The Red Witch (Amber Lee Mysteries Book 6) (7 page)

Frank was waiting outside the front door to the bookstore with his back against the window and a cigarette in his hand. Lazy tresses of smoke were rising into the air from the tip of his hand and every time he took a puff, he would arch his neck up and exhale into the sky. It looked almost ritualistic, and maybe it was, but I didn’t ask about it.

“Story of your life, huh?” Frank said without looking at me.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Trying to fit a big thing into a tiny hole?”

I rolled my eyes and playfully shoved him. “You’re one to talk.”

“Trust me,” he said, dropping what remained of his cigarette into a small plastic cup which held a finger of gross, black water in it, “After a while you get used to judging proportions.”

“Right. Anyway, where’s Collette? She said she wanted to see me.”

“Inside.” He turned to face me, paused, and narrowed his eyes. “Something’s up.”

“No,” I lied.

“You can’t keep secrets from me, witch, remember?”

“I thought we agreed not to use magick on each other.”

“We did, only I’m not
using
magick on you. My sense comes as easily as breathing. I can’t turn it off, you know that. And believe me, sometimes I wish I could. Gives me a fucking headache.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather keep this one to myself if you don’t mind.”

“Which, in Amber, means: I’ll tell you later when I’m not so stressed out. Gotcha.”

I sighed, pushed open the door to the bookstore, and went in to look for Collette.

She was sitting on a stool at the counter with a laptop open and a few books sprawled out in front of her. For a moment I found myself stopping, like a deer in headlights, and staring. She was gorgeous. Her black hair had been pinned up with a silver needle but loose, curly strands fell about her face in a manner that was too perfect to be accidental. She always wore such beautiful black dresses matched with lacy chokers and onyx stones. Sometimes I wanted to ask her where she went to buy her clothes from since I figured they didn’t sell stunning gothic gowns at local Hot Topic.

Although they totally should.

“Amber,” Collette said when she saw me, “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Is everything okay?” I said when I snapped back to it.

“Yes and no. I have something for you I know you will want to see, but zere are good news and bad news.”

“Of course.”

Frank walked in behind me and got comfortable on one of the armchairs nearby.

“Give me the bad news,” I said.

“I’m afraid I will have to give you ze good news first; ze narrative works better zat way.”

“Narrative?” I asked. I searched Frank’s eyes, but he was stone cold. I figured he already knew whatever Collette was about to tell me, but the blank expression on his face told me he wasn’t about to spill the beans.

“Oui,” Collette said, “Please. Allow me to explain.”

I went over to where Frank was and sat down on the armchair next to him. Between us there was a small round table, and sitting on top of it was a copy of
The Stand
, by Stephen King. It had a bookmark through it at about the half way point.
Frank’s?
I thought he only read text-books like the ones in the back room.

“Alright,” I said, bringing my attention back to Collette. “Shoot.”

Without hesitation, she began.

“As you know I have been on an ongoing mission to collect as much information as I can on ze collective pain in our sides. With my powers restored, I have been able to tap into ze spectral byways and reach out to other Necromancers around ze world.”

“Spectral byways?” I asked.

“Like the internet,” Frank said, “But for Necromancers, and with more porn on it.”

Collette scowled. Frank’s brand of humor may have gone down well—eventually—with Damien and even Aaron, but Collette was private school. No, forget that, she was
boarding school
. He couldn’t so much as make a dent in her armor!

“Frank,” I said, “Let her continue.”

“Ze byways are difficult to explain,” Collette said, “So I will not try. Suffice it to say zat since our enemy could be watching our every move, I thought it best to use a mode of communication zat she could not track; and I found someone. A man who has come into direct contact with ze witch Linezka.”

My stomach went cold at the mention of her name. It was as if a cold hand had reached in, grabbed my innards, and twisted them. “Who?” I asked.

“Another Necromancer who forced himself into solitude after clashing wills with her. Communication between us has been difficult, you understand, but he has finally agreed to meet with us and share his story, and his knowledge.”

“That’s great,” I said, “But how can he help us?”

“When two witches do battle, they enter into a clash of wills. For a moment, they are dancing; and like dancing partners, they are intimate. They are able to smell, taste, and touch each other in ways unimaginable to us creatures of flesh and bone. It iz as if zeir spirits reach out to each other and entwine, even if only for a moment. And in zat moment, zey know everything about each other. Zis is why Linezka kills all she encounters; whether zey are playing ze game with her or they are simply coming to the aid of allies.”

“Are you saying he… knows her weaknesses?”

Collette nodded. “And more,” she said. “He intimated he knew a spell with which to reach her, but zere is a catch.”

“Here comes the bad news,” Frank said.

I took a deep breath. “Tell me.”

“He lives in Berlin,” Collette said, “We have a short window of time, and he has demanded payment.”

“Payment?” I asked, stomach twisting further. Berlin I could deal with—I had been there before and, in fact, my heart soared at the chance to go again. The time limit I could deal with too. I had gone to Europe on a budget before and knew which airlines to take and which hostels to book to make the trip as economic and as quick as possible. But the payment? “What kind of payment?”

“Our informant has been hiding from her for some time. He will not risk his life again without reimbursement.”

“Good old American values,” Frank said, “Is he American? I didn’t ask.”

“No, I don’t believe so.”

“Great,” I said, melting into the arm chair. “So we need money for flights, for our stay—for… five people?
And
we have to pay this guy or he won’t be forthcoming? I don’t know where we’re gonna find that kind of money.”

A lull fell over our conversation. Outside, the sounds of our little town were floating in through the big window to the street; the footfalls of passersby, the grumble of cars, the chirping of birds enjoying the late summer weather. Life was rolling on out there, but in here it was at a complete standstill.

Luckily, the standstill gave me a chance for a moment of logical thought. The situation probably wasn’t as dire as all that, and I highly doubted many of us would be able to jet-set off to Berlin anyway. Also, there was the matter of the rent Frank, Damien, Collette, and even Aaron had been paying. Getting there, and staying there, wasn’t the biggest problem, then. It was the matter of paying Collette’s contact for his information.

“Is there nothing else we can do?” I asked, “Do we have no other avenue to explore?”

Collette shook her head. “With my powers restored our chances at succeeding in an encounter with her are improved, but if we learned how she did battle and knew how to find her…”

“We could kill her,” I said, finishing Collette’s thought. “But he won’t see us unless we pay him, so we’re screwed there.”

“Not necessarily,” Frank said.

I perked up.

“The way Morticia tells it this guy didn’t ask for money; he asked for payment.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, what the heck is a hermit gonna do with a boatload of money? He’s got all he needs, right?”

The question was directed at Collette, and she nodded. “He lives in a farm house far outside of Berlin. Off ze grid.”

“Then it isn’t money he needs.”

Frank stood and crossed in front of me, past one of the aisles, and toward the back room. “I don’t get what you mean,” I said.

“What do witches want more than anything?”

I thought about it. “Knowledge?”

“Right,” he said, pushing the door to the back room open and sweeping inside. “And what do we have a shitload of back here?”

Holy fuck!
“Books,” I said, jumping out of my seat, “We have books!”

CHAPTER 7

Frank and I had gone home and left Collette at the bookstore to pick the books we would be taking. Collette knew her contact best, so it only made sense. What I wasn’t too happy about, though, was simply giving away James’ books—books he had painstakingly acquired—to serve my own selfish purpose.

“Don’t,” Frank said, in his usual sarcastic-yet-reassuring way. “James sent you those books because he wanted you to use them, not because he wanted to store them away for himself.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“I get the feeling this James character knows more than you give him credit for. Me? I wouldn’t entrust precious books to the likes of you.”

An angry heat rose into my throat. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t get all sassy with me, witch. I’m just saying that I wouldn’t FedEx irreplaceable stuff home and leave it in the hands of an employee to carefully store until my return. Which, by the way, we don’t know when that is. I mean, in the last year how many times have you seen James?”

I thought about it. “He sends pictures, and we talk via Email. He’s somewhere in Russia now.”

“Right. But has he set foot on American soil recently?”

“No.”

“When was the last time you saw him set foot in the bookstore?”

I didn’t have an answer for him, despite wishing so hard for it to form on my lips. In truth I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen James in person. Not seeing him had become routine to the point that I didn’t even consider it anymore. James was like a shadow on the wall; his presence was always felt, but he was never truly there. Sometimes I wondered what he would say if he walked into the store and saw me now.

Time had changed me; or at least I liked to think it had.

“So would you relax already?” Frank asked.

I nodded.

Aaron and Damien arrived shortly after we did with food in their possession. Damien seemed spry and upbeat as he went about the process of unpacking lunch and distributing it around, and I was happy for that. My talk with him had worked and he was in good spirits again. But Aaron… his face was dark and pensive, and he hadn’t said much since he walked in to the house.

Frank’s eyes drifted in my direction, narrowed into thin slits, and then went to Aaron.

He knows. Gods dammit.

Before Frank could mutter a single one of his sardonic words, I stood and went for Aaron who was standing in the kitchen like he had something to do there. He turned to look at me and I pounced, meeting his lips with mine before
he
could get a word out too. But he didn’t hold me like I wanted him to, and his lips were almost limp against my own. My stomach twisted into a knot and suddenly the heavy smell of hot, delicious food became repellant.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Aaron was trembling. I could feel his muscles vibrating beneath my hands as I held on to his shoulders. “Yeah,” he said, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

The sharpness of his voice was like a punch to the gut. I let him go, turned toward the living room, and walked as if nothing was wrong. But my mind was racing a mile a minute, and the thought of eating a single bite of the food that had been laid out on the coffee table in the living room made me feel sick.

What happened with Aaron and I in the woods was messed up, I knew. Aaron was upset about it, and rightly so. I had pretty much rejected his proposal, even if I hadn’t quite said no. In truth I had barely said anything at all, but only thought about the ramifications of an answer I, in the end, never gave him.

Was that worse?

It probably was, I thought. A no would have been final. As would a yes, I guessed. But the lack of an answer was probably way more difficult for him to swallow. And by the look in his eyes I could tell he hadn’t swallowed it at all. He carried it with him like an iron ball shackled to his neck by a thick chain, and that was my doing. But the worst part was this: if he were to have asked me again then and there, I still wouldn’t have had an answer for him. And that, I was convinced, made me a terrible person.

“Where’s Collette?” Damien asked, snapping my thoughts in half like a brittle twig.

“Making a long-distance phone call,” Frank said.

Aaron joined us at the table and sat down, grabbing his meatball sub and taking a hearty bite out of it. I was envious of his ability to eat no matter what emotional state he was in. One of the blessings of being a werewolf, I guessed.