How to Claim an Undead Soul Page 16

  “Yep.” She toyed with the handle on her door before shooting a glance over her shoulder at the house. “Hey, I gotta go. Mom is in rare form tonight. That means you gotta go too.”

  She didn’t have to tell me twice. There was a reason our trio always hung out at Woolly. Two, actually. Amelie called them Mom and Dad.

  “We meet after work to search for hotspots gone cold.” I stuck out my hand. “Do we have an accord?”

  “We do indeed.” She shook on it. “We can grab takeout from the Waffle Iron while we’re there.”

  “I like the way you think.” One of their pecan waffles would more than make up for the pancakes I missed out on earlier.

  “Only because it’s also the way you think.” She twirled a finger in the air. “Poh-tay-toe, pah-tah-toe.”

  “Toh-may-toe, tah-mah-toe?”

  “Exactly!” She blew me a kiss and slid behind the wheel. “This is why we’re best friends.”

  “Well, that and no one else would have us.” I waved. “See you later.”

  A curtain rustled in the window nearest me, and it took a full second to remember the Pritchard house wasn’t Woolly to be sending me messages.

  “I’ll be on my way,” I told whichever of Boaz’s parents watched me through the split in the fabric.

  Paranoia and I were on good terms. Friendly even. But the Pritchards had never treated me like an out-and-out leper. Socially, they couldn’t afford to even after I was released from Atramentous. No, they didn’t get aggressive in their dislike of me until I got reinstated. What did that mean? And should I ask Amelie or let it slide?

  Undecided, I headed for the garage and did a quick check for kittens. Finding none, I pulled on my protective gear and drove Jolene to the Cora Ann.

  The mood was somber onboard, and no one greeted me as I searched for Mr. Voorhees.

  Sneaking in to meet Timmy might be easier than I thought.

  “Ah, Grier,” Captain Murray boomed to my right. “I worried we scared you away.”

  “Not at all.” I picked my way to him across a pile of dry rotted boards. “How is Marit?”

  “She’ll make a full recovery.” He placed his hand on his heart like any other outcome pained him. “She’s such a bright girl. Sean and I have been friends for years, and she dated my son for a while. Marit is very important to me. She’s the closest thing I have to a daughter.” His eyes shimmered. “Thank you for saving her.”

  “I’m glad I was there.” Though I had probably been the cause of the attack in the first place. Necromantic energy had a way of riling up spirits.

  “Tonight you’ll be working with Arnold’s crew on the downstairs parlor.” He indicated a barrel-chested man covered in tattoos. “Come find me if you need anything. Sean won’t be back the rest of the week, so until then you will report to me.”

  “I’ll do that.” Tightening my grip on my bag, I crossed to Arnold. “Reporting for duty.”

  “Start peeling paper,” he grunted, indicating an interior room. “Bag it as you go. Keep it tidy, yeah?”

  Segregated from the rest of the crew, I plucked and tugged and pulled until I finished an entire wall and my fingers pruned from the solvent. The isolation didn’t bother me, I was used to that, but conversation would have made the task go faster. Maybe the others thought I was bad luck or cursed. The stigma didn’t bother me, either. I was other, and I couldn’t blame them for their suspicion.

  I was admiring my handiwork when Arnold ducked his head in and grunted in my direction. “You’re on break.”

  “Already?” I checked the time on my phone. “I’ve only been here an hour.”

  “Twenty-five minutes.” He tapped his watch. “Starting now.”

  After wiping my hands dry on my pants, I set a timer for twenty minutes on my cell then returned it to my pocket. I rooted through my bag for a brush and a bottle of Maud’s ink. Linus’s pen was handier, but it was a tool meant for flat surfaces. This job called for ink that would flow over rusted metal and warped boards without breaking any lines, assuming I got to that part.

  The first step in my plan was to test the obfuscation sigil, so I pulled up my shirt and painted an intersecting row of them across my abdomen where I could hide them easily. The crew would freak if it didn’t work and I showed up bloodied again. Humans could only withstand so much trauma without breaking.

  With that done, I took a slow lap around the deck. No one looked up or otherwise acknowledged me.

  That wasn’t totally unexpected, since I suspected they believed I cavorted with knife-wielding ghosts, so I made a point to kick boards and boxes of nails as I went to see if the clatter got their attention. It did, and I almost popped my arm out of its socket patting myself on the back.

  Certain of my relative invisibility, I crept up to the second deck. Not a single body wandered this level. A bonus for me, since that meant I could talk to Timmy without being overheard. I lifted my shirt and painted on protective sigils in a tidy line beneath the others, and then I attempted to commune with the dead.

  “My name is Grier Woolworth, and I’m a necromancer.”

  I gave him time to absorb that, to wonder at what it meant.

  “What do you want?” I walked the length of the room. “Why are you angry?”

  The lights remained sure, the temperature steady, and no projectiles launched themselves at me.

  “Who are you?” I made another circuit, this one slower. “How can I help?”

  Still nothing indicative of a haunting.

  I painted a sigil across my palm to heighten my perception and swept my hand in slow arcs like a treasure hunter swings a metal detector in search of coins. A prickle across my knuckles had me turning, and a small boy appeared before me. Other than his faint blue sheen, he appeared solid enough. “Oh. Hello.”

  His lips moved on silent words.

  “I can’t hear you.”

  His eyes, black and empty, blinked imploringly at me.

  Out of ideas, I used the amplification sigil once more on my arm, hoping a signal boost might help.

  “The night eternal comes,” he said, his voice static like an untuned station on a radio.

  On reflex, I glanced out the window at the moon. “What does that mean?”

  “He comes.” Fat tears as black as tar rolled down his pale cheeks. “The devourer.”

  “That sounds…bad.” I held still so as not to provoke him. “How can I help?”

  “You can’t,” he sobbed. “No one can.”

  “Will you harm me if I try anyway?” His narrow brow crinkled, and I hesitated. “You hurt my friend Marit, remember?”

  “You’re…different,” he whispered. “I thought you were like him.”

  “Him?” I kept my voice low. “The devourer?”

  Wrong thing to say.

  “He’s coming. He’s coming. He’s coming.”

  Timmy vanished in a gust of cool air that carried with it a lost boy’s wails.

  No matter how many times I reworked my amplification sigils, there was no calling him back.

  The timer on my phone buzzed in warning, and I hit the stairs. I ducked into the bathroom, washed off the blood, and rinsed out my brush then returned to the parlor and secreted away my supplies.

  Four hours after I arrived, Arnold cut me loose for the night. No one mentioned I was a part-time hire, but the incident with Marit seemed to have landed me on probation. With hours to kill until Amelie got off work, I decided to drive out to Tybee and pay the visit I owed Odette.

  The petite black woman who completed the troika that had been Maud, Mom, and Odette, stood in the driveway leading up to a bungalow that reminded me of peppermint still in the wrapper. A pastel dress that might have been teal in another life flapped around her ankles, torn by the same breeze clacking the coral beads threading the long braids of her white hair. Her bare feet burrowed in the sand, and her arms opened to me before Jolene came to a full stop.

  “Ma coccinelle.” She adjusted her t
hick glasses on her pert nose. “I had a feeling in these old bones I would see you tonight.”

  “I got off work early.” I crossed to her and let her gather me close. “I have a date with Amelie later. Do you mind if I hang out until then?”

  “Pah.” She kissed both my cheeks. “You need no excuse.”

  Grinning, I followed her inside, kicked off my shoes, and took a seat on her bone-white couch. “I’ve had an interesting couple of days.”

  “Do tell.” She made herself tea, the hot kind, but I declined. I preferred mine with ice cubes and enough sugar to congeal it. “What adventures have you had since last we spoke?”

  With my legs curled under me, I unburdened myself in fits and starts. I told her everything from Linus and the grimoire to Taz and my self-defense lessons to Detective Russo and her suspicions to Timmy and his fears. Woolly would be so proud. I could feel the warmth of her approval already. She was right, as usual, that sharing my secrets with someone made carrying them lighter.

  “This ghost child.” She stirred her drink with a carved-bone spoon. “He won’t trouble you much longer.”

  A pang of guilt arrowed through me. He had been so afraid. “Why do you say that?”

  “He spoke to you.” She sipped and sighed with pleasure. “Self-awareness in a poltergeist is rare. Usually, they’re a brute force. They spew whatever hatred has kept their souls tethered and act out whatever revenge they see fit, but they have no higher reasoning. They are loops, as all ghosts are, but they are more powerful and can exist within several loop variations. Each sequence of events, such as throwing silverware, will fade as he dissipates, until all that’s left is a wisp of a boy seen from the corner of an eye.”

  Poor Timmy. “What do you think he meant about the devourer?”

  “All necromancers augment their power. Some more than others. There are many ways to accomplish this. Using ink purchased from stronger bloodlines or sigils crafted by better practitioners. Bonding with a wraith or multiple familiars.” She hummed. “Staring at the sky is not enough for some practitioners. No, they reach up, pluck the brightest stars from the heavens, and burn as they fall back to Earth. They seek more power than they can wield, and in so doing become wielded themselves.”

  A shiver tightened my skin. “I don’t understand.”

  “Are you familiar with what happens when the last rights aren’t performed on a powerful necromancer after death?”

  The Culmination was the sacred ritual the Grande Dame had used to excuse the blood on my hands the night I was hauled to the Lyceum to face justice. Witnesses claimed I showed up drenched in Maud’s blood, as tradition demanded, which supported Detective Russo’s account. But shock and time and drugs had corroded the truth of my memories until I had no idea what to believe. Except that I was innocent. I had to be. I could never have hurt Maud. Not only because I loved her, but because she was Maud. No one was more powerful, especially not in her own home.

  “Their spirits become shades.” I had fretted over such a wretched fate for Maud, but the silver box on my mantle was proof someone had laid her soul to rest. A similar case held Mom’s, yet another treasure lost to the basement. “Shades are the necromantic equivalent of ghosts.”

  Ghosts belonged only to humans. Shades only to necromancers. Terms like poltergeist and wraith were classifications within those groups.

  “Just so,” she agreed. “Shades are imbued with the magic of their former life, and that makes them dangerous. That’s why we perform the Culmination, to snuff out that spark and send the soul to its eternal rest. When it is not performed, the soul, that seed of potential, is left to drift. Unlike ghosts, who fade once their energy has been expended, shades can absorb other magics. Their hunger, over time, bloats them on power until they grow strong enough to possess the living.”

  Humans could be possessed. Necromancers, not so much. Our innate magic gave us a natural barrier, Low and High Society alike. “Are we talking voluntary possession here?”

  “The necromancer must be open to such an arrangement, yes.”

  “So, the voluntary joining of a necromancer to a shade creates this...” I rolled my hand, “…thing? This devourer?”

  A nod sent the beads in her hair clacking. “The dybbuk.”

  Though I could guess the answer, I asked her all the same. “What are the odds of one roaming the streets of Savannah?”

  “The Society chose this city as its American seat of power for a reason.” She removed her glasses then gazed into her teacup as though scrying for the answer. “The atmosphere is rich with old magic, the ground steeped in old blood, and the old grudges between classes carry more weight here.”

  Meaning there was a large candidate pool and the means to fatten them up before approaching potential victims.

  “What you’re telling me is a possessed necromancer is prowling the streets of Savannah, preying on its supernatural energies.” I wondered if he got off on calling himself Ambrose. “Ghosts only?” That would explain why the Society wasn’t in an uproar. “Is that as high up the food chain as they reach for victims?”

  “Oh, no, bébé.” Without the magnification of her thick lenses, her squinted eyes appeared lost among her wrinkles. “The more powerful ones will hunt rogue vampires too. That’s where the hunter legend originates.”

  “Huh.” That was news to me, which, honestly, ought to be my motto. “Are they dangerous to necromancers?”

  “Only if a necromancer opens their heart to greed.”

  Well, that was a yes. Necromancer was synonymous with greed.

  While I turned over what I had learned in my head, I revisited one final topic while I had time.

  “What should I do about Russo?” I wiggled my toes against the cushion. “I mentioned her to Linus.” There was no way to avoid it since Cletus had been present during our confrontations. “The Society will bury her if they think she’s a threat, but if she knows how Maud really—”

  “Hush.” She flapped her hands. “Do not give voice to treason. Not here.” Her eyes darted around the room. “I am watched as often as I watch. Remember that.” Lifting her teacup, she took a sip and grimaced as she swallowed, the contents having gone cold. “Boaz is with the Elite, yes?”

  “Yes.” The hot rush of blood in my cheeks tattled on all the things I hadn’t told Odette, namely about my date with one Boaz Pritchard. The odds were too good she had glimpsed a possible future for us, for him, from the corner of her eye while delving into someone else’s life. This thing with him might go nowhere, or it might go everywhere. Wherever it went, I wanted it on our terms. “Do you think I should report her?”

  “Yes.” Odette didn’t mince her words. “There are three types of humans. The type content to believe there are no monsters under the bed, the type who are content to pretend there are monsters under the bed as long as they aren’t real, and the type who will grab a flashlight and climb under the bed to hunt down the monster and make sure it can’t scare them again.”

  Thanks to my years working as a Haint, I had seen all types, and I had to agree with her analysis. “You think Russo is carrying a flashlight.”

  “I do.” She hesitated a moment. “You should also ask yourself if this Cricket is a pretender or a hunter.”

  “I would have lumped her in with the hardcore nonbelievers until Russo.” I unfolded my legs. “I’m still not sure what to think. I had no idea she cared I had gone missing. She’s not the touchy-feely type. But, if she sought out Russo a second time, years later, there must be a connection.”

  No bones about it. Someday soon, I would have to confront Cricket and get her side of the story.

  “Talk to Boaz,” she urged. “He has access to resources you don’t.”

  “I’ll do that.” I got to my feet. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

  “You heard my heart singing for the ocean, did you?” She laughed, delighted. “These walls can no longer contain me. I must have sand between my toes and the spray misting my cheeks
to feel alive.”

  Happy to listen to her prattle on about her conversations with the sea, I walked beside her until it was time for me to go. I left her standing ankle-deep in frothy water, smiling up at the moon, blowing kisses to the gulls who cried out overhead in welcome.

  Amelie was beat. I didn’t have to ask how her night had gone, it was etched into every line on her face when she showed up at the Cora Ann. I took pity on her and drove us on our rounds in her car instead of forcing her on Jolene, but the plush seats and the ability to recline weren’t helping. I had to pinch her every few minutes to keep her awake.

  “Why are you so tired?” She had plenty of reasons. I just wasn’t sure which to blame.

  “Finals, remember?” She flung her arm across her eyes. “My life is studying and tears.”

  “I hear you.” For once, I knew exactly how she felt.

  She glanced toward me. “How are things going with Linus?”

  “They’re going. We’re making progress.”

  She snorted. “Give me all the juicy details, why don’t you?”

  “There’s nothing to tell. He works me until my brain starts smoking, then he sends me packing with homework.” I belted out a sigh. “He’s also started watching my training exercises with Taz.”

  “I wasn’t aware it was a spectator sport.” She sounded far too interested in joining him.

  “It’s not,” I grumbled before she got any ideas. “I’m so ready to be self-sufficient.”

  Her gaze touched on the side mirror. “Where’s your tail tonight?”

  “He’s around.” I hadn’t spotted Cletus since I left Woolly, but he was never far.

  She grinned at me. “Is he cute?”

  “Uh, no.” Sorry, Cletus. “He’s bony and…no. Not cute.”

  “Oh, well. You can’t blame a girl for trying.”