Plague Cult (11 page)

Shawn grabbed Ruth’s arm and hauled her back before she could put an arm around Whitney and comfort her, as she clearly intended to. Evidently, a healer’s empathetic nature was a reckless one.

Ruth glanced at him, eyes wide, as he hauled her back. “Sorry,” she whispered.

He concentrated on Whitney and the woman’s confession. He was inclined to believe her, if not as sympathetically as Ruth. The problem was, if they believed her, then they had another victim. “Who did you curse?”

“I was thinking of my stepmother. She’s a horrible person.”

“Do you know she’s dead?” he demanded.

“I felt that wrenching feeling.” Whitney pressed a hand to her stomach, over her solar plexus.

“Do you know?” he repeated slowly.

“No.”

“Name?” He got out his phone.

“Theresa Valle.” Whitney spelt the name.

Shawn added a request to find out if the woman was dead, and if not, to send someone to check on her status.
Cursed, potential for plague
, he added. He sent the email to William, whose efficient personal assistant would forward it to the appropriate personnel.

“Going back to the man who died,” Ruth said. “After you heard of his death, why did you continue reciting the spell?”

Whitney’s right hand tore at the cuticles of her left. “He was bad, and it was a mistake, and the spell is helping people.” She stared at Ruth, as if willing her to believe a desperate hope. “The group who’ve chanted it with me have all improved. Jared is talking to people, now. He was so shy. Adele no longer flinches from men. Doug is painting, again. How can I take that from them?”

“Perhaps you’re over-estimating the impact of the spell?” Ruth said gently. “People are resilient. Your cult—club—members may be recovering naturally.”

Whitney shook her head, violently enough that her styled hair flew. “No. They needed the spell.”

Ruth looked worried.

Shawn raised an eyebrow at her.

“Compulsion,” she said under her breath, just for him to hear. “Could be part of the spell.”

Could be. It could also be a separate ensorcelment.

“You can’t tell Zach.” Whitney lurched up from her chair.

Shawn stepped in front of Ruth.

“Please.” Whitney looked from Shawn to Ruth; begged Ruth. “Please. Zach doesn’t know about my magic. He wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t believe I’d done good or anything. All he’d see is that I killed that bird. Oh, I wish I hadn’t.” She put her clasped hands to her mouth. “Please, you mustn’t tell Zach.”

“We won’t,” Shawn said grimly.

“Thank you.”

You shouldn’t thank us.
He had a feeling they were about to bring her world toppling around her. Some might say her use of death magic deserved it. After all, a man had died. But despite—or perhaps because of—his hollerider nature, he tried to reserve judgement. Unless he detected evil.

Evil had no right to walk the earth unchallenged.

But Whitney wasn’t evil.

“Time to go.” He caught Ruth’s elbow, urging her to the door.

“I have to reverse the spell,” she objected.

“After you’ve studied it.” He frowned at her when she’d have argued the point. “You don’t want to use magic here until we know what we’re dealing with.”

Her mouth formed a silent
oh
of comprehension. Then she glanced pityingly at Whitney.

If the older woman had been in any state to read nuances, that compassionate look would have panicked her.

In silence, he and Ruth returned to the truck and he drove out across the containment ward that Whitney had set to hold in the taint of her death magic. In the seat beside him, Ruth released a long breath. “That poor woman. It has to be Zach, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Shawn answered directly. “This morning I sensed evil in one of them. It wasn’t Whitney, so it must be him.”

“It’s awful,” she burst out. “That’s why I hate evil so much. It doesn’t even have pity on those closest to them.”

“It uses those closest to them.” Consciously, he loosened his strangling grip on the steering wheel. “I’d bet Zach set things up for Whitney to discover the grimoire. If he uses magic himself, he’d sense her abilities, minor though they are. He wanted her to try the spell. Perhaps he even put a slight compulsion on her to do so.”

Ruth turned her head sharply. “I thought that compulsion to continue with the spell was part of the curse itself, but Zach could have planted it. Horrible man. Before he led the cult members away from the resort for their so-called meditation session, he probably half-killed the poor bird Whitney found and left it for her. But why? Why couldn’t he set the spell himself?”

“Perhaps he doesn’t have that sort of witch magic? Perhaps the curse has some sort of negative feedback that he wanted to avoid? Did you notice that Whitney used death magic, the curse claimed a human victim, and yet she didn’t get a power boost? At our entrance, she couldn’t even push us out of her home.”

He pulled into the driveway of Rose House, and was grateful to feel the reassuring strength of its ward and to know that Carla was also there, ghostly and currently invisible, but determined to keep out evil. Instead of parking, he halted out front of the house with the motor idling. “Where did the power of Whitney’s victim’s death go?”

“Zach drained it,” Ruth whispered.

“I think so. Which makes him dangerous. Do not let him in here. Do not give him permission to cross your protective wards. I strengthened them last night.”

“You’re going back to challenge him.” She stared at him, green eyes worried.

“No. I just want to study him. Hopefully, I can bump into him as he exits the Chamber of Commerce meeting.”

“Often they adjourn to mom’s diner.” She put a hand on his arm. “Be careful.”

“He won’t even guess I have magic.” He reminded her of his talent to mask his magic and was glad when she relaxed a bit. He didn’t want to have to starkly refuse to have her tag along. Better that she agreed to stay safely at Rose House. “I sent a request to the Collegium for someone to check on Whitney’s stepmother.”

“I’ll photograph the spell in the grimoire and send it, too.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek and jumped out of the truck. “Text me every hour or I’ll worry. Three hours without a text and I’ll launch a rescue.” She was teasing, but meant every word.

He realized he liked her concern. “I’ll text you.”

Ruth sent a summary of Whitney’s confession back to the Collegium, then climbed with the grimoire to the top of the turret. The spiral staircase to this top level began in her bedroom and exited to a room with windows on all sides.

“I used to paint, here.” Carla appeared, and appropriately enough, wore a smock over blue trousers and buckle shoes. She sat on a window seat. “That grimoire is nasty.”

“There’s a spell that uses death magic in the back of the book.” Ruth did her best not to be disconcerted by Carla’s sudden appearance. “After I’ve dealt with that curse, I’ll send the grimoire to the Collegium for alchemists to check it for any other unpleasant entries.”

“You’d better not leave it lying around.”

“I don’t intend to.”

But Carla wasn’t listening. She stood at the window, looking out to the road. “Because you’re about to have visitors.”

“I’ll pretend I’m not home.” It would be more townspeople, curious to see her house now that word had spread she was home. She’d be happy to have company, just not now.

“They’ll have passed Shawn driving alone,” Carla admonished her. In other words, they’d guess Ruth was home.

Ruth groaned. “This is important.”

The ghost grinned at her, impish and amused. “So, should I scare them away?”

“No!” Ruth leapt up.

“Then put the grimoire somewhere safe. Remember, I mentioned the hidden cupboard downstairs in the parlor.”

“No time.” Peering out the window, Ruth recognized the old, carefully maintained gas-guzzler pulling into the driveway. “That’s Thelma’s car. I’ll put the grimoire under my mattress.” She shoved it there, then ran on down the main staircase to burst out onto the front porch as Thelma and the two elderly Granger sisters extracted themselves from the large car.

“We thought we’d visit,” Susan said happily as she helped her sister out of the car.

“Haven’t been here since what’s-his-name went back East.” Veronica gained her feet and released Susan’s hand.

“Unless this is a bad time for callers,” Thelma finished.

Ruth smiled at her elderly friends. “You’re very welcome. Hurry in.” She glanced at the gray sky with rain threatening. “You don’t want to get wet.”

The first raindrops splattered down. Everyone hurried up the porch steps.

“A fine old house,” Thelma declared as she looked around.

“I’ll just put a match to the fire in the parlor, then by the time we’ve looked around, it’ll be cozy.” Ruth up-ended the porcelain vase on the mantelpiece and a box of matches fell out. It took three matches and a little coaxing, but then the kindling laid ready in the fireplace caught.

Meantime her visitors were inspecting the room.

“Wonderful proportions.”

“Cleaning rather than replacing those curtains will save a heap of money. Phil says they’ll clean up a treat. ”

“Our auntie had a loveseat just like this one.” Susan bounced a little on the horsehair-stuffed red lounge.

Ruth smiled at them. Yes, the curse needed to be reversed and the grimoire searched, but she couldn’t regret this time with her friends. It was lovely to show off her house—and more than that, to be truly part of her home town, again. “We’ll peek in and see the demolition of the kitchen first, hmm?”

The tour of the house wasn’t too exhaustive or exhausting. They were back downstairs in forty minutes, the fire crackling in the hearth and all sipping tea and nibbling cookies.

“It will be a wonderful home,” Thelma said. “It’s a commitment, saving a house this age, but I’m glad you’ve made it.”

“Now you just have to fill it with kids and a husband.” Veronica smiled beatifically, an elderly matchmaker. “We saw Shawn heading into town.”

“He’s hoping to bump into Zach.” The truth spilled out of Ruth as she dealt with the shock of Veronica’s words. Kids? Hers and Shawn’s??? And yet, she could too easily imagine Rose House filled with laughter, love and magic.

“Bump into Zach Stirling? What for?” Thelma asked sharply.

“Um.” Ruth searched for an evasion. “Shawn’s an ex-marine. Sometimes meditation helps to calm mind and spirit.”

Thelma snorted. “Hard work and love is a better remedy.” She looked around the house and then squarely at Ruth. “And the boy can find both of those here.”

Ruth went red.

Her three friends smiled, nodded as if well-satisfied, and stood.

She kissed papery-soft faces and helped tuck Veronica into the car, handing the elderly woman her walking stick once she was safely stowed in the front passenger seat. Ruth waved from the porch as Thelma drove the lumbering old car back down the driveway, windscreen wipers swishing as steadily as the rain that fell.

“Nice people,” Carla greeted Ruth’s return. The ghost sat on an armchair and had switched on the television. A 1930s black and white movie played quietly. “I brought the grimoire down for you.”

The book waited on the coffee table. “Thank you.”

To Fred Astaire’s wistful, jaunty songs, Ruth set about unravelling the curse. In a strange way, it was comforting to have Carla’s company.

Shawn scanned the diner’s windows and felt a surge of satisfaction. Zach was there, seated with a group of other men, drinking coffee and talking. Shawn stuffed his cap into a back pocket as he entered.

Peggy, Ruth’s aunt, eyed him uncertainly.

“Coffee, please.” Shawn kept walking, crossing casually to where the men sat.

Zach didn’t look up at his approach, but Mason did.

“Hi, Mason,” Shawn greeted Ruth’s cousin. He waited, and manners forced Mason to introduce him to the other men in the group. A couple of them Shawn had already met visiting that morning at Rose House.

“Sit yourself down,” Mr. Rodriguez invited him.

“Thanks.” Shawn lifted a chair from an empty table and inserted himself into the fringe of the group.

Unexpectedly, it was Mason who rolled his chair back a bit to encourage the shuffling to make room for Shawn.

Shawn made sure his position gave him a clear sightline to Zach, so that staring at the man would be natural. However, for Zach to assess Shawn, he’d have to turn his head; natural enough if someone near Shawn was talking, but otherwise Shawn would be unobserved.

The group of eleven men were discussing the town’s Christmas plans. Apparently, the Chamber of Commerce usually provided the volunteer Santa.

“Makes a man glad to be in a wheelchair.” Mason grinned and slapped the arm of his. “Kids screaming and pulling on the fake beard. Caleb, last year, said that the elastic stung when it sprang back.”

A couple of the men reflexively rubbed their ears.

“Thanks.” Shawn accepted his coffee and waited for the conversation to move on to things that interested him; although, he was intrigued to note how reasonable, even agreeable, Mason could be in this situation. Perhaps his behavior to Ruth was an old pattern they both needed to break?

But that was a fleeting thought. Shawn concentrated on Zach.

The man had his magic locked down tight. Ruth had said she couldn’t see Zach’s aura. Well, Shawn couldn’t get a sense of the man’s magic. Everyone had a particular bent to their magic. There were healers, like Ruth; combat mages, like him; but also weathermages, geomages, enchanters and alchemists, not to mention witches and warders.

Part of the problem was the insidious crawl of evil that surrounded Zach. Shawn had to control his hollerider nature that wanted to confront that evil and destroy the man. Evil wasn’t something a person did by mistake. It was a pattern of choices; an active embrace of hurting and exploiting others for personal gain.

And it seemed that Zach’s first and ongoing target was his wife.

Shawn’s hollerider magic surged, and hit the wall of his masking ward.

Nonetheless, that was the moment Zach turned and looked at Shawn. “Where did you serve overseas?”

“Afghanistan.” Shawn swallowed some coffee.

“Me, too. Army.” A quiet man in his early thirties, spoke from three places to Shawn’s right. His brown hair was cut short and his shirt had sharp sleeve creases even late in the day. “You probably didn’t catch my name. Josh Richter. I joined my dad’s real estate business after leaving the army. When you’re nearing finished on Ruth’s house, talk to me. There are a few places around town that need renovating.”

“You couldn’t do better than settle in Bideer.” Zach spoke up, nicely judging his comment on the inoffensive, sincere side of hearty.

The older men around the table nodded in acceptance of his praise of their town. However, Josh’s eyes narrowed and he finished his coffee in two gulps, standing as he set his cup down.

Shawn wasn’t surprised that it was Josh, recently ex-army, who was leaving. Zach was one of the best Shawn had encountered at masking his evil. It didn’t surround Zach in a noxious cloud, so most people—even Ruth—couldn’t detect it. But those who’d fought in enemy country, they were attuned to evil.

Josh put money on the table, and left.

In the momentary confusion of farewells, the shield around Zach cracked minutely as he struck out towards Shawn.

Shawn felt the sizzling strike of Zach’s magic. It reminded him of a snake’s tongue flicking out to scent the air. Zach wanted to know who Shawn was. Evil was always on the look-out for enemies and victims. This was the opportunity Shawn had been waiting for.

As Zach’s magic hit the wall of Shawn’s personal ward, Shawn attached a sliver of his own magic to it, so as Zach retracted his magic and resealed his shield, Shawn had a hook inside. He wasn’t worried that Zach had learned anything. Shawn’s magic was masked strongly enough that not even other Collegium guardians could detect it, and his ward wouldn’t raise Zach’s suspicions, either. It could easily be the natural psychic armor that soldiers under constant attack developed.

And, sure enough, Zach sat back in his chair, shoulders relaxing fractionally; apparently satisfied that Shawn was an ex-marine: probably not worth worrying about or involving in a rich man’s schemes.

Shawn stared into his coffee cup and concentrated. The magic he’d attached to Zach’s strike would dissolve in a minute. He’d designed it that way so that Zach couldn’t detect a shadow of it, later. But it meant he had to work fast.

What was the nature of Zach’s magic?