Bloodstone (18 page)

I took the steps slowly in a vain attempt to postpone the inevitable. The air was stagnant this afternoon. Not chilly anymore, no scent of blossoms or herbs, just damp Earth.

I took a deep breath, twisted the handle, but the door was locked.

Just what I needed.

I cranked the old fashioned bell and pressed the doorbell that chimed in the private quarters just to be safe.

We stood there a few seconds, waiting for someone to answer and I suddenly felt bad Cinnamon had to come home to this situation. “I hope you took lots of pictures. I want to hear all about your trip when...you know,” I said.

She just rolled her eyes.

Then I realized the locket was still in my hand. I clipped the tiger’s eye back on Thor’s collar.

A moment later, Fiona answered the door and I whispered a small thank-you to the gods that it wasn’t Lolly.

She wore a smart black suit and a stern look on her face. Thor hopped and wiggled all around her, kissing her hand.

“That’s a good boy,” she said, scratching his ear. She handed him a giant bone. “You’ve done well. Go lie down for a while.”

That reminded me. Didn’t I hear Chance mention something about a cat as I left his house?

“Fiona, have you seen Moonlight? Not to mention all my stuff?”

Her face was stone as she said, “Moonlight had another calling.”

That was all she said and it made me shiver. I didn’t ask what she meant by “another calling”.

Cinnamon and I exchanged an uneasy glance and my stomach didn’t just have butterflies. There were sparrows flying around inside, dive-bombing a worm farm.

Fiona spun on one foot and walked straight ahead. We followed.

Nervous did not even cover how my body felt on that long walk down the corridor. I sensed Cin felt it too. Like tiny ants crawling all over my skin. Something was happening. Something—not good.

The house was quiet. I saw no guests anywhere and I wondered if they had checked out with all the commotion. Or had been forced to find other accommodations.

Just as we approached the kitchen, I smelled the faint scent of an herb I could not identify. Hemlock? Hell, I hoped not. Hemlock is very powerful, but extremely dangerous.

Lolly was at the apothecary table, dipping a gloved hand into a steaming bowl of liquid. On the table before her, laid out in shiny variations of length, cut and adornment, were a collection of ritual blades. She was dipping one hand into the potion and holding a sword with the other as she swiped the concoction across it in swift strokes.

“What is she doing?” Cinnamon whispered.

Lolly didn’t look up, just kept working. “Empowering the blades for ritual. My guess is hemlock, that’s the strongest herb to charge a tool.”

Fiona opened the door that led upstairs to their private quarters. She turned, swept her arm out and said, “After you.”

I shoved Cinnamon forward and said, “You first.”

She whirled around, pushed me back and said, “Hell no. You’re the freaking Seeker. Besides, I didn’t do anything to piss them off.”

“Fine.” What’s the worst that could happen? “It’s not like they’re going to kill us.” I chuckled.

Behind me, Lolly sharpened two blades together. I heard Cinnamon suck in some air.

The stairs were dark and Fiona hadn’t bothered to turn on the light as we walked up them. I was growing irritated with all this cloak and dagger stuff. Ivy was missing. I didn’t know who had her and nothing else really mattered until I got her back.

I picked up the pace and turned right at the top of the stairs.

“Wrong way, dear,” Fiona said.

I faced her. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing but a wall there.”

Cinnamon stood silent.

Fiona walked over to the wall and waved her hand across the eight-foot gilded oil painting of Danu, mother of Celtic Gods, sitting in a golden chair with lion’s head feet, a gleaming chalice in her hand. There was a ruby on the chalice and Fiona pressed it. When she did, I swear Danu looked at me with disapproval.

To my complete astonishment, the painting shook loudly, then swung open to reveal a secret passageway.

My mouth must have been hanging on the floor. I had grown up in this house, never had I seen this hidden room. I stepped inside, not really thinking it through first, because the sheer curiosity of the whole thing propelled me forward.

When I got to the end of the dark narrow hall, I hit a brick wall.

“Uh, Fiona. I don’t see which way I’m supposed to go here.”

“Forward, of course,” she said.

I felt around. “Nope. There’s no opening. No doorway.”

Cinnamon muttered something about a fun house and how she always got roped into my drama. I ignored her.

Fiona said. “Close your eyes, Stacy. Close your eyes and open your mind. Just because you cannot see a thing doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

That was the dumbest thing I had ever heard. “Actually, that’s exactly what that means.”

“Really?” Her voice was laced with sarcasm. “Tell me then, can you see the air that surrounds you?”

“No, of course not, but—”

“But you know it exists, isn’t that true?”

It wasn’t exactly the same thing, but arguing would be wasted effort. “Point made, Fiona.”

“Now then, close your eyes and imagine a doorway.”

I heard her say something about all those years at college and for what...then I took a deep breath and did as she instructed.

When I opened my eyes, there was a small doorway, framed in ornate gilded gold. Just like the frame around the painting, actually.

We had to duck down to crawl through and Cin said, “You couldn’t have imagined it bigger?”

I stopped short when we made it to the other side and her head rammed into my ass.

“Dude, not cool,” Cin said.

Panic rose within me as I rose to my feet.

No! I couldn’t possibly be seeing this.

“Birdie! What have you done?” I asked.

FIFTY-ONE

Birdie was wearing a black ritual cape, her makeup more colorful than usual. Hanging from her neck was the largest silver pentagram I had ever seen. Each point was adorned with pyrite and different variations of obsidian. Both are used to defeat dark magic and can shield—even reverse—the energy of a psychic attack.

Her appearance was not what had me on tilt, however.

In the center of the room was a massive round table, intricately carved with Celtic symbols and battle scenes, with beautiful ships and towering cliffs, highlighted with gold filigree. There were thirteen chairs—all red velvet, all as beautifully crafted as the table.

It looked like King Arthur’s round table. And for all I knew, it could have been. But before I could ask if she was indeed, the keeper of the Holy Grail, I had a more pressing subject to address.

Mainly, the two men slumped in chairs opposite each other.

Chance and Leo. Each with a tiny Voodoo doll in front of him.

I would have thrown up, but I hadn’t eaten all day.

A quick scan of the room told me Sayer wasn’t here at least. Little comfort, but I guess two bodies were better than three.

“Take off your shirt, Anastasia.”

“Pardon me?”

She smiled at me with her lips, but her eyes were fierce. “It is time to remove your stitches.”

She produced a blade with a sharp hook at the end and Cinnamon squeaked from somewhere behind me. I backed way up. Into Fiona. Who pushed me forward. Then Lolly came in looking like Indiana Jones meets Edward Scissorhands. A long black duster jacket hardly hid the knives secured to her waist and the hat could have come directly from Harrison Ford’s costume department.

I knocked Cinnamon into a chair as I scrambled to get away from them.

“Sit down, child. What is wrong with you?” Fiona asked.

This was it. I had lied to Birdie about everything and she was going to have Lolly filet me right here in this private torture chamber and no one would ever know.

I closed my eyes and told Cin I loved her.

No response.

I opened one eye and saw my cousin face down on the table.

“Cin!” Oh geez, they got to her already, but how? “She didn’t do anything! You can’t kill her too!”

Birdie rolled her eyes and Fiona and she exchanged a glance. “Oh for the love of Rhiannon. We didn’t kill Cinnamon. Why are you being so dramatic?”

I scuffled over and poked Cinnamon.

She stirred. “What? Sorry, did I doze off?” Her words slurred. “Must be the jetlag. And that last Xanax I popped at the bar. Making me be nice to Monique...oh, almost forgot, here Birdie.” She pulled a postcard from her pocket and handed it to our grandmother. Then her head smacked the table and she started snoring.

I heaved a huge sigh of relief.

“Can we please remove your stitches now, because we have lots to talk about young lady.” Birdie did not allow me to answer her. She just pulled out a chair, told me to sit and yanked the sleeve up my arm.

She frowned when she examined the spot where the bullet had grazed my shoulder. “They’re gone. Did you remove them yourself?”

The spell in my office. Somehow it had leant a healing energy to my body. I didn’t want to lie (again) so I said. “In a way.” I stood. “But look, first thing is first. What is going on here?”

Lolly busied herself laying a velvet cloth across the table, placing the knives on top of it, while Birdie explained that Chance had arrived first. Loyal as he was to me, he was no match for the three of them or their skills. Eventually, despite insisting that he only wanted to wait for me so he could pick up his truck (glad I didn’t have to face that at the moment), he spilled his guts about Ivy, the note from my mother and gave Birdie the message we had decoded.

I perked up at that. “You have it? Oh thank Brighid. Birdie, I wanted to tell you, I did, but I wasn’t sure what to believe or even if Ivy was related to us. I swear I was going to come to you, but then the thing with Sayer happened and—”

She interrupted. “Which leads me to your friend, Leo’s arrival.”

I looked at Leo. His mouth hung open, head drooped back and I felt a pang of guilt. If it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t be in this situation. Whatever it was.

“He told me about Mr. Sayer not being present in the morgue. Said there was video of him leaving.” She leaned forward. “Do you have any idea what that means?”

“It means you didn’t stab him?”

She frowned at that. “No, but perhaps I should have. I’m not sure it was an accident that he was in the Honeycut’s suite. Or later, in the kitchen for that matter.”

I recalled Mrs. Honeycut’s claim that Birdie had been outside last night, holding a dagger.

The knives on the table gleamed and I wondered if I had the guts to pull a Juliet because I was pretty sure I did not want to hear any more, nor did I want to go to prison for being an accessory after the fact.

Chance and Leo were still.

Birdie continued. “There is a powerful substance called Tetrodotoxin, derived from the puffer fish.”

Lolly blew air into her cheeks, held her breath and blinked at me. Then she pulled a lipstick from her pocket and smeared it all around her mouth, smacking her gums together. She must have forgot to put her teeth in. She started arranging the knives like stick people.

“In Japan, it is considered a delicacy, if prepared properly,” Fiona said.

“And if it isn’t?”

“It can be deadly,” Birdie said.

“So what does this have to do with Sayer?”

Birdie walked around the table, touching Chance, then Leo on the shoulder. Neither moved and I felt a lump in my throat.

“There is a way to use the substance that will allow for the victim to show all the signs of being deceased—breathing so shallow it isn’t detected, paralysis of the limbs, pulse rate slowed to a trickle. But the victim can survive and revive if given a small amount.”

“And you think this is what happened? Why would anyone want to do that? What purpose would it serve?” I asked.

Fiona said, “In Haiti it has been used to control people, to enslave them, or coerce them to do another’s bidding. It’s called zombie powder.”

Oh, you have got to be kidding me. I walked around to Lolly, filtered through her duster jacket and pulled out a bottle of vodka. It stung going down my throat, but since my ears were burning at what I had just heard, I figured it was a wash.

“Zombie powder,” I said, capping the bottle. I handed it to Lolly who also took a hit. “You really expect me to swallow that?”

“Look it up on the Giggle if you like, dear. It’s very common in Voodoo practices as well. Serves as a punishment for a crime,” Fiona said.

“First of all, Fiona, it’s Google, not Giggle. Second, why would anyone use it on a guest at your inn?”

“To kill in a way that would never be detected by the authorities. Not many in this country would check for the poison unless the deceased had taken a trip to the island.”