Wolves and the River of Stone (5 page)

Zola gave a brief shake of her head. “Thank you, but Ah just need to think.”

Aideen looked at Foster again and then gestured to the back room. “Could you just put him in the clock for me?”

“You’ll notice there’s no syrup in his armor this time,” I said.

“Don’t you dare tell him I said this, but I’m just glad he’s safe.” Aideen glared at me in warning while Zola carried Foster through the saloon-style doors, into the back room, and to the large grandfather clock the fairies called home.

“Sorry about Foster, Aideen,” I said as I almost bowed to her.

Cara laughed as Zola started back into the front of the shop. “Damian, Frank purchased a book he thought you’d be interested in.”

I walked up to the counter and looked at the solid black tome. It looked thin and was very light when I picked it up.

“What is it?” I said.

“Some old witch’s book of shadows.”

I frowned and cracked it open. It smelled old, but the pages looked almost new. “Why would I want a book of shadows?”

“Well, for one it’s an antique, and for another it’s from the Salem witch trials.”

My eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Wow, I’ll have to thank Frank.” I didn’t have any interest in a normal book of shadows, but one from an actual witch at the Salem witch trials? Oh yes, definitely.

We said our goodbyes for the night before Zola and I waved to Cara as I locked the shop behind us. I sighed and opened the passenger door for her.

“Thank you, boy,” Zola said as I closed the door.

I climbed in the driver’s side. “Alright, let’s get you to the houseful of vampires.”

Zola smiled as we drove down the cobblestone street.

***

It was a twenty-minute drive to the Pit’s impressive home in Town and Country.

“These poor people have no idea there are vampires nearby,” I said, for probably the thousandth time, as we drove through the neighborhood. A miasma of flowers, mature trees, and pristine landscaping decorated the well maintained road, driveways, and homes. A healthy sampling of evergreens would give the area a little color in winter.

Zola watched the nighttime scenery roll by.

“What do you think Philip will do next?” I said.

She stayed silent for a while. “Ah’m not sure. Ah’ll think on it while Ah research.”

“You doing alright?”

The metal in her braids tinkled together as she turned to look at me. “Ah will be, boy. Ah will be.”

I pulled into the u-shaped drive a few minutes later.

“Are you going to come in and see Sam?”

“Nah, I need some sleep,” I said. “I’ll give her a call tomorrow.”

She nodded and stepped out of the car. Before she walked to the front door, she leaned in and said, “Damian?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

I grinned as she closed the door, walked to the enclosed porch behind the four enormous pillars, and knocked on the Pit’s opulent black door. I could see Vik’s outline as Zola walked in. He waved briefly before closing the door.

“Let’s go home,” I said to Vicky.

Unfortunately my apartment was right back the way we’d come. We made it to Saint Charles and eventually out to the edge of civilization. I groaned as I stood up and closed the car door. The night was dead quiet and my footsteps sounded like hammer strikes as I climbed the wooden steps. If it hadn’t been so quiet, I may not have heard my intruders.

My heart rate spiked when I heard a scuffing sound and muffled voices as I topped the stairs to my apartment. I thought about knocking politely just to be a smartass, but opted for kicking the door in like a crazy person. With the knob turned just enough so I wouldn’t break the door frame, I grasped my staff in my left hand, the pepperbox in my right, and kicked the door in, screaming, “You picked the wrong night you son of a–”

“
Damian!”
Sam shrieked.

It took me a horrified moment to realize it was my half-naked sister nuzzled up to a half-naked Frank on my now-violated, battered leather couch. It took a much longer moment not to pull the trigger just to change the scene that was quickly imprinting itself on my brain.

Sam zipped across the room, suddenly clothed again, and crushed me in a vampire hug. Bear hugs have got nothing on vampires. Her words came out in a rush, lost in the folds of the old leather jacket I was wearing, where her face was planted. “Thank god you’re okay. Carter told Aideen what you were doing and Aideen told me. We were really getting worried.”

“Why are you here?” I squeaked out.

“Frank’s in-laws are at his place. Vassili has a bunch of out-of-town vamps at the Pit. I had a key.” She grinned at me, flashing her fangs a half inch from my face. “We were worried.”

When she released me and I could breathe again, I pushed back on her shoulders. “We’re fine. We got Zola back.”

“Thank god,” Sam said as she stepped back.

“Hey, Damian,” came Frank’s voice in an uncharacteristically sheepish tone.

I cocked an eyebrow and said, “Thanks for watching over ... things. Now please make with the clothes. I don’t want to be pulling back-hair out of my couch for the next month.”

Frank laughed and picked up his green knit shirt.

“Christ, Frank. You been working out?” I was somewhat shocked to notice most of his gut was gone. His arms were even showing some light definition.

He popped his head through his shirt and grinned. “Yes. Have to look good for your sister.”

I held my hand up and smiled. “You can stop there.”

“Where’s Zola?” Sam said as she gripped my shoulder.

“She’s at the Pit.”

“Research?”

I nodded. “Well kids, I need to get a few hours’ sleep before work in the morning.”

“You opening the shop?” Frank said.

“Yeah, so feel free to sleep in. If I have to leave early, I may give you a call if you’re up for it.”

Frank nodded and wrapped his arm around Sam’s waist. Sam grinned and her eyes lit up.

I groaned and pushed them both out of my apartment. “Spare me the googly eyes.”

“Talk to you soon, Demon,” Sam said as she laughed.

“You bet.” I waved to Frank as he did the same.

When they were gone, I closed the door and threw the deadbolts home with a metallic smack. I walked across the Berber carpet in the living room and paused on my way to the kitchen. The heavy oak coffee table was several feet out of its normal position, with fresh scorch marks across the carpet. I was really going to have to replace that old carpet.

I grabbed a cold slice of barbeque chicken pizza from my vintage green refrigerator. I turned off the ancient black floor lamp and end table combo beside my old leather couch as I tore off another chunk of pizza. I don’t know why I even bothered with the floor lamp considering it did little to light the dark wood paneling adorning the walls and, yes, the ceiling.

I finished the pizza, brushed my teeth, and double checked my alarm clock. Three-and-a-half hours of sleep before I had to think about demons, werewolves, and dark necromancers. I sighed, killed the lights in the bedroom, and enjoyed my extended nap.

I
found a package of Frank’s homemade beef jerky on my kitchen table in the morning. Frank made jerky with the intent to melt your eyeballs. Disturbingly, I’d acquired a taste for it over the past few months. “Oh, hell yeah,” I said as I scooped up the jerky, grabbed two Frappuccinos, and pounded down the stairs to Vicky.

My brain was rattling across the cobblestones in no time as I crossed Main Street and pulled in behind the shop. The lower deadbolt screamed, “Don’t do it!” as I kicked him in the face. The unfortunate Fae-turned-deadbolt opened with a groan as I unlocked the top deadbolt, and cracked open the door.

“It’s Damian,” I said before stepping inside. I was careful not to surprise the fairies after Aideen had almost gutted me a couple months back when I came in through the back door. The door was mostly open before it exploded out of my hand, the deadbolt lamenting its existence as it smacked into the doorstop. I had time to mutter, “Crap,” before two waist-high yapping balls of green fur plowed me into the ground.

A chorus of laughing fairies joined the flurry of tongues and nails as Bubbles and Peanut fought to lick my face first. Bubbles clawed her way on top of my chest and was heavy enough I couldn’t sit up. “What are you feeding these things, Foster?” My complaints were cut short as Bubbles’s tongue found its mark. “Yearrgh!” I squawked as cu sith drool slid down my cheeks.

“Bubbles, Peanut, home,” Aideen said as she pointed to the door.

The cu siths vanished into the shop.

Foster and Aideen swore to me the claims that cu siths were bred to drag fertile human women into fairy mounds to become providers for the Fae were gross exaggerations. Cu siths are supposedly the best guard dogs in history, or so my boarders keep telling me. All the cu siths really seem to guard against is my ability to enter my own store unmolested.

I wiped my face off on my sleeve and pushed off the ground. Foster and Cara were still laughing when I walked through the back door. Foster was perched on top of the center peak of the ancient grandfather clock the fairies called home, and Cara was laid out on the old Formica table, gasping for breath with her hands on her stomach.

“Good to see you, too,” I muttered as I dropped the bag of jerky on the table, tripped on the old green cot setup beside the table for god knows what reason, and headed toward the front of the shop to flip the open sign. After unlocking the door and changing the sign, Death’s Door was open for business, and it was open five minutes early for a change.

Death’s Door is the name of my shop, though most of the locals call it the Double D. It’s in one of my favorite areas in Saint Louis—Main Street, Saint Charles. There’s an old world, small town feel in the air, with cobblestone streets, rows of historical buildings, and small shops of every kind of miscellany. The old brick storefront wasn’t in the main strip; it was actually on the far northern end of Main Street. The shop was within walking distance of the Missouri River, a plethora of restaurants, and a fantastic fudge shop.

My master had given me the shop as a graduation present of sorts when she left on a mission of her own in years past. She didn’t tell me what she was doing or where she was going, and it was years before I even learned she was still alive. Death’s Door is set up to cater to a mixture of sorcerers, Wiccans, and even a smattering of tourists—carrying everything from texts to spellcraft supplies to crystals and antiquated artifacts.

My boots thunked on the ancient hardwood floors as I walked down the right aisle on my way back to the register. The aisle was stocked with bundles of feathers, dried plants, cauldrons, and other occult artifacts. The laptop Sam had talked me into getting for the shop sat beside the old register, which sat on a glass counter that doubled as a display case for some of the more expensive items. Old Native American pipes and arrowheads were displayed with a mixture of raw, gray Magrasnetto on display. The Fae knew how to build wards into Magrasnetto, making it invaluable and dangerous. Heated by a summoned flame, Magrasnetto would turn to slag and take on the properties of metal; however, it would still retain the working laid upon it as a stone, creating a nearly unbreakable ward in its new form. I wasn’t supposed to know all the details, but the fairies had told me all about it one night after a bit too much fudge.

A few of the arrowheads littering the display case were obsidian, made by the Paiute in the Great Basin in northern California. What made them unique were the runes, which closely resembled Nordic runes, etched onto the sides. I only recognized a handful of the archaic symbols.

Frank was constantly adding a few choice pieces of amber to the case, with prices that boggled my mind. What boggled my mind even more was how regularly they sold. Frank had done some really good things for our sales since he’d been working for me.

I sat down on the stool behind the counter and pulled out a box of hand-dipped candles. They were slightly uneven and made by a local Wiccan priestess, my customer and friend Ashley. She ground anise seed and blessed thistle into the deep red wax, creating a formidable foundation for a protection spell. I put the candles into overdrive by carving a ring of runes around the base, including Algiz, Gifu, and Uruz. The series of runes repeated twice. I then worked the edge of an athame into the wax to form the inverted peace sign symbol of Algiz, the x-shape of Gifu, and the slanted n of Uruz. The athame was actually a sliver of a broken sword, given to me by Cara. It was a Fae blade, entirely worked of Magrasnetto, which gave it far more power than a standard athame, even splintered into shards.

After carving three pairs of candles, I scooped them up and walked over to the far aisle. At the end of the aisle, up against the wall, was a tall display case of crystals and stones filled with aventurine, coral, brown jasper, obsidian, and several drawers of amber. I walked past the case to a section of candles and hung the latest batch over the dwindling rack with a sign that read “Protection.” They were beside the rack holding black candles with a sign for “Curses and Destruction.” Of course, unbeknownst to most of my customers, the “Curses and Destruction” candles were made with red and brown food coloring instead of blood, and had nonsensical runes carved into them. In fact, the runes were more likely to get up and dance than proliferate any kind of curse. It was an amusing inside joke between me and Ashley.