The Dead (The Thaumaturge Series Book 1) (15 page)

Johnny followed at my heels and went to sit at the back door. I propped the door open so he could pee in the tiny fenced yard, watching him crunch clumsily through the snowy dunes. His breath made clouds in the air. I needed to head down to the store anyway, and check the pipes. Free though it was to acquire, old buildings weren't free to maintain.

First though, I had to take care of the deer. From where I stood, looking out past the backyard to the carport, one stiff leg poked out of the bed of the truck. Not to mention the stiff pile of bloody clothes rolled up in the tarp on my front steps. And at some point, I had to have a conversation with Cody.

“Come on Johnny,” I called to him, shivering as the cold air burrowed under the collar of my shirt. Having finished his business, he now stood with his back to me, looking towards the carport with his tail swishing slightly.

“Johnny!” I called again, but he still didn't move. He gave me an apologetic look over his shoulder, and went back to staring.

A small worm of unease crawled through my belly. I looked past Johnny to the truck, where my gun was in its case in the back seat. I gingerly stepped down the two small steps and pulled the door closed behind me. Johnny looked at me again, and gave a bark, his tail still now.

My heart began to speed up a little, and slowly I crunched across the cold yard in my stocking feet. My bare arms shivered into goose bumps in the early morning air. I couldn't see down the main road of the trailer park, as nestled into the back as my trailer was, but the cold, still, air felt charged. Ominous.

The backyard was a tiny rectangle of snow-dusted grass, and it took me only a few steps to reach the chained link separating the yard from the carport. Cautiously, I stepped up beside Johnny, and curled my hand around his collar. The warmth of his furry head gave me a small boost of courage, and I looked over the fence into the driver's side window of my truck.

A form huddled on the bench seat, lying still with a blanket wrapped around it. The sight of it sent a bolt of pure adrenaline to my heart, and I stepped back, dragging Johnny with me. I felt myself breathing quicken, my heart hammering. The panic was almost immediately replaced with furious anger. God-
fucking
-dammit! I was sick of getting fucked with.

I made no decision to act, but rather found myself storming through the gate and past the front of the truck to the passenger's side door. The sound of the door wrenching open was loud and metallic and the form in the front seat shot up in alarm, the blanket falling away.

And of course it was Marcus. I found that I wasn't even surprised.

“What the fuck, man?” I yelled at him, my anger and fear merging into one. I wanted very badly to hit him, to get that innocent-confused-put-upon frown off his face. Behind me, Johnny gave a few deep barks. Clearly he had my back.

“Sorry! Sorry!” he stammered, looking around wildly, his twisty hair flattened and his face oddly pressed from sleeping against the truck's upholstery. He was still wearing my clothes, my jeans and old sneakers. My faded black coat looked strange on him.

“Get the fuck out of my truck. Why are you sleeping in here?”

“My friends are gone!” he cried in a pitiful voice, and I saw his eyes shone a bit too bright. Tears again?

“Gone?” I asked. “How did you not freeze? It was below freezing last night.”

“I used a fire spell,” he said, as though that should have been obvious.

“Fire spell?” I said dubiously, looking past him into the cab of my truck.

“Nothing's burned,” he added quickly, seeing the look on my face.

“Get out.”

“I didn't know where else to go! I went back to the motel and they were gone. I lost my cell phone somewhere and I don't know anyone else here.”

“Well, shit,” I said, wrapping my arms across my chest to ward off the wind. “It's cold. Come inside at least.”

“Are you sure?”

“Marcus, just . . . why didn't you just knock on the door?”

His chin jerked up defiantly. “I wasn't sure you would let me in.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake -” I bit off the words with an annoyed growl, and turned my back on him to stomp back to the trailer. The sound of his footsteps followed. I held the door open for him.

“Do you want coffee?” I asked, moving towards the fresh pot I had just brewed.

“Don't you drink tea?”

I snorted, amused at the horrified snobbiness in his voice. “Yes. Often. But I drink coffee, too. Want some?”

“No, thanks,” he said, eyeing the dollar-store coffee maker with suspicion.

“Suit yourself. So what? What happened last night?”

“Like I said. Your vampire dropped me off at the motel. Most uncomfortable car ride of my life,” he added darkly. “Anyway, I went to the front desk. I don't know what happened to the key card. But the guy said that we had already checked out. So I walked back here.” His face drew in, worry and fear and hurt all evident on his face. He looked at me beseechingly. “Why would they leave without me?”

“I don't know,” I said, though of course they must have thought that he was dead. Did they have something to do with it? Had they killed him?

“How well do you know them?” I asked, sitting at the kitchen table and offering him the other chair. He sat gingerly, seemingly alarmed at the scuffed appearance of the 1980s table. I got the sense that he had limited experience with trailer trash like me.

“Very well,” he said with emphasis. “Shaina and I have been training together under Jim for years.”

“How does your coven thing work?” I asked, giving him a smile with the hope of putting him at ease. “I have no experience with witches.”

“Just with vampires?” he threw back.

“Just the one,” I said gently.

He considered me, glancing around the kitchen a bit. I wondered how it looked to his eyes. It wasn't the same trailer that I had fled to when I was seventeen - that one would have truly horrified him. I had moved to this trailer three years ago and had no qualms about it. There weren't a lot of rental opportunities in Heckerson, and the houses that were available were hardly better than trailers anyway. This place was hundreds of dollars per month cheaper, and it was walking distance to the grocery store.

All the furniture - save my bed and the TV - came from thrift stores and was probably twenty-five years old, minimum. I’d bought new carpet, though, and I had updated the refrigerator and the bathtub in my bathroom. All the wood paneling had been replaced before I moved in, thank God, and the space felt bright and open. I mean, it wasn't paradise, but it was comfortable and clean and I felt at home here.

But to him, I was sure, obviously from an entirely different tax bracket, the trailer was probably his worst nightmare of poverty. He looked a bit faint, like he was deeply uncomfortable and desperately didn't want to show it. I imagined that he was more accustomed to gated communities and homes with circular drives. Homes I associated with words like “trust fund” and “valet parking.” And then I thought that with me, he probably associated such words as “food stamps” and “white trash.” It made me angry, though not at him.

I tapped my finger on the table to get his attention, and he looked back at me blankly.

“Ever been in a trailer before?” I asked bluntly.

He looked abashed. “I'm sorry. I'm being rude.”

“No, it's fine. I just get the sense that you haven't spent much time in a trailer park.”

“No,” he agreed, ducking his head a little. I found the gesture to be sweetly endearing.

“Don't worry. I'm the only redneck around. The rest of the folks here are in their eighties.”

“Really?”

I shrugged. “I think so. I haven't met them all.”

“No, I mean . . . are you really a redneck?”

He wasn't joking, and I wondered what that word meant to him, if he was worried because of his color. “No, I'm not really a redneck. And I'm not a fucking racist, Marcus, if that's what you're thinking.”

That made him jerk his head a little, his eyes flashing. He had a temper. “I wasn't. I hadn't assumed you were,” he snapped.

“Sorry.” I reached out to gently touch his hand and he let me, though he looked at the offending appendage like it was a spider crawling across the table at him.

“Look, I'm just trying to get you to talk, okay?” I said. “I'm sorry I said that, it was stupid.”

“I am very aware I am the only black guy in this town.”

“Not true.” I said casually. “There's one other. Frank Trimmot, the mailman.”

He looked at me suspiciously, searching for any mockery and when I didn't smile, he gave an amused snort.

“Okay, fine,” he conceded. “I'm the other black guy in town.”

“You're much prettier than Frank, if that helps.”

“I thought we all looked alike to you,” he shot back and I couldn't help grinning at him. He smiled and the stirring I felt down below was not entirely unwelcome.

“Anyway,” I said, steering the conversation back to safer grounds. “You were going to tell me about your coven.”

“My coven . . . well, Jim is our coven master. Shaina and I have been training with him exclusively. He broke off from this other coven like ten years ago. Morgan’s been with us for about six months and Corvin joined not long ago, like maybe two months?”

“Hmm,” I murmured. “So, Leo - my, uh, the vampire - he says that you have real magic. I mean, you put a real spell on me. How? Is it like, elements and stuff?”

“Yeah, I guess. It's more like, uh, the Force, I guess? From Star Wars?”

“I've seen it,” I said sardonically, but he just nodded.

“Okay. It's kind of like that. I can feel the life force of everything. The energy. And I can tap into it.”

“Sounds like it could be dangerous.”

“It is,” he agreed, forgetting himself and leaning forward on the table. “That's why Jim is so careful about Shaina and I, about what we are allowed to do. Because it can get away from you pretty fast.”

“Just you and Shaina? No one’s concerned with what the others can do?”

“Yeah, well, we’re the junior members. Morgan and Corvin have been training for years...” he trailed off, his expression turning dark. “I wonder where they are? Why can't I remember?” The frustration in his voice was evident, and I thought if he was acting, he should have been in Hollywood.

“Maybe you're not supposed to remember,” I said, sipping my coffee, and his eyes flew back to me.

“What do you mean?” he asked, and there was definite suspicion there, and something else too - fear. I couldn't smell it the way Leo could, but it was plain as day on his face.

“I mean, you whammied me the other night. Did something to me. I felt it. Almost made Leo tear out my throat. And you said that you're a novice at this?”

The word made him twist his mouth a little, but he nodded.

“So maybe one of them did something to you. Maybe they whammied you, so you can't remember.”

“Jim wouldn't allow that,” he said immediately, his brow pleating as he thought about it.

“Maybe. So what do you remember?”

He sat quietly, not looking at me, and I drank my coffee and let him have the moment. My gaze drifted past him to the living room, where Johnny had curled up in his dog bed, and where a pile of clean laundry sat on the couch, waiting to be folded. The sight of that household chore reminded me of the to-do list currently awaiting me, and I wanted to take my phone out of my pocket and look at the time, but didn't want to appear rude.

The silence stretched, and I shifted in my seat, making it creak a little. He looked up at the noise and seemed to remember himself, sitting up a little straighter.

“Can I use your bathroom?” he blurted suddenly.

“Sure.” I waved in the direction of the hallway. “It's down there.”

“I know,” he replied in a tense voice, and got up from the table and moved past me. I heard the door click behind him and the lock slide into place.

The room felt much bigger without him and I took a few deep, steadying breaths. The whole situation felt wildly out of my control, and while I had to admit that Marcus was easy on the eyes - and fun to get riled up - I was not eager to go any further into it. Handing him off to Leo felt like it would be both the easier and the worst thing to do.

But maybe I could help out a little, without making things more complicated. There was no harm in trying to find out what had happened to the other witches. That would give Leo a lead and give Marcus some peace of mind. And I knew one person who might be able to help.

I was fishing my phone out of my pocket when Marcus returned, his soft footsteps coming up behind me.

“Who are you calling?” he asked, immediately suspicious.

“A friend. Trying to find out what happened to your coven.”

“Oh.” his expression eased a little, but he watched intently as I hit a few buttons and raised the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” Dahlia answered on the first ring, sounding cheerful and wide-awake, thought it was early on a Sunday morning. She'd probably already finished her ten-mile run.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” I said, turning my back a little and Marcus got the hint and wandered into the living room.

“Ebron, do you make house calls?” she replied. “Cause I could really use some caffeine.”

“Is that all I am to you?” I replied, falling into our easy banter. “The tea boy?”

“So much more than the tea boy. Also the eye candy.”

“Oh, hush,” I said, then lowered my voice. “So, Dahlia, I have a question for you.”

“Hmm?”

“Remember those witches you told me about?”

“Sure. Why? Did you run into them?”

“Maybe,” I said, thinking of a story on the fly. “I was out hunting yesterday and saw some people running around in the woods. Do you know if they are still in town? Have you heard anything?”

“No,” she said, though she sounded like she was thinking hard about it. “But I'll call Bryler and ask him if they are still at the motel.”

“Can you text me when you hear from Bryler?”

“Sure.” her voice lowered a little. “Ebron, are you . . .”

“Fine,” I said cheerily. “I'm fine, thanks. Just keeping an eye on things.”

“Okay,” she replied, though she didn't sound mollified. “Call me if you need help with anything.”