Blood Ties (8 page)

“The possessed witches annihilated the fanatics with phenomenal ease, and used their flesh to feed the disembodied spirits within. To this day people talk about a group of missionaries who suddenly, mysteriously disappeared from their camp—hundreds of them. Really they just became supper… After the massacre most of the possessed witches went back to their homelands, while a small portion stayed in the Americas.”

Julie, who had said very little, adjusted her chair and turned my way. “Meanwhile, the members of the original coven who refused to participate in the invocation intermarried with Native American tribes, creating what is known as the mythical Thirteen Tribes of Long Island. Like the others they called on spirits to inhabit their bodies, but these were benevolent Native American ones who gave them the ability to shape-shift into humanoid wolf-creatures.”

I looked at Julie in amazement, with a deeper understanding of who she was. She shook her head with pride and said, “Yeah, we did it the right way. We wolves managed to blend into the tribes, keeping our true identities a secret. We recognize each other by symbols and items we hang outside our homes. And that, Grace, is some history for you to digest along with Aunt Evelyn’s world-famous meatloaf.”

I was grateful that Aunt Evelyn and Julie had given me some background, even though Evelyn had tried to take a chunk out of my ass. But I couldn’t help it—I still felt like a spiraled pile of dung sitting at the bottom of a rest-stop toilet. I mean, knowing the history didn’t change the fact that I was mentally connected to a bunch of stranger-witches in parts unknown, some of whom were death-dealing degenerates. Just knowing that made my body cold shudder and my spine tingle like right before I have to vomit.

But this time that spine-tingling sensation traced its way to the nerve endings right beneath the surface of my skin. It felt like the color electric green would feel if it were solid. Suddenly the invisible sensation shot out of my pores and knocked over my half-filled mason jar of Sangiovese.

I looked at Julie, expecting her to make some smart alecky comment about my being drunk. Instead both she and Aunt Evelyn sat there like babies looking at bottles—with their mouths wide open.

“How long have you been able to do that?” Aunt Evelyn asked.

“For a couple of months, I guess,” I said. I brushed off my forearm; it felt like it had some sort of charge on it.

“Why didn’t you tell me, you big doofus?” Julie asked, mad and a little surprised.

“Well, obviously all this started happening before I knew what
you
were. I seriously thought I was delusional. C’mon, you have to admit it’s weird to have things jump out at you. I thought I was a little…you know…loony.”

“Loony? No, no, my dear. Far from it. Can you do it again?” Aunt Evelyn asked.

I put my fingers to my temples like I had seen in hundreds of B movies, and focused on my fork. I cocked my eyes and tried every variation of fluttering lids I could think of. Nothing. “That’s okay, baby girl,” Aunt Evelyn said as she stood up. “What you’ve already shown us is fantastic. In fact this event calls for a celebration.” With that she disappeared into the kitchen.

Julie looked at me with a toothy grin, but I didn’t share her happiness. I was in a void, a kind of unrelenting netherworld between being a young lassie and a ma’am…and I was absolutely terrified. Despite my reluctance to come off like a blubbering fool, I had to confess.

“I’m scared, Jules.” After my simple statement, all I could do was lower my eyes and be embarrassed by my emotional weakness.

She came over and crouched at my knee. “Yeah, I know.” She looked over her shoulder for Aunt Evelyn. “I’m scared too. But I’m here, and I’ll do my whatever it takes to help you. Not only because it’s my duty, but because you’re my best friend.”

Aunt Evelyn breezed back in with my favorite dessert: strawberry trifle, heavy on the whipped cream. You’d think after the glaze, I’d want nothing more to do with sugar, but trifle… I couldn’t let that pass.

“Grace, after dinner I have something to show you,” Aunt Evelyn said, scooping out my humongous portion with a giant soup ladle. I couldn’t fault her attempt to use the syrupy confection as a device to make me forget the shit that was now called my life.

And things
were
okay, because for a few moments—as I savored every bite of that spongy sugar high—I did forget.

Chapter Eleven

Am I my brother’s keeper?

—Cain

J
ames had suffered through it all day. A desperate nagging stuck in his diaphragm. One of those aches that always seemed to herald the arrival of something.

The feeling was momentarily interrupted by a phone call. Henry Dodson, a barely functioning heroin fiend, was on the other end. James had learned years ago that if you wanted to live incognito, you had to enlist the services of many unsavory characters along the way. This was because even though a magical ability was a gift, it came with limitations.

James was aware that, like humans, witches were confined to the material world—which was ruled by the laws of space, time, and matter. And it took a tremendous amount of supernatural energy to transcend these laws. Some magical workings required so much force that performing them could result in the witch’s death. Physical and ethereal recovery were real issues no matter how great or small the conjure was. So James always employed mundane efforts, whenever possible, to achieve his goals—even if those actions were felonious.

The Bolingbroke siblings had racked up an impressive list of underworld mortal connections—dirty vice cops, venereal-disease-ravaged prostitutes, hired killers, closeted politicians, and hardcore drug addicts. These were the types of people who got them what they needed without all the scrutiny and paper trails that came with legal methods. James preferred the addicts because he found them to be the least likely to become turncoats…as long as the drugs kept coming in.

Henry was James’s current snitch. Henry basically lived at a hopping nightspot called Club Entice, way over in Chesapeake. He always gave James the heads-up whenever Adrian somehow managed to escape the confines of the Southern Shores house. James didn’t care if Adrian thought the clubs around the OBX were dull compared to the big city ones. He had given Adrian explicit orders to remain low-key. But Adrian somehow always managed to travel the 120 miles to party and act like a raunchy hot-dogger at Club Entice.

“James, man, your brother is down here acting all rowdy and loud. I think he’s had way too much to drink, and he’s drawing a pretty big crowd,” Henry said. James could hear his excessive yawning, an early symptom of heroin withdrawal.

“Damn it!” James said, not wanting to deal with Adrian’s shenanigans once again. He stormed toward Adrian’s room rubbing his twinging stomach. “How long has he been there?” “Not long,” Henry said, sounding jittery. “Hey, uh, if you’re coming by, some cash would be appreciated. Even if it’s just a little.”

James was barely paying attention to Henry. “Sure, whatever.” He was more interested in getting to Adrian’s room at the end of the hall, and just hung up on Henry.

James hated going into Adrian’s room. The vibration in there was frigid and hollow, just like Adrian. The four walls enclosed a lifeless space void of décor. The only furniture was a king-sized bed covered with a lonely, black fitted sheet that was always raised at the corners. James swiped his hand. The room hazed over where he and Addison had placed a binding spell to keep their wayward brother trapped in there. James thought it was ridiculous that Adrian, who was hundreds of years old, still acted like a seventeen-year-old kid. No matter. James was still his big brother and felt obliged to watch over him. James called out to Addison.

Addison practically ghosted into the hallway. “What’s up?” she asked with an extremely rare burger in her hand. James didn’t feel it necessary to tell Addison about the strange feeling in his stomach, in case it was nothing.

“Adrian is acting out again. We’ve got to go get him,” James said.

“Aw… I guess I have to get dressed.”

James knew Addison was faking displeasure and controlling her urge to turn cartwheels all the way to her room. Even though she was tired of reining Adrian in, she often suffered from cabin fever, which manifested in a mild form of OCD— usually pathologically arranging canned goods in the cabinets for hours on end. James figured tonight would be a well-deserved outing for her, considering all she’d been through, even if it was just to Club Entice to drag Adrian back home. Something was better than nothing.

James snickered as he watched Addison go to her room. She was forcing herself to walk stoically; she didn’t want to let James know how excited she was. However, her internal exhilaration was brimming so much, she looked like a kindergartener holding her pee, trying to make it to the bathroom.

The slight smile that had appeared on James’s lips melted away. It was replaced by that feeling—that gnawing feeling. He knew that the off-putting knot was not caused by Adrian’s mischief, but he couldn’t quite locate the source no matter how hard he tried. And he didn’t have time to contemplate it either. He needed to focus his attention on uncovering how Adrian had gotten out.

James continued swooshing his hand around the room, looking for any weak spots in the vapor. Then he saw that the closet door was cracked open a bit. He pushed it and saw a hole in the binding cloud, right at the attic door. James climbed up, pushing the small door open. He peered in and discovered that the tiny, round attic window had been Adrian’s mode of escape.

“That bastard.”

James squirmed on the velvet fainting couch, waiting on Addison to get dressed. He clicked his tongue to alleviate the tension that had spread throughout his body. It had taken him two minutes to get ready, but he was well aware of Addison’s prolonged routine. She would fastidiously shave off every single hair that was not on her head, and douse her slender body with Chanel No. 5. just in case she stumbled upon some handsome male witch from her old clan—which never happened. She’d even gotten a clitoral piercing for such an improbable event. James found it utterly amazing his sister would tell him such personal details about her
potential
sex life, but he also knew she was shameless.

Addison popped into the living room decked out in a black mini skirt, fishnet stockings covered by thigh-high boots, and an impossibly tight top. James thought she looked like one of Anna Gristina’s girls.

“What took you so long?” he asked, as if he didn’t know. “We’re just retrieving the prodigal brother. And by the way, you’re going to call too much attention to yourself with that getup. Go put on jeans and a T-shirt.”

“What? Did you think I was going out looking like a troll? Besides, we’re going to Club Entice. A T-shirt and jeans would pull more attention than this. Duh.”

“I can see the horny wheels spinning in your head. But remember, we’re just picking up Adrian. So whatever wild fantasies you have swirling around that in that brain of yours, put them to rest.”

“Brother, I haven’t left your ass yet, but that option still exists. So I’d shut up if I were you.” Addison stepped back and got a full view of herself in the hallway mirror. “Oh my God, Addison!” she said to herself. “Look at you! You’re so damned hot.”

James interrupted her display of self-love and pushed her out of the house. He watched as she almost quantum leapt to the car. James was about to take a step off the porch, but something in the air caused him to hang back. He looked around, scanning the darkness for whatever was causing his ill feeling. He thought he heard a voice—a small whisper. Simultaneously the dull pain in his stomach became razor sharp.

“What’s wrong with you?” Addison asked, impatiently waiting for him to open the car door.

James listened closer to the night air, half expecting something to jump out at him. But he only heard a peculiar rustle bristling through the trees.

Club Entice was the hottest spot in Chesapeake. It was housed in a stand-alone building that was noticeably taller than the others on the street. The creepy exterior was made up of large, gray stones that were weatherworn and dirty. The muted sounds of death-industrial music thumped from inside, causing the ground to quake to its rhythm. Club Entice’s patrons clustered on the wrong side of the velvet rope in front of a Gothic arched, black door while two depraved gargoyles looked down at them in judgment, as if they were god himself.