Revenant (21 page)

“Well, that book didn’t look too ancient to me.” I thought about it.

“You know better than anyone that items on the physical plane can look different in the astral. Ancient could mean different things.”

“Maybe.” But I wasn’t really sold. “So, basically, someone is luring you all to one place. Here in Atlanta.”

He nodded. “We noticed this as well. With Aether gone, I suspect there are only twelve or so of us.”

“What about Inanna? She or he going to help or just attack every time they’re around.”

“I think Inanna’s target was Dags because she sensed the presence of the book, as said in the note. But what I’m not sure of is why she didn’t communicate with me—she was the one I couldn’t get hold of. She was right there—I sensed her—but she refused to speak to me.”

I winced. “I’m sorry I blew her away with my scream.”

“Oh. No. You didn’t. She simply left before you began.”

Uhm . . . “Jason—are you saying you can literally make the physical body vanish?”

“Not vanish.” He tilted his head to the side. “But we can make it look like it.” He fanned the fingers of his right hand at me as if to effect a magician’s magic trick. “It’s all illusion, Zoë. Inanna can move with great speed. Each of us has our gifts.”

“Oh,” I said. “What’s yours?”

He smiled. “Death.”

“Oh, thank the goddess,” came Rhonda’s strained voice.

My attention went immediately to the bed, and I was behind their little semicircle in seconds. “What? Is he okay?”

Mom turned and put a hand on my shoulder. “Yes, he’s fine. Dags has always been strong. We were worried the bullet damaged the book—since the book acts as his anchor to this life.”

Jemmy ambled out of the way as well, patting my side as she passed. I felt my heart fluttering as she smiled. “He’ll be fine as long as he knows you care, sugar.” And with that she left the room.

Alice and Maureen were gone—maybe taking a siesta after healing their Guardian. Only Rhonda remained, sitting in the chair I’d pulled up earlier. Dags was still, his eyes closed, dark circles beneath them. His chest had been wrapped in the gauze Jason brought up earlier, and my comforter was pulled to his waist. His left arm was on top, and Rhonda had his hand in hers.

I moved to the other side and climbed onto the bed, sitting up on my knees. The braid of my hair swung around and half rested on my arm. My head was a jumble of questions—but all the wrong ones. I wasn’t thinking of what happened. Why did this Revenant attack? Why was that book stuck in his chest? Why did TC take it and what will he do with it? What was
in
that book? Was it possible the spell was in it? And what the hell was with that scroll?

Those were the questions I should have been considering.

But no . . . I was thinking things like . . . did he still feel the same? Was what he said the truth? That he loved me. And that he would always love me. I remembered him flinching back. And then in the background I thought of Joe and Mastiff, looking for Daniel, who was no longer in a facility but out there. Maybe stalking me.

No one really knew.

“What—what kind of damage did I do?” I asked in the smallest voice I think I’d ever used.

I felt Rhonda’s eyes on me, and when I looked at her, I didn’t know how to read her expression. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I did. The bullet was originally on the cover of the Grimoire—but when I tried to move it”—she gave a short sigh and looked back at him—“I pushed it into the book. The book’s pages—not the actual fiber but the ink and spells on them—they’re the magic that keep him alive. That keep him with us. And any damage to those spells could unravel what it was I did.”

“You mean like a bullet marring the ink?”

“Yeah . . . exactly. It’s all so complicated, and sometimes I’m not sure I really know what I’m doing.” Rhonda reached out and brushed a stray lock of dark hair from his cheek. “I’m amazed he made it all the way back here like that—with that book interrupting his astral flow. Maureen and Alice were cut off from him, so when you removed the book, they could appear and heal him.”

I thought back to my hand inside him, and of the pages the book had been half-open to with the writing on them. “So—the bullet didn’t damage any of the spells?”

“No.” She reached up and tucked her own bob behind her ears. “By a miracle, the bullet only touched a page with no spell. It was a blank.”

I thought about the image in my head of the symbols spiraling off and onto a scroll—then moving into my mark. I held up my hand to look at it and the handprint. Before, when it was new, it resembled a really bizarre henna tat. But now it looked like faded gold paint. Was it possible that that was the spell on that page? That it’d somehow saved itself? And was tucked—inside of me?

I opened my mouth to tell her this—but the words caught in my throat. I cleared my throat and tried again. But every time I started to say something—nothing would come out.

“You okay?” Rhonda was looking at me, but she still had her hand in his. “You need some water?”

“No, no, I’m fine.” So—evidently I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone it was there.

Jason moved from the window and stood behind Rhonda. “So—there were blanks in the book? Blank pages?”

Rhonda nodded. “Weird, isn’t it? Usually these things are packed full. And Nona and I and Dags had already looked at several of the spells. Dags is the only one who can read a lot of them.”

“Oh?” Jason said.

I nodded. “They’re written in ancient Sumerian.”

His eyes widened. “Sumerian? Are you sure?”

Something in his voice caught Rhonda’s attention as well, and we both looked at him. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

He put his hand to his jaw and rubbed. “Most of the stories of us make it seem as if we were all made at the same time. Presto, and the Phantasm had children. But in truth it took centuries between each of us. Inanna was born during the time of the Sumerians and still knows the language.”

“Nobody else did?” I asked. “Like in all those years nobody else would learn it?”

“Why learn a dead language?” Jason shrugged. “Who does that?”

“Dags.” Rhonda sighed and looked back at Jason. “What has that got to do with the spells?”

“Maybe nothing, maybe everything.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Inanna was the first of us to carry an interest in magic—and it was she that discovered that magic, when brought into the planes other than the astral, could not be retained. That writing it down was mandatory. So when the spell was first used on us, she studied the body for a long time, examining the symbols and reverse-engineering the magic.”

He paused.

“And?” I asked.

“And”—he shrugged—“I know she used to use Sumerian to write the spells in so nobody else could use them, and we could possibly study them. She kept a book with everything she’d learned inside it.”

Mother . . . Guppy. “Are you saying that—”

He pointed at Dags. “The reason she tried to get that book is because she wrote it. That’s her Grimoire.”

THAT
night, I slept next to Dags.

Hell, it was
my
bed. Several times I woke with my arm draped over his chest. His own hand clutched my arm, and yet I never saw his eyes open. Real solid sleep was out of the question—no dreams. Which reminded me that I needed to talk to Alice when she came out again and ask her if she’d really spoken to me in my dreams.

I think I finally dozed off heavily closer to dawn, my thoughts set on finding TC and the book.

When I did wake up, I was alone in the bed, and the sun was shining way too bright through the windows. I hissed and pulled my cover over my head. And as I lay there in the semidarkness, I noticed something missing.

No smells.

Usually my mom was pretty regular about fixing a big Sunday breakfast, and by this time—basing my time line on how high the sun was and getting in my face—I should be smelling fresh coffee, bacon, eggs, biscuits, and—

I sat up and looked around. Dags’s clothes from the night before were gone as well from where I’d sort of piled them in the corner. With a yawn, I bounced up, used the bathroom, pushed my hair back into submission, and went downstairs. The kitchen was completely empty, and clean. No one had been in it since yesterday. The back door was also miraculously fixed. Not the same door, but the frame had been hammered back, and a new, unpainted door had been installed.

What freak’n time was it?

I checked the clock in the kitchen.

One o’clock?

It was one o’clock on Sunday afternoon?

I had slept through the whole morning? Cruising through the whole house only to find no one, I used that back door to step outside. The broken glass was gone, and so was Mom’s Volvo.

Getting more pissed off by the minute, I marched back inside and caught sight of a piece of paper taped to the microwave oven. I yanked it away.

I stood there in my loungers and tee shirt for a little bit. So, Dags had noticed me tossing and turning. Had he been awake the whole time? And when my arm had been around him—had he noticed that too?

I didn’t want him getting any ideas. I didn’t love him—not like that. But I cared about him. Like a little brother.

Riiiiiight.
And seeing him with Stella hadn’t bothered you at all,
said a little voice in my head.

Oh . . . shut up.
Yeah, it bothered me. More than I cared to admit. And there was a large part of me that wanted him beside me like he’d been a month ago. Telling me everything would be okay.

Holding me when I needed it. Human contact.

Or was it really Wraith and Guardian contact?

Either way, I missed him, and I wasn’t going to admit that to anyone. Least of all him. I needed to keep my hopes positive for Daniel. He needed me to think about him. Daniel.

The back door banged open, and I jumped—a hazard since it was getting easier to jump out of my skin. So I yelled out.

It was Joe, each hand holding two green bags of groceries. He saw me and grinned. “Oh, hi. You’re up.”

I nodded and immediately went to grab as many of the bags as possible to put them in the kitchen. After depositing them with me, he went back out and grabbed two more before closing the back door and locking it.

The bags were filled with herbs, along with regular staples. Eggs, milk, bread, cheese, meats. “I didn’t realize Mom was this low on fixings.”

“Well, some of it has to go out to Rhonda’s place. Nona called me, complaining her kitchen didn’t have the right bacon, nor the right eggs. So I ran over to Whole Foods and grabbed them.”

“You mean Whole Paycheck?” I shook my head. “Expensive place.”

“Your mom’s credit card. Not mine. I eat fast food.” He started helping me put away most of the items but kept a bag separate for Mom. Eventually, he stopped and watched me. I stopped and looked up at him.

“It’s nice to have your voice back.”

“Yeah, I kinda understand how you felt now.” He leaned on the counter. “You okay?”

“Okay with what?” I grabbed up the water pot and streamed water into it. Setting it back on the burner, I turned it on high heat. I wanted tea. English Breakfast. “Waking up with a madman out there wanting to kill me? Doesn’t make me happy or feel safe.”

Glancing at Joe, I saw him smirk and look down. “Sorry. That was my fault. But you were sleeping so sound, I didn’t want to disturb you. And I figured a few hours at the grocery would be okay. And I need to fill you in so you don’t worry so much.” He moved to the refrigerator and took out half a gallon of milk, then retrieved a glass from the cabinet. “Last night, when Mastiff and I got to the morgue, we found bupkis. Nothing. Eyewitnesses say Daniel was there and identified him from a photo. But they also say he walked in calmly, asked specific questions about the bodies brought in before—the ones transferred to Dekalb—and then left.”

I paused. “Wait—you mean the morgue you guys went to was the one where the first bodies were brought?”

He nodded. “I didn’t realize it either till halfway there.” He searched through the pantry and pulled out a container of cocoa powder and proceeded to load up the glass with it. “The general idea is—Daniel’s responsible for the murders.”

I nearly dropped the mug I’d pulled out. “Say what?”

“The first body was found the day after he disappeared from the facility. Now he’s been seen asking specific questions about the bodies—he seemed to know about the symbols and described a few. The employees he spoke to all said he was courteous and polite, and a few said the word, and I quote, ‘hawt.’ ”

Yeah. That was Daniel. I’d always said he was hawt. And kind. But . . . “Daniel’s the suspect?”

Sighing, Joe reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded wad of papers. He unfolded them and set them on the counter. “These are photocopies of things he’d drawn on the wall of his room at the facility a week before he vanished.”

I took them up and immediately recognized them. “These were on the bodies.”