Grave Dance
Page 12“So, yeah,” he said, continuing. “I was at my grave, and this couple entered the cemetery, looking a little nervous. I didn’t think anything about it, until I heard your name.”
I blinked at him. Then my mouth went dry. “Crap. The Stromowskis. What time is it? I was supposed to raise their grandmother.” I gave a glance at my slept-in clothes—I’d worn worse—and then I grabbed my purse. With all the excitement of Malik’s case, reappearing daggers, and Faerie courts, I’d completely forgotten I had another client.
Chapter 6
It was late afternoon before I drove through the warehouse district and headed for the old stone bridge to meet Malik. Legally I couldn’t drive for two hours after raising shades—the havoc that grave-sight wreaked on a grave witch’s eyesight was well documented—but even after I’d waited a couple of hours for my sight to recover, the dimness under the branches overhanging the road made me nervous. Of course, taking any of the back roads out of the city made me nervous.
Like any other large city in the nation, Nekros City had its bad neighborhoods and high-crime areas. But it was outside the city, once you left the suburbs behind, that gave most human citizens pause. The fae had initiated the Magical Awakening when they had come out of the mushroom ring, as some said, seventy years ago. Their announcement altered the course of the—until that moment—technologyfocused world.
And that was only the beginning.
Ancient history might have been riddled with stories of witchcraft, but in the decades—maybe even the centuries—before the Magical Awakening, magic was considered a myth. After the Awakening? Well, then, as if the magic had just been waiting for humans to be primed to channel it, the veil between the Aetheric and mortal reality thinned. Magic was accessible, and a good third of the population proved capable of reaching it, of shaping it. When space unfolded, opening new areas, both the witches seeking a place where they could practice in peace and the norms who didn’t want to associate with the magically inclined moved into the new territory. The two groups didn’t mix well, and several violent clashes had occurred in the years following the Magical Awakening, but witches and norms alike agreed on one thing—humans were safer in the city because strange, long-forgotten legends were waking in the wilds.
Now here I was, out in the middle of nowhere, searching for a carnivorous water horse.
I pulled my car off the road and parked under a cove of tree branches at one side of the bridge. The bridge itself was a hulking gray stone monstrosity with no obvious seams, no bolts, and no metal infrastructure—just solid stone. As I pulled up the soft top on the convertible—trees meant birds and I did not want to have to clean bird crap off my seats—Malik approached.
“Nice car,” he said, circling the little blue convertible. “Thanks. It’s new.” New used, but it was still a major step up from the hulking metal junker I’d driven until it had gotten stolen and stripped while I worked the Coleman case. Of course, since the Blood Moon, sitting inside my old car for an extended period of time probably would have made me retch. The convertible had been designed for the filthy rich or fae and had no iron in its construction. Even used, it hadn’t been cheap, and I was almost surprised it didn’t run on rainbows. Actually, rainbows would probably be a pain-in-the-ass power source. I’d used most of the money I’d made from the Coleman case on the down payment, and I still owed the bank, but business had been good and as long as that lasted, I wouldn’t have trouble with the monthly payments.
Since Malik wasn’t glamoured, I pulled the charm I’d made for detecting glamour from the cup holder and snapped it onto my bracelet. Better safe than sorry. I checked that the magic bridle was in easy reach in the top of my purse and then leaned across the seat to grab the plastic grocery bag on the passenger side. “I brought what you asked for. Do I want to know why we need raw hamburger meat?”
Great.
I followed him down the bank to the edge of the water. When he held out one long-fingered hand I gave him the grocery bag. He dug inside, pulling out the three pounds of raw hamburger. Tearing off the plastic, he studied the pink meat.
“Bloodier would have been better,” he said, “but this will do.”
He sank his fingers into the meat, and after pinching off a clump, hurled it into the rushing water. It vanished into the current, and I waited, shuffling from foot to foot on the uneven bank.
Nothing happened.
“Now what?” I asked, staring at the water.
Malik flicked his fingers, dislodging bits of pink hamburger, but he continued to watch the river. After several minutes, he shook his head. “Let’s try farther upstream.”
The walk couldn’t be described as companionable. Malik hummed to himself, clearly not interested in casual conversation as he waltzed through the thick underbrush crowding the edge of the bank. My progress was considerably less effortless as dry twigs snapped under my steps and vines tugged at my ankles. This was the second time this week I’d tromped through the wilderness, and my boots just weren’t made for it. Then there were the bugs. I seriously should have packed an insect repellent charm, or at least the spray that norms used. Not that any of this seemed to bother Malik as he led us farther upstream. In between swatting mosquitos on my bare arms and watching for raised roots waiting to trip me, I scanned the water, the banks, and the woods beyond, but nothing bigger than a squirrel moved in the wilderness.
We stopped several times, and at each stop Malik tossed more hamburger into the river. But no water horse emerged from the current.
“Do you think the court already captured the kelpie?” I asked once we’d exhausted all three pounds of meat.
Maybe because she snacked on some human remains? Actually, that theory didn’t hold with the evidence we had. Tamara had said there were no tool marks—or any other indication of how the feet were severed from the legs—and I didn’t think she’d miss something like gnaw marks on the bones.
“So how can we draw her out?” I asked as Malik handed me the grocery bag.
“We could offer her something she’d find more appetizing.” Malik smiled, flashing discolored teeth. “She’s not my biggest fan, but I bet she’d find you . . . sweet.”
My stomach, already a little sour after tossing raw meat around, knotted tight. I backed up a step. “What are you suggesting?”
“Calm down. Kelpies are like sharks with hooves—they can smell blood in the water for miles. A few drops should be enough to get her attention.”
Right, a couple of drops of blood so the kelpie could get a taste for me—because that wasn’t creepy. I stared at the rushing water. The hope that the kelpie had information about the location of the crime scene was the only lead I currently had. I’d bled for worse reasons. Finally I nodded.
“So just a couple of drops in the water?”
Malik rubbed the point of his sharp chin. “Yeah, but it would be best if you could put them in at the middle of the river.”
Which meant trekking back to the bridge. Well, that was where the car was anyway. If this didn’t work out, I had to leave soon. We’d been walking for at least an hour, and I still needed to make it to—and out of—the Eternal Bloom before dusk. Driving after dark wasn’t an option with the extent to which grave-sight had deteriorated my night vision.
The walk back was no more companionable than the first part of the hike had been, and by the time I spotted the gray stone bridge, sweat coated my skin. Gee, I’ll be pleasant-smelling company when I meet Rianna. I wiped damp curls from my face and followed Malik to the center of the bridge. He turned to me, nodding without a word. Guess I’m on.
I dug through my purse and pulled out the ceramic dagger. A quick examination of the blade showed a caked-on smear of mud. I scraped off as much as I could with my fingernail and then wiped the blade on the leg of my pants. That was about as clean as it was going to get. I would definitely need a disinfectant when I got home.
After pricking my finger, I sheathed the knife and dropped it back in my purse. I squeezed my finger and blood welled from the small wound. Holding my hand over the edge of the bridge, I squeezed until gravity forced a fat drop of blood to fall to the water below. Malik stepped forward after the third drop hit the water.
“That should be enough,” he said, leaning over the stone railing to stare at the river’s choppy surface.
I dug through my purse until I found a tissue. Pressing the tissue against my finger, I waited, watching the water rush under the bridge. Nothing changed.
After several moments, I shook my head and dropped the tissue back into my purse. “I don’t think it worked.”
“No, look. It did.” Malik leaned farther over the edge of the bridge and pointed at a spot near the center of the river, almost directly where my blood would have hit the water.
I squinted at the dark shape. “That’s a turtle.”
He shook his head. “It’s the kelpie. You called her. You need to identify yourself.”
“Uh, hi. I’m Alex Craft,” I said, feeling stupid talking to what I was pretty sure was a turtle or a fish. The shadow began to sink back under the water, and Malik’s head snapped toward me. His dark eyes went wide, and his hands fluttered as if urging me to say more. “I work with Tongues for the Dead, and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”