Aspen (7 page)

“Not really,” he said. “The gist is that you have to grab what William calls the ‘Thread of Claret’ that connects you to Raven and bind it to your magik. Once that is done, you can tap that bond whenever you wish. The trick is in the grabbing, not the understanding.”

“Won’t that harm Raven?”

Nick turned back and pulled a sweet from his pocket. He unwrapped it as he spoke. “Not at all. Don’t think of the bond as her, it isn’t. It is nothing more than an intangible thread that connects you. The magik that creates that thread is a primal thing born from the ritual used to bind you together. In a sense it is a separate entity. Does that make sense?”

“Sort of. I remember my mother talking about primal magik when I was a little girl, but I don’t really know how to use it,” Aspen said.

Nick popped the sweet into his mouth. “I can’t help you with that, it is different for everyone. I’m sure it is something you will learn in time.”

Aspen didn’t share his confidence. “I think I tapped into it earlier, but I don’t know how to control it. If I don’t learn, you might see my head on a pike outside the Blackwood Estate.”

“Nonsense, Shirina doesn’t do things like that,” Nick said.

“No?”

Nick shook his head. “Not at all.”

Aspen straightened. “That’s a relief.”

“She makes jewelry out of your teeth and shows it off to her friends,” Nick continued.

Aspen looked at him for any hint he was joking. There wasn’t any.

II

Nick’s Knacks hadn’t been a bust, but it also hadn’t been what she was hoping for, however, there was nothing for it but to move on. Faerie dust had been hard to come by before the regent’s power play, now it sounded as if it was impossible to get without visiting the Faewild. And that was out of the question, at least for now. Instead of worrying, she stopped at an internet café called “Blood Bytes” and had a bite to eat while she searched for Deòrsa Vlašić on her tablet. It took some time to locate even such an uncommon name, it seemed Deòrsa Vlašić didn’t want the average person showing up on his doorstep. Aspen cross referenced immigrant visas with his name, which turned out to be Romanian. After digging deeper, she found that he’d purchased a storefront on the far side of St. Louis under the name David Vincent, which was now the name on his driver’s license. According to his state taxes he ran a book store specializing in the occult. It seemed unlikely than an actual purveyor of the paranormal would have a storefront outside the district, but not all humans were true believers. More than a few crackpots ran successful businesses selling paranormal books and gear to people who didn’t know any better.

Aspen finished her salad and hurried down to the bus stop at the end of Cardovan Street. She was there less than two minutes when a black Charger pulled up at the corner and Jynx appeared in the window.

“Need a ride?” she asked.

“Hell yes,” Aspen said with a smile.

She opened the door and slid inside. “How did you know where to find me?”

Jynx put the car in gear and accelerated away from the curb. “Creek said the Mistress had come by to see you. He was worried that something had happened, you’ve been gone a few hours.”

“Damn. I should have called, I didn’t think to. But that still doesn’t explain—”

Jynx waved a hand, cutting Aspen off. “I put a tracker in your jacket collar so I could find you in case you went missing.”

Aspen reached under her jacket and felt a piece of hard plastic at the base of her neck. She lowered her hand and glared at Jynx. “You could have asked.”

Jynx shrugged and guided the Charger onto the highway, which was choked with lunchtime traffic. “I didn’t know you that well, yet. Besides, it doesn’t mean we’re going steady or anything, and me putting it on you let me reassure Creek you were okay and saved you a sucky bus ride. Where are we going, by the way? Creek’s?”

Aspen glared at Jynx a moment longer, then her face softened. Jynx was right, it had saved her a bus ride. More importantly, it let her know someone had her back while she was meeting with the Mistress. She wasn’t sure what Jynx would have done if she hadn’t come back out in a reasonable time, but she doubted it would have been subtle. Jynx didn’t strike her as the subtle type.

She turned and put her foot on the console to balance her tablet. “No. Head over to Devonshire, we’re looking for Vincent Occult.”

Jynx threw her gum out the window and exchanged it for a fresh piece, using her knee to guide the car through traffic. “Devonshire? That’s way outside the district, what’s an occult bookstore doing out there?”

Aspen fought the urge to grab the wheel. “I don’t know. I expect the owner to be a crackpot, but Martel was supposed to meet with him so I thought I should see what he has to say.”

Jynx shrugged and nosed the Charger across town to Devonshire, which was less gothic and more 1970s kitsch. Vincent Occult was in a small shopping center between a drug store that looked like a throwback to the 1950s and a dry cleaner that ‘guaranteed to get out most stains’.

“What a dump,” Jynx muttered.

Aspen shrugged. “Believe me, I’ve seen worse. Come on, let’s see if Mr. Vincent is in.”

She stowed her tablet and led the way to the door. Inside was not what Aspen had expected. While the front of the store was stocked with the sort of ghost hunting books that television enthusiasts bought after binge-watching a Halloween special, the shelves in the back held volumes such as
Arbatel De Magia Veterum, Malleus Maleficarum and Liber Officiorum Spirituum,
among others. Aspen whistled at the titles and looked at Jynx.

“Maybe not a crackpot after all,” she said.

“Considering they’re out in the open I’m leaning more toward idiot,” Jynx said.

“Hardly that, young lady, hardly that. Eccentric perhaps, but not an idiot,” a voice said.

Aspen turned in surprise to see a tall, clean shaven man standing behind them. He was dressed in corduroy pants the color of dirt, a white shirt, and a cardigan sweater with patches on the elbows. He smiled when she turned and extended a hand.

“David Vincent, owner, proprietor and eccentric,” he said. His accent was Romanian with a hint of Americanization. “These volumes are rare, of course, but they are not authentic. They are just very good copies and thus safe to leave where people can see them.”

Aspen shook his hand. “Aspen Kincaid. This is my friend, Jynx.”

Jynx waved her fingers. “Hi.”

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. Were you looking for something in particular?” Vincent asked.

“Kristof Martel,” Aspen said.

Vincent blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Kristof Martel,” Jynx repeated. “He was coming to see you the day he died. We would like to know why.”

“I can’t discuss—”

Jynx grabbed him by the throat and pushed him into the bookcase. “Listen, bub, it’s been a long day. My sister is in the hospital and my friend here almost got disemboweled. So knock it off! Martel is dead, we’re trying to find what killed him, do you have a lead or not?”

“Subtle, Jynx. Real subtle. You should meet Raven,” Aspen said.

Jynx glanced at her. “Do you think we’d get along?”

Aspen shrugged. “Or kill each other.”

She turned her attention to Vincent, who was going purple. “I’m sorry about my friend, as you can see, she’s impatient. Can you help us out? We’d appreciate anything you can tell us.”

Vincent nodded and Jynx let go of his throat. He rubbed the side of his neck and coughed, then pulled himself together.

“Yes. Yes, I know Martel. Knew. He had questions about his condition,” Vincent said.

“Questions he thought only you could answer. What condition? His wasting away?”

Vincent gave a half-smile. “I am an expert on supernatural diseases. In my native Romania I was a doctor, of sorts. I have helped many who suffered from the Chradnutia.”

“Is that what he had? This Chradnutia?” Aspen asked.

Vincent moved behind the counter and began rummaging through a file folder. “No. The Chradnutia is caused by magically imbued fruit. Romani call them vampire fruits, the roots draw energy from those that consume the fruit. No, what Mr. Martel had was something different, something new.”

He placed two folders on the counter. One he set aside, the other he opened. Inside were photographs of a young Romani woman. She was in a nightgown and lying on a small bed. Red vein-like lines ran across her face and arms and her hair was matted with sweat.

“This is Jaelle. She contracted the Chradnutia from a bad melon and you see here she is in late stage,” he said. “Note the red lines in her skin, a harbinger of the disease.”

He opened the other folder, which contained photos of Martel. “See? Here it is different, here the lines are blue, there is no sweating, no fever, just wasting away. I tried my potions, my cures, but they did not work.”

Aspen picked up one of the photos. It showed Martel sitting on a stool with his shirt off. In life, the lines were even more pronounced than in death. “Were you able to determine what the disease was? What caused it?”

Vincent shook his head. “No. It is nothing I have seen before and there is nothing in any of the books I dare use. I offered to study the disease, to study it and find a cure for him, but he was in a hurry to—”

He was interrupted by the chime of the door and four tough-looking men entering. The apparent leader, a man with orange-dyed hair dressed in a military jacket and pants covered in chains and patches twirled a knife around his finger.

“Hey! Vincent! Time’s up on your taxes!”

“Who the hell is this Lost Boys reject?” Jynx asked.

“His name is Tank. I owe him protection money,” Vincent said.

He hurried around the counter and held his hands up placatingly. “Tank, I just need a few more days, business has been slow, these young ladies are the first customers I’ve had all week. Tell Mr. Zambrano I can pay him soon.”

Tank pressed the point of his knife under Vincent’s neck. “Where are you going to get the cash? From these broads?”

“They…they’re paying customers, I’m sure we can work something out,” Vincent stammered.

Jynx stepped forward with one hand on her hip. “Put the blade down, kid.”

Tank switched his gaze to her and sneered. “Be with you in a minute, sweet-cheeks.”

“Sweet-cheeks. Did you just call me sweet-cheeks, carrot-top?”

Jynx stepped closer and one of Tank’s lackeys stepped in front of her. “Boss said he would be with you in a minute, sweet-cheeks.”

Aspen had never seen a human move so fast. One moment, Jynx was smiling at the thug in front of her. The next, she’d punched him in the face so hard two teeth came loose and cracked the store’s front window. But she wasn’t done. Jynx kicked another thug in the face then drew one of the Colts she was carrying under her jacket and placed it against the side of Tank’s head, all in a blur of seconds.

“I said drop the blade, kid. Or I’m going to pierce your ears with Maggie, here,” she growled.

Aspen had to give Tank some credit, he was braver than he looked. A normal man would have been standing in a puddle of urine.

“What’s to stop me from killing Vincent? I can ram this through his neck before you can squeeze that trigger,” he said.

Jynx thumbed back the hammer. “Want to bet?”

Aspen stepped forward, her eyes on the knife. “Enough. I don’t want Mr. Vincent dead and I don’t want to explain to the cops why your brains are splattered all over the wall. Put the knife down!”

She muttered a spell as she walked, her eyes locked on the blade. In her mind’s eye she saw it glowing yellow and then red with heat, heat only Tank could feel. His hand began to shake and he let go of the knife with steam coming off his fingers. Aspen caught it and threw it into the wall, where it stuck.

“Tell Mr. Zambrano that Vincent’s is off limits. Mr. Vincent is under our protection, now.”

Jynx still covered him with her pistol. “If you come back, I’m using your head for target practice. Now piss off and take your buddy with you!”

Tank took one look at her face and ran, with his remaining lackey trailing behind him. The door banged shut and Jynx grinned at Aspen.

“Neat trick with the knife!”

Aspen gaped at her. “Me? You were amazing! You knocked that guy out with one punch!”

Jynx buffed her nails on her jacket. “It was nothing.”

“Where did you learn all that?”

Jynx holstered her pistol and caught Vincent, who looked as if he was going to faint. “My dad was a hunter, Sol Kane. So was my grandfather, Solomon. They started teaching me, Piper and my brother Mal when we were little.”

She looked at Vincent. “Dude, are you okay?”

“Too much excitement, I have a heart condition,” he mumbled.

“Marvelous. A sage with a heart condition,” Jynx said. “Do you have medicine or something?”

Vincent looked as if he was going to reply, but his knees gave way and he fell to the ground. Aspen dropped to her knees beside him and started rummaging in his pockets. She pulled an amber bottle out of his pocket and shook it; there was no sound.

“It’s empty!”

Jynx pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I’ll call 9-1-1!”

Aspen rolled her eyes. “And do what? Tell them you beat the crap out of two thugs and this guy had a heart attack?”

She put her hand on Vincent’s chest and let her magik flow through her fingers. When she closed her eyes she could almost see Vincent’s heart, see the blockage preventing it from beating its next beat.

“Feeling him up is a better idea?” Jynx asked.

Aspen ignored her and focused on the block in Vincent’s heart. She could feel her connection with Raven pulsing against her mind and she let it flow into the damaged organ. Second by second ticked by as she healed him. She could see the block dissolving, melting away as if it had never been.

She sat back, feeling drained and Vincent took his first breath in what seemed like hours. He blinked and touched his chest, then looked at Aspen in wonder.

“The pain is gone! How did you..?”

Aspen leaned against the window and tried to catch her breath. “I healed you. Try to lay off the potato goulash from now on, okay?”