found the third marker. In a secret underground room, in the dead center of the house.”
Rachmort whistled under his breath.
He didn’t know the half of it. “This guy who owned the house, Russell, was seriously into the occult. He had hundreds of books on it in the library, a bunch of messages from a Ouija board, and a black chapel underneath it all.”
That surprised him. Hades, it had shocked me, too. Rachmort scrubbed a hand over his mouth, thinking.
“So what do we do?” I asked. Now was the time for action.
The necromancer walked a few paces toward the kitchen table, then back. Then away, then back.
Oh, come on.
“Patience,” he reminded me, rubbing at his chin. “We have to think.”
“I’d rather destroy the markers.”
He sighed, as if he’d given up on something. “If he was reading how-to books, it doesn’t seem like he was magical at all. I’d peg him as a novice. A poser.”
Of all the… “I am
My mentor held up a finger. “What I’d meant,” he began, then paused to think again. I opted to grind my teeth as he kept his finger aloft for an extra few seconds, no doubt to drive me nuts. “Is that an individual who is connected to the magical world would not need the Ouija board.”
“That’s exactly what I thought. Why didn’t he use the dark marks?”
Rachmort tapped his finger against his lips. “If our home owner was not a magically gifted individual, he would need to rely on outside learning as well as an outside power source. Hence the library and the dark marks. Apparently he was a
“Right,” I said, chastened. That made a lot of sense, actually. I joined him on the other side of the kitchen island, planted my back against it. “Russell didn’t have power of his own, so he had to create the dark marks. Still, he couldn’t use them by himself.”
“To power those dark marks, he’d need to have help from a demon. Then our occultist could do magic.” He folded his hands over his chest, pacing again. “If wasn’t careful— which I doubt he was, a demon could very easily escape. It’s not like one of his little books would warn him of that possibility. Research is fine, but in this case, it would fall woefully short.”
Dang. “You think he let a demon escape?”
“I’m almost sure of it,” Rachmort said solemnly. “Well, that is, as long as he powered his markers.”
Wait. I walked over to my mentor. “You said the demon would add the power.”
“Yes, but our occultist would need a soul connection in order to create an opening.”
“You mean sacrifice,” I said, dread creeping over me when I remembered the skulls we’d seen in the chapel. “I saw a human skull down there.”
Rachmort nodded, solemn. “Then it seems he found his victim. You must break the soul connection in order to break the markers.”
I had a pretty good idea who the victim had been.
She had been young, less affluent, a sacrificial lamb from the start.
Then again, I didn’t want to assume too much. That kind of thinking got people killed—or worse. This time, it wasn’t only me on the line, but also the life and soul of my possessed wedding guest. I needed facts. For all I knew, the dead woman could have been in league with the demon to get revenge on her murdering husband.
I needed answers. Now. Before things got worse.
“I think I need the Cave of Visions,” I said to myself.
Rachmort barked out a laugh.
Yeah, I knew my track record wasn’t great.
The Cave of Visions was basically an express line to the other world. It opened up all kinds of possibilities— from finding the answers you sought, to losing your soul, and pretty much everything else in between.
The last time I’d tried to go in, I’d been sucked through by a bunch of sex demons in Las Vegas. But I’d learned so much since then. I was a better demon slayer, stronger. I wouldn’t let my guard down again.
Of course, convincing the witches was another thing.
The Cave of Visions was a last resort, which seemed to fit our situation perfectly. I didn’t know what else to do.
Rachmort wasn’t exactly cheering my decision, but he didn’t argue with me either. He placed a large hand on my shoulder. “While you’re in there, do try to see who wants to kill you.”
“Good point.” I’d do that.
How bad was it when discovering the identity of my potential killer was the least of my problems?
***
“Absolutely not,” Grandma said.
I’d found her on the back porch, brewing up a large pot of leaves, sticks, dead bugs and from the smell of it—mint.
I gave it a brave whiff and regretted it. It smelled like road kill and chewing gum. “Don’t tell my mom you have spiders in her soup pot.”
Grandma sighed, tossing her gray hair over her shoulder. “First of all, she’s renting. Second, she knows.”
“Who do you think helped us carry it out here?” Creely asked. She opened a cooler and pulled out a couple of beers.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
I watched Grandma crack the beer open, thinking it would go in the pot. I should have known better. “Your mom’s okay,” she said, taking a long drag, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “She said she wanted to help and she is. Now if we could get her into some better clothes.”
“Don’t even try it.” Hillary wore heels to the grocery store.
“How does that look?” Grandma asked, glancing into the pot.
Creely took a look. “Needs more spiders.”
The engineering witch ambled off the porch, presumably to go catch some.
I turned to Grandma. “I find it interesting that you’ll brew up spells to protect us, but you won’t build a Cave of Visions so that I can see who is trying to kill me.”
“She does have a point,” Creely called. “We’d be attacking the source of the problem.”
“She’d want to go,” Grandma said, her eyes boring into me.
I met her harsh glare. “I need to go in.” I didn’t have a choice.
Grandma gave a long look, stirred the pot, then caught my eye again. “I’ll make you a deal. We’ll build it. I go in.”
“I’m the demon slayer,” I told her.
She drew her chin up. “My coven.”
I’d have to figure out a way to get in around her.
“Frieda!” Grandma called. The blonde witch’s head popped up in the rose garden. “I need some turtle knees on the double. Send Ant Eater after the lizards and the Girl Scout Cookies. See if you can get Thin Mints. Meanwhile, I’ll recon some shelter.”
Fantastic. It was really happening. For the first time, I felt like we were on the right track. “Thanks, Grandma. I feel better.”
She gave me a stern look. “You won’t in a second.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
The door banged open behind me. “Lizzie Brown.” My mother stood, hands on her hips, a disapproving glare directed at me. “Your wedding shower was supposed to start two hours ago.”
As if I had time for presents and party talk. “I was dealing with demon slayer things, mom.”
It didn’t appease her in the slightest. “Are you finished?” she prompted.
