Tarnished and Torn: A Witchcraft Mystery Read online

  Lloyd crouched down, putting his mouth very close to my ear. When he spoke his voice was very soft and gentle, seductive, like the whisper of a lover.

  “Tell me where to find the talisman.”

  My concentration wandered, interrupted by my body’s signals of distress. Lloyd placed yet another huge box on me, and my breaths became shallow and strained. Never before had I realized how much movement was involved in breathing, the up and down of the chest, however imperceptible in daily life. Just a fraction of an inch to expand and draw in sweet oxygen.

  “Tell me, Lily . . .” Lloyd’s voice was a singsong now, as though we were playing a game and he had all the time in the world.

  He might have time on his side, but clearly I didn’t. Nausea swept over me, and I fought down panic and concentrated simply on breathing. The pressure on my body was immense, and I felt tingling in my arms and legs. But that was nothing next to the desperate, sickening need for more air. I started to twitch frantically, my eyes darting around the room.

  Lloyd reached out toward the pile of boxes again.

  “No!” I called out in panic. There was a note of pleading in my voice, a whimpering that would have embarrassed me, had I had my wits about me. Though I didn’t make it a habit to envision my own death, I never would have imagined facing it with cowardice. But it wasn’t the pain that bothered me; it was the hideous sensation of one’s body being slowly starved of oxygen that was pushing me beyond reason to one sole thought: No. Please, please, no.

  “No, what?” said Lloyd.

  “Not another box, I beg you.”

  “Would you prefer the strapatto?” His tone sounded disinterested, as though he were happy to proceed with whichever torture method I wanted. “That’s what I used on that gypsy witch, though I hear she lived. It’s not really meant to kill, you know. Neither is pressing. It’s really a way to extract information, not to kill anyone.”

  “You killed Griselda.”

  “I didn’t! I pressed her, that much is true. And sometimes a person can miscalculate, apparently, so she was having a very hard time telling me what she needed to. She passed out, I went to get some water to revive her, and by the time I came back someone had stabbed her with an antique knife. That’s sort of . . . hitting someone when they’re down. Right? What the heck was that about?”

  He put a stone atop me.

  “Please . . .” was all I could manage, but then realized I shouldn’t waste my breath. Quite literally. It wasn’t as though begging would change the mind of this madman.

  My vision started to narrow, the peripheral vision darkening. All I could think about now was breathing.

  Lloyd started to whistle, and then began prancing around the room, as if preparing for the next fire dance. As I panted my shallow, quick breaths, I watched him twirl and fling his imaginary pots of fire.

  “Gene says I’m a natural. A little more practice, and I’ll be invited to join the troupe if I want. I know I’m a bit older than the others, but I’ll be the best fire dancer there.”

  I felt a wave of calm come over me. The tingling in my extremities stopped . . . but now they were numb. The pounding of my heart sounded in my ears. And I heard a thrumming, so low it wasn’t perceivable to the human ear. But I could feel it.

  As could Lloyd. He stopped his dance steps and looked at me with a frown.

  “What is that?”

  I just stared at him, panting.

  “Can’t you speak?” He lifted one of the boxes off of me. “Better?”

  Like a fish dying on the pier, I opened and closed my mouth uselessly. Then I shook my head slightly, as though I couldn’t speak.

  “Dammit. Too much weight again.” He took off the stone. “You know, I read those witch-hunting manuals; looked them up on the Internet. I did my damned research. But they weren’t really clear on how much weight is too much or how long to leave it on. How’s that?”

  Lloyd looked at me with concern, as though he were some sort of twisted therapist worried about my welfare.

  “Like I said,” he continued, “I’m not trying to kill anyone, just get some information. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past few days, it’s that you witches are stubborn creatures. Also, you die a lot easier than a person would think.”

  He crouched down and put his hand to my neck. I felt the rough calluses of his finger as he pressed, hard, to feel my pulse.

  Behind him, I saw a slight movement behind a broken wax sculpture of Genghis Khan.

  Oscar. He had come for me. With the Ojo del Fuego pendant around his neck.

  My head lolled to the side, and I tried to telegraph my thoughts to him: He’s got a gun. But truth was, Oscar wasn’t paying attention to me. Everything in his gnarled, adorable little face was concentrated on my attacker, Lloyd. I had seen my familiar in action before—other times when he had come to my assistance—and when he was in his natural form he was surprisingly strong.

  Lloyd has a gun. I tried to shake my head at Oscar, suddenly frantic at the thought that he would be shot. Could gobgoyles stand such an injury? I had no idea, but I knew they were mortal. Naturally long-lived, but just as mortal as the next person if they were shot at close range.

  As I watched, the strands of hair began to unwrap themselves, revealing the Ojo del Fuego. And it was, indeed, afire, blazing with its own light.

  Still staring at Lloyd, Oscar closed his large, humanlike hand around the fire opal, facing the gem into his palm.

  The lights began twirling around the room, like colorful reflections off a disco ball. At first I thought I was seeing things as a result of the lack of oxygen, but then I realized Lloyd saw them, too.

  “What the—” he exclaimed, looking around, spinning to try to focus on the lights, which sped up, weaving among themselves. They rotated faster and faster, growing in size until everything was a blur of pure white light. Lloyd spun so fast he was whipping around, out of control, spinning to keep up with the lights.

  He cried out, then fell to the floor, his eyes still spinning, unfocused.

  The lights subsided.

  Oscar ran to me and threw the boxes off, then the board. Without a word he grabbed one of the heavy boxes, lifted it high over his head and turned to loom over Lloyd. He held the box right over the prone man’s head.

  Still unable to sit up, I drew in a ragged breath and choked out: “Oscar! No!”

  “I’ll smash his head!”

  “No. Put the box down, Oscar. Now. Listen to me.” My hands and feet were overwhelmed with tingles as I regained sensation in my limbs. “You’re my familiar; you have to do what I say.”

  He stood there with the box raised overhead for several more beats, breathing hard. He was facing away from me so I couldn’t see his expression, but after another moment his shoulders relaxed slightly and he tossed the box as hard as he could toward poor Genghis Khan, whose head split off with the force, falling to the floor with a thud and rolling into the corner.

  Shaky, I sat up and started to rub my hands vigorously, trying to get rid of the painful tingles.

  “Oscar. Thank you. You saved my life. Did you hear me calling?”

  He nodded and pulled the talisman over his head. The Ojo del Fuego was once again wrapped up in its hair cocoon, hidden. Oscar walked up to me and slipped the pendant over my head.

  The talisman thrummed that strange bass tone, melding with my energy. I felt my breathing normalize, and the awkward pain from the pressing subsided, the tingling dissipating.

  Finally, it quieted, matching its rhythm with mine, so we were indistinguishable.

  “You keep that, mistress. It is too powerful for me. I almost couldn’t make it here. It took my energy from me.”

  “How did you find it?”

  “It called to me. I don’t understand how. I’ve never seen that kind of behavior in a necklace before.”

  “Thanks, Oscar. Come on. Let’s tie this guy up before he comes round. I’ll call Carlos and tell him what happened.
Let’s let the justice system deal with him.”

  “I’d like to serve him a little justice, goblin style.”

  “I know. Me, too. But we have to rise above, let him be judged by a jury of his peers.”

  “They won’t know everything, though. They won’t understand that he wanted to help a . . .” He looked around as though we might be overheard, then leaned toward me and whispered. “A demon.”

  “I know. But he’s an attempted murderer. The inspectors have DNA evidence from the scene, and I’ll testify about what happened here tonight. He’ll be punished. Now let’s get out of here.”

  Physically, I felt remarkably chipper, given my ordeal. The talisman had lent me its energy. Mentally, though, I couldn’t deny I was shaken. Right now all I wanted was to get the hell out of this basement, call the paramedics for Clarinda, and go hide somewhere.

  Just then, Sailor raced down the basement stairs, with Aidan right on his heels. At the sight of me and Oscar, Sailor stopped short and Aidan plowed right into the back of him, giving rise to a rather slapstick moment of floundering on the steep wooden stairs. Both men wound up grabbing on to each other to maintain their footing.

  “You two make a cute couple.”

  Scowling, they distanced themselves from each other.

  “You’re all right?” Sailor asked, his dark-eyed gaze shifting over my shoulder to the man lying on the floor, trussed up like a Christmas goose.

  “Just dandy,” I said, still not over my snit. I realized at some deep level that these two had worked together, somehow, to come to my rescue. I’m sure once I calmed down I would be grateful—touched, even—for them working out their differences in order to help me. But at the moment I still had my mad on.

  “What happened to Clarinda?” Aidan demanded, picking her up in his arms and starting back up the stairs. Sailor and I followed, and Oscar brought up the rear. The stairs creaked loudly under our feet, and we all seemed to pause and take a deep breath when we passed through the door to the main floor.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “If it was the same as he did to me, it was a blow to the back of the head.”

  Sailor lifted her lids to check her pupils, then put his hands on her head, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath, his head cocked slightly. After a moment he straightened and nodded.

  “She’ll be okay,” he said.

  Aidan just nodded and resumed his hurried stride.

  “And you?” Sailor asked in a low tone, putting his hand on my arm to stop me.

  “I’m fine,” I lied, avoiding his eyes. Normally Sailor couldn’t read my thoughts, but at the moment I was so weakened I didn’t trust my own guard to be strong enough against this man, who still held such a huge part of my heart. The truth was, my head was pounding, and the nausea, after subsiding earlier, was back with a vengeance. But right now all I wanted was to get out of this house of horrors and get back home, where I could heal myself. I would call Graciela . . . she would know how to cure this ill . . . which went way beyond the physical malaise.

  I had almost been pressed, just like witches through the ages. I still couldn’t process it.

  Rather than head for the exit, Aidan started up the main stairs to the second floor.

  “Aidan? Where are you going? We need to call an ambulance, get her some help.”

  “We don’t have time for that,” Aidan said, his breathing becoming labored with the effort of carrying Clarinda, who wasn’t a large woman but, after all, he was on his second set of stairs.

  “Here, let me carry her the rest of the way,” Sailor offered, taking pity on the man.

  “I’m fine,” Aidan snapped, shrugging him off. “But explain to Lily, if you will, what’s going on.”

  “What is it?” I asked as we reached the second floor, and Aidan strode toward his office.

  “I’m afraid this thing isn’t over.”

  “Lloyd’s the one who killed Griselda, and who went after Renna and Eric.”

  “Yes, but the others are still on the loose. Including your father. They’re headed here.”

  “Here?” I had to jog to keep up with the men, and Oscar trotted along as fast as his little piggy legs would carry him. “Maybe I’m a little slow on the uptake, but if they’re headed here, shouldn’t we go, you know, not here?”

  “Can’t run from this sort of thing. Too much is already in motion,” Aidan said as the door to his office opened of its own accord and we all slipped through.

  Noctemus hissed at me, as was her wont. The feeling was mutual. Give me my pig over that cranky feline any day. Speaking of pigs, Oscar immediately scooted over to hide in the footwell of the desk.

  Aidan laid Clarinda gently on his red velvet love seat, cradling her head on a down pillow. She moaned a bit, frowned, opened her eyes.

  “Go back to sleep,” he said in a quiet, gentle tone, waving his hand very close in front of her face, casting a cocooning spell so she wouldn’t hear what we were talking about. She fell asleep.

  Aidan glanced at Sailor. “You’re sure?”

  “As sure as I can be.”

  “And how sure is that?” Aidan snapped.

  “As sure as any doctor would be, Aidan. You know as well as I do there are no guarantees, even with my sight. But she wouldn’t be any better off at the hospital than she is here, and if that demon gets hold of the Ojo del Fuego we’ll all be in a world of hurt.”

  With a curt nod of his golden head, Aidan ceded the point.

  I looked at both men, who seemed now to be avoiding my eyes. They were waiting for something. Apparently, this was the Lily show.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “You don’t have the time or the resources to brew at home, Lily. I know you’re not as confident in other areas, but I’ll be here to help you.”

  “As will I,” put in Sailor.

  “As will Sailor,” Aidan said with an inclination of his head. Then under his breath he added, “For what that’s worth.”

  Sailor’s eyes rolled to the ceiling.

  “Could we please concentrate on what’s going on?” I said.

  “When the others get here, they’ll call on . . . you know who. In order to have the strength to fight him, we’ll need our own demon to help.”

  He was talking about Sitri, the demon I had bound at the San Francisco School of Fine Arts. For the first time since I had escaped being pressed, I lost my breath.

  “You said that would be bad,” I said, shaking my head vehemently. “You said I wasn’t strong enough to control him. You said I would wind up like my father, bound to the whims of a demon. And you were right.”

  “I know what I said.”

  Chapter 24

  Desperate, I looked toward Sailor, hoping for an ally. “There’s got to be another way.”

  Sailor held my gaze with his, looking at me intently, but didn’t say anything.

  Aidan continued to try to convince me. “You think if there was, I would be suggesting this? The fact is, you have the Ojo del Fuego—” I opened my mouth to deny it, but he held out his hand, palm out, to stop me. “Please, Lily, don’t bother to deny it. You have the Ojo, and don’t you dare tell me—or anyone else—where it is. I don’t want to know. But this guy will not stop in his quest. We could kill the Jones brothers and your father and the man in charge, and he will send more now that he knows who you are.”

  “I’ll leave town.”

  Sailor and I could run away together, use our combined talents to skate under the radar. And . . . we could be together. I would have to give up my friends and life here in San Francisco, but it would be better than risking submitting to a demon’s control.

  “You can’t run from this. He commands legions, and he’s elemental. He will never cease to exist. He will never cease looking for you. You have to face him.”

  Sailor stood, leaning back against the bookshelf, arms crossed over his chest. He held my eyes for a long moment, fingers of his intuition reaching out for my thoughts. H
e wasn’t so much reading my mind as reading me, as a man might read a woman, or vice versa.

  A look of deep disappointment came over his face, and he shook his head. “You know how much I hate to admit it, but Aidan’s right. We have to do this here and now.”

  I could feel the pendant between my breasts, under my shirt, starting to thrum. It seemed to be siding with the men. Traitor.

  It seemed I had no alternative. I gave in to the inevitable. I had hoped to live the rest of my life without taking on another demon, but I would do it for my friends, and for my town.

  “How do I start?”

  • • •

  Working with Aidan’s things was like an avid but humble cook being invited to whip up a meal in a fancy chef’s kitchen. I missed the familiarity of my own place, but I had to admit that the man had an excellently stocked magical arsenal.

  “You’ll need to do a Lesser Banishing ritual of the Pentagram, obviously,” said Aidan. “As well as the Middle Pillar Ritual, just to prepare.”

  I nodded. His reminder was unnecessary; the rites were second nature to me. But, I realized, Aidan was nervous. Going over the rote stuff was a way to find calm and center ourselves.

  If I was the cook of this magical brew, Aidan was my sous-chef. He brought me herbs, his athame, white candles; then he set out incense, the triangle of Solomon, and a black mirror for the altar.

  “Black mirror?” I asked. These were used in a way similar to that of crystal balls, as a method for scrying, or seeing, the beyond. “You, of all people, should know that I’m no good at scrying.”

  “We’re going to try to keep Sitri on the astral plane, rather than the physical. He’ll appear through the mirror.”

  “Okey dokey. If you say so, chief.”

  I knew that since I had bound him, Sitri and I were connected by threads that formed channels, through which our energies radiated back to each other. The problem is these threads are a two-way street; what we cast can be used against us.