Magie Noire

By Rurouni Star

Chapter Sixteen

"Linda and Jennifer were trying to help me leave. They were blackmailing Victor with… with photos. Things that would embarrass him and his backers."

I tried to focus on Monica's words while Forthill hurriedly stitched up my arm on the living room couch. It was better than thinking about the sickening sight he was currently cleaning up. I wasn't sure, but I thought I might have seen a hint of bone.

"They were trying to help you leave?" I said, in a strained voice.

"Linda is dead," Monica said tonelessly. She kept her voice soft, so the words wouldn't travel to the kitchen, where the kids had sit down. "Victor… he made sure to tell me he'd killed her. That he knew everything. He said if I disobeyed him again, he would kill me too."

"Well," I gritted out. "That doesn't seem to have worked out for him so well."

Monica cast her eyes downward. "He can still do it," she said. "He has my blood. He can find me no matter where I go. He can hurt me from any distance. And he's going to. He's going to kill me."

I leaned my head back into the couch, breathing in sharply. Everything hurt so damned bad — especially that fucking needle. But the idea that I'd only delayed the inevitable with all that misery pissed me off. "That's not going to happen," I told her. "I'm not gonna let it."

I was beat to high hell and barely functioning. I had no idea how I was going to keep that promise. But by god, I was gonna try.

Monica curled her legs underneath herself. I understood now why it was she looked so haggard. She'd used the right words before. Victor owned her.

"The Warden you talked about," she said, with a quiet hope in her voice. "Can they really stop him?"

I sighed heavily. I didn't want to snap that tiny thread of hope I'd given her. But I didn't want to lie, either. "There's no Warden," I said. "I mean… the Wardens are real. And they're going to come for him eventually. But I don't have any way of getting in touch with them."

A grim silence settled between us. I hated myself for having said it, but I couldn't take it back and lie now.

"...we don't need a Warden, though," I told her. "Victor's sloppy and not very bright. He's tried to kill me twice now, and failed both times. I'm ready to go three for three, if you tell me everything you know."

Monica sighed. "I may as well," she said. "I didn't want to drag you into this. But I doubt he'll let you go now."

"That's the spirit," I muttered.

Monica took a breath. "He's been making that drug. The one that makes you see things. It takes a lot of power, though. He says that fear — other people's fear — helps the magic. At some point, he figured out that sex works even better. He… he dragged me into it. He found other people to help."

I raised a tired eyebrow. "Other people to help," I repeated. "You're, uh. Talking about orgies?"

Father Forthill cringed on a stitch, and I yelped in pain. "Sorry," he said quickly. "Sorry." The Father might have been a lot better acquainted with the supernatural than I'd thought, but he was still a good old Catholic at heart when it came to certain uncomfortable matters.

"Yes," Monica admitted shamefully. She couldn't meet my eyes. "He asked me to call up my sister because of her work, to get her involved. I wasn't going to do it, but when Jenny figured out what was going on, she called up Victor herself. Her and Linda and Tommy Tomm… all three of them showed up. I didn't realize until later why she was doing it. Jenny and Linda got pictures of his rituals, of all the people there. They sent them anonymously to Victor, demanding that he let go of me and the kids. But he knew, obviously. He knew who was doing it."

I blew out a breath. Damn. That was ballsy. Blackmailing someone like Victor, knowing full well what he was capable of doing. "Do you think Tommy Tomm knew?" I asked.

"Maybe," Monica said uncertainly. "He and Jenny were in a kind of relationship. He didn't like her going to the rituals, but she wasn't going to stop. I think at some point he just decided to start going with her, to watch out for her. The Beckitts really didn't like that."

"The Beckitts?" I asked. The name immediately rang a bell, but I was done taking things for granted. I waited for Monica to confirm what I now suspected.

Monica nodded. "They're his biggest backers. He promised them revenge against the man who killed their daughter. The man Tommy works for."

Another puzzle piece snapped into place.

"Marcone," I said. "It was his bullet that killed that little girl."

"I don't know everything," Monica admitted. "But I guess so." She rubbed at her arms. "I don't go to the rituals anymore. But I know where he holds them. We have a lake house in Michigan. He goes there when there are storms. There's something about the weather that makes his spells easier. I think it's how he killed… you know."

Michigan. Shit. It wasn't that far from where we were, but it was still across state lines. That complicated the hell out of things. There was no way I was going to be able to push for a warrant in another state in such a short time period, even if I'd had more proof than I currently did. The Michigan police would want to be involved in anything that happened on their turf, too.

If Monica was right — and I had no reason to think that she wasn't — I had until another storm hit to somehow drag Victor away from his lake house and put him in prison. Even then, I wasn't sure how I was going to drag him to court and keep him from busting out, given everything that he could do… but one damn thing at a time, I figured.

Forthill tied off the stitches and wiped them down with disinfectant. Once that was over with, I relaxed minutely. Everything still hurt, but at least I wasn't being stabbed anymore. He sighed. "I did what I could," he told me. "But you're going to need a proper doctor, Karrin."

"No time for that," I said. "Maybe later. In the meantime, you want to tell me how you got so calm about acid-spitting monsters?"

"Demons," Forthill corrected me. "That was a demon. And it happened in the way you might expect. Some of us in the church still perform exorcisms when necessary. I was much more active in my youth… but I advised your father directly more than once when you were growing up."

"My father?" That got my attention. "What's my father got to do with all of this?"

Forthill shook his head. "Your father got very involved in the supernatural after your mother disappeared," he said. "He seemed to believe it was relevant to her case. He never did find out what happened to her… but he still managed to save a good number of other people in his time. I tried to help him with that as often as I could." He frowned at me. "If I had realized you were involved with similar things now, I would have talked to you about it much sooner. Perhaps… perhaps it wasn't just chance that you found your way back to Saint Mary when you did."

"Well, if you've got any good advice for me now, I'm all ears," I told him. I carefully breezed past the suggestion of divine intervention. I still wasn't super comfortable with that idea.

Forthill grimaced. "I know a little bit about sorcerers," he said. "But they're not my speciality. Demons and some other spirits fear faith, but its effects upon sorcerers and their magic seems to be… intermittent. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it doesn't."

He contemplated my condition, clearly uncomfortable with the idea that I was talking about jumping into yet another confrontation. "I know some more militant people in the area I might be able to call. I can't guarantee they'll be in town, but I will certainly try my best. I can take Monica and the children to the church and try to shield her from his magic. It may not be effective, but it's worth an attempt."

I pushed slowly to my feet. I was a weak, bloody mess, but at least I could still put one foot in front of the other. "All right," I said. "Let's do all of that. I need to stop at home to grab some stuff and make some calls of my own. We both know I'm not gonna be able to take on Victor alone in this state."

Monica rose from the couch. "I'll get you my cell phone," she said. "You can take it with you. If you don't come back, I doubt I'm going to need it."

0-0-0-0

I called Carmichael on Monica's phone, as Forthill drove us back in the van. I had to do it twice before he picked up. I figured he was still a little overwhelmed, and not in the mood for chatting with an unknown number.

"Yeah, this is Detective Ron Carmichael," he muttered reluctantly.

"Ron," I said. "It's me. My phone's shot, so I borrowed this one for now. Some really crazy shit has happened in the last few days, and I'm working against a clock. I'm headed to my place now. I need you to meet me there."

"I'll be there," said Carmichael. I was expecting him to ask more questions, but the instant promise gave me back a bit of heart.

"Thanks," I said. And I meant it.

"See you soon, Murph."

I tucked the phone back into my jacket pocket, and grimaced down at myself. I needed a change of clothing, among other things. I currently looked like a victim from a horror movie.

Carmichael was waiting outside of the house by the time we got there. He was asleep in the driver's seat of his car, and I managed a moment of sympathy for him. Normally, after those initial forty-eight hours, we'd be back on a relatively sane schedule again — but with two connected bodies in such a short time, the department was probably riding him hard to get things done.

"Get Monica to the church and do what you can," I told Forthill. "I'll call when we… well, if I can call after this."

The Father nodded seriously. "I'll let you know if I can get in contact with anyone," he said. "Oh, and don't forget…" He reached into the cup holder to pass me a plastic sports bottle. I'd rummaged it up from Monica's kitchen and filled it up with pool water before we left. Just in case.

I managed a tired grin. "Thanks," I said. "I'll try to remember not to drink it."

The Father stepped out of the van briefly to hug me. I took some comfort in the moment. I knew a lot of very bad things were about to happen, and it was nice just to feel cared for before it all hit.

"Do you mind if I pray for you?" Forthill asked uncertainly.

I shrugged. "If I'm willing to take your holy pool water, I ought to be okay with you praying for me too," I said. "Go for it. Maybe it'll do something."

I pulled myself away, before I could get too comfortable. As I'd told Carmichael — the clock was ticking.

The van pulled away as I leaned down to tap on the glass next to Carmicahel's face. He blinked blearily awake — then sat up in his seat. I saw his eyes sweep my bloody clothing.

"Jesus, Murph," he said, as he pushed open the door and staggered out. "What chewed you up?"

"You should see the other guy," I told him. I headed up the sidewalk toward the house, unlocking the door for the two of us. "You want to get stuff out on the table, now's the time. I'll start. I'm an asshole. I'm not okay, and I took shit out on you. I'm sorry for that. Once all this is over with, I'm gonna work on getting my head straightened out. It might take a while."

Carmichael sighed heavily. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I said you weren't wrong, Murph," he told me. He got a grim air to him as we headed inside. He paused, though, as he heard the Discovery Channel in the living room. "You got company?" he asked, confused.

I glanced toward the living room. "I left the television on," I told him. "What was I right about, Ron?"

He winced, and leaned back against the wall. "Murph, I… shit. Look… I was the one passing Marcone information."

I stared at him. "What?" I said. "That doesn't make any sense."

Carmichael grimaced. "I already told you why, Murph," he said. "It's not the money, okay? This case is weird, and the killer is clearly some kind of psychopath—"

"No," I said. "I get why you did it. I'm saying it just doesn't make any sense. Why would Marcone try to get information out of me if he already had you?"

Carmichael scratched at his chin. "It's not the first time I've done it," he admitted. "But it's the first time a case like this came up while you were working with me. I gave him the heads-up that Tommy Tomm was dead, but I told him I wasn't gonna keep him in the loop this time unless you were okay with it. That's why he tried to get you on-board." He gave me a tired, guilty look. "And I didn't call him again. I promised you that, and I didn't do it, okay?"

My stomach sank. I wasn't sure what to say to that. It was a rough betrayal to process, and I suddenly wasn't sure I wanted to bring Carmichael in on the stuff I'd learned anymore.

"It's not often a case scares the shit out of me enough to pass the buck," Carmichael told me. "But up till now, it was always an easy call to make when it came up." He shook his head. "I'm not gonna do that anymore. It's got consequences. It was easier for me to ignore that when they weren't right in front of me." He eyed me bleakly. "You want to do things the right way, I'll do it with you. If you still want to be partners, anyway."

I closed my eyes. Ugh. Now was not the time to be making life-altering decisions like this. I didn't have the physical strength or the mental bandwidth to make the right call. Frankly, I didn't think Carmichael had the energy for this either, but neither of us really had a choice in the matter. Time was ticking by, and I needed the fucking backup.

"...fine," I said quietly. "I don't like any of this, but at least you kept your word. That's something." I let out a hard breath. "Look, Ron… I solved the case. Well — solved is a strong word. I stumbled on some answers. It goes that way sometimes."

Carmichael stared at me. "You want to fill me in?" he asked.

"Not really," I said bluntly. "But I'm gonna do it anyway." I started for my bedroom, to go search out some fresh clothing. The path took me through the living room, which definitely didn't help things. The Discovery Channel was still playing, but the skull on the couch had carefully dimmed its eyelights. It made for a weird kind of tableau, and boy did I not have time to explain. I ignored it, and headed to the bedroom to grab my clothing, thinking through what I was going to say. By the time I had my new long-sleeved shirt and jeans, I still didn't know how I was supposed to approach the subject.

I came out to find Carmichael sitting on the couch next to the skull, watching Shark Week with a dim kind of interest.

"I'm tired as hell, so I'm just gonna put it to you straight," I told him. "You can't solve this case or stop these deaths without what I know. But as soon as I tell you the truth, you're gonna think I'm crazy and you're gonna be in the line of fire. Forever, Ron. You're gonna know things you can't un-know. People will want you dead if they find out."

I rubbed at my arm over my shirt. The stitches had started to itch like crazy, on top of the pain. "Someone else is about to die if I don't stop it. So we don't get to step around this. You say yes, and we both go get this guy now, tonight. You say no, you gotta ask for a partner transfer. I'm not gonna be able to work with a partner who's still in the dark."

Carmichael knitted his brow. "...I want to say no," he admitted. "A few days ago, Murph, I gotta be honest… I would've said no. I like my life the way it is." He rubbed at his face. "But I know if I do, I'm leaving you to deal alone. You eat your gun a few years from now, and I'm gonna look back on this moment and know I should've done something."

I swallowed hard. "You sure?" I asked. "You better be really sure, Ron."

"I'm sure," he said. "Lay it on me. We've got shit to do, you said."

I looked toward the skull on the couch, but I decided not to bring up Bob just yet. I'd promised I wouldn't tell anyone about him, after all.

I rubbed at my forehead.

"Okay, here's the short version. Linda and Jennifer were blackmailing a… a guy who can do magic." I wasn't going to say the word wizard to Carmichael with a straight face, though I knew it would hardly make a difference either way. "He's got a hidey hole at a lake house in Michigan. He's using the storms to fuel his magic, and he's really pissed off at his wife right now, so the next time one rolls in, she's gonna be body number three. I told her I wouldn't let that happen, but I've got no idea how I'm gonna pull that off just yet."

Carmichael tried. I saw him really, really try. He wanted to believe me, because it would make this a solvable situation. But slowly, inevitably, I saw him come to the conclusion I'd expected all along: he thought I'd cracked under pressure.

"...Murph," he started. But he didn't continue. He didn't know what to say. The morning's argument had stuck with him. If he didn't handle my crazy just the right way, he was thinking, maybe we'd end up having a repeat.

"Ron," I said. "Those are not words I ever wanted to say to you. Believe me, the murder weapon was black magic still sounds just as dumb to me. But I'm out of skepticism at this point. A giant scorpion put me in the hospital two days ago, and a priest just exorcised an honest-to-god demon in front of my face. You can either come with me and see for yourself, or you can walk out the door and pretend you never heard anything. Either way, I'm headed out soon."

The skull on the couch groaned. "Ugh. Why do you do this to me, kid?" Bob complained. "You want to take on a wizard in his own sanctum, looking like that? Do you know how crazy you sound right now?"

Carmichael went pale. I let out a small sigh of relief. Bob's inability to keep his mouth shut was a small godsend at the moment.

"I'm up for any advice that might make it slightly less suicidal," I told the skull, switching my attention. I paused. "You think we can chat in the car? Michigan's not that close. I want to make sure we get there before another storm hits, at least."

Bob was silent for a second. I felt his hesitation. He'd just revealed himself in front of a mortal — that was probably bad enough. Now I was asking him to come with me to take on a psychopathic wizard.

"...you can't let him get his hands on my anchor, kid," Bob said finally. "However bad you think this guy is now, he'd be bananas with my help. You get that?"

My heart sank. "Yeah. No. You're right. I'm sorry for asking, Bob."

The skull's eye lights flickered uncomfortably. "I'm not saying no," he said. "I should say no." He paused. "Leave the skull with the nerd. If you give me permission, I can ride along with you instead."

I blinked. "What would that entail, exactly?"

"Full-on possession," Bob replied. "As your helpful advisor, I gotta say, I wouldn't recommend you take me up on it. I'm a spirit of intellect. I could do a lot of bad things to your head while I'm in there."

"Taking on a wizard without knowing what I'm doing could do a lot of bad things to me too," I pointed out. I ran my fingers back through my hair with a sigh. "All right. You've got permission to ride along with me until… until tomorrow night. How's that?"

A flood of little orange lights flowed out of the skull and into the room. Carmichael's mouth dropped open. I saw him pinch himself on the arm.

The lights shifted toward me in a swirling cloud. I had only the briefest moment to wonder whether I'd made a bad decision after all before they settled in around me, tickling at my skin with a strange, electric tingle. As I breathed in, I thought I smelled a hint of ozone and… peppermint? I wasn't sure. Maybe my brain was making things up as I tried to make sense of things I wasn't supposed to experience.

The orange lights disappeared — but I felt them just beneath my skin, still moving and tickling like an electrical current. I became aware of a presence next to me, and I turned, blinking.

There was a man standing to my side. He was older than me, with deeply-carved laugh lines and little streaks of silver in his blond hair. He wore a long button-down and jeans that instantly reminded me of my father's style of dress. His eyes danced with orange light, obviously supernatural.

Uncle Bob looked… exactly the way I thought my real uncle might have looked, if I'd had one.

I reached out to touch his arm, staring. It felt solid beneath my hand.

"I'm not really standing here, kid," Bob told me. "It's just a mental illusion, to make conversation easier." His voice sounded perfectly normal now that it wasn't coming out of a skull. "Your buddy can't see me or hear me. Just letting you know, in case you wanted to look a little less crazy."

"Holy shit," I said softly.

"Holy shit," Carmichael echoed me. He had the skull in his hands now. He was searching it for speakers or wires, I was sure.

I snatched the skull from his hands. "Time to go," I said. "You can stay here in denial if you want, but I'm taking the car to Michigan either way."

Carmichael forced himself to his feet. I saw him shove down his misgivings, at least for the moment. "You really think we can take this guy on alone?" he asked. "I mean… us and your… skull?"

"First off," I said. "Don't talk about the skull. He doesn't exist, and you didn't see him. He's got some enemies out there, but he's still family. Got it?" As Carmichael nodded dazedly at me, I shook my head. "Secondly… yeah, no. We haven't got a goddamn chance." I loathed the words that were about to come out of my mouth. "That's why I'm calling Johnny Marcone."

Carmichael raised both eyebrows in my direction.

I gave him a bleak look. "Just do me a favor and don't say I told you so."