Doyle Times Police Blotter, Friday, May 17th
Odor Complaint: A Doyle man reported smoke from a neighbor’s barbecue floating into his backyard on Thursday, May 16th at 7:15 PM.
“How can you be sure it’s here?” I asked, irritated. I usually listened to my feelings, but I’d doubted them this time. That bugged me.
Karin tugged on the ends of her navy scarf. Ignoring the tea, she resumed pacing my boho apartment. “I see connections, right?”
Lenore and I nodded.
“Now it’s like... a string, vibrating so hard and so wide that it’s a big blur.” She pressed her splayed fingers to her forehead. “I’ve become that woman who blathers about vibrations. But you know what I mean.”
Lenore and I shared a wry look.
“The problem is,” Karin continued, “I can’t follow the strings to their end, because it’s impossible to see where they’re going in this state.”
“The Lower World spirits have been confusing too,” Lenore said. “They come and then they get… scary.”
I really didn’t want to know what scary looked like in Lenore’s world of the dead.
Karin dropped onto my alcove sofa, dislodging a throw pillow. She stooped to pick it up. “Let’s go over it again, Lenore. Everything you know about that book they’re after.”
The book. I felt the blood drain from my face. Of course. The book was being held in the sheriff’s evidence room. Deputy Marsh had worked in the evidence room. His death could well be connected to the Black Lodge, and their quest for the Necronomicon.
Lenore sat beside her. The ivy on the brick wall seemed to shrink away from my sister, and my eyes narrowed. I really hoped I’d imagined that.
“I told you,” Lenore said, “I didn’t have much time to examine the book. Its title says Necronomicon—”
“Maybe we shouldn’t say it,” I said.
“Say what?” Lenore asked.
“The name of the book.”
Karin tossed the end of her scarf over her shoulder. “That is ridiculously superstitious.”
“Says the woman who carries an iron horseshoe in her purse as fairy repellant.” I crossed my arms.
“The iron works,” she grumbled.
“Anyway, I just think we should keep it all on the QT. Let’s call the book the Whatsit,” I said.
Lenore rolled her eyes. “Fine. The Whatsit is written in blood—”
“Gross,” I said. “Cliché much?”
Lenore frowned up at me from the couch, but I always get interrupty when I’m nervous. And not saying the name of the book just made good sense.
“And it’s signature looks like HP Lovecraft’s,” Lenore finished. “I think that’s fake.”
“Does it matter who signed it?” Karin asked.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Lenore shrugged. “The book contains spells that supposedly control gates between the worlds.”
“Like Doyle’s gate to Fairy,” Karin said.
“I only got a quick look at it before the sheriff took it away as evidence.” Lenore swallowed jerkily.
Evidence of murder. Lenore had had the bad luck to find that corpse in the woods last New Year’s. We wanted to think that had been a coincidence too, but the victim had been on his way to see her, with the spell book. When you’re a witch, you don’t get the luxury of coincidences.
“Its spells are phrased in Lovecraftian terms — Eldritch gods and that sort of thing,” Lenore continued. “But yes, controlling gates seemed to be the big theme. And that’s all I know. That, and people have killed for it. And who knows how many people might have been hurt or killed when someone tried to steal the book from the sheriff last January—”
“They didn't just try to steal it,” Karin said, her voice rising. “They blew a hole in the wall of the sheriff’s station.”
“Yeah.” Lenore eyed her. “I just hope… Deputy Marsh…”
“What?” Karin demanded. “What about Deputy Marsh?”
Lenore explained what she’d learned.
“We can’t imagine every accidental death is a magical attack,” Karin. “We need to be logical about this.”
“Right,” I said, but strange magic was flowing through town. No sudden death felt normal, but the timing...
A memory of the nightmare flashed into my mind. Lenore and Karin, lying in a spotlight. A high ceiling that vanished into folds of darkness. Curving, tiered stands. And though I never could see the crowd in those stands – the crowd I begged for help – I could feel its intent gaze.
I toed aside a stray boot. “We don’t know what’s going on. We’re panicking.”
“I’m not panicking,” Lenore said. “We need to get organized, have a plan. And we need more information about this so-called accident.”
Karin turned to me. “You’re friends with John Marsh’s widow, Gertrude, aren’t you, Jayce?”
Widow. She was a widow now. I scrubbed my hands across my face. “I’m better friends with her sister. Now’s not the time for us to pay a condolence call. But I’ll go over to Gertrude’s place tomorrow,” I said, my insides sinking fast. If I didn’t go, one of my sisters would. But my death dream was only a dream. I was probably freaking myself out over nothing. Besides, my sisters had proven they could take care of themselves.
“Aside from Hermia, does Gertrude have any family?” Karin asked.
“Their parents retired to Florida, I think,” I said. “They’ll be flying out here to be with her, no doubt. John didn’t have any family.”
“Okay, you tackle the family,” Lenore said. “I’ll learn what I can from Connor.”
I nodded, relieved. What could it hurt for Lenore to get some intel from her boyfriend?
Karin tugged on her navy blazer. “And I’ll... go over my research again on Black Lodges and Lovecraftian magic.”
Karin couldn’t get into much trouble doing research. “Lovecraftian magic?” I asked. “That’s a thing?”
“You’d better believe it.” Karin checked her watch. “I’ve got to get back. I promised the sitter—”
“Go.” I waved my hands toward the door. “And give my niece a big kiss from me.”
Karin smiled and stood. “Come to Angels Camp and give her one yourself.” She hugged Lenore and me and hurried out the door.
We listened to her footsteps descending the stairs to the alley below.
Lenore rose too. “So, you’ll see Gertrude in the morning?”
I nodded, unenthusiastic. There’s a sharp red line between offering support and snooping, and I was about to cross it. But maybe there would be a way I could help Gertrude too.
Lenore left. I hoped the ghost cat went with her, for Picatrix’s sake. But I wasn’t super thrilled about being haunted by an animal either.
Memories of my past mistakes were haunting enough.
*****
A chill traveled from my ankles and up my spine. I couldn’t move, couldn’t help them. Twin red splotches spread across my sisters’ blouses. Lenore looked down in surprise. But Karin just looked at me in a disappointed, accusing sort of way.
Beneath the harsh spotlight, Karin and Lenore dropped to their knees. The audience in the stands, hidden by folds of darkness, groaned.
“No!”
Karin fell forward onto the hard-packed sand.
“No!”
“Jayce?”
I gasped and sat up in bed. Brayden.
I twisted, frantic.
He sat beside me, sheets pooled around his hips, his green eyes dark with concern. I released an uneven breath. He was here, and he was okay. We both were. Morning sun filtered through the skylight. It cast a dim square of light on my low bookcase lined with crystals.
Brayden brushed a strand of hair from where it had stuck to my face. “Nightmare?”
“Yeah.” I grasped his muscular arm and forced a smile. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
“I was awake.” He hesitated. “Dreaming of your sisters again?”
“Yeah. It’s just so real,” I blurted. But would it become real? No. I had to stop it. I would stop it.
“It’s only a dream,” Brayden said, “a manifestation of your subconscious.”
“My subconscious is a jerk.”
He smiled.
“I just can’t stop thinking about it,” I said. “And it won’t stop bothering me. What happened to me? When did I start worrying so much?”
“You’ve had some bad scares. We all have.”
“But a dream’s not real. It’s stupid to worry about something that probably won’t even happen.”
He laid his hand on the sheet covering my thigh. “Planning for retirement, avoiding that dark alley – that’s worry working in your favor. But no, worrying about the deaths of people we love isn’t helpful. Because I will die. Your sisters will die. We all will, eventually. And the best thing we can do to prepare for it is to live the best lives we can, together.”
That would be easier to believe if we didn’t have a Black Lodge on our tails. But I smiled and slipped out of bed and into a silky robe to contemplate what the heck I was going to wear today. Saturday was technically my day off, and I had to pay a condolence call.
Brayden was quiet as he went about getting ready for work. In silence, he tugged on his boots. In silence, he buttoned up his blue, EMT uniform. In silence, he hooked on his dive watch.
And in silence, I stepped behind him in the tall, bedroom mirror. I slipped my arms around his trim waist.
He turned and kissed the top of my head. “Be careful on the road, will you?” he asked.
“I’m always careful.”
He stepped away from me and cocked a brow. “I love you Jayce, but no, you’re not.”
“I’ll be careful,” I said. Brayden saw hurt people all day. He wanted to keep me safe, and I understood the urge.
He scraped a hand through his curling hair, the color of mourning. “When’s the last time you’ve taken that truck in for servicing?”
“Uh...” If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it is my motto.
“I’ll take it in on Monday,” he said.
I opened my mouth to argue, then smiled. “Thank you.”
Brayden pulled me close again. We stood that way a long time. I listened to the beat of his heart, felt the iron of his muscles, inhaled his cedar scent.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He squeezed me closer. “John’s accident was bad,” he finally said, his voice a low rumble. “We were the first on the scene. It was like the car... wanted him dead.” He stepped away, holding my shoulder lightly. “It was worse because we knew John. He was a good guy.”
“I know.”
“And we were too late to do anything.”
“Are you...?” I bit my lip. This wasn’t the time.
“Am I what?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. Never mind.”
“I’m not that fragile. Whatever’s bothering you, you can tell me.”
We’d promised honesty. “Are you sure John’s death was an accident?”
His gaze sharpened. “Is something going on I should know about?”
“You remember last January, when Lenore found that body and that old book?”
“I remember the sheriff made an arrest. Some lunatic occultist. Tried to blow up the sheriff’s station, didn’t they?”
“Yeah, for the book,” I said. “And then I got that warning from Mrs. Raven, that he was part of an organization.”
“A Black Lodge, you called it.”
“Right. Good memory.” I drew a deep breath. “We — my sisters and I — think they might finally have arrived, and that John Marsh’s death could be related.”
He stared out the curtained bedroom window. “Why?”
“Marsh worked in the evidence room, didn’t he? And that’s where the book that this lodge wants is being kept.”
“You think he wouldn’t give it to them, and so they killed him?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I don’t know. But… Is it possible his death wasn’t an accident?”
“I’m no expert on car forensics. It went over the hill, through about fifty feet of brush, and hit a tree. John went through the windshield.”
“He wasn’t wearing his seatbelt?” That seemed strange for a cop.
“No.” He rubbed his chin. “His neck was broken. He would have died instantly. If it makes a difference, he wasn’t driving his police car.”
“So, he was off duty?”
“He had to have been.”
“Was there anything else?” I asked. “Anything unusual?”
He closed his eyes, his forehead wrinkling. “The trunk came open on impact. There was some stuff in it, something plastic-y and blue green. I didn’t get a good look. My focus was elsewhere.”
My chest pinched. He’d been focused on saving the deputy.
We talked more but reached no conclusions, and Brayden left for work.
I walked downstairs to Ground and filled a plate with pastries for Gertrude, covering it with plastic wrap. I’d recently started opening Ground on Saturdays but left its management in Darla’s capable hands. I’m all about a work-life balance.
Gertrude lived in Doyle, but I drove out of town and west on the highway, down the mountain. Brayden had given me a general idea of where the accident had happened. If magic had been involved in Deputy Marsh’s crash, it would have left traces at the scene.
The breeze from the passage of my F-150 whipped the tall, lush grasses along the verge, beneath the shade of the pines. At a bend in the winding highway, I let my pickup drift and rolled to a stop on the earthen shoulder. Police tape stretched between the pines and across a raw gap in the manzanita.
I stepped out and looked around. I didn’t see any skid marks on the road or tracks in the dirt. But the car’s trail was obvious enough, brush uprooted and crushed.
Sidestepping, I half slid down the hill to a line of pines.
A chunk of bark had been ripped from a massive tree where the deputy’s car had struck. Reddish sap dripped around the wound, as if the tree had wept blood.
I rested my hand on the rough bark and closed my eyes. “What happened here?”
A breeze sighed in the pine’s branches.
Instead of forcing my awareness into the tree, I let the pine’s awareness flow through my hand, up my arm. I visualized the hillside, inhaled the scent of pine. In a flash, I saw the car racing down the hill, cracking and smashing branches, and—
The tree groaned, the earth shaking beneath me. Acrid smoke burned my nostrils. My feet skidded on the steep slope, and my butt hit the ground.
“Ow!” My eyes flew open. I was sliding, my feet bicycling on the loose earth. The tree zipped past.
I grabbed a manzanita branch with one hand. My arm tried to whiplash from its socket, and I yelped. The branch slipped through my hand, tearing the flesh. I squeezed harder, and my downward momentum stopped. Breathing heavily, I released the branch.
“Seriously?” I glared up at the pine. “You too?”
I scrambled to my feet and brushed dirt from the seat of my jeans. “I don’t know what’s going on, but this isn’t… cool…” I trailed off, staring at the tree.
Carved into the pine’s bark, almost exactly opposite where the car had struck, was a symbol – three interlocking triangles. I braced my hand on the bark, my legs suddenly wobbly.
The carving was fresh. I touched the deep marks. But had it been carved before or after the accident?
I checked the nearby trees but didn’t find any other symbols. So, it was just this tree, the killer tree.
I shivered. It couldn’t be coincidence.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I took a photo of the strange symbol. Then I walked around the pine and snapped more pictures, because I was here and I was gathering evidence, dammit, even if I didn’t know what I was looking for.
And then I started the long, slippery slog up the hill.