The Voodoo Killings (44 page)

“Finally, one of you shows an ounce of sense,” Gideon said, and dropped me on the pile of bodies. I couldn’t light them now, not while I was lying on the accelerant.

“If I hand myself over, she can go, right?” Cameron said, taking another step.

I swear the damn ghost rolled his eyes. “That’s exactly what I’ve been proposing.”

“Cameron,” I warned, “the last thing I want is
him
walking around this side with a body.”

Gideon glared at me. I couldn’t have cared less.

Cameron was within arm’s reach, close enough he’d feel the edge of Otherside gathered around Gideon. “This will be easier, Kincaid. You even said it. I’m a ticking time bomb.” He looked away from the ghost for one moment and met my eyes. “You know, I never got the chance to thank you.”

In another time and place I would have laughed at the absurdity of Cameron thanking me. “For what?”

“Giving a damn what happened to me. I mean it, it meant a lot.”

I realized too late what Cameron planned to do.

“You want me?” he said to Gideon. “Here I am.” Cameron’s hand shot into the Otherside that was Gideon. His bindings cracked and whistled like a string of firecrackers.

The sixth gear in Cameron’s bindings started to turn and his body convulsed.

I searched for a way to stop the unreeling—an anchor, a binding point—but it was as if a fuse had been lit. I couldn’t do anything as the bindings burned away.

Cameron leaned against the cellar wall then slid to the dirt floor. I’ve always said, you know when a zombie’s gone. It’s in their eyes.

I watched as what had just happened dawned on Gideon.

“What the hell has he done?” Gideon snarled.

I couldn’t tear my eyes off Cameron’s empty corpse.

“Do you have any idea how much it will cost to salvage this?” Gideon shouted at me, examining Cameron’s body as the bindings
dissipated. All I could think was that Cameron deserved better than this….

Somewhere in the commotion I’d dropped the lighter, and now I spotted it by Randall’s feet. I picked it up and with shaky hands lit it before dropping it on the pile of bodies. The accelerant caught and flames shot straight up to the low ceiling. Heat singed my face and eyes as smoke filled the cellar and choked the air.

Gideon swore.

The flames hadn’t touched Cameron’s body yet. Maybe I could reanimate him with Max’s notes….The sane part of my brain stuffed that idea. Cameron had made his call.

Sleeve over my mouth, I crawled up the steps. The door wouldn’t budge.

I didn’t see Gideon through the smoke, only felt the icy grip on my foot before I slid back down the steps. I tried to free myself, but I was stuck, the Otherside ice reaching through the fire’s heat, tethering my ankle to the cellar floor.

“You have got to be kidding me—” I sputtered, hit by a coughing fit. I covered my mouth with the sleeve of my jacket, hoping to filter out some of the smoke. “Gideon, I don’t have time for this. Open the fucking door!”

His face coalesced over me and cold pressure came down on my chest.

“I’ve killed
kings
for less than this,” he said.

“So go ahead and get it over with. I hope you enjoy watching me burn.”

Gideon swore, but the pressure eased off my chest.

I didn’t know how much it helped, as more smoke filled my lungs. I glanced up at the door. I could still make it out but soon it would be obscured by smoke. All I had to do was crawl up and then across the bar to the back door….I grabbed a step and pulled myself up. Gideon made no move to stop me.

A few more steps, Kincaid, come on, that’s all you have to do.

I heard Gideon swear and then felt him grab the collar of my
jacket. Everything went ice-cold. Excruciatingly cold. No air, no feeling, no sound. Just cold.

And then I was gasping, and burning, and choking all at the same time as noise pierced the air. Otherside…so much Otherside…

I opened bleary eyes to Gideon’s face, twisted in a snarl. “I have no idea why the hell I keep saving you. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me? Don’t think for one minute this is over, Kincaid. You owe me one hell of a favour. And this changes nothing of our deal. In fact, consider yourself in penalty.”

Then I heard him say, “This is your problem,” and I didn’t think he was talking to me. “Send someone to put out that damned fire before Seattle burns. Again.”

Gideon vanished and then Lee’s scarred face came into view. I was lying in her backyard underneath the canopy of white Christmas lights. Huh. Gideon hadn’t tried to strangle me with them. Go figure.

“Kincaid?” Lee said.

I noticed the new lanterns interspersed among the lights, dark red with gold letters this time. “Do you ever get tired of redecorating this place?” I said, in between coughing fits.

I felt her cool hands on my face. “What happened to you?” she asked.

I couldn’t bring myself to say anything about Cameron’s fate.

“I found the killer, Lee,” I said, though that felt like cold comfort. “And you owe me ten grand.” I passed out.

—

I woke up in bed. At home. Alive. No Otherside hangover, no sorcerer’s ghost trying to kill me. I crawled out of bed, prompted largely by my stomach, and headed for the kitchen.

I didn’t make it past the doorway. There was a covered easel sitting in my living room with a delivery receipt attached. Aaron or Lee must have let them in.

Somehow Cameron had known he wasn’t coming back with me. Or maybe he just decided he’d had enough? I’d never know. I stood
there staring at the easel until I got up the courage to pull the cover off. It was one of the pieces I’d seen in his apartment. Less abstract than most of his work and done in grey and gold, reminding me of Otherside and bindings.

I stared at the canvas for a few minutes before going to the kitchen and turning on the coffee. In the bathroom there was no sign of Nate, but there was a single sentence scrawled across the bathroom mirror in Gideon’s tight script.

You owe me
.

—

For the next few days I kept my head down and tried to recover my balance. So many losses: Max, Cameron, even Randall.

I made coffee, ordered pizza, spent a little time with Aaron in a platonic truce I had no desire to break. I knew he had questions I didn’t want to answer, and we were not all right, not by a long shot. But he let me have a respite. Most of the time I was on the couch in my pyjamas watching TV.

And Nate left me alone. He needed the rest too.

When I finally succumbed to the urge to check in on the murder investigation, the Seattle PD was back to calling Aaron the head of the paranormal unit. Poltergeists and fire will do that.

I was interrupted by a knock at the door, which soon turned to loud banging.

“I’m coming,” I shouted, though I wasn’t too crazy about opening the door to just anyone in my pyjamas.

I stood on my toes to check through the dusty peephole, figuring I’d see Aaron or maybe a reporter.

A grey sweatshirt hood. A head of shoulder-length red hair. How could it be?

I swung the door open and pulled Cameron inside. He staggered out of my reach without any of his usual grace or coordination.

“K, it’s me,” Cameron said.

I frowned. Cameron didn’t call me K. And he tended to stand
up straight, not slouch. I sought out his eyes, which were unfocused, shifting….

Only one person ever called me K. I reached out to steady myself against the wall.

“K, I really think I might have messed up.”

“
Nate
?”

He nodded, attempting to give me a grin. Shit. Where Gideon had failed, Nate had succeeded. He’d stolen Cameron’s body.

“Nate, what the hell have you done?”

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks to my husband, Steve, and my friends Leanne Tremblay, Tristan Brand and Mary Gilbert, who read each and every chapter. I don’t know if I would have finished this book, or any book, without their feedback and encouragement. Also thanks to my awesome co-host at
Adventures in Sci-Fi Publishing
podcast, Brent Bowen, and his family. Hosting the show every week reminds me why I love writing so much.

I also want to thank my agent, Carolyn Forde, who picked my first manuscript out of the slush pile and perked up when I described this new project. Also my amazing editor, Anne Collins, at Random House Canada for fixing up this scientist’s prose and making the novel so much more than it would have been otherwise. I will never forget the day Anne admitted she “liked” my novel, with its voodoo and zombies.

There are many other people who have mentored and encouraged me in my writing career over the past few years—thanks to all of you!

KRISTI CHARISH has a background in archeology and a PhD in zoology from the University of British Columbia. She has worked as a scientific advisor on projects such as fantasy and science fiction writer Diana Rowland’s series, White Trash Zombie, and is the author of
Owl and the Japanese Circus
and
Owl and the City of Angels
. She co-hosts the
Adventures in Sci-Fi Publishing
podcast and lives in Vancouver.
www.kristicharish.com