Circle of Blood (5 page)

“I’ve got to leave for a little while. Help yourself to some food in the refrigerator, but be gone by the time I get back.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t go upstairs. Trust me, you would not like what you’d find up there,” she said, thinking about Freaky.

Nala nodded. If the girl listened, great. If not and she violated his space, Freaky would have a new chew toy.

Desdemona left the house and decided to take her car. She didn’t know how far she would be going. She didn’t dare try to call the number on the card; the driver was probably already leery of her. Her best bet was to surprise him.

She drew an arrow on the back of the card with a pen from her glove compartment. Then she placed the card on her dashboard. With her hand on it she said, “Take me to the man who gave the child this card. Let the arrow point the way.”

Energy flowed out of her and into the card, which began to vibrate. A moment later, it spun slowly to the east. Samantha started the car and headed out. The card turned out to be trickier to follow than she would have liked. It was pointing the literal direction as the crow would fly to the man she sought, but she was constrained to drive on the existing streets.

At one point she worried that the driver might still be working for the day, on the move, but the card consistently seemed to point to the east. After several miles and a hundred course corrections, she finally pulled onto a residential street. The card held true, the arrow pointing straight down the street.

She drove slowly, sensing that she was close, and the arrow started to angle toward the right. She slowed even further. At last the card swiveled and pointed directly at a house as she was passing it. She pulled over to the curb, parked, and got out of the car.

Martin
had been the name on the front of the card. This must be his house and he should be home. She walked slowly up the drive, reaching out with her senses. She couldn’t feel anyone of power anywhere nearby. She extended her reach, trying to sense the people in their houses, see how many were actually home. It seemed most were vacant for the moment, but there was definitely one person present in Martin’s house.

She walked up onto the porch. She noticed some symbols carved into the door. They were unfamiliar to her, but she had a suspicion they were used to ward off some sort of evil spirit. She couldn’t be sure, but it made logical sense.

Superstition ran deep in this area, and given what she’d seen happen to Martin earlier, he had every reason to believe.

She reached out and rang the doorbell. She could hear footsteps inside and a moment later the door opened wide. Martin was standing there, a smile on his face, which instantly changed to one of terror.

“Get away from me, witch!” he screamed as he leaped back and tried to slam the door.

She shoved the door, hard enough to send him flying backward. He landed on the floor and began to scrabble away from her. She closed the door behind her and leaned down.

“Hello, Martin. It’s about time you and I had a little chat. You’ve got a lot of questions to answer. Start with how you knew where I lived and why you sent the girl there.”

“Go, please, go. You have to get out of here,” Martin begged, fear contorting his features.

“I don’t think so. Tell me what I want to know,” she threatened, a fireball forming on her fingertips without her even thinking about it.

“You don’t understand. You must leave this place, quickly. I can’t be here. You can’t be here.”

“Why, expecting company?” she asked. “How did you know something bad was going to happen at the amusement park? Are you in league with that witch?”

“Please, go. Run!”

“Answer me!” she screamed.

His eyes flew open wide and she realized it wasn’t her that he was afraid of. “No, he’s coming. I can’t stop it. He’s coming.”

“Who is coming?”

She heard a soft thud and looked down. The little red bag had fallen from his pocket and onto the floor.

He saw it, too, and he began to scream.

“What is it?” Desdemona shouted.

“You don’t understand. He’s coming. He’s coming. He’s—”

“Here,” a deep, gravelly voice said from out of Martin’s body.

Desdemona stared warily. It was the same voice that had spoken to her, warned her in the parking lot of the theme park.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“One who knows more than you do, witch.”

“Earlier today you warned me not to go into the theme park. Did you know what would happen? Did you know that the other witch was going to kill all those people by stripping them of their powers?”

“Yes.”

“Are you working with her or for her?”

“No.”

“Are you opposing her?”

There was a deep laugh. “No.”

“Do you know who she is, where she is now?”

“These things are not for you to know,” the voice told her, growing even deeper and raspier.

“I need to find her. I need to kill her.”

“Someone needs to, but that is not for you to do. She will only kill you. You are weak.”

Desdemona raised her chin defiantly. “I was strong enough to survive her attack today. That’s something you didn’t see.”

“True, but I do not think it was you who saved yourself. There were others, yes, who gave their lives, and one who showed you the way.”

He was talking about Samantha. It was all Desdemona could do not to fling herself at him and rip him to pieces. But it was clear that Martin was not the one speaking. The entity speaking through him would be unharmed by her attack on the driver.

Her eyes drifted to the red packet that had fallen out of Martin’s pocket for the second time in one day.

Pick it up,
she heard a voice whisper inside.

She ignored it. “What are you, a spirit of some sort?”

It laughed and the sound was raw, sinister. It was enough to unnerve even her.

“One could call me an eternal companion.”

“You’re attached to Martin, correct?”

“True.”

Pick up the bag!
the voice inside shouted.

Still, she ignored it. “Why did you warn me today?” she asked.

“There was no need for you to die there, not a pretty young witch like you, bursting with power, potential.”

She felt something brush the back of her neck. She spun around, but there was nothing there. She turned back to stare at Martin, or rather, the creature talking through him. “Why not warn the others?”

“Not important.”

Something touched her cheek and she reached up to slap whatever it was, but there was nothing there.

The bag!
her inner voice was screaming.

“But you, there are so many better uses for you,” the voice said, more gravelly than before.

And she felt a shadow falling across her, even though she couldn’t see anything.

Bag!

She dropped to the floor and snatched up the bag and she heard a screaming sound in her ear and felt hot breath across the back of her neck.

“You shouldn’t have done that, witch!” the entity hissed, anger in its voice.

It had been trying to possess her. That’s what the inner voice had been warning her about. She stood slowly, the bag in her right hand, her eyes fixed on Martin’s face.

“There’re enough of us in here already without adding another,” she said.

The spirit chuckled. “You are both correct and incorrect.”

She didn’t bother asking it for clarification. While she had its attention, she decided to jump right to the question that mattered most. “Tell me where to find the witch.”

“I told you, that’s not for you to know.”

“But I wish to know. I need to know. She will pay for what she has done to me.”

“Why should I tell you?” the thing asked.

“Because, if you don’t, I’ll kill your host. Then you’ll be stuck.”

She was bluffing. She didn’t know if it was true or if he would just be able to find another body, another person to torment and possess. Something told her, though, that if it was that easy he would already have abandoned Martin.

He made a long hissing noise, sounding just like a snake.

“You wouldn’t dare,” it said at last.

“Don’t try me,” Desdemona said. “I’d kill for far less.”

The entity stared at her, long and hard. She realized for the first time that it didn’t blink at all. It was unnerving. That and the way Martin’s jaw hung somewhat slack and looked as if it were being pulled on strings when the thing spoke made it one of the more disturbing things she’d ever witnessed.

“Why do you want to find her?” it asked at last.

“You seem to know so much, why do you even need to ask?”

“Sometimes it’s best to hear and best to tell. Why?”

“Because she’s called me out. For months she’s been using me, manipulating me, and she’s stolen something from me. I want it back.”

He didn’t need to know that she intended to destroy the cross necklace as soon as it was back in her possession.

The thing swayed Martin’s head slowly from side to side, making the snake impression that much stronger. She forced herself to stay still and stand her ground without flinching. After all, she’d faced far worse than whatever it was. If it didn’t answer her she could always just walk out that door and leave Martin to his puppet master.

“If you wish to find her, you may do so at midnight at the tomb of Marie Laveau, where she will be paying her respects.”

She was actually slightly surprised that it told her. The threat to kill Martin must have worked. Still, it was a spirit and it might say anything just to get her to back down. It wouldn’t be the first time a spirit had lied to her. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“All spirits lie. But I have nothing to gain and I have not lied to you yet.”

That was true, she had to admit. She stood, debating what to do next. She knew nothing of exorcism rituals. Everything her coven had ever done had been about inviting spirits in, not sending them away.

Something bumped her hand, nearly causing her to drop the sachet. She cursed and closed her fist tighter about it and then hugged it to her chest.

“Both times this fell from Martin’s pocket, you had something to do with that, didn’t you?” she accused.

“Martin is so much more careful than he used to be. It’s forced me to get . . . creative, but no . . . I cannot touch it. However, there are other entities that can.”

Desdemona called a fireball to her free hand and glanced hastily around, trying to see from which direction danger would next come.

The entity just cackled more. “Little witch girl thinks she’s a match for anyone. She is sadly mistaken.”

Rage rocketed through her and she could feel herself ready to explode.

Calm down!
the voice inside her demanded.

“No!” she screamed as she spun in a circle, looking for something she could attack. She couldn’t see anything and she finally turned back to see Martin’s body, the jaws flapping as the entity continued to laugh through him. She could stop that laughter once and for all.

She raised her hand, preparing to launch the fireball at his head.

No! What it wants!
The voice was urgent, pleading.

What it wants. The entity was trying to make her angry enough to destroy Martin. But why?

The answer came to her in a flash. It was tied to Martin just as Martin was tied to it. At least, it was for so long as Martin was alive. If Martin were to die, though, the spirit would be free. Who knew what kind of havoc it could cause then, who it could possess? Maybe even her, she realized with a wave of nausea. She had to force it out, stop listening to it before it goaded her into doing something foolish.

She glanced down at the small red bag in her hand and knew in a moment what she had to do. She jumped forward, took her hand, and slammed the sachet into Martin’s chest, careful to also keep contact with it herself.

There was one hideous scream that was choked off as suddenly as it had begun. Martin slumped back on the floor. She sat, panting, continuing to hold the bag against him while keeping a firm grip on it herself, mindful of what the entity had said about other things that could move the bag and help him return.

After what seemed a lifetime Martin groaned and his eyes flickered open. He stared up at her, uncomprehendingly, for a moment. Then he reached up and put a hand over hers, his fingers brushing against the fabric of the bag.

“What happened?” he asked.

“How about first you tell me what the thing is and how it possesses you?”

Martin nodded slightly and then closed his eyes. “Just give me a moment.”

She ground her teeth in frustration. She wanted answers now. The creature had told her where the witch she was hunting would be at midnight. She needed to get all the information she could before she confronted her.

She still wasn’t sure why the entity had tried to stop her from going into the theme park, had actually bothered to try to save her life. Maybe it had sensed an opportunity to change hosts and get an upgrade and hadn’t wanted her to run off and get herself killed before it could make the exchange.

Maybe it was lying about where the witch would be tonight. Or lying about not being in league with her.

All of it was just conjecture until she got some more answers, and she was about ready to shake Martin until he talked. She started to move her hands and froze as she realized she’d almost let go of the little red bag.

Sweat began to bead on her forehead. Had one of the other creatures planted that thought in her mind for just that reason?

“Martin, I need answers,” she said through gritted teeth.

He sighed heavily and then sat up. He started to take the bag from her and she clung on to it fiercely.

“It’s okay. He can only harm you if he is present, and he can only be present if he is possessing me,” Martin said.

“Not good enough,” she answered.

He nodded as though he had expected such an answer. “Tell you what. I have more of these bags throughout the house. If you help me stand we can go together to the kitchen and I can give you one of your own. Is that a deal?”

Desdemona nodded. Together they stood up, both holding on to the little red bag. Then they walked slowly into the kitchen. From a drawer nearest the door he removed an identical-looking sachet and handed it to her.

She shook her head. “How do I know it’s the same, that it works, too?”

“Okay, you can have this one, then,” he said, letting go of the one they had both been holding.

She thought about putting it in her pocket and then had a vision of the two times she had seen it falling out of Martin’s. She turned around and stuffed it down her shirt and into her bra. There was no way she wouldn’t notice movement there.

She turned back around and he waved her to a seat at the kitchen table. “After everything that’s happened today, you certainly deserve some answers,” he said as he sat heavily, groaning like a man twice his age.

“Does this all have to do with voodoo?” Desdemona asked, pointing to the bag he was clutching in his fist.

“No, with hoodoo.”

“Aren’t they the same thing?” she asked, blinking.

“While there are some similarities, they are not the same. While voodoo is a religion, hoodoo is folk magic mixed together with Catholicism that involves heavy reliance on superstition and spiritualism.”

“Okay. So this is hoodoo.”

“Yes.”

“And what is that thing, a spirit, demon, ghost?”

“It is . . . complicated. It is all of these and none of these at the same time. It is the result of a curse being placed upon me when I was but a child.”

“Why?”

“A family feud gone very wrong that I ended up the sole recipient of.”

“That’s messed up.”

“Something tells me you know a thing or two about messed-up family dynamics.”

“What gave you that idea?” she asked coolly.

“Not what, who, as in
it
.”

“Ah. It does seem to know quite a lot about just about everything.”

“Yeah. You have to be careful, though. It lies.”

“It wasn’t lying earlier when it tried to save my life.”

He shrugged. “Maybe it likes you. I don’t know.”

“I got the distinct impression that it could jump from one person to another.”

“It’s attached to me. It can only possess a person it’s in the same room with, and it can only be in the same room with anyone if it’s possessing me.”

“And these little bags keep that from happening.”

“Yeah, filled with lots of good stuff.”

“It smells like sage,” she noted.

“Among other things. Sage is often used in purification rituals, keeps out the evil spirits, that sort of thing.”

“Why did you tell Nala where to find me?”

He paused. “Nala? Is that the homeless girl I saw outside the amusement park when I went back to see if you were there?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t. I started to talk to her and the next thing I knew I was all the way across town and she was waving from down the street. I found the bag on the seat next to me. That’s been happening a lot lately. I’m not sure why.”

“Your spirit told me that there were other entities it had basically enlisted to try to get the bag off your person so he could have his way with you.”

Martin swore under his breath and looked shaken. “I had suspicions, but I didn’t want to believe it was true.”

“There are other protection rituals you can do. Maybe you need to guard yourself against other kinds of spirits as well.”

“Apparently so.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “Do you have any idea why I, it, sent Nala to your house?”

“It said that she could ask me what happened to her friends at the amusement park.”

He dropped his eyes. “All those people. They’re dead, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Sometimes, after he’s gone, there are images, impressions left behind. I try to ignore them, but after you left I got the most terrible ones. They haunted me. That’s why I went back later. It was stupid. I don’t know what I expected to find, you standing on the curb waiting for a taxi or something.”

“Instead you found Nala.”

“Yeah. I need a drink. You want something?”

She shook her head.

He stood and got a beer from the refrigerator, then sat back down. She felt herself growing impatient, but she told herself to just take a deep breath and try to calm down. He had valuable information, and his spirit tormentor might be of use to her in the future. There was no harming him now. She leaned across the table. “Do you have any images or impressions now?”