Cursed Moon (Prospero's War) (26 page)

Two boots appeared in my peripheral. “You all right?” I asked without looking up. I couldn’t stop staring at those eyes. Those deep watery pools were glazing over, like a pond choked with algae—stagnant. Dead.

“I’m good,” Morales said above me. “How much you wanna bet Mr. Daniels is nearby?”

Something tickled the back of my mind. Some sensory memory. “Wait,” I said, “the blood.”

Morales made a pitying noise with his mouth. “Yeah that happens when you hit their carotid.”

I shook my head and stood, my eyes finally scanning the room as a whole instead of flashes of input from when we were being shot at. A ratty sofa under a pair of windows looking out on the courtyard. The chintz armchair I’d used for cover. In the corner, a small, warped wood table with an old gas lamp. A river-rock hearth and mantel with weathered pictures of proper ladies and dapper gentlemen in old-timey costumes. But no blood, except the rapidly spreading pool at our feet.

“Prospero? What’s going on in that head?”

I pulled my gaze from the photos and looked at him. “When we came in—before the first shot—I smelled blood.”

The skin between his brows puckered, and his eyes scanned
the room. “You’re right. I forgot about it once the shotgun shouted hello.”

The sound of running footsteps outside had both of us reaching for our weapons again. But instead of Mr. Daniels or Dionysus, the rest of our team came through the door. “We heard more shots.” Gardner froze, her eyes on the corpse on the ground.

“Mrs. Daniels, I presume,” Shadi said.

“Did you find anyone in the barn?” I asked.

Gardner shook her head. “Wine barrels and potion ampoules, though.”

A timid sort of relief bloomed in my chest. If we’d been wrong about the connection between Dionysus and the winery, we would have had a lot of explaining to do about the rapidly cooling body at our feet and why we’d gone to the vineyard in the first place.

Our earpieces buzzed. Mez’s voice boomed in our ears. “What the fuck is going on in there?”

“We’re all good,” Gardner said. “Morales and Prospero took down a civilian with a shotgun. We’ll need the ME. Where’s my backup?”

“The bomb threat was a hoax, so Sheriff’s sending the tac wizes.”

“Shit,” I said. “If they were at the county jail, it’ll take them twenty minutes minimum.”

“Thanks, Mez.” Gardner looked around at all of our curious expressions. She sighed like she needed the oxygen to steel her resolve. “All right,” she continued, sounding older suddenly, “let’s clear this house. The husband’s around here somewhere.”

“Or his body is, anyway,” I said. “We smelled blood when we walked in.”

They nodded solemnly and split off toward the kitchen. To get there, they had to step over Mrs. Daniels’s body. Funny how now she seemed just another set piece, another prop in this drama.

Shadi went through the kitchen first. “Goddamn.”

We pushed through the doorway. The stink of dirty copper was stronger there.

The floor and walls were covered with Rorschach inkblots of blood. A gory butterfly. A sinister jack-o’-lantern with fangs. A melting clown’s face.

A fucking mess.

“Where’s the body?” Morales asked suddenly.

The room’s layout offered up two possibilities. To our right a set of stairs led to the second floor. There was blood on the stairs, but from where I stood it appeared to be more spatter instead of the smears that might indicate a dragged body.

To our left, a closed door probably led down to the basement. Blood on the door, more on the knob.

“Shadi and I go up,” Gardner said. “You two go down.”

We watched those two climb the steps before approaching the door.

Morales grabbed a dish towel from the sink and used it to turn the knob. He stayed out of the way in case there was a nasty surprise waiting for us on the other side. Only silence and inky darkness greeted us. A single, bare bulb hung above the risers, but I didn’t flip the switch because it would make us a target to anyone below. We’d have to rely on the glow from the kitchen that illuminated the first few steps down.

I stepped forward. “Cover me.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but a raised brow on my part convinced him to keep his argument to himself. I took up less space. Easier for me to plaster myself against the wall on the
right side of the steps and make it past the meager pool of light to see what was waiting on the dark side.

I pulled air in through my nostrils, willing it to shoo away the wasps swarming in my stomach. One step, two.

My heart was a distant drum in my ears and competed with the rushing of air in, out and in, out and in, out. Three, four, five.

The shadows played tricks on my eyes. Was that really movement beyond the light or an illusion?

Step six brought me to the edge of the wall. Beyond that point, two thin rails sat on either side of the staircase. I knelt down, my knees popping in protest, and squinted into the cave-like area beyond.

It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust. Those few seconds were all my mind needed to offer up a highlight reel of horrors. Knowledge from deep in my marrow whispered in my ear:
He’s down here.

The cold fist in my gut also told me there was a gun aimed at me. Inside that gun was a casing with my name engraved. And inside that casing was a bullet that wanted to make itself a home in my chest.

I squinted toward the center of the large basement. It took a moment before I saw the movement. Something swaying in the shadows. I raised my gun and pointed it at the… thing or person. “Put your hands up.”

No response, except for a slight creak and a constant drip, drip, dripping.

With a trembling right hand, I grabbed the pin light from the utility belt at my waist. I turned it on and pointed it in the same direction my gun was focused. It took a few seconds to realize what I was seeing. A pale, hairy arm, a naked torso, another hairy arm. Back and forth it swung like a pendulum.

I lowered the light’s aim, and the source of the dripping became clear: a large puddle of blood. I stuck the light between my teeth and groped for a switch with my right hand. Finally, my fingers found my goal and flipped the lever up. Another bare bulb in the center of the basement exploded into sudden brightness.

Pain behind my eyes. Confusion. Then… horror.

I grabbed the light from between my lips. “Morales.”

His footsteps pounded down the steps behind me. I kept my gun aimed for the body just in case Dionysus or someone else came barreling out of a hiding space.

“That sick fuck,” Morales said.

The body of a man who I assumed was Mr. Daniels hung from the rafters by a length of chain wrapped around his neck. The center of his chest was a gaping hole. That certainly explained the mess in the kitchen. But the gory wound wasn’t what had bile crawling up the back of my throat and Morales cussing.

The man’s penis and testicles hung from a length of rope around his neck. I’m no forensics expert, but judging from the copious blood and the visible clots where the penis used to be attached, the wound probably occurred before Daniels was shot.

“You think this was Dionysus or the wife?” I asked, recalling Mrs. Daniels’s shotgun.

Before Morales could answer, my eyes caught movement in the shadows. I swiveled my gun that direction, blowing out air to dispel the surge of adrenaline. A silhouette emerged from the dark corner and into the pool of light.

“Freeze!” Morales and I shouted in stereo.

His head was down at first and his hands were clasped submissively behind his neck. He wore a white tank top spattered
red with blood, old-fashioned suspenders attached to frayed jeans. Cuffs rolled up at the ankles to expose combat boots smeared in more of Daniels’s blood. Two full sleeves of tattoos covering sinewy muscles.

He raised his head and hit me with the force of two fevered green eyes. The violence in that stare took my breath away even as it made cold sweat crawl over my skin.

The magic detector amulet on my vest went apeshit.

“Prospero? Morales?” Mez’s panicked voice came through the earpiece. His breath came out in loud bursts, like he was running. “What the fuck’s going on?”

I lifted my free hand to my vest to respond. A blast of magical energy shook the house. The sickening stench of ozone rolled through the air. I ducked, looking up at the dust flying down from the rafters.

“What the fuck was that?” Morales shouted.

“Your team found my little booby traps.”

My stomach did a death roll in my gut. I hit the button. “Mez?”

Silence.

“Shadi? Gardner? You guys, okay?”

Static was the only response.

“Fuck!” Morales gritted out.

I squeezed the gun so hard, my knuckles went white. “What did you do?”

“Relax, Kate,” he said. Hearing my name on his lips made me feel dizzy. “They’re alive. They’re just… sleeping.”

Morales took an aggressive step forward. “Do. Not. Move.”

Something around the eyes changed. A tightening.

“Now!” I projected, deepening my voice.

His whole body undulated, and his eyes fluttered. I realized he didn’t loathe being bossed around. He got off on it. I didn’t
have time to be unsettled, so I used it to my advantage. This time I lowered my voice to give the order extra punch. “Do not disobey me, Scott.”

He sucked a deep breath, making his nostrils flare. His tongue darted out from his mouth. The shocking red of it contrasted against his beard in a way that reminded me of sex.

“I feel it, too,” he whispered.

Something in my stomach pitched. My hand tightened on the gun. “ON. YOUR. KNEES.”

This time he obeyed. His hands were still behind his head, but a smile hovered on his lips. With my right hand, I removed a set of lead cuffs from my back pocket. The weight was cold and heavy in my palms. The lead wouldn’t offer me much protection if he had a magical trick up his sleeve, but they’d hold his hands through almost anything.

“She’s going to cuff you now,” Morales said behind me. “You so much as breathe on her and I’ll make you bleed. Got it?”

The corner of McQueen’s mouth twisted up in anticipation. His eyes stayed on me, daring me to be nervous. He shouldn’t have looked so cocksure. I wasn’t nervous, I was pissed off.

I reached out to grab his hand. But before I saw it coming, he struck like a snake. With one hand he grabbed my wrist, pivoted, and with his other hand slammed a weapon against my jugular.

At first I thought it was a Mundane gun. That bullet with my name engraved. Time slowed and my life flared behind my eyes like a stop-motion montage.

Click.
Baby Danny gumming my pinkie.

Click.
Volos whispering that he loved me right before he took my virginity.

Click.
Mom’s dead body laid out in a coffin.

Click.
The day I earned my badge.

Click.
The day I joined the task force.

Click.
Morales screaming my name.

Boom!

I’d expected bigger pain. Total annihilation. Instead the pain was a sharp stab above my jugular.

My vision wavered.

Another loud snap. Morales grunted.

My knees buckled.

The world was a blur of red and sounds. I fell in slow motion. From the corner of my eye, I saw the dart gun in Dionysus’s hand. I tried to open my mouth, but no sound emerged. Pain exploded on my right side. My face smacked into the concrete. I gasped in a lungful of air but it wasn’t enough. My ribs felt too small, constricting my lungs. I opened my eyes and saw the puddle of blood from Daniels’s body a few inches from my face.

If the attack had happened on a random day my protection amulet would have absorbed the excess magical energy. But the moon’s erratic energy must have put the thing on the fritz. Besides, a potion delivered in the vein was twice as potent as one splashed on the skin.

My body twitched, helpless, on the floor. A shadow loomed over me. The warped sound of mad laughter. My limbs twitched and my left eyelid convulsed. I tried to work my lips to say… something, but it was no use. Whatever he’d hit me with left me totally short-circuited.

Dionysus knelt down. I saw his hand on my skin but couldn’t feel it. “Shh now,” he whispered. Up close his eyes were otherworldly and menacing. “Surrender, Kate.”

Somewhere in my panicked mind, I realized I couldn’t see Morales. A whimper reached my ears, and I recognized that it had come from my throat.

Dionysus grabbed my chin and jerked my head toward the base of the stairs. Morales’s body lay in an unmoving heap. Before I could register that my partner might be dead, a hand rose above me and came down hard.

I couldn’t even flinch in a vain attempt to avoid the hit. I didn’t feel the pain, but a split second later the watery image of Dionysus’s face wavered and dimmed. And then, there was nothing but black.

October 31

Blue Moon

I
woke on a gasp. The world rolled beneath me. The green haze of nausea clogged my throat and made my stomach protest consciousness. Blinking against the darkness, I tried to find my bearings. Unfortunately, the darkness didn’t give me a clue about the time, so I had no idea if I’d slept a few hours or a few days.

I swallowed hard and tried to focus my senses on finding clues.

The rhythmic sound of water captured my attention first. Then the overpowering scent of algae and the chemical odor of a portable toilet made my nausea regain steam. A boat then, I decided. I’d spent a week on harbor patrol duty back during my time as a rookie, and I’d never forget the odor of that fucking chemical toilet.

I moved my fingers and realized my wrists were bound in
front of me. My head ached like I’d hit it, and my face felt like someone had tried to tenderize it with their fist. So basically, I was a mess physically. Mentally I wasn’t faring much better.

My thoughts were caged animals in my head, pacing, pacing, pacing. Where was I? What could I use for a weapon? Were Gardner, Mez, and Shadi alive? Where was Morales?

A low groan next to me. I angled my head and saw a large body in a heap to my right.

Hope exploded in my chest. “Morales?”

A familiar grunt reached my ears. “Fuck.”

“Thank Christ,” I whispered. “Are you okay?”

“You mean besides the cracking headache, being bound in a strange boat by a madman, and having no weapons?” came the caustic reply. “Yeah, Kate, I’m peachy fucking keen.”

I pressed my lips together to suppress a smile. If he’d been seriously injured he wouldn’t have had the energy for sarcasm. “Injuries?”

A couple of beats of silence indicated he was taking a mental inventory. “Hit my head when I fell. Possible concussion.” His tone was less acidic this time. “And I’ve lost some blood.”

I craned my neck for a better look. He lay maybe five feet away. He was facing me so I got an eyeful of the small pool of blood under his face. I tamped down my instinctive fear and tried to remind myself that head wounds always bled a lot. Made them seem worse than they were sometimes.

“That bad?” His lips screwed up into a forced grin.

I realized then that the skin between my brows was pinched to the point of pain. Forcing my expression to relax, I tried to look into his eyes. But I was too far away to see his pupils. I couldn’t be positive without a closer examination, but it was safest to just assume he had a concussion.

“You’ll live,” I said, more to reassure myself than him.

“What’s your status?”

I took a quick inventory of my pains. “Nothing worth worrying about.” Not like his head, anyway. Between the blood loss and the concussion he was definitely impaired, which meant I’d need to take the lead on escape plans.

“Whatever you do,” I whispered, “do not fall asleep.”

Before he could respond to that, a loud creak overhead signaled that our captor was about to pay us a visit. Morales perked up, his body going alert. “That’s not going to be a problem.”

Heavy footsteps echoed overhead. I sat up straighter, scanning the area for possible weapons. Now that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, I could see a small galley kitchen on the other end of the berth, but with my hands tied and dizziness circling my head, I doubted I could make it there before the person coming down the steps arrived.

An instant later the door opened and Dionysus emerged. He’d changed into a long white toga and a wreath of ivy. In his left hand he carried a wooden staff topped by a cluster of pinecones.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” he said in a conversational tone. As if we were guests instead of prisoners.

“You need to let us go,” I said. “Our team will be here soon.”

He shot me a sweet smile that was totally creepy given the circumstances. “Kate, Kate, Kate. It’s been almost twenty-four hours. If they haven’t found us yet, they won’t.” His grin made him look like the god of chaos he pretended to be. “At least, not until it’s too late.”

I looked down at my chest. Mez’s protection amulet was gone. I glanced at Morales and saw that his was, too. Dionysus must have taken them once he’d potioned us. I’d bet my left hand, the backup that arrived way too late would find nothing in the house to lead them to this boat.

I closed my eyes and cursed.

“It’s invigorating, isn’t it?” Dionysus asked.

I opened my lids and glared at him. “What?” I snapped.

“Living life without a safety net. That sweet ache of vulnerability.”

“The only thing aching is my ass.”

“Did you know sarcasm is defense mechanism?” he asked in a light tone. “People who rely on it too heavily tend to be hiding something.” He shot me a pointed look. “It’s a mask.”

“Wow, you really got so much out of the Psych 101 class in college. Did you take it before or after you killed your parents, Scott?”

His left eye twitched. “They killed themselves. I was simply their suicide weapon.”

He sauntered over the galley and pulled a bottle of wine down from the shelf. He didn’t speak again until he was in the process of pouring the red into a glass.

“After I slit both their throats,” he continued casually, “I skinned their faces off their skulls.” He took an experimental sip of the wine. Sloshed it around on his tongue before swallowing. He smiled and nodded at the glass, as if approving of its flavor. “I think that’s what doomed me in the eyes of the jury. I tried to explain that their skin was hiding their true selves, but no one believed me.”

If I worked that nerve, maybe he’d make a mistake. “I find it ironic that you’re ranting about your parents wearing masks when you’re the one parading around as a Greek god.”

He ignored me and took another sip. “The only one who ever listened was the one who told me Babylon was the perfect setting for my plans.”

“Who?” Morales demanded.

“Dr. Flamel.”

I frowned. Then I remembered what Shadi had said about one of Scott’s doctors believing his story at the psychiatric hospital. “Your psychiatrist?”

He nodded dismissively and set down the glass. “Anyway, time to move this little party to a more appropriate location.” With languorous movement, he produced a gun from a hidden pocket in his toga. “If either of you tries to fight, I will shoot the other one in the head. Am I clear?”

I nodded stiffly, but my eyes were busy scanning the room for likely weapons or tools. From the corner of my eye, I saw Morales execute a curt nod. But I had a feeling that, like me, he didn’t plan on giving the asshole a chance to get a shot off when he struck.

“Rise,” the psycho demanded. The gun’s unblinking eye moved back and forth between us. “Slowly.”

I rose unsteadily. This part was not faked. Between the seasickness and the aftereffects of the knockout potion, I felt watery. Morales reached over as if to help me.

“Ah ah ah,” Dionysus said. “Hands to yourself.”

Morales glared at him and rose to his full height. Dionysus didn’t look impressed by the display, but then he was the one with the gun and the complete lack of moral compass.

Dionysus flicked the gun toward the room’s only exit—the stairs leading up to the deck. Morales moved first. I guessed this was some noble move on his part to be the one who faced whatever was waiting up there first. I didn’t argue. As it happened it worked well for my plans.

I took a couple of uneasy steps in my partner’s wake. But just as I started to pass the galley, I feigned a stumble. I sprawled sideways into the low, laminate counter.

A flurry of activity erupted behind me. Morales shouting my name. Dionysus telling him to stand back. Rough hands on my shoulders, forcing me upright.

“Watch yourself, bitch,” Dionysus snapped.

“Sorry,” I said breathlessly. “I got dizzy.”

He grabbed my arm and pushed me roughly forward. I stumbled a couple of steps, hunched over as if defeated. But really this just gave me a chance to shove the corkscrew I’d nabbed when I fell into my pocket. I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to get the rope off my wrists without Dionysus seeing, but having something pointy made me feel light-years better.

We made it up the steps without further incident. But the instant Morales stepped out, he cursed. Not a good sign.

I stepped out behind him and let out a curse that made his seem like saying grace.

It had been a while since I’d seen her without her makeup, but I recognized the priestess the instant I laid my eyes on her.

“What the fuck, Shayla?” I snapped.

She stood at the back of the boat, just beyond the awning covering the wheelhouse. She used both hands to hang on to a Glock .22, as if she expected it to jump out of her grasp at any moment. The tight jeans, stilettos, and bright red boob top seemed a tad much for boating, but who was I to judge a whore’s fashion sense?

“Surprise,” she said with a serpentine grin. When Dionysus stepped up to join her, Shayla’s posture transformed into the practiced movements of a professional seductress. She slowly swiveled her aim toward me. “Let’s kill them and go have some fun,” she said, her tone kittenish now.

“Two people are definitely dying tonight, sweetheart,” Morales said, “but Kate isn’t one of them.”

Dionysus kissed her forehead. “We’ll get to that, but first we need to have our pre-party.”

Her face fell into a pouty moue. “All right.”

“You framed Aphrodite,” I said, as my mind played catch-up. We’d originally thought Dionysus worked alone, but if Shayla helped—

“She made it easy. She was dumb enough to keep a file on the mayor with pictures in case she needed to blackmail him. I stole them and showed up at the mayor’s apartment one night with a bottle of my master’s wine. The rest was easy.”

“So you started working for Dionysus after the robbery?” Morales asked.

“Ha!” the priestess mocked. “Who do you think left open the window in Aphrodite’s lab?”

The pieces clicked together. Dionysus had gotten to Shayla before he attacked the temple—just as he’d gotten to Little Man and Mary. I clearly hadn’t given her enough credit if she’d managed to fool Aphrodite and the MEA about involvement in the robbery.

“You should have followed your mom into the business,” Shayla said. “You can’t possibly suck in the sack more than you do at police work.”

I pressed my lips together in a bitch-please expression. “I wouldn’t imagine trying when you got the market on sucking dick cornered.”

“No, that was your mama.”

Another door opened by accident. Mom on her knees. Pulling back in surprise. A line of drool from the tip of a white penis to her too-red lips.

My hands tightened into a fist. “Watch your mouth.”

“You should ask your uncle.”

“Ask him what?”

“How good your mama sucked dick.”

A red haze propelled me forward. All thoughts of cool heads and strategy dissipated under the heat of my anger. But before
I could launch myself at the bitch, a male fist plowed into my gut.

The air whooshed from my lungs. Pain radiated from my navel in concentric circles of agony. I fell to the deck in a heap. Preoccupied with the fire in my belly, I curled into a ball.

Rough hands grabbed my chin and suddenly I was forced to look into Dionysus’s fevered eyes. Something glowed in their depths—excitement? “Do you want your partner to die?” he asked in a reasonable tone.

I swallowed the curdled pride in my throat and managed a stiff head shake.

He patted my cheek. “If you do anything like that again, I will put a bullet in his skull and then fuck that hole while the bomb destroys your precious city. Am I clear?”

The mental image he painted made me want to scrub my brain with bleach. “Yes,” I said in a gravelly tone.

He jerked me off the ground. “Chair,” he snapped at Shayla. “Put the other one there.”

I was still too foggy from pain to track their movements, but before I knew it, I was forced to sit in a deck chair. Directly across from me, Morales received the same treatment.

Dionysus placed his hands on my shoulders. His fingers massaged the tense muscles, which only served to make them contract until it felt like he was kneading rocks under the skin. “Now,” he said, close to my ear, “we’re going to play a game.”

Across the way, a grinning Shayla produced a syringe with a long, gleaming needle. Inside the syringe’s barrel was iridescent green liquid. Movement behind me indicated that Dionysus was mirroring her. I jerked my neck away from him, but it was too late.

The sting of metal through the skin, the burn of magic
seeping into tissue. My heart skipped and then took off galloping like a spooked horse.

On some level I was aware of Morales fighting a similar battle not six feet from me, but I was too busy gulping in air and willing my heart not to burst to pay it much mind. Magic sizzled through my neck and down into my chest. Sweat bloomed on my forehead, and my vision went all hazy.

“Now,” our captor said in an underwater voice, “if you tell the truth, you’ll feel pleasure.” He leaned down and licked up my neck over the puncture wound. “But if you lie, you will suffer.” His teeth sank into the tender skin below my ear.