very least I may be able to send you in the right direction.” Now that my plans for sleeping all day were ruined, I supposed I could make the best of it. With the lack of leads from the job last night, it was probably in my best interest to earn a few bucks if I could.

I had to admit that she had my interest. Not many agencies would even admit we exist.
Warlocks and witches were a novelty. A Wednesday night news article to be discarded along with the police blotter. Since we went live back in ’93, it is safe to say that we are tolerated at best. The fact that we openly touch the other side and do crazy stuff like zip around on pitchforks is lost on all those nimrods. We don’t fall into their neat little definition of what is the norm.