Malediction: An Old World Story (6 page)

“I think Dashiell arranged it so he could keep an eye on her, but that’s the least of our problems. Lex is extremely dangerous, and if I tell my bosses what she is and that she’s poking around, I think they might kill her. Oh, and Lizzy escaped again. I need to go make sure she doesn’t hurt anyone, so I gotta ditch Lex, but she says she’ll
follow
me—”

“Whoa, whoa. Slow down.” He rubbed his face, suddenly remembering why he was better off far away from the Old World. “Why is she dangerous? Does she have some kind of evidence?”

“Noooooo,” she drawled. “But as it turns out, she’s a boundary witch.” She paused with great significance, like that was supposed to mean something to him.

“What’s a boundary witch, Scarlett?”
 

Pause. “Shit, sorry. I forgot you didn’t know. Olivia told me about them ages ago. You know how some witches specialize? Her specialty is death magic. And Jesse, she is powerful as shit. Way more than she was last winter.”

He tried to process all that. Death magic was exactly what it sounded like—spells that involved someone being killed or brought back to life. Often both. The only good thing about death magic was that it was extremely difficult for regular trades witches to perform. Scarlett had told him stories about witches who’d been killed while messing around with death magic. If she had ever told him that witches could specialize in it, Jesse had forgotten. Or, more likely, his mind had blocked it out to save him the mortal terror.

He tried to focus on the problem at hand and the cop part of his brain kicked in. “Do you have some indication that she’s planning to practice death magic here in LA?”

She pushed out a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m flustered, and worried about Lizzy, and I’m not explaining this well at all. If Olivia was right—and granted, it’s Olivia the psycho hose-beast we’re talking about—boundary witches are dangerous, but not just because of the obvious. They can press vampires, Jesse. Having them around is like playing with uranium. If Kirsten or Dashiell find out she’s in town, they’re gonna flip. And Will’s gonna be just as upset if he finds out she’s been nosing around about Henry Remus. I could see any one of them wanting to make her
go away
.”

Her voice was matter-of-fact, but he knew even Scarlett wouldn’t agree to killing an innocent woman, regardless of whether she had the potential to cause havoc. Scarlett might live in a grayer world than Jesse did, but she had her limits too, and that was why he kept falling in love with her. But it also meant that she would dig her heels in and possibly put
herself
in danger.

The solution seemed obvious to Jesse, but then again, he didn’t actually answer to these people. “So don’t tell them, Scar. Tell Lex what she wants to know and get her the hell out of town.”

Given how frantic she’d just sounded, the pause on the line seemed to last a long, long time. “I can’t do that,” she finally said, sounding shocked that he’d even suggest it.

“Why not? I thought you were a partner now. Make an executive decision.”

“You
know
why I can’t,” she protested.

“Because of Lizzy? She’ll back up your story.”

“You don’t understand, she doesn’t—argh! I don’t have time for this!” Her voice got quieter. “Look, I have to get to Lizzy before she hurts someone. Will you come?”

Her tone was pleading, and Jesse had to remind himself that this was how he’d gotten in over his head in the first place—trying to fix things for her, trying to control her, save her. On the other hand, she was asking for his help this time.

But why him?

As if she could read his mind, Scarlett added, “If I’m gonna do this, I can’t tell anyone else. Not even Eli; he’d have to keep it from Will.
Please
, Jesse. I need your help.”

The magic words. Jesse couldn’t resist them—although, he thought, with a glance at the meeting room door over his shoulder, it wasn’t like he even wanted to. Helping Scarlett could actually make a difference, and it would save him from the absurdity that was his day. “Tell me where.”

She told him, and he grimaced. Of course. They had to go back to where this whole mess had begun:
 

Henry Remus’s personal torture chamber.

Millard Fillmore Elementary School was in La Crescenta, bumping right into the back of Deukmejian Wilderness Park and the San Gabriel Mountains. It was an average LA public school: a number of overcrowded, loosely grouped buildings that generally looked stuffed to the gills with the trappings of education. Extra chairs and desks were propped against the walls near the doors, and there were two portable trailers parked on school grounds to handle the classroom overflow.

Despite the desperate need for more space, however, there was an old, half-rotted garden shed at the very back of the property that was almost never used. During the Remus investigation, Jesse had learned that the school’s janitorial team thought the small building was owned by the park, while the park staff thought, rightly, that it belonged to the school.

At any rate, although the shed was right in the heart of the city, both the park staff and the school emptied out by 5:30 p.m., and there were no houses nearby, certainly none close enough for anyone to hear screaming. This was where Henry Remus had brought his victims to be slaughtered. He’d killed four women and a number of animals there, drenching the walls and dirt floors with their blood. The press, with its addiction to obvious puns, had naturally dubbed this building the Blood Shed.

It still stood there, a monument to a very twisted mind. It had been months since Remus’s death, but the school couldn’t decide what to do with the shed. The immediate suggestion, of course, was to tear it down and more or less salt the earth where it had stood, but there were objections from the DA’s office and the press. The wooden shed was a huge piece of evidence and there were still several wrongful death lawsuits pending. In addition, there was so much blood inside that even with the help of local FBI labs, they were still trying to process samples for DNA. What if they found more victims?

Eventually the school board had just thrown a few padlocks on it and tried to forget about the whole thing. For a while they had to pay security guards to keep the press away, but ten months after Remus’s killing spree even the hungriest LA journalists had finally given up or lost interest.

In the days after Remus’s death, Jesse had spent a lot of time in that horrible little room, watching LAPD criminologists collect used hypodermic needles and tatters of clothing. He still had nightmares about the Blood Shed, and would have been happy to personally toss a lit match into the ghastly place.

Jesse was a lot closer to the shed than Lex’s hotel was, but he had to make his excuses and go on a quick run to his old precinct. By the time he pulled into the deserted school parking lot Scarlett was already there, leaning against her enormous van, the White Whale. Lex was standing a few feet away, her body language more deferential than Jesse had seen it, like something had taken precedence over her own quest. There was another woman with them: about thirty-five, cropped blonde hair, tan, and a frown that looked permanently etched onto her face. She was standing close enough to Scarlett to be human, but she had the lean, excessively healthy look of a werewolf. Her arms were crossed defensively across her chest, and Jesse suspected this was the person who’d been responsible for Lizzy Thompkins that afternoon. Behind the three of them, he could just see the shed door hanging open a few inches, with darkness seeping out from inside. He parked one space away from the van and got out.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said to the three of them. “Have you been waiting long?”

“We just got here,” Scarlett assured him.

“What’s going on?” There was a sense of expectation in the air, like they’d been waiting for him before they could act.

“She’s holed up in there, in human form,” Scarlett explained. “We’re not sure how to get her out.”

“Wasn’t the shed locked?” Jesse asked. The werewolf he didn’t know gave him a withering look, which made him realize the stupidity of his question. Of course it had been locked, but human padlocks were no challenge for werewolf strength. “Sorry, I withdraw the question. And we haven’t met.”

“Sorry, this is Astrid,” Scarlett said. “She was supposed to be responsible for Lizzy today.”

Astrid stepped forward to shake hands, but her face was stormy. “I just went for a fifteen-minute run,” she snapped, her eyes still on Scarlett. “She was taking a nap, and—”

Scarlett cut her off. “Yeah, but the full moon’s in two days. She’s agitated.”

“You think I don’t know that? It’s October, the fucking Blood Moon, and I’m agitated too, by the way, which is why I needed to take the edge off! Jesus, you think that just because you’re sleeping with a werewolf you know the first thing—”

“Enough!” Jesse held up his hands to stop her tirade. Lex was watching the exchange with an eyebrow cocked, as if she were mentally storing all the information for later. “It’s not important now. What do we do?”

Astrid turned to face Scarlett, demonstrating in spite of her attitude that she considered the null the leader in this situation. “I told you, I can just go in there and drag her out by force.”

“And I told
you
,” Scarlett countered, “it’s too risky. Aside from the fact that the shed is both rickety and police evidence, you’d probably have to hurt her, and she’s been hurt enough.” The compassion in Scarlett’s voice surprised Jesse a little, although it probably shouldn’t have. They had both been there when Remus was killed. He’d seen the way Lizzy had limped toward Scarlett—terrified, bleeding, and cringing.

For a second the werewolf seemed as if she would snap back a retort, but instead her tightly bunched shoulders slumped and she nodded her agreement. She mumbled something about a walk and stalked away, moving toward the edge of the parking lot. As she left, Jesse caught sight of her expression. She looked … haunted.

Confused, Jesse glanced at Lex, but her face was soldier-blank. He returned his focus to Scarlett, because somewhere in his heart he still considered her his partner. “I don’t get it,” he said quietly. “Lizzy seemed okay when we left her with Will. What’s going on?”

“She’s been losing it, bit by bit,” Scarlett said, sounding tired. “Will thinks it’s because the alpha magic hasn’t adjusted. She still sees Remus as her alpha, and her alpha is dead. At the same time, Remus attacked and violated her, and the human part of her can’t forget that. Will is kind to her, of course, but the trauma ….” She spread her hands helplessly. “Sometimes she makes progress and seems almost normal, for a werewolf, but then she backslides. And she keeps coming back here, like it’s a homing beacon.”

“What do you usually do?”

“Normally I just stand here and make sure she doesn’t hurt anyone until Will can get here and talk her out,” she replied. “But he’s up in Napa today talking to wine distributors.”

“Can’t you just go in and get her?” Scarlett was a null. If she got close enough to Lizzy, the werewolf would become human again.

She winced. “As a last resort, yes. But we tried that before, the third time she got away, and it wrecked her. She came out, but they had to pull her away from me. By force.” It always seemed to come back to force with the werewolves. “If we wait long enough, she might just tire herself out, but we’re running out of time. I checked the school’s schedule, and there’s a PTA meeting here in”—she checked her watch—“ninety minutes. They’ll start setting up soon.”

“So what’s the plan?”
 

“Do you think you could try talking to her?” Scarlett asked hopefully. “She usually doesn’t like men, but you were there when we … found her. She might trust you.”

He glanced at Lex, who had been listening to the whole exchange with that same guarded, impassive expression. She met his eyes but didn’t comment. “All right,” he said. “I’ll try.”

Scarlett nodded. “I’ll be close. Remember, she may look human, but if she tries to scratch or bite you, get the hell out of there. Are you armed?”

Jesse shook his head. His guns were locked up back home.

“Okay,” she said. “Well, if you think she’s gonna bite you, scream. You’d make a terrible werewolf.”

It was only then that he realized the risk he was taking. When they’d worked the Remus case, Scarlett had explained that in theory, a single bite or scratch from a werewolf could change a human. It almost always took a serious mauling, though, and everything he knew about Lizzy Thompkins suggested that she was too passive for an attack. He’d risk it.

Lex, who had been quiet for this whole exchange, abruptly stepped forward. “I’m coming with you,” she declared.

Jesse raised an eyebrow. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

He looked at Scarlett, but she just shrugged. “How much did Scarlett tell you on the way here?” he asked Lex.

“About Remus being a nova wolf, and the Luparii, and that her dog is not a dog,” she said. “That’s as far as we got. I still want to talk to Lizzy.” Her gaze slid off him, and he shot a questioning look at Scarlett.

“She wants to make sure I’m telling her the truth,” Scarlett said, shaking her head.

Jesse glared at the witch. “And you want to use a traumatized woman as a lie detector test?”

“No. If she’s that far gone, it can wait. But I know trauma and PTSD. I might be able to help.”

Jesse wavered. He wanted to trust that Lex would put Lizzy’s welfare above her own questions, but he just didn’t know her that well.

Seeing his indecision, Lex added, “Plus, I’m female. It might make her more comfortable with you.”

He sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.”

8. Lex

As we approached the squat, one-room utility shed, which was a little smaller than a two-car garage, I ordered myself to calm the fuck down. Scarlett’s explanation that the nova wolf wanted to change more werewolves had been straightforward and matter-of-fact, which I appreciated more than she could know. But I was still roiling with anger and hatred, not to mention desperate for the rest of the story, and I had a feeling that my rage was only going to get worse once I saw the evidence of his crimes. But I couldn’t go in there agitated. Werewolves were supposed to be pretty perceptive, and I wasn’t going to be much good to Lizzy if I went in there looking like I was ready to start smacking heads together. I took deep breaths, using the tricks we’d been taught in the army for slowing your heart rate. It helped a little.