“I can’t believe I fucking fainted,” I said, leaning on the table with both elbows, my face buried in my hands. I was talking more to myself than the room at large.
But River heard me as she set a mug of hot honey and lavender down in front of me. She ran her hand over my hair. “You had a pretty big shock, so it’s to be expected. How are you feeling now?”
“I’m fine,” I snapped, immediately regretting it. I looked up and grabbed her hand, pressing it to my cheek for a moment before releasing it. “I’m sorry, Rivs. I’m fine, really. Please don’t fuss.”
“Sure, whatever you say. Drink your tea,” she ordered, smiling indulgently, then moved around set a mug in front of Rangel, who looked as pale and freaked out as I felt. “You too.” River was an equal opportunity mother hen.
After I passed out (fainting was just too weak and puny a word, and I was not weak and puny) Ian had carried me back to Pinky’s. Apparently, River had dreamed of meeting Ian at the back door with my unconscious body. She’d woken up and went downstairs. Having learned long ago to take River’s dreams or visions seriously, everyone had sprung into action. So by the time we arrived, Pinky and Anya were already clearing the pub out and closing down early. Ian had reluctantly given me over to River’s care, and he and Sam had went back to the alley. A few minutes later, Rangel and Jarrett had come in.
That had been over an hour ago, and now we were in the cleared out bar waiting for Sam and Ian to come back from the morgue. Pinky and Anya were busying themselves by doing the other bar closing duties. River was helping them by wiping down tables and fussing over Rangel and me. Jarrett sat silently by the door, watching out the front window, his body tense and on guard.
I sipped the hot tea River had given me, letting the warm, sweet taste wash away the lingering nausea. My mind raced, trying to make sense of what had happened, what I’d seen. But it didn’t make sense, not any of it. Before I could think about it too much, Ian and Sam came in. Their faces looked as grim as I felt.
They joined us at the table and, after River and Anya delivered drinks all around, Sam said, “I sent the other teams home to get some rest. I also gave them all the day off tomorrow. There is no use in continuing our nightly patrols with Reeder dead. As a matter of fact, except for a small team to try to trace his tracks in hopes of finding some of the missing women, I might as well call off the whole team. I’m afraid that with a dead suspect and no new leads, we may never find them.”
“York Reeder was not the kidnapper,” I said, with utter confidence.
“You think there is another accomplice?”
“No. I think Reeder was a victim, not a kidnapper. That might have been Reeder’s body in that ally, but whoever, or whatever, that spoke to me was not York Reeder.” I filled them in on everything that had happened from the moment I glanced at Reeder on the street until everything went black.
Next to me, Rangel nodded. “I agree with Fiona. I don’t know what the hell that was, but it wasn’t Reeder. There was something far away and detached about the voice, and the words and mouth movement just didn’t sync up. Someone or something was controlling that body. And the way he died, it was like… Well, like nothing I’d ever seen. One moment he was breathing and alive, although kind of sickly colored, and the next, he was a dried-up corpse.”
“Someone controlling the body? Did you see anyone else in the vicinity?” Sam asked.
“No, but it was dark and my attention was on not getting killed,” I told him.
“I got to the alley entrance in time to hear him talking, and there was no one else in that ally or anywhere within line of site of Reeder. If there had been, I would have seen them, or scented them,” Jarrett said.
Sam mulled that over for a moment. “Ian, is there any way a necromancer can control a body like that?”
“No. That is not what necromancers do. I got to the alley in time to hear the tail end of his speech and see the body collapse. That is nothing I’ve ever seen or heard of. I can’t explain it, except to say that whatever powers were used, they were not Necromantic.”
I wasn’t convinced. “Someone, either alive or dead, was controlling that man. Is it possible he was possessed by a spirit?”
“No. Two life energies, or spirits, cannot possess the same body, and a spirit cannot jump into a dead body and control it,” Ian informed the room at large in his stuffy-professor voice. As I opened my mouth, he continued, “And no, to my knowledge, it is not possible for any necromancer to force a spirit into a dead body and control it in that manner. Besides, there was no spirit to control.”
There was something about the way he said “in that manner” that caught my attention, but I decided to ignore it, for now. “So the body was like the other one?”
“Identical,” Ian said. “I have yet to find any explanation for it in any of the books and research materials I have. Of course, that doesn’t mean such incidents have never happened before. It just means the information was lost during the Cataclysm. That isn’t uncommon, especially for very rare phenomena that may have only been recorded in one particular place.”
“So, on that note, we are no further than we were a week ago,” Sam said, with a weary sigh. “Let’s concentrate on what little new information we have. What exactly did he say to you, Fiona?”
I recited the words again, suppressing a shiver of dread and fear at the last part.
“Devour you? What the hell does that mean?” Everyone turned to look at Pinky. I’d almost forgotten my family was still in the room. Under normal circumstances, it would have been a breach of protocol, but since Sam didn’t mind, neither did I. Besides, Pinky’s was their home and livelihood, and this person had been here at least twice, and could come back. They deserved to know what was going on.
“I don’t know, but I don’t care,” I lied, my voice full of false bravado. “I’m not going to give him a chance.”
“Wait, did you say his name was Bokor?” Anya asked. She had finished cleaning up and was sitting at the bar sipping a drink.
“Yes, why? Have you heard that name before?”
“Yes, I think I have.” Her expression was thoughtful, as if trying to conjure a memory. “But it wasn’t a name, it was a title.”
“A title? Like a job or position in the community?” Ian asked.
“Community, I suppose,” she said slowly. “Back when I lived with the gypsies, we often met other clans and sometimes camped and traveled with them. Some of the clans from the lost Creole Coast practiced a religion called Voodoo. I liked to listen to the clan elders tell about their myths and practices. Each clan seemed to have their own take, their own customs and myths, even their own names for their religious leaders. There were a couple of clans I remember that called their priests Bokor.”
“I’ve heard of Voodoo,” Ian said. “I’ve ran across it in my research before because it was a religion based on magic. But I don’t know much about it. I will have to do some more research.”
“I’ve heard of Voodoo, too,” Jarrett said. “I don’t know anything about it, really, except that it was widely practiced in Louisiana and Haiti. Seems like there were a lot of different versions of it.”
I had no idea where those locations were, but I assumed they were part of the lands that had been lost to the sea in the Cataclysm.
“That makes sense,” Ian said, thoughtfully. “Most religions had many variations in their myths and practices, even back when information was widely available. I imagine that after two hundred years of verbally handed down customs, they are quite different. I suppose the place to start would be knowing the basics. I’ll hit the archives first thing tomorrow.”
“I’ll help you,” I told him. Though the prospect of spending hours surrounded by dusty tomes reading dry, boring magic research books was abhorrent to me, I knew two sets of eyes would be better than one. Besides, I had to do something, and at this point, researched seemed to be the only thing there was that could be done.
“I m
ight be able to help, too,” River said from her spot at the bar. “I know a Voodoo priestess.”
“You know a Voodoo priestess?”
“Could she be the kidnapper?”
“How do you know a Voodoo priestess?”
The questions came out all at one time in such a jumble it was impossible to tell who had asked what. But my sister was unfazed by the clamor. She just smiled, and then answered the questions one by one.
“One of the gypsy clans that comes to the market worships Voodoo. Their priestess is a dear friend. No, I do not believe she could be in any way responsible for the disappearances or deaths. Her title is not Bokor; it is Mambo.”
“Can you get her to talk to us?” I asked, knowing River never would have brought it up in front of everyone if she didn’t.
“I think so; she is very sweet. But I’ll only introduce you if you promise not to go in there treating her like a suspect. She is a good, kind-hearted old woman,” River said, an edge of steel in her sweet voice.
Ian spoke up before I could. “Do not worry, River. If you believe her to be good, then I do too. We will treat her with the utmost respect.”
River nodded. “Okay, then you guys can meet me at the market any time tomorrow afternoon. I’ll see her when I go in to set up in the morning and talk to her then.”
Once the next day’s meet up was settled, River went upstairs to go back to bed since she had to get up in just a few hours to be at the market at dawn. After we had gone over the entire night in detail one more time, to catch any details that might have been missed, we all decided to call it a night.
“I’m going to head back to the office and get my report done to turn in to the senate tomorrow. At this point, we might as well stand down the City Guard and send them back to their normal duties. Fiona and Ian, I expect a full report tomorrow night on whatever you manage to dig up. But for now, you guys go get some sleep,” Sam said.
“I’ll scry you with a report tomorrow,” Ian told him. Then he turned to Pinky. “I’m a little concerned about your safety. This bad guy is nothing I’ve ever seen before, and he now has his sights set on Fiona. I know you keep this place warded and you and Fiona can take care of yourselves, but I’d like to offer up a couple of my guards.”
“I’ve never had any problem protecting my girls, but I agree with you, Ian. This is an unknown and having a little backup would be fine by me,” Pinky said, in that easy way he had.
“No need to wake anyone up, Barroes. I can stay until dawn, a little later if I can borrow an umbrella to get back to Headquarters,” Jarrett said.
“I tell you what, Jarrett. If you are willing, you can stay here for the duration. Even though I haven’t rented out rooms in nearly twenty years, I still have several rooms with soft, comfortable beds and vampire-safe windows. Anya can make you one up, and you can bunk here. If that is acceptable,” Pinky said.
“Sounds good,” Jarrett agreed.
Sam stepped in. “Good. I’ll send a Blade to escort River to the market and guard her while she is there if you can send your guys over to watch the Pub while Pinky and Jarrett get some sleep tomorrow.”
I stood back, watching the four men make decisions without even consulting me. Opening my mouth to protest, I shut it without uttering a word. They were right. Because of me, my sisters were in danger and they did need extra protection. So if it made them feel like big, masculine men to arrange for guards without consulting Anya or me, despite the fact that we could kick the crap out of all of them, that was fine with me.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” I told Ian. I kissed Pinky on the cheek, wished everyone else good night, and retreated upstairs. I needed some time alone to process the night’s happenings. I was also looking forward to a little more rest than I had gotten over the past week.