Muddy Waters (Otherwhere Book 1) Page 5

  There had been a couple of cases of strange deaths before, which was of course how I ended up on Team Supernormal in the first place. Though nothing had happened since my release from Lakeland, this was the biggest one yet, and nobody wanted it to get any worse. Last year was a family of Japanese bakemono, harmless shapeshifter spirits, then a bunch of show horses at a farm in Goshen, the pictures I had seen when Qyll came to spring me from Lakeland. A few other random events that had some things in common. And now this. It was too much to be coincidence but not enough to figure out who was behind it.

  Pryam said, “The footprints start at the edge of the driveway by the east flowerbeds. They come into the house and up here. Then, they lead back out to the patch and disappear. No trace of mud anywhere else. No prints in the yard or garden, the driveway, the street, or around the pool. It’s been dry the last month, so it would be obvious.”

  She drew herself straight. “Toutant, go talk to this preacher, West. I’ll handle the Red Queen.”

  “What about me?” I protested.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you haven’t gotten quite the hero’s welcome from your old friends, have you?” I took a heated breath to defend myself, but she kept going. “Stand down, Reddick. I’m not benching you, just sit out this inning.”

  I sighed. “Fine. I’ve got to get out of here anyway. I’m going to barf again.”

  On the way home, Qyll took the side streets instead of the interstate, with the windows down.

  I’ll admit, I’m no Nancy Drew. So I tend to just ask a bunch of questions I have seen TV detectives ask.

  “Who would care about that specific party? Why? They were nobodies, really. Ben Koby had some money, right? But he wasn’t powerful. None of the others were, either. Humans and run-of-the-mill Demons. So why bother with them? Bacchuses and Jezebels really rank more in the nuisance arena than the public threat.”

  “A nice summary, rookie.”

  I glanced over. I still couldn’t tell if or when he was being patronizing. “So how’d I do on my first job?”

  “Rather well. We never experience the physical manifestations that cause such an upset in your body. But you appear to have powered through them.”

  “You’re not saying barfing is a uniquely Human affair, are you? Out of like fully sentient creatures?”

  We lapsed into silence as I started cataloguing my Otherwhere experiences in my head to refute his point.

  That lasted me until we got to the shop, and I got out of the car, with no satisfactory example to hand. “Bye. Call me if there’s any news?” I said, absently.

  As I pushed the door open, I was still so lost in thought, I barely noticed my cozy little Broom Closet had been entirely replaced. Not just things moved around. The whole room beyond the door was gone. Despite it being later in the day and sunny outside, I was enveloped by chill darkness and the weird light of blue flames. My shelves and racks were gone in favor of a huge roaring fireplace and a million velvet cushions on the floor. The aroma of brimstone laced the air.

  Someone had replaced my shop with a pocket of Otherwhere. Normally, it’s not terribly hard for experienced practitioners to open a slit in the ethereal veil and slide something in. Sort of an “if the Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, the mountain will come to Mohammed.” But due to my pariah status in the magical community, SI had ponied up for extensive security measures. It should have been hard for anyone to do this. Not only that, this was rude.

  “Dammit. You’re not supposed to be here, whoever you are.” I made a mental note to have SI put stronger protective sigils and spells on the place ASAP.

  A pair of figures emerged, nearly identical female Demons in gauzy white dresses. They had beautiful ebony skin and from their torrents of black hair, two curved black horns poked out. One spoke, her voice like poison-laced bells. “Her ladyship bids you welcome and requests the honor of your presence.” They smiled in unison, showing pointed teeth, and bowed, sweeping their hands toward the fireplace. I could see the outline of a large throne.

  The slender person seated before the fire was clearly a woman, veiled from head to toe in red fabric. She wore long red leather gloves. It was hard to tell because she was sitting, but I estimated her height at… pretty damn tall.

  “Madame Reddick! Welcome home, honey,” she said. “May I formally introduce myself? Some call me the Red Queen of the Abyzou, but for you, Antaura will do just fine.” She stood and came toward me, unveiling as she did. She was (obviously) taller than most Humans, probably a hair under eight feet. Tiny shimmering red scales made up her skin. A sheet of cornsilk-white hair fell to her waist and set off her blazing emerald eyes with no whites.

  When she smiled, I fought the urge to recoil at her teeth. “I trust you know of me, as I know of you. I would like to, as the Humans say, make a deal.” She laughed gaily and snapped her fingers. A large comfy-looking chair appeared. She didn’t so much offer it to me as pushed me into it before sitting back down on her throne.

  Rumors about the Red Queen abounded. That she had been Human once and made a bargain with some Otherworldly creature. That she was the original Original Vampire in Otherwhere, mother to all vampires. That she was something very ancient from before the world formed, like Tolkien’s Balrog. Before the Rift, she had hidden in plain sight, costumed as a businessman who built and lost fortunes with the carefree attitude of the very rich. After the Rift, she came clean (ha!) and now does business as herself. She’s well-known for saying outrageous things but also for being a shrewd entrepreneur and an astute politician.

  “I charge one-fifty per hour, your highness,” I said.

  Antaura laughed again. “I heard you had a keen sense of humor!”

  I crossed my arms and glared at her.

  After a long look, her laughter faded. “Let me be plain. I want you to stop helping the Dark Elf and the black Human.”

  “Black Human?” I mocked shock. “Oh, maybe you don’t know? They call them African Americans now.”

  She shrugged. “I am many things. Perhaps I am also racist. In any event, the business at the mansion, the deaths, I am disinclined for your Human friends to know more.” She laid red-gloved hands on the arms of her throne. “You see, Miss Reddick, I would like to deal with this in my own way. Those in my employ are none of FBI’s concern.” Her accent was of someone who didn’t speak English as a first language. Or second. She sounded sort of Middle Eastern by way of Argentina and Ireland as spoken by a snake, if I had to nail it down.

  “They’re coming to talk to you. You’re on Pryam’s ‘to-do’ list.”

  She shrugged and smiled, showing those ghastly teeth. “The Lady Pryam and I will not speak. She should know as much by now.”

  “What about the Arcana? Shouldn’t they be handling the Demons? And letting SI work on the Humans and Others?”

  She barked a laugh, a rocky dangerous sound. “There is no need. They are my people. It’s not necessary for Humans to be involved, my little Witch. And the Arcana is more than happy to let me, how would you say it, take care of my own. We will take appropriate steps. I should have been made aware of the… potential for transgression, before it became a problem.” She turned her head briefly toward the horned woman to her left, who shook her head. “Those responsible for not bringing it to my attention will be dealt with, I assure you.”

  “What about the Humans? You don’t give a fig about them.”

  “As I said, this unfortunate event is my provenance, Madame Reddick.”

  Damn Cheshire Cat double-speaker.

  This is one of the (many) problems with post-Rift life. Beings from the Otherwhere show up and want to meddle in the affairs of Humans or Others. Sometimes just for fun, sometimes because Humans are way easier to control. The Arcana was supposed to negotiate with beings like Antaura since she’s pure Otherwhere. She has her irons in a lot of fires, and the Arcana is sort of the Otherwhere version of the SI. But as I have learned over the years, the Arcana is just never there w
hen you need them and often there when you don’t, and people like her somehow always feel they are outside the law.

  “So you want me to tell Qyll I’m not going to help them? It’s too late, I’ve already started. And I will get to the bottom of this.”

  Bluffing―it’ll get you everywhere!

  Antaura held up her hand again. “Yes, yes. We know.” She waved her fingers. A largish bag appeared on the floor in front of me. A bagful of money. Full. Of. Money. American dollars, by the looks of it. Hot off the presses. I had a shop and a modest paycheck, but I was definitely cash poor.

  Her tone was light, but there was no mistaking her intent. “Trust me, young Tessa Reddick. It will be better if you stay out of this. I have more experience in these situations.”

  And that pissed me off. I didn’t know those people who’d died, but I was willing to bet a birch tree they didn’t deserve to die in such a hideous way. I stood up, hand on my hip. “You show up here and take over my shop to threaten me not to do my job? My legal Earthling job that keeps me out of the kind of trouble I have definitely been in and would like to stay out of? Who do you think you are, lady? Yeah, yeah, you have some tricks up your sleeve. But I can cut a hole in the veil too.” (Actually, I wasn’t very good at it, but how would she know?) “How would you like it if I showed up in your living room and pushed you around?” I suddenly realized I’d been getting closer to the Red Queen―all up in her grill, as the kids say.

  She hissed at me, and the handmaidens in white moved forward to block their mistress. Each of the horned women had four hands, and I was now faced with eight fearsome-looking swords. Their horns grew more pronounced, and their eyes darkened until no whites showed. Pointed white teeth shifted into long black fangs.

  I backed into a defensive position, but I knew they weren’t going to hurt me. Not here. This was just the Queen flexing her muscles for a rival.

  Finally, she said, “Mohini. Vishna. Be still.”

  The sound that came from the Queen now was harder and colder. She pointed a leather-gloved finger at me. Her crazy-green eyes flashed. “Let me say it again. This doesn’t concern you, Witch. I had so hoped you would be more careful around me.” She paused, thoughtful. “Odd, your allegiance to these people. Would you like to be paid in another fashion?”

  She waved a hand, and the bag became a comically large treasure chest of gold and silver pieces. I shook my head.

  Again, she waved, and the bag turned into a cartoonish pile of food and drink―a whole roasted turkey, silver bowls of fruit, trays of olives, some enormous cakes. Carafes of wine and kegs of something. It was as if a medieval palace had catered my meals for the next twenty years. I shook my head.

  “Perhaps this is more to your liking?”

  The food dissolved then coalesced into a familiar form. Without thinking, I shouted, “NO.” There was no mistaking the cut of those cheekbones, shaggy dark hair, luminous silver eyes. Where the hell did that come from?

  She laughed. “Very well.” She leaned forward just a hair. “Perhaps you would like to know something about… the fire?” Her grin was wicked.

  I might as well have been sucker-punched.

  Fury pounded in my chest. “What do you know about the fire?” My voice was barely above a whisper.

  She leaned back and waited.

  Mama’s voice flooded my head. “Don’t make deals with Demons. And never play in, on, or around the gates of hell.”

  I gritted my teeth and stared her down. Whatever the Red Queen claimed to know, someone else would too. Someone I could barter with.

  “Surely you don’t think you can keep going on by yourself in this post-Rift world, dear one? You need more power. Think of all you could do with the might of the House of Abyzou behind you.” The Queen got up from her throne and stepped over to me, through the remains of the faux-Elf fading into the flickering shadows. She stood before me, her head swaying like a cobra ready to strike. “We would go so far together. Your singular talent. My influence.”

  I shook my head hard. “No chance, Red. Hard pass. I’m a solitary Witch these days. And now, I bid you adieu.” I shoved my palm toward her, a reflexive motion that sent my will focused right at her. “I banish you in the name of the triple goddess! Maiden, mother, crone, I invoke thee! Be gone!” I repeated it three times, using my laser-beam will to force her out. And just like that, the darkness retreated like water down a drain. Sometimes, when the magical rug is pulled out from under you so quickly like that, it gives the sense of vertigo. So, as the remnants of Otherwhere dispelled and my shop reemerged, I promptly threw up on a stack of clearance-priced wolf t-shirts. Or rather, tried to throw up. My stomach was already spectacularly empty.

  Clearly, she’d thought I was going to go along with her plan so hadn’t put up much effort into sticking around. I stood shaking a little bit, leaning on the counter by the register. My heart beat so loudly, it knocked in my chest. Then, I realized someone was at the door.

  A man peered through. “Miss Reddick? It’s Charlie Bartley. May I come in?”

  The most ruthlesse of all ye hunters; he shall come forth at times of need and slaye ye Wytches. In all ye corners of the Earthe, he shall seeketh, and suffer none to live. He shall enter your house seen but not known. See ye Wytch-fynder General and despair.

  ―from the grimoire of Hilda of Whitby, 625 A.D.

  CHAPTER THREE

  harlie perched at the little table where I do tarot readings sometimes, his gaze darting around. I made us tea and found a packet of cookies in the back, hoping a snack might put him at ease. And I was starving. He was the kind of man my grandmother would have called handsome. He seriously looked like he walked off the pages of a J.Crew catalogue: neatly pressed khakis, equally neatly pressed navy button down, and a blue-and-white striped tie with a little gold cross tie tack. Hair slightly gray at the temples, but thick and nicely combed.

  After some chitchat and his life story about being a dentist, I finally asked, “So. What I can help you with?” I popped a cookie in my mouth. Happily, they weren’t too stale.

  “Well, Miss Reddick, I’ve been married to my wife for thirty years. I’d like to say I know where she goes, what she does, what she thinks. She’s doing something.”

  I waited and finished chewing. “Doing what?”

  “How do you young ones say it? Another man?” He sighed. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

  I nodded slowly. “And you’re here because…?”

  “My wife disappears into the conservatory for days sometimes and comes back filthy. Absolutely filthy.”

  “Your conservatory?”

  He blinked. “Why yes. It’s not technically ours, but well, we are very interested in botany. We are on the Botanica board. Several buildings are being put up to house various plants. The botanical garden won’t open to the public for a few more years, but she loves to go there.”

  “Oh, right. Conservatory. Like in Clue.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Never mind. Go on.”

  “She’s started spending more and more time there. And she’s put up butcher paper on the windows. No one can see in anymore. Construction is temporarily on hold, there’ve been some financial backer dropouts, so it’s at a standstill. And she has a huge stack of old books. In her study, there are all these books! Old, old books, and they’re in languages I don’t understand.”

  “Nothing says, ‘I’m having freaky, rough forest sex’ like dirty clothes and books,” I said.

  “She’s acting differently,” he insisted. “Secretive.”

  I felt a little sorry for the guy. “Okay, why come to me, though? I just sell herbs. Why not go to the police? Or a private investigator?”

  He took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me. It was that stupid little coupon from the mass mailer envelopes.

  “This was on the kitchen table.”

  I considered the situation.

  “I’ve been so busy at work, and I thought she was happy,
volunteering at church and doing things with her friends. The police can’t help me. I have no proof she’s done anything illegal. She’s not missing or anything, and I don’t have evidence of any kind of crime.”

  “All right, good, but you still haven’t answered my question. Why me? What about a private eye? Or you? Why don’t you follow her yourself?”

  He winced. “Miss Reddick, not only am I extremely busy, I’m a terrible liar. If she caught me, I’d panic and tell her the truth. I don’t want her to know I think something is wrong. This has to be secret. If word got out at all I was looking at my wife that way, it would be bad. She’s well known in the community, and I just… I don’t want that.

  “And this is… Look, Ms. Reddick, she isn’t herself anymore, and it feels otherworldly. I saw you on the news, back when you were on trial.”

  I started to interrupt, but he held up a hand.

  “I never thought you did those horrible things.” His earnest grandfather-face softened. “If I’d had kids, maybe one of them would have been like you. Or a granddaughter? I would have loved to have a granddaughter.”

  I honest to gods thought he was going to start crying. I busied myself with pouring more tea and scooping too much sugar into it.

  Mama did a little of this work when I was young―investigations and the like. But it was low-key stuff. Witches whose men were sneaking out with Vamps, Weres whose families feared they were going vegetarian. This was a first for me and obviously totally different from working with SI. A solely Human case. And a pretty vanilla one, at that. Maybe this would help me rebuild my cred.

  “Please, Miss Reddick.” He pulled a checkbook out of his pocket and began to write out a check. I almost jumped in his lap―cash was my friend these days. “I just need you to tell me if what she’s doing is dangerous. Oh god, what if she’s making some drugs? Or… or, jests aside,” he swallowed hard, “actually cheating on me? After so many years.”

  “What does she say about where she’s been or what she’s doing? Why do books mean she’s having an affair?”