Magic Rising (8 page)

“I want to hurt you Deirdre.” He kept watching the empty road. “Where the hell are you?”

He checked the road again and still nothing. She was off playing power-hungry bitch while he sat on surveillance. That was okay. He could wait. He had at least a week to wait before going back on duty.

The diary wasn’t enough to bring criminal charges. He searched the records for anything he could connect with an incident in the diary. All he had was hearsay, but maybe that would be enough. If he couldn’t get her arrested, it might be easier to run her out of town.

Chapter Five

Deirdre heard the click of the safety being released when his staccato walk ended. The old guy was prepared to take down any intruder and seemed intent on blowing a hole through her head. Instantly, she dropped to the floor, rolling toward the wall. She saw a quick flash from the gun as he fired. Wood splintered down, raining with the echo of the bullet exploding from the chamber. He’d chosen buckshot.

Debris landed in her hair, and she felt it pelt her body. The gun had been double barreled and it sounded like he unloaded one side, not the other. A smart man would reload one chamber while ready to fire the other. She also had no idea how much ammo he had with him. She pulled her nine millimeter from her side holster. She had to count on being faster.

Smooth and quick, she rose, aiming without pausing as she squeezed the trigger. The first shot hit the barrel, turning it in his hand as it fired for the second time, blowing a hole in the far wall. Her next bullet hit his hand. Blood splattered in fine drops as the shotgun spun onto the floor.

“Freeze.”

She kept her tone low, watching the man glance over at his weapon. He didn’t look surprised, only beaten and on the verge of sulking over his poor shot. Someone trained at Stone House would have kept fighting, pulled another gun or knife. This man’s shoulders slumped, and he appeared unwilling to do anything more.

“Okay. Go ahead and rob me. I don’t have much.”

Deirdre eased to the steps, the wood groaning beneath her. She never broke eye contact with the man, feeling her way down while keeping her gun aimed. He didn’t move, only hung his head. As she came closer, she saw deep wrinkles in his skin and rosebuds on his nose and cheeks. This was no warrior, so she surveyed the room, half expecting a trap.

The furniture in the house looked to be the same since the fire in the main building. The couch and chairs were stained and torn. In the corner was an assortment of bottles, mostly beer with a few larger liquor ones thrown in. A bag of cans sat next to them, beer labels appearing from beneath the thin white plastic.

“How long have you been an alcoholic?”

He looked at her a minute and scratched his ratty beard. “Guess my whole life. Does that mean you’re gonna rob me then kill me?” He shoved his hands into his pockets and closed his eyes, probably trying to figure if these would be his last moments.

“Well you’re a great conversationalist. Do you ever get past the robbing and killing questions or do you just shoot at people for fun?”

She reached the first floor, taking a dozen more steps toward the man. Age could change the looks of anyone but she was nearly certain this man was a stranger and not a demon from her past.

“I’ve been around a while and most people don’t try to sneak up on you unless they want to hurt ya.” He eased against the couch, not quite sitting, but leaning against it for support.

“What’s your name?”

He glanced up, startled by the comment. His eyes looked old, seeing more than a man had the right to, or so she guessed. From his appearance, the guy hadn’t had things easy. He was probably a homeless man who happened upon an empty house to stay, without knowing the place’s history.

“I’m Earl. I’m guessing you own this place ‘cause you shore don’t seem like no robber now.” He smiled, showing one empty space where a tooth should’ve been. “Why you here?”

That was a good question but she didn’t know how to answer him. A guy down on his luck didn’t need to know what sort of place he’d chosen for a residence. It was enough that he had a roof over his head and a bed to sleep in.

“Reliving my past.” She shrugged. “I used to stay on these grounds, but I don’t believe anyone one owns this place anymore. Have you seen anyone else around?”

“Nope. There was a cop or someone official that stopped by two or three times. I hid from him. He was more concerned with the big building anyway. Haven’t seen him in a few days. Once in a while a ranger will pass through. He never comes near the buildings, just watches from the main road. He looks spooked when he stops, like maybe he believes this place is haunted.” The old guy laughed heartily then coughed, sounding diseased under his breath. “Fine by me,” he gasped. “I don’t like visitors so good anyway.”

She smiled, loving his mountain accent, even if he spoke of a building he knew nothing about. If any place on earth had a right to be haunted, it was this patch of ground in the middle of nowhere. Satan himself might’ve lived there at one time, letting his evil soak into the soil.

“I could sort of figure that you didn’t like visitors.” She glanced up at the second floor where holes went straight through, reminding her of Swiss cheese.

“Sorry, ma’am. Glad I didn’t hit you.” He rubbed one hand through his oily hair. “Sometimes I react before I think.”

His speech was southern but laced with that Georgian gentleman’s cadence that she adored. She lowered her weapon, put at ease by his speech, although his grooming could use some serious work. She could smell him from where she stood, the scent of alcohol mixed with old sweat. It wasn’t his fault. Those buildings had well water and she doubted anyone had the electricity turned on since the fire.

“How’s your hand?”

He withdrew his injured hand from his pocket and held it up for her to see. “Just a scratch.” It had stopped bleeding. She tried to aim carefully but there was always a risk. A bullet could do a lot of damage to a moving target.

“How did you end up here?” Deirdre felt awkward standing, but from the look of the furniture, she didn’t really want to sit down either.

“Walked mostly. Teenagers got hard on the homeless men living near the interstate. One day I decided to give it all up and head for the hills. I hitched a ride and walked from the main road until I came here. Thought it was some kind of kids’ camp at first. After checking it out, I knew better.” He shook his head slowly and she wondered if he’d been in the main house, seen the basement. “Hey, miss, what was this place?”

“Something like camp, but one you could never go home from.” She glanced around the room trying to shake the eerie feeling, then noticed a recent grocery bag near the wall. “How do you get supplies?”

“I got a brother that knows where I’m at. It’s one hell of a walk to the store, but most times I can get a lift once I get out of the woods. There’s also this preacher from a nearby church that takes care of me. ’Bout three times a week, he drives out to bring me supper. I don’t get fat from it but I ain’t dead yet either.”

A chill ran up her spine, and the hairs on her arms stood on end. The room was cool but not the reason for her discomfort. The way Earl spoke about the preacher terrified her. She didn’t know the specific identity but the sensation meant evil. Even her dulled senses knew it.

“What preacher?”

“One from Walnut. Guy calls himself Reverend Brogens. Tells me to call him Niam.” He spoke with pride and his yellowed eyes twinkled at the statement. “Niam makes some great spaghetti.”

“Niam?” she whispered. She knew Niam Brogens and he was no preacher. A few times she thought he was the devil. No doubt Niam would meet him in hell when he was judged for all the evil he committed. “When do you expect to see your reverend again?”

“Probably tonight. Didn’t see him at all yesterday, so he’ll be by.” Earl sat down, grinning. “Guy is a blessing. I tell you what, I don’t think I could’ve survived here if it hadn’t been for him. Oh sure, I thought I’d live in the woods like Daniel Boone but damn, I’m just not cut out for it.”

“Thank you for your time. Sorry about spooking you. I was afraid that you were someone else. Won’t happen again.” Deirdre started toward the front door, wanting out of here before Niam arrived.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

“Sally,” she lied, despite her distaste for it. “Nice meeting you. Sorry again about startling you earlier.”

Earl nodded. “Sorry about shooting at you.” He grinned at her again. “Pretty thing like you can stop by anytime. You can even use the front door.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Deirdre walked out the door and got back in her car. She had to get to the main building and see what was there before Niam reappeared to work on his newest charity case.

Niam Brogens, it had been a long time since she heard that name. So not everyone from Stone House had died. It was surprising considering the circumstances. There wasn’t a reason to go down memory lane with Niam. He couldn’t change. Collar or not, he was still another bastard from her past and one she didn’t want to deal with.

Him helping the poor? That’s hard to believe.

The Niam she knew spent his time picking up wretched souls from local bars. The pretty ones he would keep for a few days. The others had a different purpose.

The old rumors Deirdre heard as a child gave Niam powers close to a god. All those powers he supposedly gained through the taking of souls. That was a prettier way of saying murdered during a painful ceremony.

Everything happened in the basement. A large circle with designs had been etched in the floor. Protective symbols were on the outer edges to keep any bystanders safe from the evil within. Niam usually led the ceremony.

Deirdre’s education had had a great deal of religion mingled throughout it. She’d learned of magic at an early age but only the art of death was taught at Stone House. It was considered the most powerful form of magic. Birth and creation were nothing compared to removing the soul from another. Murder was held in the highest regards. Life was simply a means to the power of death. A tortured soul brought more power than anything.

Deirdre had been raised to be an assassin. It was a precarious position. If she became an excellent assassin, she would be respected. A little better and they might insist she perform ceremonies to gain more dark strength. If she were too good, Niam would want to extract her soul for her power. However, not being good enough was a death sentence involving days of pain in order to strengthen the soul to make it worth taking.

Needless to say, the group didn’t worry about retirement plans.

She parked to the side of Stone House, hoping that if Niam arrived early, he wouldn’t notice her presence. There was more left of the building than she’d expected. The front section was a crumbling pile of rubble but the sides had held. She sat there, staring at the structure, at the stones.

Her entire life, she’d been taught to control her emotions but the last twenty-four hours had her stressed. Now, staring at the source of so much pain and death made her feel small. There had been a few moments of happiness there. Those shared with Scorpion, before she’d been killed. Everything that touched this house died, some days Deirdre wondered if her soul had perished along with everything else.

Deirdre stepped from the vehicle, and smelled the air. It held the scent of pine, heavily laced with some local flora. Dirt ground under foot where cement used to lay and she couldn’t help noticing that the fountain was nothing more than a broken circle with the smallest bit of black stagnant water sitting inside.

A smaller stone sat on the path. She kicked it away. It clattered somewhere to the side making her wish she’d not made any noise. She didn’t want to find any more people here or anything else.

Although she’d been taught to never believe in ghosts, she feared them. She’d never seen a ghost but her lessons in the spirit and soul made the possibility very real. Even now she could sense the darkness embedded in the structure. It was a simple jump to imagine souls torn from their owners, lingering, in pain, wanting freedom.

She walked to the front where stone columns used to reach up to the roof. The front had been flat flagstone, the sides, rocks from the river. Even in the heat of summer, the building stayed cool and in winter, everyone froze.

Deirdre walked around large piles of stone, going by the place where the door would’ve been. Inside, where the foyer used to be, she could see sky and the hulled out areas of the third and fourth floors. Some bits remained, hanging over the ground like strange balconies, or the jagged entrails of a beast.

Deirdre walked through to where the assembly room would have been. To the side were stairs, deteriorating to the point of collapsing. There was no way they could support her weight. She kept to the first floor, at least for now.

The layout used to be deceptively beautiful. She closed her eyes and remembered it. The front was meant to entertain. Back in its day, no expense had been spared on Stone House. The floors were marble, waxed to a high shine with extravagant rugs leading to a set of double doors where the foyer flowed into the sitting room. There were wide windows in the sitting room, looking out over the front of the building.

Visitors would never know what happened in the rest of the house. No one but the residents had an understanding of the evil that reigned in those stone walls. Strangers would see the grand foyer, then sit on the leather couches and look out over the grounds. Bushes and trees were pruned strategically around the windows. No matter how a visitor strained, they’d never get a glimpse at the back of the property or of any of the other rooms in the building.