Booke of the Hidden Page 9

  All at once, the crossbow was slammed upward and my trigger hand fell away to nothing. I snapped my head up and found myself staring into dark, dark eyes.

  “This is not a toy!” Erasmus shouted in my face.

  “I know that! I’m practicing.”

  “You cannot practice. You either accomplish or you don’t.”

  “What kind of asinine thing is that to say?”

  “Oh, of course. Anything you don’t understand is plainly asinine.”

  “It just makes no sense. How am I ever going to hit some creature with this if I’ve never used it before?”

  “Has it never occurred to you that these things have been created with a purpose? Things that have been created with a purpose simply work.”

  I snatched the crossbow back and clutched the quarrel in my other hand. “Well…nobody told me,” I grumbled. “You could have told me last night. When I asked. I do recall asking stuff.”

  “You don’t ask the right questions.”

  “What are the right questions?”

  He smiled. “You’re getting warmer.”

  “You know what? This is bullshit. I’m tired of your Yoda answers. Why don’t you just cut the crap and tell me?”

  “Where would be the fun in that?”

  I slapped the bolt in place and swung the crossbow toward him, aiming for his heart. “I’m not messing around. Either you start talking or so help me God…”

  Genuine fear crossed over his face and he froze. “Don’t.”

  I couldn’t help it. I dropped it to my thigh. He looked so lost, so forlorn. So human. “I won’t be able to do this. If it looks human like you do, I won’t be able to do this.”

  “Humans,” he said quietly. “You have too much compassion. It is one of your great faults.”

  “Yeah, well. You should be lucky I have that ‘great fault’ or you’d be wearing a hole about now.”

  He looked down at his decidedly untouched chest. “Quite.” He waited for me to remove the bolt completely and stick it back in its place on the shaft. I aimed the crossbow toward the floor and pulled the trigger, releasing the taut bowstring. It twanged harmlessly, but it had shaken my arm when it fired.

  “I don’t think I can do this.”

  He sighed and touched my shoulder gently. He swept the crossbow up, plucking it from my hand, and laid it down on the counter. His other hand had not stopped touching my shoulder and now closed over it warmly. I glanced at the Booke for something like confirmation that the contact was safe.

  He turned me toward him and for once, his eyes seemed full of concern. “You can do this. The book…chose you. You can.”

  “What do you mean, it chose me?”

  “It…sleeps. For centuries, sometimes. And then…when the right one comes along…it awakens.”

  I blinked. “But that makes no sense. It seems that it wants to contain these things that get loose. So why would it ‘awaken’ just so some poor schmuck like me or Constance Howland is duped into opening it again?”

  His eyes searched mine. “Even inanimate objects get bored.”

  I pushed him away but he still held me tight. “Is everything a joke to you?”

  “I like that! I finally tell you something about the book and you refuse to believe it.”

  “But it doesn’t make sense!”

  “What about any of this makes sense to you?”

  That stopped me. It took only a moment for me to burst out laughing. He was still holding my shoulders as I laughed into his face. I thought by his expression that he would yell at me. Maybe I hurt his demon sensibilities, but he surprised me instead by laughing with me.

  Deep dimples scored his cheeks and his eyes grew soft with his laughter.

  I eased out of his grip and stepped back. He stopped laughing and straightened. His hair fell to either side again, shadowing his face. “And so,” he muttered. “So you see that logic does not necessarily dictate the demon realm.”

  “So I do see.”

  He looked around the back room as if searching for a distraction. He wrinkled his nose. “Tea!” he said with disdain.

  “Yes, well it is a tea shop. Bound to have tea in it.”

  “No doubt this is the Powers That Be’s sense of humor at play.”

  “No doubt.” I shuffled. “Well…do you like coffee? I can make some coffee for you. If you’d like.”

  I didn’t think I could ever get used to his undisguised astonishment at my very human pleasantries.

  “I…yes. I will drink your coffee.”

  “Wow. Okay. Didn’t expect that.” Off I went to the kitchen to make coffee for my friendly neighborhood demon. And to think I had to move all the way from California to Maine for this.

  I had just poured him a cup (black, of course) when I heard a knock. I poked my head out of the kitchen to stare at the front door. Through the wavy glass, I recognized the tall figure of the sheriff. I trotted to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it. “Sheriff,” I greeted. “What can I do for you?”

  “Ms. Strange. May I come in?”

  I opened the door wider and let him enter. He took off his hat and moved the brim around in his hands. “Ms. Strange, can you tell me where you were last night between the hours of seven and midnight?”

  At least this time I had a decent alibi. “I was with Doc Boone. Why?”

  “Wiccan night,” he muttered. “So the Doc can vouch for you?”

  “Why would he need to vouch for me?” I braced for the news.

  “There was another one. Someone else died last night. Just like the last one.”

  “So am I in the clear, then?”

  “Yeah.” He lowered his hat to his thigh. “Heck, you were just a person of interest. We sure didn’t suspect you of…well. It’s all mighty strange.”

  “That’s the name of the game,” I said, smiling. I rocked on my heels. Sheriff Bradbury’s aw shucks manner was appealing. Especially when he wasn’t accusing me of murder.

  He caught the joke. “Ah, sure. ‘Strange.’ Must have been a fun name to have in school. Unless…” He raised his dark brows. “Unless that’s a married name.” His eyes dropped to my empty left hand.

  Subtle. I couldn’t help but smile, though. “Uh…no. Maiden name. Never married.”

  “Well that’s…that’s just fine.” He swept his hat up onto his head. He was making ready to leave when he glanced over my shoulder toward the backroom and a frown suddenly creased his pleasant face. “Who’s that?”

  Crikey. I forgot about Erasmus.

  He stood in the doorway, duster sweeping around him, face dark and unreadable under the shade of his long black hair. Sheriff Bradbury was immediately on alert. His hand lingered by his pistol in its holster as he edged me out of the way.

  “Sir, may I speak to you?”

  Erasmus hadn’t moved from his place in the doorway. “About what, Sheriff?”

  Sheriff Ed tensed. I did, too. I didn’t know what the hell Erasmus was doing. Why couldn’t he just disappear like he did the other day?

  Ed moved slightly closer to Erasmus, who barely blinked. “I just have a few questions for you, sir.”

  “Ask your questions,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Are you Erasmus Dark?”

  Erasmus nodded.

  “This young lady says that you knew about the murder of Karl Waters before we contacted her. Would you mind explaining that?”

  Erasmus narrowed his eyes. I knew he was about to say something strangely enigmatic which was sure to get us both in trouble. So I piped up with, “He has a police scanner.”

  Sheriff Ed looked at me. “I thought you said you didn’t know this man.”

  “He’s an old friend…from California. From a long time ago. He arrived just yesterday. An old friend. He…uh…changed his name and I didn’t recognize him at first…”

  He turned back to Erasmus, who was now looking at me curiously. “That true?” Ed asked.

  “Whatever she says,�
� he drawled.

  I had never lied to the law before, but here I was looking him right in the eye. “The truth of the matter is…we used to punk each other. All the time. And I’m afraid I might have gone a little overboard yesterday. Punking. Sorry.”

  I tried not to wince. Sheriff Ed blinked at me. “That’s some serious punking. That kind of thing can get you both thrown in jail.”

  “I’m so sorry, Sheriff. Really. It was incredibly stupid. We just fell into old habits.”

  I hated that he was angry with me now. He turned to Erasmus. “You wouldn’t mind showing me some ID, would you?”

  “And what, pray, is that?”

  “He means your identification, Erasmus,” I said more calmly than I felt.

  He pointed at me—at the amulet on my chest. “But you have it.”

  I laughed, a little hysterically. “Yeah, I do. I…uh. Well, I washed his trousers with the ID in it and it’s now drying. Because I spilled coffee on him. Accidentally.”

  Sheriff Ed was noncommittal. He took a deep breath and his tense shoulders seemed to relax somewhat. “I see. Is he staying here? With you?” He didn’t seem happy about that prospect, which gave my stomach a little flutter.

  “No,” I said at the same time Erasmus stepped forward out of the doorway and said, “Yes.”

  I glared at Erasmus. What the hell did he think he was doing?

  He raised his chin defiantly toward the sheriff.

  Ed stood his ground. “Okay. I’ll let the two of you work this out.”

  He turned to leave and I stopped him. “But you never told me. What happened? Who…died?”

  “Bob Hitchins, from the grocery store.”

  My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh no!”

  “Same thing as Karl Waters. All the moisture was drained out of him. Damnedest thing you ever saw.”

  “Are there any leads?”

  He straightened his hat and adjusted his jacket. “No, miss. Nothing I can share with the public.”

  I had to think fast. I knew the sheriff could really help us here. But there was no way he would believe the things I needed to tell him. Especially with the suspicious glares he was throwing toward Erasmus, and Erasmus, the idiot, was throwing equally suspicious glares back at Ed. What was he up to?

  “I’m glad you stopped by, Sheriff,” I said, steering him toward the door. “Please drop by anytime. You know, when you’re off duty. Maybe get a cup of my specialty tea and a scone or two.”

  He seemed to snap out of it, looking down at me with genuine interest again. “That would be very nice.”

  Yes, it would, I thought, feeling his taut bicep through his heavy jacket. No ring on his left hand either.

  “Thanks for stopping by.”

  “Yes, well, we don’t know what we’re up against, Ms. Strange.”

  “Call me Kylie.”

  “Kylie.” He smiled. “We…we don’t know who’s out there doing this. Best to keep your door locked, and don’t fraternize with strangers.” His eyes drifted toward Erasmus again.

  “She won’t,” he said, striding into the room. “I’ll make certain of that.”

  “Kind of hard to do that when I have a shop to run,” I said, stepping in front of Erasmus. “I mean, it’s all about keeping the doors open and welcoming strangers.”

  Ed conceded with a courteous nod. “You know what I mean. Be careful.” And he was out the door.

  I wheeled on Erasmus. “What the hell was that? Why didn’t you just bug out of here like you did last time?”

  “I wanted to see this sheriff. Law enforcement intrigues me. Has done since the Inquisition.”

  “We’re a little more civilized now.”

  “I’ve seen no evidence to support that.”

  “Just…stay out of sight next time, okay? And what do you mean, you’re staying here?”

  “In a sense. I can’t very well go very far now, can I? Not when you retain that which is not yours to keep.”

  My fingers twitched over the amulet again. “It’s by necessity. You know I wouldn’t keep it otherwise.”

  His anger seemed to melt away. “I know,” he said softly.

  “Right.” I looked around at the opened boxes and the boxes yet to be opened. “I have work to do. It would go faster if you helped, made yourself useful.”

  He suddenly looked appalled. “I think not.”

  “Come on. You said you’re staying here. Why don’t you earn your keep?”

  “I’m earning it by helping you contain the creature from the book. I should think that was adequate enough.”

  “And yet, we still don’t know what it is or how to find it.”

  “Your little witches were working that out, weren’t they?”

  “But you know for certain.”

  “That’s where you are wrong. I don’t know for certain. I only know with uncertainty.”

  “That’s better than nothing.”

  “Uncertainty is not better than nothing. Where in Beelze’s name did you learn your appalling logic?”

  “Uh…I don’t…”

  “Clearly. I’ll be back when your witches arrive.”

  “But…” No use. He’d disappeared again.

  • • •

  I knew I had a lot to do at the shop, but after an hour of unpacking and sorting, I just couldn’t stand it there any longer. I had to get out. After a moment of consideration, I wrapped the crossbow in a coat and took it with me. One couldn’t be too careful, after all. I placed it in the passenger side of the Jeep and started up the car.

  Driving aimlessly up the highway, I didn’t have anywhere in particular in mind. I just needed to clear my head and see if I couldn’t get any ideas on hunting a succubus, whatever that was.

  I found myself driving slowly in front of the Gifford Corner Museum. Yellow police tape surrounded the building. I didn’t know what I expected to see. There was no one there. All the techs had gone, but the warning tape remained. And the lights were dark inside. I took a moment to mourn poor Karl Waters. I couldn’t help but feel that it was my fault he was killed. It wasn’t fair that these innocent people got in the way. It raised my concern for the Wiccans exponentially. But if anyone could work on a safeguard, it was Doc Boone. I was sure of it.

  I pulled into the parking lot. Stepping out of the Jeep, I stood at the edge of the police tape for a moment before I ducked under it and walked slowly toward the museum entrance across the gravel.

  Peering into the dark window of the door, I shielded my eyes with my cupped hands. Looked like there had been a fight. Whatever happened, Karl had not gone quietly. Or perhaps the destruction had happened afterward. Maybe the creature had been looking for information. I’d have to ask Doc Boone if he could get more out of his coroner friend without arousing suspicion.

  I touched the doorknob and was surprised when it turned in my hand. Looking hastily behind me, I pushed open the door and went inside. Almost immediately I felt something odd, cold. Different. Like the absence of something. Like a hole in space.

  I knew I shouldn’t be going toward this strangeness, but approaching it made some kind of sense, at least the new wacky reality of sense that seemed to characterize my life in Moody Bog. I needed to know. I needed to see that it was all real. And despite the pulsating feelings I was getting from the Booke—even as far away as it was from me right now—I had to confirm whatever happened here for myself.

  I walked to the front counter. There were notes and tape and bits of papers everywhere. Some looked like they might be from Karl’s files and some were obviously from the police techs.

  I walked past the counter to the stacks behind it. A smell. Not of death, not like I had feared. But something else. Metallic. Sharp. Like a match was struck. And it got colder the deeper inside I ventured. Colder and darker. Yet even though my heart was pounding, I couldn’t stop. I drew closer to…whatever it was.

  The place Karl died.

  Tape outlined on the floor. And also faint chalk lines, but
nothing to do with the shape of a body. And stubs of black candles. What the…?

  There was also a hole here. Not a physical one, or at least one that could be seen by ordinary means, but a hole nonetheless. Whatever it was that the Booke did—open a door or a gateway—it had opened here. And it was still open. How the hell was I supposed to fight a hole?

  Suddenly I could see my breath. It fogged around my mouth and nose as if I were in an icy place, even though the thermostat on the nearby wall showed it was 62 degrees.

  I looked deep into the dark ahead of me, the dark between the shelves. “H-hello?”

  I didn’t expect an answer. Didn’t really want one.

  And then I realized I’d left my crossbow in the car.

  Now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.

  I backed away from the “nothing” and stopped when the sound of voices—many voices all chorusing together but making no sense—issued from it.

  “Okaaay. Not good.”

  I backed away quicker. But not quick enough. Something closed over my wrist…and yanked. I screamed. Resisting the tug with all my might, I pulled hard, even though there was nothing to see. I turned toward the sound of something whistling behind me and instinctively opened my hand. I stared when the crossbow smacked into it.

  No time to be amazed. It was already cocked with a bolt in place. I swung it up to my shoulder with my free hand and aimed it toward the hole, which had begun to glow a dull green. A shriek pierced the air and my wrist was released. I felt the hole recede and get smaller. It didn’t close completely, but it certainly seemed less dangerous.

  I swung the crossbow this way and that. There was nothing to fire at, so I didn’t pull the trigger. Backing away toward the door, I never lowered it until I was outside.

  My heart pounded. An unseen hand grabbing my wrist, the crossbow coming automatically to my aid out of nowhere, and a hole of evil? It was shaping up to be quite a week.

  When I turned, I found myself facing a group of leather-clad bikers. And they were smiling.

  Chapter Nine

  There were four of them, and one was a woman. She was about my age, thin but with a big bust that made me think, “boob job.” Her stringy red hair hung down her back in a long braid, and on her neck was a serpent tattoo that scrolled down into her t-shirt and disappeared to god-knew-where. She also had a nasty scar on her cheek that looked like it might have been from a knife.