Blood-Bonded by Force (24 page)

“My girls!” Idyll jumped up, stepping over her small suitcase to open her arms to Faith and Kacie.

They rushed into their aunt’s hug.

Open a Webster’s Dictionary and look up the definition for a Pagan priestess or shaman—or shamanka, as a female priestess would be called—and there’d be a picture of Idyll O’Shaughnessy. She fit nearly every stereotype. This evening’s outfit consisted of long ropes of beaded necklaces, bangles stacked on each wrist, hoop earrings, open-toed sandals, and a floor-length beatnik-style dress made out of the kind of rough-woven, patchwork fabric one might find on a carpet bag. The dress was sleeveless, exposing Idyll’s slender arms; the forty-seven-year-old woman still had a svelte body concealed beneath the roomy folds of her clothing. One non-stereotypical part of Idyll was her hairstyle. It was cut short, layered, and colored a chestnut brown with blonde, streaking highlights—very modern and fashionable.

Tears pooled in Faith’s eyes as the comforting fragrance of incense enveloped her, and she squeezed Idyll harder. She never thought she’d miss her crazy aunt so much, but when life went topsy-turvy, even a grown woman needed her mother, surrogate or not.

Idyll leaned back and beamed at them. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you two. I was overjoyed when you said you were coming west for Christmas, although”—she glanced around Nunu’s—“I figured we’d be eating cooked goose at home by now.”

Another non-stereotypical thing about Idyll; she wasn’t a vegetarian.

“Sorry, Auntie,” Kacie said. “Our life has taken a bit of an unexpected detour.”

“Well, it’s served you beautifully, Kacie. Such roses in your cheeks!” Idyll gushed. “I’ve never seen you look better.”

Kacie glanced at the group. “Aunt Idyll could always tell us apart.”

“Yes, well, this one”—Idyll cupped Faith’s cheeks between her soft palms—“always had the serious eyes.” She gave Faith a tender smile. “Not much has changed, I see.”

Faith ducked her head, gently extricating herself from her aunt’s hold. There hadn’t exactly been much to be happy about for a while. Over the past two days especially, faced with Nỵko’s unwavering rejection, her mood had plummeted to something more bleak and downcast than even when she’d first arrived at Ţărână. Which was saying something.

Introductions were made.

Idyll shook hands with Tonĩ and Dev, then hesitated when it came to Jaċken. Pulling her hand back to finger one of her necklaces, Idyll observed him with open caution.

Jaċken was wearing a navy blue, long-sleeved Henley shirt to hide his forearm tattoos, along with a dark brown leather jacket, under which Faith knew he also hid a varied selection of weapons. But there could be no disguising his hard-jawed face and black eyes.

“He looks like a bad guy,” Tonĩ said, a note of humor in her voice. “But he’s really not.”

“Yes, of course. Excuse me.” Idyll didn’t shake Jaċken’s hand, though.

They all slid into the half-moon-shaped banquette, Jaċken and Dev taking the outer seats, Tonĩ sitting across from Idyll, and the twins in the middle.

The bartender arrived. “What can I get for you folks tonight?”

“A round of coffees for us,” Tonĩ said. “Make mine a decaf, please.” Tonĩ gestured at Idyll. “Ms. O’Shaughnessy?”

“Idyll,” she corrected, her mouth edging downward. “It’s nearly 9:30 at night. Won’t coffee keep you awake?”

Tonĩ smiled. “We work odd hours.”

“I make a sick Tequila Sunrise,” the bartender told Idyll.

“That’ll be fine, then,” Idyll said.

As the bartender left, Tonĩ set a manila file on the table in front of her. “I appreciate your willingness to meet with us, Idyll.”

“Of course. Faith said you’re in need of my Celtic expertise.”

Tonĩ nodded. “It’s about the Symbol Killer. Have you heard about that?”

“Yes. Ghastly stuff.” Idyll leaned back in the booth. “Good gracious, are you trying to figure out who that serial killer is?”

“We already know who it is,” Tonĩ said, earning a lift of Idyll’s brows. “We’re trying to figure out his next move, so we can anticipate it and catch him.” From her file, Tonĩ extracted a drawing and set it before Idyll. “This is the symbol being carved into the victims’ foreheads. We know it’s Celtic and called a quaternary knot, and that the symbol is grounded in the concept of four, since it’s divided into quadrants.”

“Yes, very good,” Idyll said.

Tonĩ nodded at Faith. “Faith has explained that in Druidic philosophy the quaternary is a symbol of protection.”

“Correct again.” Idyll cast a pleased glance at Faith. “Nice to know someone was paying attention all these years.”

“So what I’m wondering.” Tonĩ rested her hands on the file. “Is why a murderer would use a symbol of protection in his killings?”

“I can’t imagine a single reason why he would.” Idyll pointed to the drawing. “Are you sure the symbol is exactly this?”

“Fairly sure. I have pictures of the victims, if you would care to check for yourself.” Tonĩ pushed the file folder across the table to Idyll. “They’re pretty gruesome,” she warned.

“Don’t worry about that,” Idyll said. “I have an extremely strong stomach.”

Faith looked sidelong at Kacie.
Isn’t that the truth? Remember when Aunt Idyll killed a chicken with her own hands, just chopped the head off with a cleaver and proceeded to pluck it
?

Kacie’s mouth quirked up at one corner.
We thought her spiritualism had finally graduated into the realm of making animal sacrifices
.

Aunt Idyll had merely laughed at their expressions.
The meat’s freshest this way, silly girls
.

Idyll took out all five of the 8x10 crime scene photos and carefully inspected them. “Ah, see, it’s not the same. The knots on the victims’ heads has been cut through.”

They all leaned forward to give the photo a closer inspection, except for Dev, who maintained his constant surveillance of the bar.

Aunt Idyll was right. There was a knife slice in the exact same spot on each corpse’s forehead.

Tonĩ glanced only briefly at the photos. “What does the cut mean?”

“Well, break a symbol of protection and what happens?” Idyll asked, her brows raised.

“You remove that person’s protection,” Jaċken answered.

“Exactly.”

“Protection from what?” Jaċken asked.

Idyll drew a measured breath. “In ancient Celtic tradition, the soul reposes in the head. So when this killer un-protects the head, he exposes the soul of the victim.”

“Exposes it to what?” Jaċken probed again.

“To abuse, manipulation, theft…” Idyll suggested, shrugging.

The bartender approached with a tray of drinks, and Tonĩ quickly shoved the crime scene photos back into the folder.

He set down five mugs and spoons, a small pitcher of milk, a pot of sugar, and Aunt Idyll’s cocktail. “Just to let you know, we’re closing in about an hour because of the holidays.”

“Thank you,” Tonĩ said. “We’ll be out of your way before then.”

Idyll stirred her Tequila Sunrise, whirling the red grenadine at the bottom of the glass up into the orange juice. “However, a person would have to possess immense power of a supernatural nature in order to perform a Celtic un-protection ritual successfully. Are you sure your serial killer has that sort of power?”

Jaċken and Dev exchanged glances.

Faith knew what they were thinking. The instant her aunt had said the word “supernatural,” the two warriors had gone on high alert. How much did Idyll actually know of such matters? How much could safely be told to her?

“You’re not sure?” Idyll persisted.

Tonĩ’s face went neutral. The situation had become tricky. If Tonĩ either confirmed or denied the killer’s possession of this kind of power, she’d be admitting to its existence. “Not exactly that.”

Idyll eyed her curiously. “I can’t help you unless you tell me the truth, Dr. Parthen. The entire, unvarnished truth.”

“It’s Tonĩ,” she offered the same correction. “And, I appreciate that, Idyll.” Tonĩ slowly added cream and sugar to her decaf. “But there are some things we don’t discuss in public.”

“You mean like this one”—Idyll gestured at Dev—“being a vampire.” She smiled serenely. “Like that?”

Chapter Twenty-six

Faith blushed to the roots of her hair as Dev directed an accusing glare at her and Kacie.

Kacie shot Faith a panicked glance.
Did you say anything
?

Certainly not
!

“We didn’t tell,” Kacie squeaked.

“Of course they didn’t.” Aunt Idyll
pishawed
. “I read people’s auras.” She faced Tonĩ again. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever met who has the same aura as my girls, although yours is more powerful.” Idyll pursed her lips. “You’re different, aren’t you?”

Tonĩ’s expression turned wry. “That’s probably a discussion for another time.”

“Most likely, yes.” Idyll scrutinized Jaċken skeptically. “I still can’t figure out what you are, though.”

“I’ll tell you what I am,” Jaċken clipped back. “Freaked out by you, lady, that’s what.” He gestured to Tonĩ. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Oh, come now, I didn’t blow your cover.” Idyll waved a hand around the bar. “We’re the only people here. Listen, you won’t shock me with whatever you have to say and you can trust me.”

Tonĩ checked looks with Jaċken.

Grimly, Jaċken shrugged.

“Okay.” Tonĩ sipped her decaf. “The serial killer’s name is Videön. He’s part-demon and part-Fey, and he has power, yes, but not an enchantment ability…which is what I’m assuming he’d need in order to perform a supernatural ritual of the kind you’ve described.”

Idyll considered that. “He’s a Tenebris Mala,” she murmured. “These are the dark evils of the Fey, called such because no matter what color their hair or skin, their eyes are always”—she glanced swiftly at Jaċken—“black. They are descendants of Mórrígán, goddess of war, Queen of Demons.”

Dev lifted his coffee mug. “I hate to bring this up,” he said to Tonĩ, taking a drink. “But your father controls Videön, and Raymond
does
own the level of power we’re talking about.”

Tonĩ frowned.

“Actually,” Jaċken inserted, “during the debrief about the failed Preston mission, Nỵko told me that Videön’s starting a war with Raymond. So maybe Raymond doesn’t control Videön anymore.”

Tonĩ cut a quick glance at her husband. “Videön without controls? Oh, that would be bad.”

“Very,” Jaċken agreed.

“Excuse me,” Idyll interrupted, looking at Tonĩ. “Do you mean Raymond
Parthen
? The same last name as you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my.” Idyll’s forehead puckered. “This is a bizarre alignment.”

“Now why am I not surprised to hear you say that?” Jaċken said in a dry tone.

Faith had the sense that the name Raymond Parthen brought up even more bad memories for Jaċken than it did for her.

Idyll spun the bangles on her left wrist. “A shamanka friend of mine living in San Diego works for a man called Raymond Parthen on occasion.”

“Works how?” Jaċken asked.

Idyll’s lashes fluttered. “Oh, I’m quite certain her patron never asked her to do anything untoward. But…I haven’t been in touch with Moriah for several months, either.”

“Would you mind getting back in contact with her to ask a few discreet questions?” Tonĩ was still frowning. “We’d like to find out everything we can.”

“Of course.”

Jaċken shoved his mug aside and leaned forward. “Whoever’s involved in these killings, whether it’s only Videön or both him and Raymond, I’d like to know why the hell souls are being un-protected as a part of it. Because I have a very bad feeling about the reason.” He kept his dark gaze on Idyll. “You mentioned abuse, manipulation, or theft: how do we find out which?”

Idyll paused, the small creases on her forehead deepening. “I think we need to ask the cards.” She rooted around in her purse, big as a small duffel bag and made out of faux brown leather with colorful beads and spangles on it.

Faith nearly moaned when Aunt Idyll pulled out a familiar pack of Tarot cards.

“Have you ever had a Tarot reading?” Idyll asked Tonĩ.

Tonĩ glanced at the cards. “Nope.”

Idyll gestured at Faith and Kacie. “Neither have these two, if you can believe it.” She mugged a face. “Too much mumbo-jumbo for them.”

Faith blushed.

Kacie’s face was the same shade of red.
We always used to scoff at times like these, but I think this evening is giving us a new perspective on our weird aunt
.

Faith sighed softly.
Yes, maybe Aunt Idyll isn’t so much kooky as wise on a level we’ve never bothered to appreciate
.

“Black magic?” Idyll waggled her eyebrows, chuckling. “No. The Tarot is simply a tool for accessing the subconscious, a method to help us gain answers within our awareness that perhaps we don’t realize exist there.” Idyll picked up the cards and began to shuffle. “Some people call the subconscious the Higher Self or the Inner Guide. This guiding voice is always within us. We can’t break our connection to it, but we can certainly ignore it. In fact, most everyday people do.” Idyll set down the deck, forming the cards into a neat stack. “You have to be receptive to hearing your inner voice, Tonĩ. Be at peace inside yourself, centered, and mindful. If you think this is mumbo-jumbo, our ability to seek out information will be limited.”