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Sending Araceli in first made for a good ice breaker. I walked into the diner to find her holding court with Becky over cups of tea. Becky gave me a sly grin and slipped out of the booth as I approached, smoothing her apron. I didn’t speak, just nodded a greeting as I passed. I watched her disappear into the back behind the lunch counter.
“Worried I might find you applying enhanced interrogation techniques,” I said, sliding into the seat across from Araceli.
The joke didn't sit well with her. She flashed a stare of pure fury. I’d accidentally pushed that button again. She fidgeted with her teacup before collecting herself.
“She's friendly, as you said.” She spoke coolly, detached. “The Sheriff asked her to stay clear of you. He didn't tell her why.”
That’s good. Better for all of us Hank’s murder scene be kept quiet. Still, even a guy who held me at gunpoint deserved respect. Before this was over, I hoped I could find justice for him.
“What did you tell her?”
"I told her we were reporters writing a story about improper seizure of assets by small town police departments." She’d calmed down now, though I noticed her swirling her fingertip in the steaming tea. “She provided quite the list of locals who might have grievances with the sheriff’s tactics.”
“Smart.” I was impressed she’d gotten so much information so quickly. “Too bad we won't be following up.”
“We will. In a way.” Araceli stared at me over her raised cup. “When I mentioned asset seizure, she immediately asked about the manor.”
“Do tell,” I said doing my best to massage a Baltimore accent into something more sophisticated.
Araceli rolled her eyes. “The Sheriff's had his eye on the manor for some time, according to Becky.”
“She knows about the death then?” I asked.
“Local funeral director eats here. He didn’t say anything to her, she just guessed when he came into town during all the activity around the place. She said he looked nervous.” Araceli checked to see that Becky hadn’t reappeared from the back room. “She's been predicting the Sheriff would knock off his brother for years so he could claim the family inheritance."
“And pass it on to Mordecai.”
I had to let our new lead sink in. The funeral director probably owned the cemetery near the property. Since the sheriff wasn’t one to do his own dirty work, and since he needed a paper trail to claim Fenwick Hall, he’d called in somebody else to handle the body. Sheriff Hallewell probably either threatened the funeral director or told him he needed secrecy for his ongoing investigation.
Having the Deputy show up on the scene with him had been smart, too. It gave him an alibi to throw off any suspicion once he inherited the house.
He’d also been confident enough to call in an army of cops in the middle of this. Either that or the death hadn’t been pre-meditated, maybe just the result of an angry demon whose offer on the house got turned down. Mordecai at least had known he’d get the property, one way or another. By then, I’d already been called in to deal with their invasive magical sword.
My thoughts went to Fortune and his little patch of land. I couldn’t tell how much the old hoodoo had already been involved. He’d been wary enough to hex his yard. I considered asking Becky what she knew about him, but I didn't want to implicate him in this. Tell her I had an interest and I might as well tell the sheriff.
“Let's head to Fortune's place.”
“Why?”
“We need to finish summoning the Devil.”
***
FORTUNE DIDN’T APPEAR to be home. Knocking? No, I’d leave him to his private stoop after my earlier ordeal. I could walk the path he showed me, but no telling if it worked only because he’d been there.
Araceli made a move to step off the curb and into the tangled driveway. I snatched her arm.
“Hold up.”
“What is it?”
“Snakes. Well, spiritual serpents. Yard’s like the Temple of Doom up in there.”
She tapped a finger on her thigh, scrutinizing the property. I could tell she’d started on a plan. Walking back to Bubonic, she placed her hand on the hood.
“How much do you like your car?”
We had a love hate relationship, me and my ride. All the gravel roads and the spring rains had turned the once glossy black into a soupy gray. I’d managed to keep those silky white leather seats clean, though I knew the floor mats were a muddy mess. As much as driving a hearse made me a spectacle, the beast had grown on me. And she was a Caddy after all, down to the emblems on those stock chrome wire rims.
“Technically, she’s not my ride.”
“She? Then you wouldn’t mind if we used her to get closer to the porch?” She placed her palm on the hood. “Solid steel. I could make this a tank, even against spiritual wards. Paint might get scratched.”
So I’d been called out. All the time spent grumbling at the car wash at Kitterling’s insistence hadn’t involved as much pain as I’d fronted.
“Watching you work your magic would be dope, but the answer is no. Let’s check the crime scene while the sheriff is busy. We’ve got plenty of time to kill before dusk.”
We slid back inside across those ivory seats. The thought of finally accepting I was comfortable behind the wheel of my death mobile crossed my mind. Araceli must’ve noticed the smirk as I took hold of the steering wheel.
“Is this why you work for your employer? The fringe benefits?”
“All about the final mile. Anything happens to me in here, I’m already loaded up.”
I pulled away from Fortune’s house. Araceli knew a lot about me. Presumably, my reputation had brought her to Saint Augustine. Trouble was, I knew about as much about her people as I did this preacher. Hell, maybe less.
Like the preacher and his minions, she was ultimately after this sword. What didn’t add up was the timing. They’d both come looking for me, found me, at the same time. This organization of hers, the Old World magic police or whoever, must have somebody on the inside of Mordecai’s operation. Or her own had been compromised.
“What was that earlier?” I asked. “In the diner, you got upset when I mentioned enhanced interrogation.”
She tugged absently on the flap on her overalls and left her hands there. Her mouth set into a frown. I remembered the way those knives of hers flew through the air like guided missiles and did my best to keep eyes on her and the road. Atofo’s blade would be quicker than drawing my Emperor Scorpion, but I did not like the idea of a close quarters knife fight with her.
“Torture is strictly forbidden by my order. We have a history of fighting those who might employ such methods.”
“History?”
“The Inquisition.”
“Spanish Inquisition? No shit? There’s this whole museum in Saint Augustine about the torture methods they used all in the name of God, or whatever.” She flashed another glimpse of her earlier fury. “Not that you should visit. Isn’t for everybody.”
“The Inquisition was led by infiltrators of the Church. Blasphemers. These demons you have met? They encouraged the worst of it.”
“I thought people were just assholes.”
“They are. But once a movement like that begins, true Evil finds a home. It was in that time the Mercedarian Order was founded.” She sat up straighter, less tension in her arms, more slack in her wrists — not that she probably couldn’t fire one of those silver spikes at my skull with her thoughts. “We are sworn to protect the faith of others even to death.” She lowered her head. “Many in those dark days renounced their beliefs under pain of torture. Many today have renounced them simply out of inconvenience.”
“You said you weren’t a nun.”
“Wizards have adopted religion out of self-preservation, or sometimes converted. Many truly believed.” Her attention seemed to slip away from the present. “But when I say I am sworn to defend faith, I am not speaking about only Christians. I’m speaking about the forces which keep us from the temptations of evil.”
“Riiight,” I said, not hiding the sarcasm this time. “The Above. Because the Below is all evil influences. Sounds pretty much like church if you ask me. I mean, do you really believe in this Armageddon stuff? The big Good versus the big Evil?”
She went back to that faraway place, watching the road. “Yes. I’ve seen it. So have you.”
We didn’t speak again during the drive. She had a point in that if the spirit realm represented some titanic clash of good and evil, my teacher had definitely been stamped with the wrong zip code. But calling one wrong or right still seemed too simplistic. Above and Below weren’t Heaven and Hell. Night and day came whether you wanted them to or not. What Atofo said made sense. He didn’t demand I become the judge and jury. Cop logic. Arrest and detain the potential harm, let the courts sort that shit out.
I’d seen enough in my life to know evil. Atofo scared the hell out of me sometimes, but I couldn’t call him evil. The spirit who’d reached out at Fenwick Hall and asked me to find his boy, he hadn’t been evil. Hallewell’s ancestor though, that guy had the right vibe. Wasn’t just the blatant racism. You can be an ignorant motherfucker and not be evil. No, he wanted to have an excuse to treat people like animals. It filled a hole in his soul.
Then there’d been the shadow hound.
Where was that even from? Trapped in the Below, it had tried to attack me once. Then it pinned me down and tried to strip the flesh off my face. None of that sounded like a good thing.
But Araceli’s traditions deemed things good or bad without considering the intent. That kind of bullshit had been going on since Western Civilization set foot on these shores. What intentions did that beast have? Could killing a man who already stood partway in the world of death be evil? Could it really have thought it was helping me? It said the boy was lonely. Would an evil creature kill for a lonely boy?
I came to a stop right outside the front gates of the manor. No police tape to attract attention, the sheriff had left them wide open. Despite the invitation, I parked outside. We both got out and I unfurled the survey map on the hood.
“Based on the amount of mojo you say is in the sword, I don’t think it’s in the house,” I said, pointing to roughly where the structure would be. “But I want to check the property and the manor offers the best starting point. What sort of magic can your alchemy do to help?”
“I can find trace metals in the soil. A metal sword buried in the dirt is easy if I know the patch of dirt to be near.”
“Human metal detector, huh? You and Caleb ought to have a beach date.” She arched an eyebrow at the suggestion. “Ancestral magic has a definite feel, know what I’m saying? I might be able to start at the house and pick up a trail.”
Examining the boundaries, I could see that the property extended from here back to the creek a couple miles away. With nobody maintaining the fields outside the main grounds, they’d become overgrown. Making any progress without a machete or a little magic wasn’t happening.
“Let’s start with the backyard,” I said. “Plenty of mason jars and dead pets left in those. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Lucky enough to not have to summon this crossroads devil of yours later?”
She’d ride me about that until dusk. I was about to tell her to chill on me but never got the chance. Two lumbering brutes came up the drive toward us.
“Speaking of devils.”