Song of the Ancients (Ancient Magic Book 1) (25 page)

Only three feet down his shovel hit something firmer than the soft soil, connecting with a muffled
thud.
Digging carefully down one side, he cleared a space to stand beside the box. He removed the crowbar from his sack and pried the coffin nails from one side, muttering softly, "Coffin nail, familiars of maggot and works and unsavory creatures of the kind. Do my bidding, my evil works, when I so command." Blowing on the nails, he pocketed them and opened the lid.

He held his breath and shone the flashlight on the body, a young woman, barely past her teens. Her hands had been folded on her chest. He ran the flashlight further down, illuminating several places on her right arm where jagged chunks of flesh were missing.

Burning bile rose in his throat, making him gag and cough.
Something chewed on this girl. Oh, Goddess, tell me she died first.

Nicholas scrambled out of the hole, swallowing to get the ac-rid taste out of his mouth, and brushing the soil off his shirt and pants with shaky hands. The girl's injuries were similar to those he had seen on his mother's body when he had viewed it at the morgue the previous year. His mother's wounds had confused him. Now suspicion sloshed in his gut. He closed his eyes for a moment. Swallowed again. Took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he picked up the hatchet and the burlap sack, and dropped back into the grave.

Working quickly, he lopped off the corpse's left hand and dropped it into the bag. Then he dug his fingers into the soil adjacent to the box, scooping out a handful, then another of dirt and dropped it into his pants pocket. There were spells to catch a perpetrator using graveyard dirt from a victim's grave. He was pretty sure who had killed this girl and defiled her body, but a confirmation spell working would provide magickal evidence for the Council.

Closing the lid on the casket quietly, he gathered his tools and climbed out of the grave.

Nicholas gave one quick look around to be sure no prying eyes were watching before shoveling the dirt back onto the coffin.

For one moment longer he stood by the mound. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a silver Mercury dime and dropped the on the grave.

Satisfied, he ran his fingers over the mound to erase his footprints and scattered a few dry leaves on top. He looked around one last time to be sure he'd forgotten nothing, then hurried back to the car, holding the sack at arm's length.

Dumping everything into the trunk, he drove out the gate without stopping.

* * * * *

Nicholas returned home just after sunrise. In the pale light he pulled the corpse hand out of the car trunk, still in its burlap sack. He wound a sheet around the vile prize and squeezed the last of the blood from it, grimacing in disgust. Then he buried the hand in a large clay pot, adding saltpeter, minerals and herbs, and de-posited the pot on a shelf along the back wall.

Slipping into the silent house, He fought to focus his eyes through the first stabbing pain of a monstrous migraine. A nose-bleed would be next. He felt a weariness in his body much deeper than simple lack of sleep. The psychic toll he would pay for tonight's deeds would be much worse.

Tarot cards lay across the kitchen table, and he glanced at them briefly, wondering what answers Samantha had been able to glean from their images. He noticed a sword in the pile, but the Strength card on top. Had Samantha been pleased by her reading?

Sitting for a moment in utter weariness at the kitchen table, he wondered what it would be like to have a magical partner. Someone he could work with in perfect love and trust.

Love.
He had never allowed himself to feel the emotion, not with the work he must do. It would make him vulnerable and make her a target to be manipulated by enemies hoping to bend his will to theirs.
Trust.
It was foreign to him for the same rea-sons. As he aged, however, he found himself more and more often longing for a companion with whom he could share himself completely. Someone he could have children with, continue his lineage, and feel the love and pride of family. Someone who might, just might, keep him from flinging himself headlong into the darkness he was facing. Impossible, he knew, but still the longing was there. Although, he mused, if she were a witch, strong enough on her own, it just
might
work.

Massaging his temples to ease his throbbing head, Nicholas stumbled to the desk in the corner and lifted the lid. He pulled out the grimoire, sensing immediately his wards had been breached.

She's been snooping again
. But more important, he felt a new layer of magic on the book. It had not just been handled, it had been used. He ran his hands over the cover and felt it warm under his scrutiny. "What did you tell her, old one?" he whispered. "Will you also tell me?" He moved his fingers clockwise in a stirring motion and chanted in a singsong voice. "
Libri aperio
. Open to me. So mote it be."

The metal corner pieces glowed bright for an instant as the book sighed, "Orenda, welcome," and the latch clicked open, opening to a spot toward the back. A page had been torn out, he noted. Did Samantha deface his family grimoire? He ran his finger along the torn edge. It didn't feel new.

Nicholas nodded in satisfaction and fanned his fingers through the parchment pages, stopping at a notation headed, "Hand of Glory" and copied the list of ingredients. Where he was going, anything that gave him the element of surprise would come in handy. He patted the book's cover and closed the lock. He would investigate its contents more thoroughly once Samantha left.

In the meantime, he intended to find how she, a non-Orenda, had also managed to open his family grimoire. Obviously, she had a key and was withholding information from him. Not acceptable. Not at all.

He headed upstairs, tired beyond belief. His migraine was full-blown now, sending daggers of pain into both eye sockets and causing his stomach to roil.

The bathroom was empty, but steam from the running bath billowed onto the mirror, masking his image. He started to swipe his sleeve across the mirror but stopped, having no desire to see the haunted expression on his face confirmed. Instead he turned on the brass and ivory tap and bent over the sink to wash off the evidence of the previous night.

Muddy, blood-tinted water swirled around the basin and down the drain. Nicholas stared for a long moment at the rust-colored stains still lodged in cracks of his hands and under his fingernails, then closed his eyes. He applied soap and picked up the scrub brush, scouring his hands until they were raw and ten-der. His body felt limp with exhaustion. He needed a shower but would wait until he'd had a few hours' rest.

The door opened abruptly, and his eyes met Samantha's through the fog in the oval sink mirror, red-rimmed black locking with gold-flecked green. He nodded to her, and realized the tub was half-f.

"I didn't know you were home," she murmured. "I went for bath oil."

She wore his bathrobe. The jolt of recognition flowed straight to his groin.

She slipped past him to turn off the water. As she bent over the claw-footed tub, the loose folds of the robe revealed a sliver of bare leg. He watched her squeeze a drop of golden liquid into the water in the steaming tub. She swirled her fingers through the bath and the smoky-sweet scent of sandalwood rose up his nostrils with the steam, nearly doing him in. He took a step toward the tub's edge where she sat. Then he stopped, willing himself to turn and leave.

Samantha held out the bottle of oil. "I was working on my Materia Magicka and decided to try making an oil blend." Her smile seemed innocent enough. "The formula is Isis oil, but I tweaked it a bit. Would you mind checking my work and let me know if you approve?"

Isis, the goddess of seduction and sexual prowess. The little vamp knew exactly the effect she had on him.

Nicholas closed his fingers around the bottle and retreated from the room. He closed the door behind him with a soft
snick.
Resting his throbbing forehead on the smooth wood, he willed himself not to walk back into the bathroom, step into the steaming water covering her naked body, and sink into the arms willing to clean the darkness from his soul.

Chapter 37: The Black Truck

When I came downstairs with my suitcase a few hours later, Nicholas was already up. "I'd like to try some hypnotic work with you before you leave." The poor man sounded exhausted.

I dropped my belongings by the front door and followed him into the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee. He had left my tarot spread on the table. I reached to gather it up.

"Leave it if you don't mind. I'd like to look it over. Did you take notes from any of the book interpretations?"

"No. Well, I took notes, but I didn't use the books much. I just touched the cards and looked at the images, and wrote down what came to me."

"How one reads the tarot is a personal preference," he said. "If you want me to read your notes and supplement your reading with my own interpretation, let me know."

"If you wouldn't mind." I pulled my folded sheet of notes out of my purse and put it on the table. "Why do you want to hypnotize me?"

"The night when you saw the accident. Did you see the driver?"

I paused, my coffee cup partway to my mouth. I could recall the old woman's face in painful detail. But the driver of the truck? I pursed my lips and pictured the scene in my mind. "It was a black pickup, but I don't remember anything about the driver."

Nicholas nodded. "I'd like to work on your recall. Hypnotism is much like meditation, except I will guide you to the point where you can do the visualization on your own. It should also help you with your next assignments, as we will be practicing guided meditation extensively. Do you have time to try it?"

I shrugged. "Sure. I don't have to be at work until ten."

We went into the study and I sat in one of the leather chairs facing the fireplace. The burning logs provided the main light and warmed the legs of my jeans.

"Just get comfortable and concentrate on the flames," Nicholas said in a soothing voice. "Take a deep breath and let it out as you watch the fire. Take another breath and let it out slowly. As you do, feel your body begin to relax."

I watched a tiny blue flame lick around the top log. It flowed along the wood, back and forth, disappearing and re-appearing. Nicholas' voice continued. "Become aware of your arms, let them relax. Let the muscles become loose and limp…even more relaxed. Good, you're doing just fine."

My entire body uncoiled as if the tension had gone out of a spring. My eyelids felt so heavy I had trouble keeping them open to watch the flame. When Nicholas finally said, "If you're ready, close your eyes," I did so with relief.

"Imagine you're at the top of a flight of steps and start down," Nicholas said. "With each step you become more relaxed."

I walked slowly down the dark stairs as he talked.

"At the bottom of the stairs is the street where you saw the old woman's ghost and the accident," he told me. "Go out onto the sidewalk and look around."

My left hand twitched and I felt a rush of anxiety, but Nicholas's voice soothed me. "You're doing fine, you will not be afraid. This isn't really happening; it's more like a movie. Because it is a movie, you can slow down the scene. You will watch in slow motion this time."

The old woman floated into the street, her gray hair curling around her face and neck in the breeze, although I could not feel the air stirring.

"Tell me what you are seeing," Nicholas instructed.

I tried to swallow, but my throat wouldn't work properly. I licked my lips. "I see the woman."

"Tell me what she looks like."

I scrutinized her face. "Dark eyes, long gray hair, long nose, thin lips." My voice sounded slow and dragging. "She looks to be in her seventies, maybe older."

"What does she have on?" Nicholas prompted. "Is she carrying anything?"

I ran my eyes down the woman's body. "She's wearing a black winter coat with a purple wool scarf tucked into the collar. Black leather gloves." I looked closer. "She has some kind of bag in her hand, a plastic bag with a box inside."

From far away I heard Nicholas take a sharp hiss of breath. I looked beyond the woman into the street and saw the black pickup truck parked on the side of the street, its headlights dark.

Suddenly the high beams came on, blinding me. The truck careened onto the road, tires screeching as it accelerated toward her.

"Look out!" I cried, but it was too late.

"You are seeing the scene in slow motion!" Nicholas cut in. "Slow everything down. Look at the driver. Describe what you see."

I strained to see the face behind the steering wheel in the dark truck. As it neared the woman, the truck passed beneath a streetlamp. In the light I saw the driver's face. His features contorted with hate. "Nuin," I whispered, tears streaming down my cheeks.

The truck careened past me and I watched myself topple over backwards into the oleander bush. Nuin jumped out of the black truck and ran to the body. He knelt by the old woman and lowered his head to bite a chunk of flesh from her shoulder, a second from her neck. He raised his head and looked around, his mouth bloody. Then he stood and ran back to his idling truck, hopped in and took off.

I heard a voice saying "Oh my god, oh my god!" over and over. My body began to shake uncontrollably.

Nicholas' voice broke into my nightmare. "I'm going to count backwards from five, and when I reach one, your eyes will open and you will feel relaxed and refreshed. You will remember nothing. I repeat, you will remember nothing. Five…four…three…."

I opened my eyes and stretched, popping my ears with a huge yawn. "Did it work? Did you hypnotize me?"

Nicholas looked at me in silence a moment before shaking his head. "You're not an easy subject." His face drained of color, and his jaw clenched. A telltale vein throbbed. He was going to have a doozy of a headache later.

I blinked, trying to remember any detail of my dream. "I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"Don't worry about it. We'll try again another time."