Days Gone Bad (17 page)

I winced as the cacophony of sound faded and the familiar ley lines burst into brilliant blue life. I let my Sight fade and then stared at the small fairy beside me. “Cara, who the hell was that?”

She waved her hand in a dismissal of my question and instead turned to Foster. “Go with Damian, you know of the place he speaks.”

Foster’s wings drooped a little, but he nodded and took off to the back room.

“He’ll be ready to go soon,” Cara said. “You should be too.”

“Where are you going?” Sam said.

“They are going south.” Cara closed her eyes and sighed. “They are going to an old place of power.” She brushed her fingers through the ends of her hair. “How’s your Civil War history, Damian?”

I raised my eyebrows a bit, but didn’t answer.

“What would your master think?” She smiled at Zola and turned to Sam. “They travel south, to Pilot Knob.” Sam’s mouth formed a little O as Cara continued. Zola didn’t even blink. “There is a small church, once used as a hospital. Glenn says whatever was bound in the church is of great importance now.”

Zola sighed and rubbed her cheek. “Ah should have thought of it earlier. Philip hid the talisman at Pilot Knob by himself.”

“Why?” I said.

“We thought it best none of us knew where all the talismans were hidden.” She paused and cast a quick glance in my direction. “Philip was obsessed with zombies.”

“What did that have to do with the talisman?” I said.

There was a powerful necromancer in that town, gifted in the darker resurrection arts. Ah … Ah didn’t go with him.” Her body sagged. “Ah never wanted to see that godforsaken town again after the war.”

Sam placed her hand on Zola’s shoulder. “It’s an old battleground?”

My master nodded. “That wasn’t the worst. It was Ezekiel.” She turned to look out the windows. “That damned necromancer, he was a monster.” Zola shuffled around to the stool and sat down behind the counter in silence.

“The battle was in 1864,” Cara said. “And do you know what county it lies in?”

“Iron County,” I said.

Cara nodded. “I don’t need to tell you how many of our weapons were forged from the metals of Iron County. It is a wealth of iron, of poison, yes, but there have been entire mines bound to deposits of Magrasnetto. We pulled ore from the earth long before humans came. The ore we can handle. Deadly as iron is to us, the presence of Magrasnetto makes it as inert as a rock to our skin.” Her smile fell and she stared at me. “Damian, you cannot make this trip lightly. If Glenn thinks something there is important, it is likely powerful.” She shook her head and glanced at Zola. “There is something more you do not know about Magrasnetto. Over the millennia the Fae have learned to enchant the stone. It will hold charms or curses and, if the binding is done properly, the stone’s very nature will keep the enchantment as strong as the day it was cast.”

Zola’s eyes widened as she looked up and whispered the word, “Wards …”

“Why is that such a secret?” I said.

“Are you serious?” Sam said as she glared at me. “Use your head. Think of the havoc someone could wreak with that.”

“At least your sister understands,” Cara said with a laugh.

Zola rapped my shoulder with her cane. “A ward with such power could be made into a landmine or an absorption enchantment that would never expire, it could fuel a soulstone, stealing pieces of any aura that happened by.” She lowered her cane. “If the Unseelie court got their hands on such a power …” She shook her head.

“Oh,” I said with unbridled wit. “I can see that being a problem. So what are we going to be looking for?”

Cara and Zola both shrugged.

“Great.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The hinges on the front door creaked a moment before the bells sounded as Frank walked in with a plastic cat carrier. He smiled and set the cage on one of the unbroken displays.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“My new friend. Sam thought you might like to meet him.” Frank squeezed the spring-loaded latch to open the door and a ferret shot out of the cage and slid a few inches across the glass. The gray tube of fur eyed Foster and then me before it bounded up Frank’s arm in a few awkward leaps and curled around his neck.

“He seems to like you,” Foster said.

Frank grinned and stroked the lengthy critter.

“Don’t let him near the vampires,” I said.

“Just keep him away from Vik for me,” Frank said.

“Snack food,” Foster said.

Frank’s eyes widened as we laughed.

“I thought ferrets were just teeth with fur, no?” I said.

Frank shook his head. “He likes everyone. Go ahead, pet him.”

I reached my hand out to pet it. The bastard struck like a viper, playfully locking its teeth onto the flesh between my thumb and index finger.
“Fuck!”
I screamed.

I jerked my hand back, which did nothing but yank the ferret off Frank’s shoulder while its teeth stayed embedded in my hand. Foster laughed like hell as I waved the ferret around in the air and Frank yelled, “Don’t hurt him!”

I gathered myself, set the ferret on the display case as it continued pulling at my hand with quick jerks, and said, “Get. It. Off.”

The ferret let go when Frank reached for it, slithering away from his fingers. I sucked in a breath between my teeth and stared at the puncture wounds on my hand. A gray blur hurtled toward me across the counter, hissing and flashing teeth. I raised my hand out of pure instinct as the ferret launched itself at me. Its teeth sunk into my hand right, next to the first bite. I yelled and went down on my knees, defeated by an evil tube of fur. The thing finally let go for good, chittered, and ran back into its carrier.

Frank snapped the door shut behind the ferret, looked like he was about to say something to me, then pursed his lips as he thought better of it.

Foster was barely breathing he was laughing so hard.

Frank inched toward the door, uttering profuse apologies as Zola came into the shop. Aideen dropped a tube of Neosporin onto the counter, rolled her eyes at Foster, and disappeared into the back again. Foster continued to hiccup laughter as I slathered my wounds.

“Smells like ferret in here,” Zola said as she looked around and sniffed. “Ah think Ah told you once, ferrets don’t like necromancers.”

I just glared at her.

***

“We’re going south again,” I said. “To Pilot Knob. You know, we were
right
there
when we went to Fort Davidson.” I looked over the puncture wounds on my hand and grumbled. “We could have snagged whatever it is we’re hunting for and this mess could be over with.”

“Ah imagine, boy, if you could have foretold our need of the artifact, you’d have a good job as a psychic. You’d likely not have those holes in your hand either.” Zola smiled.

Foster, only recently calmed from his fit of hysterics, burst into a hiccupping fury of laughter.

“Thanks for that.” I said as my lips quirked into a grin.

“Ah’m going to run out for coffee. Do you want anything?” Zola said as she smiled and winked at Foster.

I shook my head. “I need to get the shop ready for the glass company.”

“Ah’ll be back in a bit.”

I waved to Zola as she left. I started pulling all the valuables out of the cracked display case and split them up into the side cases.

“What are you moving all that for?” Foster said as I set some old Native American pipes and arrowheads beside a large conical piece of Magrasnetto. The rock made a deep scratch in the wood as I shifted it.

“The glass company is replacing Sam’s custom-made spider-webbed top on our display case.”

Foster nodded as I flipped one of the old obsidian arrowheads over in my hand. It was unique because of the Nordic-looking runes carved into it. Cara was sure the arrowhead was Paiute. They were a tribe from the Great Basin in northern California. The runes were carved about the same time the arrowhead was made. I smiled and tried to imagine how anyone out in the middle of nowhere would have any knowledge of runes. My money was on the Fae. I set the arrowhead down and picked up the Magrasnetto.

“Hey, Foster, you want to help me carve a wand out of this thing?” I hefted the stone a bit higher to emphasize the question.

Foster glanced at the rock, then met my gaze. “A wand, huh?”

“Yeah, why not? It’s a good way to store some juice if there aren’t dead things handy.”

Foster’s tiny eyebrows rose. “You always seem to have dead things handy, Damian.”

I opened my mouth, but couldn’t think of a good reply. I shrugged.

“Zola’s had you working ley line arts since you were a teenager. Plus, didn’t Mom already show you some non-dead tricks?”

“Yeah, your mom’s been showin’ me some tricks.” I waggled my eyebrows and Foster snorted a laugh. “Thing is, with this I can store some power in the Magrasnetto for emergency pummeling of nasties.”

“Nasties?” He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “You should have been a poet.”

I nodded slowly. “Sam always said that.” I held a serious face long enough for Foster’s expression to grow horrified. Then I lost it.

He rolled his eyes, tapped the display case, and said, “Why don’t you just lace that badass cane with the Magrasnetto so you don’t look like a forty-year old Harry Potter fanboy run amok?”

I stopped laughing and stared slack-jawed at the tiny fairy with the mean words. “There is nothing wrong with being a forty-year old Harry Potter fan!” I said as I pointed a finger at him. “Besides, I’ve got a good ten years until then.”

Foster’s face split into a huge, wicked grin. “Fine, but a badass demon cane would be cooler than a stick.”

My eyes shifted to said badass demon cane. At four feet, it’s really more of a staff. The more I thought about it, the wood already had focusing runes carved in a ring around either end with a flourishing pattern of curved lines. About a third of the way from either end, the channels carved by the lines came together in a circle. If the staff were to ever be employed by a demon, the circles would hold runes of power with ley energy connecting them all. Now, only scorch marks and gouges graced the surfaces. I could inlay Magrasnetto and carve my own runes into it. Oh yeah, it would be cool. My lips curled up in a mirror of Foster’s grin.

“No time now,” I said.

He nodded. “When we get back you should really think about it.”

“Hmm,” said a voice from behind us. I looked toward the back room to find Aideen hovering over my shoulder. “That’s not a bad idea, Damian, but it’s going to take a lot of work that’s well beyond your skill.”

“If you want it to work that is,” Cara said as she joined us.

I glanced at the staff, the pile of rock, and then the fairies. “You probably have a point there.”

“Let’s talk about it when you get back,” Aideen said.

“Sounds good,” I said as Zola made her entrance.

“Ready?” she said.

Foster said yes as I nodded an affirmative.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A few hours later, the small town of Pilot Knob passed our windows in flickers of light and shadow. Cars littered the streets at sparse intervals, parked in and around the pooled streetlight. None of them moved during our short drive across town to find the old church. I glanced up at the ancient white building as the last rays of the evening sun crept over its surface and I shivered as we parked.

“That’s a creepy old place,” I said.

Zola snorted. “Not nearly as creepy as the town we just drove through.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Were you paying attention?” Foster said. “We didn’t pass a single car on the streets. There was barely even a light on in any of the houses.”

“Every yard was overgrown,” Zola said. “Something’s wrong here. Let’s get inside and look around.”

The church and one-time hospital was small and white, with three wide steps leading to a red double door at the front. I could see the top of the stone foundation just below the thin white siding. The windows were all narrow and taller than the doors. Two windows graced the front of the building to either side of the entrance, with three more on the side closest to us. The roof came to a plain peak except for the belfry jutting up near the front edge, crowned with a modest cross.

The church had a presence unlike anything I’d ever felt. I focused my Sight, but found nothing out of place. A few weak ley lines dipped and weaved across the street and lent a dim luminescence to the shadows. I shivered.

“You feel it?” Zola said.

I nodded. “I don’t see anything. What is it?”

“Pain, horror, the certainty of one’s own death.” Zola stared at the doors and sighed. “It is like the fort, but worse. This place was a field hospital when Ah last laid eyes on it. Full of the dying.”

Foster flew to the doors and placed his hands on each. He backed away from the doors as fast as he’d touched them. “There is evil in this house.”

“Great,” I said.

Zola’s smile was weak. “The evil you sense may be what we’re looking for.”

“Oh, in that case I retract my sarcasm.” I threw my hands up in the air and said, “I meant to say
fucking
great.”

Foster let out a quiet laugh and Zola’s lips quirked up just a little further.

I took the short three steps to the front door and tried the handle. The right door swung open in silence. Dust and dying sunlight were all that greeted us.

“So, is this a little unusual for a Sunday evening?” I said.

Zola pushed past me, the whisper of her cloak the only sound. Her cane was extended and her gaze moved from side to side as we ventured deeper into the house of worship. The floor was a rough-cut natural wood, sealed and polished, but I’d be willing to bet it had acquired much of its character well before it was treated.

I cursed as a black blur in my peripheral vision moved and my heart leapt. My hand landed on the butt of the pepperbox as my head wrenched around to an old table and chairs.

“What was that?” I stared at the empty chairs set a few feet beyond the pews, flexing fingers around my gun.

“What?” Foster said.