Lost Souls Page 3

  Satisfied with my defense, I shut off my fire and waited for the tortured screams of a burning spirit.

  Waited.

  Nothing.

  Had it fled? I began to think that it had, when my leg was pulled out from under me and I was dragged quickly across the room. As hardened as my skin was to such earthly compounds, the carpet burned at the small of my back as I wriggled to break free.

  It stopped me in the center of the room, and once more pulled me up by my shirt. As I kicked and focused on my magic, I almost missed the words coming from its mouth. “What do you want from me?” The voice was deep. Muffled. Like it was talking through a wall.

  I froze. The household lie about spirits was that they were comprised of only vapor. My aching bones and scathed flesh could protest that bullshit, but the rumors that they could talk – that they could move their lips and form words – were sometimes true.

  Suspended in mid-air by this apparition, I opened my mouth to answer. But by the time I got my first word out, it hurled me back across the room. This time I struck a bookcase, sending it toppling to its side. As it rained paperbacks, I caught my breath. Whatever I was dealing with here, it was clearly suffering. The fact that it felt threatened – like I had come here to hurt it – spoke volumes. But those words continued to haunt me: ‘What do you want from me?’

  I was losing patience, strength and courage. All seemed lost. I could do nothing more than conjure some more fire into my hand and pray that it did its job, but even that was a hardship. I could feel the magicard’s soul feeding into mine, slowly replacing it with the soul of the mage. It was no good – I had to lay off the magic, before I became someone else.

  My only weapon was gone.

  A gust of air rushed past me. I closed my eyes to embrace the next strike from the spirit, but when seconds passed, I opened my eyes to see a sight worth treasuring.

  In the middle of the room’s ceiling, Link hovered with his fluttering wings, holding something big and yellow. I recognized it immediately; a mop bucket, without the mop. I felt my face twist up in confusion at what the hell he was up to, and then it hit me: if the ghost had solidified enough to land a punch, it could also get wet.

  Using this to my advantage, I dashed forward toward where the spirit had been. As soon as I approached, I felt its airy fist connect with my jaw. I fell to the floor instantly, a rush of pain searing through my face. It was worth it, just to give away the spirit’s location.

  “Now, Link!”

  Link flew in a small circle, tipping the contents of the bucket onto the ground below.

  I popped up, watching the murky mop water showering onto my enemy. Within the filthy waterfall, the shape of a man revealed itself, a twisted expression of rage upon its face as it became drenched… and visible.

  With the spirit distracted, I leapt to my feet and darted forward, tackling it. I heard it grunt as I pinned it against the wall. I pulled back my arm to throw a punch, but then it disappeared into thin air, escaping my grasp.

  I heard it suddenly reappear behind me, and spun around to see it swipe in my direction. I rolled to one side, evading the watery attack. Back on my feet, I jumped at the spirit, driving my knee into its side. Link joined the fight then, flying into its head at a blinding speed, knocking it off balance.

  The spirit hit the floor, dropping to its knees. Somehow, we had hurt it. When we got out of here, I would remind myself to thank Link for saving my ass. But for now, I had to seize the opportunity to bring our enemy down.

  I rushed forward for the last time. Used my magic for the last time. Fuming, I wrapped my hand around its throat, basking in the poetic justice. The fire slithered down my arm and into the neck of the spirit. From the way it slipped around, fighting for its life, I would have guessed that it was unable to disappear through the fire.

  “I came here to stop you from hurting people,” I said through gritted teeth.

  The spirit made a long, howling sound as it wrangled in my hand.

  “I don’t think it wants to talk,” Link said. “Finish it.”

  “No problem.” I increased the heat, reaching the hottest temperature I had ever felt. As the bearer of the magicard, I knew that I was safe from its powers. But even I could feel the burning intensity of the fire.

  The water on the spirit turned to steam. An ear-piercing scream filled the room, cracking windows and exploding light bulbs. Its spiritual body made a hissing sound, like frying bacon, and then my hand closed, clamped around nothing.

  The spirit was gone.

  Link and I stood in the dark, with only thin rays of light creeping through the thin windows. A sprinkler spit streams of water in the distance, putting out the fires on the paperbacks. I could still feel my palm cooling down, but as we stood in silence, I heard the final faint whisper of the spirit as its soul departed into the afterlife.

  “Belvoir.”

  The word sent a chill through me.

  Link flapped his wings and floated to the air in front of me, looking into my eyes. “What?” he said. “What was that word?”

  “You don’t want to know.” I looked around at the damage; burning books and a flooded floor. Cracked walls and smashed light bulbs. I tried to figure out if it had been worth it, to get the information that I had just received.

  “Really, I do.” Link landed on my shoulder. “We’re a team, right?”

  I hesitated. “Of course.”

  “Then tell me.”

  Stressed, hurting, I sighed. “Belvoir is a name, of sorts.”

  “A name? Why would a spirit whisper a name?”

  “That’s what I’m worried about.” Careful not to crush him, I took Link from my shoulder and held him in my hands. Our mission had just become a lot more complicated than I’d first expected. “I’ll tell you more on the way.”

  “On the way?” Link frowned. “On the way to where?”

  “You’ll see.”

  We left the library through the back door. I’d leave the authorities to deal with the aftermath of the battle, and I didn’t want to hang around to be arrested. All we could do was get out of there quickly, and continue our investigation into the dark underworld of Chicago.

  Chapter Six

  I traveled with ease to Flower Manor, not sure what I’d find there. Anyone worth their salt knew all about the Flowers family, including the location of their home. Even schoolchildren had heard the rumors about what went on inside the mansion. Dark, dangerous witchcraft.

  The New Witches of Belvoir were said to be reincarnate of English witches from the seventeenth century. Rumor had it that their accents were not even British, but many had claimed that the spells they cast could not have been staged. Of course, I had seen enough witches in my time to know that they did exist, and that they kept to themselves here in this dilapidated, isolated house in the Near West Side.

  “Remind me again why we had to come here,” Link said, settling onto my shoulder.

  I stomped up the gravel driveway in the dark, the stones crunching under my feet with each step. “The spirit mentioned Belvoir,” I told him. “If these witches have anything to do with the outbreak, I want to know about it.”

  “Right. And I don’t suppose you’re going to knock on the door and ask?”

  “Of course not.”

  Link made a tut in my ear. “Of course not.”

  I looked up at the house, an ominous figure of gloom lit by the moonlight. The drapes were drawn and only faint candlelight indicated that the house was occupied. It was separated from the other houses by a tall iron gate, which ran around the perimeter of the property and, for the most part, kept intruders out.

  Not me.

  I made my way to the back of the house, looking around for an open window. My neck began to hurt from keeping my head up. “Link, be a pal and have a little look around, will you? I need to get inside.”

  “Why me?” he complained.

  “See anyone else here who can fly?”

  Link sighe
d and took off from my shoulder, soaring into the distance. To pass the time, I took to the windows on the ground floor, but I couldn’t see inside. It wasn’t until I reached the kitchen that I could see through a gap in the drapes. I peered through, expecting to see somebody, but all I could make out was shadows dancing on the wall of the adjacent room.

  At least I knew the location of the witches.

  Moments later, Link returned to my side with a playful smile on his lips.

  “What’s up with you?” I asked.

  “I found an open window.”

  “And?”

  “And it opens onto the landing.”

  Excellent. I followed him around the exterior of the building, and we stopped below the window to the second floor. Way too high for me to get into without any assistance. “All right, I’m going to need a boost.”

  Link huffed, flew around to my back, and lifted me up from under my shoulders. Generally speaking, I hated the feeling of my feet leaving the ground. But as I drew nearer to the window and perched safely in the frame, I became excited. I was going to get the answers I wanted, and put this entire case to rest.

  I hoped.

  “Wait here,” I told Link, and smiled as he gave me a sarcastic salute.

  I climbed inside and crept across the landing that overlooked the living room. The reeking combination of dust and scented candles assaulted my senses, causing me to gag. With great care, I coughed softly into my closed fist and followed the sound of voices.

  When I reached the banister, I kept my head low and watched the witches.

  Two of them – the daughters, I presumed – sat by a roaring fireplace with a cat between them. They took turns pulling on its tail, teasing it as they giggled like they were only ten years old. I supposed they weren’t far off; judging by their innocent looks and youthful attire, I would have guessed they were only in their early teens.

  “Will you stop playing with that cursed thing and get over here?” came an adult voice from across the room. As per the rumors, the voice possessed an American accent.

  My eyes followed the girls and I saw them approach their mother. I tried to remember their names. The girls were definitely called Margaret and Phillipa, but their mother’s name eluded me. It didn’t matter much to me – evil was evil, by any moniker.

  “What’s this, mother?” one of them asked from her mother’s side.

  “A lesson,” the mother said, towering over them while keeping her back to me.

  As I watched, the mother’s name suddenly struck me.

  Joan. That’s it. Joan Flowers.

  I crept along the length of the landing, trying to get a good look at what they were up to. If it was something to do with the spirit world, I would have some kind of clue as to what was going on around here. But when the mother turned and brought the mysterious object to the dinner table, I wished I hadn’t looked.

  On a silver platter rested a human hand, its grubby fingers spread wide and covered in what looked like blood. Upon further inspection, noticing the cutlery and plates at the table, it occurred to me that it wasn’t blood at all.

  It was sauce.

  The witches intended to eat it.

  “The tendons are here and here,” the mother said, poking the hand with a carving knife.

  I swallowed, trying to stifle the bile rising in my throat.

  “Can we just get on with it?” one of the girls asked. “I’m starving.”

  The last thing I wanted to do was hang around to witness cannibalism. I’d yet to sample human flesh and I never intended to try it. In the dark, I crouched and made my way toward the open door behind me. I took each step carefully, trying desperately not to let the creak of the floorboards give me away.

  Damn it to hell.

  My foot slid through one of the boards. I gasped in shock as the wood splintered and grazed my ankle. A snap sounded throughout the room, and carried across the high ceiling. I tore my foot free, yanking it away, only to hit the bannister that overlooked the living room. The weak bannister cracked as I struck it, and split apart beneath my weight.

  I landed on the ground floor in a cloud of dust, coughing and pushing myself to my feet. When I looked up, three sets of beady eyes studied me; two devilish stares from the children, and an expression of horror and disgust from the mother. Caught in the witches’ home, I wrung my hands together, desperately looking around for an exit.

  If only I had moved faster.

  Chapter Seven

  “Miss Poe,” said Joan Flowers. The bags under her eyes distracted from her natural beauty, but her smile suggested both warm welcome and sly trickery. These days it was hard to tell the difference between the two.

  I stood, keeping a watchful eye on the exit – the one small door that led through to the kitchen. I couldn’t see another. “You know who I am?”

  “Oh, yes. Karen Saunders speaks highly of you.”

  “I didn’t know you were acquainted with Miss Saunders.” I had met Karen a couple of months ago while tracking down a stolen magicard. She had welcomed me into her home and willingly shared information with me. A good person, if appearances were to be believed.

  “Well, I am.” Joan grinned devilishly, before leaning over and whispering something into the ears of her daughters. They nodded and skipped over to the fire, their eyes fixed on me like those of two panthers dancing around their prey.

  “Why don’t you take a seat?” said Joan, gesturing at the dining table with the carving knife still gripped tightly in her hand.

  So you can kill me?

  My eyes shifted to the human hand on the table.

  Joan caught me looking. “Never mind that,” she said. “I thought I would teach the girls about human anatomy. The things they learn in schools these days are nothing if not useless. It’s all triangles and algebra. Their biology teachers even had them dissecting dead frogs. Can you believe that? As if that would become useful in adult life.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I heard you from up there, and know you plan to eat it.”

  Joan nodded slowly, accepting defeat. “Well, food can be educational, too.”

  I reluctantly agreed with her, looking nervously around the room. Joan didn’t seem to be up to anything – well, outside of dissecting a human hand – and that made it slightly easier to trust her. A little too easy, in fact. “I’m sorry I broke your banister.”

  Joan waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. That thing was on its last legs anyway.” She walked around the table and pulled out a chair. Screech. “Come. Sit. I shan’t ask again.”

  My job had taught me about caution, but my thirty years as a mortal had taught me about manners. I approached the table, but instead of sitting in the chair that waited for me, I circled around and sat with my back to the wall, where I could keep an eye on everyone. It hadn’t been intentional, but from that vantage point I could also see Link through the upstairs window. He was making urgent hand gestures, but I subtly shook my head.

  I’m okay for now.

  “Tell me,” said Joan, taking the proffered seat for herself. “What brings you to my home in such a manner? I assume you were spying on us for a good reason, no?”

  I wanted to lie, to test her and see how she reacted to my comments. But when it came to witches, it was better to be outright and direct. After all, they were far more powerful than mages. I was willing to bet that even the children could give me a run for my money.

  “Spirits,” I said, meeting her gaze.

  Joan’s mouth opened slowly, and she licked her dry lips. “Spirits?”

  “Chicago has been infested with them recently. Mean ones, too.”

  “I don’t read the papers,” she said, “but I do have access to the Internet. I’ve read the stories. But my question is, what does this have to do with me?”

  “I’ve just come from the library, where I was attacked by one of them. On its dying breath, it mumbled your name. So, you understand I had to come here and check it out.” />
  As Joan stared lifelessly at the table while twirling the knife in her hand, I tried not to look at the human hand beside her. Only it beckoned my eyes like some fleshy road kill that I couldn’t drive past without gawking.

  “Yes,” she finally said. A blessed distraction. “I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

  You think?

  “I haven’t ‘just read about it’. My daughters and I are, in fact, dealing with the problem. Many have sought us out and asked for our help in getting rid of the spirits.”

  My mouth hung open and my heart began to race. A niggling feeling screamed liar. Of course, it was possible that the witches’ reputation influenced my paranoia, but then, why had she changed her story after I told her about the spirit?

  I couldn’t tell.

  “You have something planned?” I asked.

  “Well, not exactly.” Joan glanced behind her, checking on her children. When she turned back, her voice dropped to a whisper. “I haven’t confessed this yet, as I don’t want my daughters to think less of me, but I don’t even know where to start. Perhaps…”

  “What?”

  Her dark eyes met mine. “Perhaps you could help.”

  Lady, I’m already on it.

  “Yes,” Joan continued, sitting back and beginning to smile. Up close, I noticed her veneers. There was no way those perfect whites were her own. Not at her age. “You are obviously progressing faster than we are, so why not take it upon yourself to send these spirits?”

  “You want me to send them? What does that even mean?”

  Joan pushed back out of her chair, chewing on her nail and looking around the room. “Ah,” she said, and glided to the farthest corner, where a bookshelf sat in the dark. She ran a finger along the rows, found what she was looking for and returned it to the table.

  “What’s that?”

  “Incantations.” She didn’t look up, only blew a puff of dust off the cover and spread it open, continuing to search through each tatty, yellowed page. When she found what she’d been looking for, she turned the book around and pushed it toward me.