Grave Matters (9 page)

At this point Riley laughed at a remark from the druid, and Beck smiled to himself. He never quite understood how her voice could be a balm to him, but it was. Looking at her now, you’d never know she’d been to Hell and back.

Maybe, if things kept getting better between them, he’d find the courage to ask his question again.

Maybe the next time she’d say “yes.”

Once the guests were gone, Riley and Beck joined the two masters in a cozy sitting room. She snuggled next to her guy on a leather sofa, utilizing Beck’s furnace feature to warm herself. As much as she loved Scotland, she really missed Atlanta’s warmer climate.

MacTavish lit a pipe, filling the air with a rich caramel aroma. That reminded her of Master Stewart, how every evening they’d share how their day went. She missed him, wished he was here.
He’d know how to make things right again.

After light talk about the dinner and the guests, the topic of conversation turned to business.

“According to Summoner Fayne’s superiors,” Kepler began, “they have not been able to find out what where that demonic spell originated. In short, the necromancers have closed ranks.”

“Figured that might happen. But wouldn’t there be some sort of magical trace left behind?” Beck said.

“They claim there wasn’t one.”

“That’s a lie,” Riley said. “Our friend Mortimer — he’s a summoner — said that each necro has their own ‘magical signature.”

“Your friend is correct,” Kepler said, nodding.

MacTavish cleared his throat. “Riley, would ya give us a chance ta talk this out ... in private?”

She was being dismissed? “I have as much at stake in this as you guys do.”

“Aye, but right now ya need trust us,” he replied.

Riley shot her feet. “Okay, I’ll just go to my room and buff my nails while you guys can talk state secrets. Will that work for you?”

“Riley...” Beck murmured, shaking his head in dismay.

“We’ll talk more in the mornin’,” MacTavish replied. “Good night, lass.”

Riley resisted the urge to slam the door behind her as fury propelled her down the hall and then up the staircase.

Will it always be like this?

If she and Beck kept secrets from each other now, over the years that cancer would spread, poisoning their relationship. First he wouldn’t tell her about his work, then it’d be other things; who he’d talked to or met for a drink or...

But if I want to be part of his life, this is what I have to do.

In her room, she kicked off her shoes and changed into her jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt. Thick, fluffy socks came next and they soothed her cold feet.

The rowdy part of her insisted she go back downstairs. The unsure part of her didn’t want to act like some little girl begging for an invitation into the big boy’s tree house.

As her temper gradually cooled, Riley checked her e-mails and found there wasn’t much new in Atlanta, which was reassuring. Beck’s neighbor, Mrs. Morton, had left a short note to report that his house and bunny rabbit were both in fine shape. And Riley’s Latin assignment for the week had been posted online.

Mort’s reply wasn’t comforting. In a few succinct paragraphs he explained how it was possible for a summoner to influence another’s behavior, how the magic user didn’t need to be in the presence of the victim, only that the compulsion spell was replenished every now and then.

Her contact with summoners had been limited, at least until tonight, which meant that all her confusion probably wasn’t caused by a spell. More likely it was a fundamental flaw with her and Beck’s relationship.

She felt her eyes misting.

I can’t lose him now.
Not like this.

A tap came at her door. Confused as to who this might be, Riley opened it to find the maid with a tray in hand. “Excuse me, Miss. Thought you might like some hot cocoa.”

“Thanks,” Riley said and accepted the tray. The young girl retreated down the hall as she toed the door closed.

Beck had probably arranged the delivery as a peace offering, trying to make amends.

Note to self: stop being a butthead. At least to Beck.

Sinking back into the desk chair, Riley picked up the cup, savoring the heady scent of dark chocolate. Right before she took a sip, she read further into email.

‘Spells can be laid on food and liquids in such a way that the victim will have no idea they are being enchanted. It’s old tech, but it does work quite effectively.’

“Liquids?” she murmured. Then peered down at the cup. How did she know that there wasn’t something in the drink? Or what about the shortbread cookies that accompanied the hot chocolate? Or if she was really going to be paranoid, why not in the water she’d had at supper?

I’m driving myself crazy.

After three unsuccessful tries to let the cup touch her lips, Riley reluctantly dumped the delicious drink down the bathroom sink and rinsed out the cup. Staring up in the mirror revealed the underlying weariness that seemed to age her from within.

Riley pushed her hair off her face, then growled under her breath. Paul Blackthorne’s daughter should be down there with the grand masters, not cowering in her room. Beck would be angry at her for barging into the meeting, but she didn’t care. Steeling herself, she let the door slip closed behind her and headed toward the stairs.

Beck’s loyalties were badly divided: he wanted to listen to the conversation between the two masters, maybe learn more about what was happening with Riley, but the other part of him was worried about her. He’d seen the look on her face, how angry she was at being sent away. She’d never tolerated being treated like a nuisance, and he suspected that anger would be directed at him just when they were starting to mend fences.

“Look, I know you think yer doin’ what’s best for her, but I know Riley. She’s got a right to be here.”

“We’re not includin’ her because we’re not sure just how compromised she is,” MacTavish explained.

“I don’t understand. What do you mean ... compromised?”

Kepler’s aged hands knotted together in his lap. “I have a bit of magical ability myself, and I sensed an enchantment when Riley walked in the front door this morning. Your young lady is under a necromancer’s spell.”

“What?” Beck replied, caught off guard. “But...” Then it made sense. “All this paranoia stuff. You think someone’s made her that way?”
Please God, let it be that.

“I’m sure of it,” Kepler said.

“So who did it to her?” he demanded, his fists clenched now. “Was it that summoner you had at dinner tonight?”

Kepler looked over at MacTavish. “Yes, it was.”

“What!?” Beck launched to his feet. “And you let her go?”

MacTavish waved him back into his chair and Beck reluctantly complied.

“We let her go free because we don’t have enough evidence against her. We arranged it so she was here tonight so Kepler could feel out her magic. Now that we know she’s involved, we can take the matter before her superiors.”

“They’re not gonna do a damned thing. Why the hell didn’t we just nail her to the wall?”

“Trust me, I woulda loved ta have sliced off her head and sent it as a warnin’ ta those damned meddlin’ fools, but sometimes ya have see the bigger picture.”

“There is nothing more important than Riley’s safety,” Beck said. The moment he said the words, he felt the indecision. As a grand master he couldn’t be that way, couldn’t limit his world to just one person.

Or could he?

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he admitted. “All the learnin’ and such, that’s been okay. But this ... damn ... I feel like I’m bein’ ripped apart.”

MacTavish gave a solemn nod. “If ya weren’t, we’d be worried. We all went through this, each one of us in our way. We had ta find peace within ourselves, negotiate the balance between our personal lives and our mission.”

Silence fell, each of them caught in private thoughts.

Was this the way it would always be for him, stuck between the grand masters and the woman he loved?

Beck slowly unclenched his fists and allowed his arms to fall free on either side of the chair. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

MacTavish nodded his approval. “I know it’s hard, lad, and it never gets easier. Especially when ya love someone so verra much.”

“So what is this bigger picture yer talkin’ about?”

“This isn’t the first time the necros have been pokin’ around in Hell. Our biggest worry is if they will ally with Lucifer. By goin’ slowly, we can keep the other necros on the straight and narrow, while dealin’ with the immediate problem.”

Beck stilled. “Then why didn’t ya tell Riley all this?”

“I’m concerned that if Fayne learns we’re onto her,” Kepler said, “she may well compel Riley to harm herself. No living witness? No charges.”

“Ah, shit,” Beck murmured. “I never thought of that.” He rubbed a hand over this face. “I knew somethin’ was wrong. Riley stopped trustin’ me, and that’s not like her. We’ve been through so much together, for her to just back off...”

“That’s why I knew somethin’ was up,” MacTavish said. “Neither of ya are lightweights when it comes to hard times. The moment ya came back from Hell, we had ta know everythin’ about ya. Even yer private life.”

“Riley’s not part of this,” Beck said, though he knew that wasn’t the truth.

“She’s as much a part of who ya are as anyone,” MacTavish retorted. “Ya’ve been readin’ our history — Hell works through all channels ta destroy us. What better way than corruptin’ one of yer own family?” MacTavish took a deep breath to calm himself. “That’s why we were so pleased ta see that ya’d found a lass who knew what ya were facin’, knew Hell’s tricks, had even beaten them at their own game.”

“Without a strong force in your life, it’s too easy to be tempted,” Kepler explained. He and MacTavish exchanged a solemn look.

“Been there?” Beck asked softly.

“Aye. All of us have, at one time or another,” MacTavish replied.

Beck frowned. “I should check on Riley. Make sure she’s okay.”

“Tell her we’ll talk over breakfast, lay it all out for her. Then I’ll contact Fayne’s superiors.”

Beck nodded and rose. He’d taken only a few steps toward the door when the maid scurried in, her face white.

“Sirs...”

“What’s wrong?” Beck said, taking a step closer. “Is Riley okay?”

“I was headed to the kitchen and ... and ... I saw her with Mr. Brennan. They were going out the side door. He had a knife at her throat.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus!” Beck exclaimed, and took off a run.

“That’s right. Just keep moving.”

Riley was outdoors, Brennan holding tight to her arm. In his other hand was a knife, the one that had convinced her to not fight him, at least not yet.

It’d been her fault; she really hadn’t been paying attention when he’d had accosted her in the downstairs hall. Now she cursed herself for not sensing the danger before he’d pulled the knife and told her to keep silent.

As they climbed the hill behind the manor house her mind raced with questions. How had she misread this guy all along?

Riley wasn’t wearing a coat or gloves and the crisp night air cut into her, her teeth chattering in response to the cold. There was a slight breeze as the clouds moved across the moon, alternately obscuring and then revealing its pale glow. It felt like snow was in the air.

She knew that calling out for help wasn’t an option - no one would hear her out here. “Why are you doing this?” Riley demanded.

“Because she’ll help me get what I want,” was the terse reply, the knife never wavered.

“She?”

“Fayne,” he said, sounding as if the word tasted sour.

“You have to be kidding me.” The grand masters had dined with her kidnapper and never known it. Or had they? Was this one big scheme or...

“Did MacTavish know she was behind this?”

Brennan gave her quick frown. “No, I don’t think so, but you never know with him. He’s a cagey old bird.”

As they climbed, shrubs tugging on her jeans, Riley felt magic build around them, the same dark magic that had been in the graveyard. Things began to come clear.

“She put a spell on me, didn’t she? That’s why I was so weird to Beck.”

“Yes. It was in the Holy Water I gave you.”

“What? Damn you!” she said, trying to pull herself out of his grip, but failing. “You ruined my life!”

“That wasn’t the intention,” he replied. “I just wanted...”

She glared at him. “Wanted what?”

“Nobody was supposed to die,” he said, his voice trembling now. “It went all wrong.”

“Really. And Bess’s little girl? What about her?”

Her captor shook his head. “I didn’t know Fayne put a spell on the kid until later. I was just supposed to make sure Robbie picked you up at the airport instead of Beck.”

More pieces of the puzzle dropped in place. “You did something to make Beck sick, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I put some stuff in his oatmeal. It didn’t hurt him.”

They skirted around a broad patch of heather as their breath clouded the night air.

Riley snorted. “I guess throwing up for a few hours is no big deal in your world.”

Brennan’s hand tightened on her arm, digging into her flesh. “He’s okay now. It’s not like I wanted to hurt him. He’s been decent to me.”

“Then why do all this?”

“I want to be a grand master,” he replied, his eyes flashing at her. “Fayne will summon a Fallen and then I’ll kill it. They’ll have to let me become one of them.”

Riley came to abrupt halt, forcing Brennan to stop. “Are you crazy? Do you have any idea how evil those things are?”

“You’re just like MacTavish,” he snapped, frowning again. “He only wants his favorites to become a grand master.”

“What? It doesn’t ... work that way. It’s not like some popularity contest,” she said, her teeth chattering harder now. He tugged her along and they resumed the climb. “Look, we can go back to the house, explain what happened to you and—”

“Just keep walking,” he said.

She wasn’t getting through to him.

“So why do the summoning in the graveyard? What did that buy you guys?”

“Fayne wanted to test the elements of the spell, make sure they were right before she tried to summon a Fallen. Robbie was all over that, eager to impress her, I guess.”

“Yeah, that really worked for him.”

When she crested the hill, out of breath and body quaking, Riley forced herself to look over her shoulder. To her relief, the manor house had more lights on now. Did they realize she was gone? Or was it nothing more than the others getting ready for bed?

Beck will find me. He’ll know something’s wrong.

But maybe she could give him a bit of help. If she could get back to the manor...

Riley swung around and kicked at Brennan’s closest knee, dropping him to the ground with a cry. Rather than try to wrestle the knife from him, she took off down the hill, veering around stones. She’d covered only a short distance when a voice boomed in her head, clamping onto her will with steel claws.

“Come to me!” the voice ordered, causing her to skid to a stop. Though she tried to fight the spell, Riley turned like a puppet and continued on, past Brennan, to the crown of the hill.

Her captor swore as he caught up with her, but made no attempt to restrain her. He didn’t need to — his “boss” was pulling her strings.

They walked along the crown of the ridge, the loch to their left, until a bonfire became visible along a flat stretch of ground dotted with heather and stones. Summoner Fayne stood by the fire, her dark brown robe nearly making her invisible in the darkness.

“Come closer,” the summoner said, beckoning.

Riley’s mind told to submit, that it was useless to resist such power. Her heart told her if she did, she was dead.

Brennan limped closer now, looking anxiously back and forth between Riley and the necromancer. “This damn well better work,” he muttered, shaking his head in dismay.

“All will go smoothly,” Fayne replied.

“It didn’t go smoothly for Robbie and the others,” Riley cut in. “They’re dead.”

“Their blood is on your hands, not mine,” the summoner retorted. “If you had not fought back, the demon would have been happy just to kill you, not them.”

“No, that’s not how it was,” Riley said, her memories conjuring up the horrific images of the dead summoners. Of Bess weeping in terror. “You knew Robbie couldn’t hold that Archfiend. He didn’t have enough power.”

Fayne ignored that. “Sit there,” the woman ordered, pointing toward a bare patch of ground. Riley moved to the spot she’d indicated, forced to comply so her head wouldn’t explode from the pressure. The instant her butt hit the hard ground she went into another long shivering session. It was so cold, she could barely feel the tips of her fingers.

Beck, where are you?

Fayne was closer now, the magic rolling off her in waves. She placed a ceremonial knife and a piece of paper on the ground within Riley’s reach.

Riley glared up at her. “MacTavish and Beck will figure out I’m missing and come looking for me.”

“Let them,” the necromancer replied, her eyes alight. “They pose no threat. A few dead grand masters won’t trouble me at all.”

“Hey!” Brennan said, limping closer now. “That’s not our deal. You are to summon the Fallen so I can kill it. You can’t hurt the masters or I’m screwed.”

The summoner laughed. “If they get in my way, they will be harmed. If you thought otherwise, you’re an idiot. “

“No! I won’t let you hurt them.”

“Then they’d best not challenge me.”

“The necro is hosing you over,” Riley said. “The only way she’ll summon a Fallen is to kill me. How else will she get one of Lucifer’s own this close to the grand master’s stronghold?”

“No, you’ll be fine,” Brennan insisted, but he sounded unsure now. “We agreed that she would wipe your memory once it was over. I’ll tell the masters I found you out here wandering around all confused. That I rescued you from the Fallen. I’ll be the hero.”

You are so naive.

With a bark of laughter, Fayne tossed a sword at his feet. As Brennan picked it up, his eyes met Riley’s. “It’ll be okay,” he said, shooting a quick glance toward the necromancer as she returned to the fire. He lowered his voice. “I’ll keep you safe, no matter what.”

Riiight.

Fayne invoked her magical circle and it snapped into place with a burst of dark grey light, destined to protect her from one of Hell’s most dangerous servants. Unlike Robbie’s, this circle thrummed with power. Fayne may not be at Mort’s level of magical expertise, but she had enough expertise to do a lot of damage.

After a sharp intake of breath, as if realizing there was no going back, Brennan called out. “I’m ready.”

Riley tried to rise, but the effort proved futile. The buzzing her mind was at hornet nest level now, making it hard to think. She had to buy time.

“If you summon a Fallen and it’s going to kill him,” she said, angling her head toward the grand master wannabe, “and take you as its own.”

Fayne sniffed in derision. “No Fallen will ever command me. It will be my servant.”

“Why? What does this buy you?”

“Respect. None of the others think I am capable of such a thing, but after tonight they will know I am the most powerful summoner in all the world.”

Now that’s a planet-sized ego.
Which was all Hell needed to work their own special brand of chaos.

Knowing she was wasting her time trying to talk sense into Fayne or Brennan, Riley shifted her attention to escape. When she tried to rise again, nothing happened other than making sweat stand out on her forehead and her head pound in time with her heart.

There’s got to be a way to break free.

Fayne raised her head, almost like she was scenting the wind, and smiled. “The masters have realized you’re missing and are hurrying to join us. What a merry party we will have.”

That was good news. Or was it?

Or maybe that had been Fayne’s plan all along — to lure Beck and the others out of the safety of their house and end their lives at the hands of a Fallen.

Is she that smart? Or has Hell been playing her all along?

Unaware of Riley’s inner dialog, Fayne began to chant, grayish-blue light swirling around her hands. Riley knew this spell — two months earlier she’d been with Mort on a summoning and this was similar. The deceased had been a young girl, just fourteen, and Mort had felt Riley’s presence might be a comfort when the deceased rose from her grave. The experience had left Riley heartbroken, vowing never to be involved in that kind of thing again, even though it had been to let the dead girl know they’d caught her killer.

And here I am again...

As she picked through the Latin, recognizing certain phrases. she realized that Fayne’s summoning wasn’t specific to one person. It was a general cattle call: If you were buried nearby, come join the party.

What are you doing?

The earth to Riley’s right began to groan as if in labor and it soon split apart. A ghostly figure rose from the soil, his tartan in rags. His chiseled face was dirty and smeared with what had to be dried blood and he was armed with a sword in one hand and a dirk in the other.

Riley stared in astonishment. From the style of clothes, this warrior had to have been buried in the mid-seventeen hundreds. Next to him another body rose, then a third. Apparently this had been a battlefield at one time.

A total of nine spectral clansmen heeded the magical call, all armed and ready for war.

“You have no right to do this to them,” Riley said, wiggling around in an attempt to get free of the magic that held her in check. “Put them back in their graves!”

“She’s right, Fayne. Why are you doing this? The dead shouldn’t be disturbed,” Brennan insisted.

“They don’t care,” Fayne replied. “They’re only tools, like the two of you.”

The summoner was wrong — when the first ghost’s eyes met Riley’s, the sadness within them nearly made her weep.