by Bardwynna
Wynna1[at]yahoo.com
Copyright © by Bardwynna, 1998
DISCLAIMER: This Story contains graphic violence as well as references to the occult, and adult language. It also contains sexual scenes involving two mature, adult Women. If you are under the age of 18, this is illegal in your state, or you have a problem with it, then stop reading now and come back when you're more mature. This is the second tale involving Jo Tate and Evan Reilly; the first is called "Mirror, Mirror On The Wall". It is suggested you read the first before beginning this one.
Evan dreamed...
They had come from all over Eire, converging at this one sacred spot - a glade within the deepest forest, a clearing dominated by the Grandsire Oak - a tree of unimaginable age whose trunk was so thick that ten men could not span it hand-to-hand.
In the center of the glade crouched the Holystone, a large, irregularly shaped flat rock with a small depression about three-quarters of the way along its rough table surface. This depression was black, in stark contrast with the whiteness of the stone surrounding it; here for generations, Druids had made a blood sacrifice to Kernossus and the other Tuatha De Danaan. So much blood had the rock absorbed through time that the shallow bowl was always wet and slick.
Torches had been lit and thrust into the ground; a bonfire of the three sacred woods - rowan, oak and ash - cast brilliant sparks into the still night air. As the more than three hundred men and women gathered in the glade that night stood and waited, a figure stepped out from beneath the trees.
He was Cathbadh, Chief Druid of Eire, known as the mac Seinghesa, or "son of wisdom."
"Let the sacrifice come forward," he said in a deep, sonorous voice. Cathbadh was ancient, with a thin silver beard that fell in rippling waves beyond his waist, and white hair that curled down his back. He wore a simple deerskin loincloth wrapped around his scrawny hips, and every inch of his crepey skin was decorated in abstract swirls of faded woad tattoos.
A pair of deer antlers reared up from his brow, held in place by a band tied around his forehead. His pale blue eyes, peering out from a nest of wrinkles, searched the crowd.
A young woman stepped away from the waiting Druids. Brilliant orange hair, bound into dozens of skinny braids, was held off her face by a twist of cloth; like the others, she was clad only in a homespun robe. "I am here," Eiobhan Reille said simply. "I am willing."
At Cathbadh's nod, a pair of Druids stripped Eiobhan of her robe and the young woman stood proudly, naked skin burnished with a golden glow from the fires. She had many tattoos, as did most of the Celts; but on her back she bore the artwork of Fiachu Mar the Blind, chief woad artist in Eire; a man of sheer supernatural talent who had been born sightless in this world, but with vision firmly fixed in the Other.
A Druid himself, Fiachu was a banfaith, or seer; it was said that with one look of his blind eyes, he could discern the shape of a man's soul and etch it upon his flesh. The snow-and-moon landscape on Eiobhan's back seemed to twist back on itself, changing into a wolf with wise eyes staring out at the world; the tattoo had been done in a ritual lasting a full thirty days and nights. Upon completing it, Fiachu had laid aside his inkbowl and bone needles, drawn a final, weary breath... and died, having poured the remainder of his life and talent into his greatest work.
Eiobhan shook back her braids and stepped up beside Cathbadh. She was young, just barely in her twenties, but already her skin bore the scars of battle. She was thickly muscled and powerfully built, though shorter than the average woman of the time. Her smoke gray eyes were clear and bright as she waited for the ancient Druid to begin the ritual.
Cathbadh chaunted a blessing, answered by the flashing gleam of several hundred sickle knives raised in answer, held high to the moon. Without being told, Eiobhan got up on the Holystone and lay on her back, her head in the depression. The coppery reek of old blood made her nose twitch; but other than that, she remained calm and quiet. The night air's chill made her flesh rise up in gooseknots.
"I invoke the land of Eire," Cathbadh said, his words rolling over the crowd like water rushing over riverstones, growing louder and more powerful until by the end, his voice shook the very trees:
"Deepest in the hill-top well;
A well of tribes, sons of Mil of the ships,
Like a lofty ship is the land of Eire,
O, lofty land sung with incantations of great cunning.
Falias, Gorias, Finias and Murias,
the cities of the Tuatha De Danaan;
Yield up your golden treasures, your silver and bronze;
Safe haven we do create -
A cauldron of light,
A vessel of rebirth,
A darkling womb of rest and sleep
Until the crannith tirr be not lit in summoning,
Until the Son of Sacrifice be withdrawn,
Until the treasures of Eire can be returned yet again to the world."
The Druids began forming a line, holding their curve bladed sickle knives, each one crowned with mistletoe. Off to one side, two anruth stood in the memory trance, tuigen mantles of bird's feathers drawn about the poets' shoulders as they recorded, with trained memory, the events that were taking place.
Cathbadh, sweat pouring off his lean frame, threw out his arms as if to embrace the world and began chanting the Ranns of Unframing and Grasping the Tide, simultaneously reaching with his trained will to harness the mighty forces of magic that were being concentrated in the glade.
Even the least sensitive of them could sense it; the old man's struggle with titanic forces that slowly and surely bent to his hand. To the Othersight, Cathbadh began to glow a brilliant blue-white, brighter and brighter, until he seemed like a captured star, fallen from the firmament to lie in blazing splendor upon the earth.
Through it all, Eiobhan remained still, eyes closed, preparing herself for what she knew was to come. One by one, the other Druids there would make a blood sacrifice while Cathbadh used magic to open the way for the impossible. Each man and woman there would, in the act of giving blood, be "donating" a certain number of the remaining years of their lives. These would be added to Eiobhan's own span of time, giving her in essence a virtual immortality.
It was a mighty sacrifice, as no man knew how many years the gods had granted him; and many would die that night, particularly the older ones who, having passed their wisdom down to many, had chosen to give up their lives entirely to this most sacred cause. For it was the intention of every Druid there to create a haven for the Celtic gods, who would be driven out of Ireland by the coming of the Christus - the Sacrificed One. And Eiobhan was to be that vessel.
When Cathbadh, blazing like a comet, laid a hand on Eiobhan's brow, and when the first Druid sliced across his wrist, his warm blood splattering on the young woman's face... she arched her back and screamed...
Evan woke up, eyes popping open to stare wildly into the dark, her heart hammering in her chest.
The light clicked on and she blinked rapidly, struggling to pull her mind away from those images of another time and place, away from the agony and ecstasy and soul-wrenching madness of that night so long ago.
Beside her, a voice murmured sleepily, "Hey, baby... you okay?" When Evan didn't answer, Jo sat up, sheets sliding away from her torso. "Ev... you okay? What's the matter?"
Evan rolled over, pulling the sheets with her, and mumbled, "He died..."
"Who? Who died? Jeez, Ev, you having that damned dream again?" Jo scrubbed a hand through her short platinum blonde hair and waited, looking down at Evan's back, blue eyes filled with concern.
Silence stretched... then Evan replied, "Aye." Although her tone was normal, her back spoke eloquently of her distress.
With a sigh, Jo lay back down, fitting herself against the other woman's body, sliding an arm under Evan's neck and putting her other arm over Evan's waist. "Shit. You wanna talk about it?"
"No." Evan ignored the soft breasts she could feel pressed against her, the strength of Jo's arms and the whispered breath that tickled the side of her throat. "I'll live, colleen. T'was but a dream."
Jo kissed Evan's ear. "You been having that nightmare for... what? Two months now? Regular as friggin' clockwork. Baby... maybe you oughta talk to somebody about it. You know... a professional or something."
Evan gave a short bark of laughter that had no merriment in it at all. "Aye, I suppose I could just go to a therapist and say, 'Excuse me, but I'm havin' dreams of when I lived two thousand years ago...' No, Jo. I can't. I just need... I need some time to think things through."
"Mmph." Jo buried her face in Evan's thick, flamboyantly orange hair. "I'll listen, if you want to tell me."
"Maybe another time." Evan stiffened when the phone rang; Jo muttered a curse and answered it, rolling away to reach for the cordless with a long arm. "Yeah? Another one? Shit! Yeah, I'm on my way. No, goddammit! I'll get there! Uh-huh... Right. Thanks, McTierney. I owe ya one."
Jo sat up again, rubbing one knuckle against her eye. "Ev... we gotta go, baby. The cops just found number two."
Evan slid out of bed and began twisting up her hair. "Same as the other one?," she asked as she padded to the bathroom.
"Yep. Same mutilations to chest, face and groin. They found him in damn near the same place, too - the warehouse district in the Chinese quarter, close by an illegal mah-jongg parlor and fancy girl house owned by Momma Fat." Jo began pulling on a pair of worn out jeans. "McTierney's gonna meet us at the police line and let us through."
Evan emerged from the bathroom and swiftly pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of black denim leggings. Her hair was secured in a loose French twist at the back of her head, and wisps had already come down, framing her face. "Should I bring anythin' besides the usual?"
Jo leaned down and kissed Evan lightly on the lips. "Just your sweet little self, Ev." They'd been living together for six months now; every day, Jo became more and more convinced that the smaller woman - despite her years, magical talents and wolfish alter - was her true soulmate. It was the first time Jo had been in love, real love; and she relished every moment of it.
Evan hugged Jo. "Just let me grab my bag and we'll go," she said softly. She was aware how Jo felt; but her own feelings were mixed at best. Oh, I love her all right, Evan thought. But... is it fair to her? Can I truly, bein' what I am, give her enough?
She shook her head, pushing those thoughts aside for the moment as Jo pulled on her worn leather jacket and jingled the keys in the pocket impatiently. "C'mon, Ev... whatcha waiting for? An engraved invitation? Haul ass, woman! We got us a hot body that ain't gonna hang out forever."
Even smiled to herself as she hastily snatched up an old, battered doctor's bag she used to store magical supplies - her travel kit, she called it - then joined her lover. "Let's go," she said. "Are we takin' the Lincoln?"
"Naw. Today we ride in style." Jo flashed Evan a grin.
"Oh, Kernossus! Don't tell me..."
"Yep. I'm babysitting Jim Bob's Doozy. Yee-haw!"
The two women exited, Evan muttering under her breath, "Oh, ye gods and martyrs! Protect this faithful servant from the curse of cold iron... and Jo's foot of lead!"
They pulled up to the crime scene in the souped-up Duesenberg owned by Jim Bob Matthews. The information broker had converted the old if stylish auto into a screaming purple and turquoise hot rod with tons of gleaming chrome and a supercharged and expertly "tweaked" customized Porsche engine that could blow away damn near anything else on the road. It WAS street legal - just.
Jo loved driving Doozy; Evan hated it when she did. When they finally rolled to a stop, the orange-haired woman peeled her white-knuckled fingers from the "oh shit" strap and said, "That wasn't the Autobahn, you know. Was it truly necessary to go a hundred-thirty?"
Jo grinned. "Yeah, just like it was necessary to crank it up to a hundred-seventy when that dude in the Beemer tried to pass me." She chuckled evilly. "Damn, I wish I coulda seen his face!" She climbed out of the car and went around to the passenger side, opening Evan's door and helping the shaken woman out. "Aw, c'mon, Ev! It ain't all that often that Jim Bob goes off to Bangkok and leaves the Doozy in my - if I may say so myself - more than capable hands."
Evan brushed a lock of orange hair from her face. "Capable? More like homicidal! Or suicidal, I vow, the way you drive."
Before Jo could protest, a new voice called out, interrupting their "discussion."
"Hey, Tate! You gonna schmooze with your girlfriend or you wanna see this stiff before the meatwagon shows up?"
Jo turned and smiled hugely. "Bear! Damn, man, it's good to see you!" She enveloped the enormous police officer in a hug. "You know Ev, right?"
"We've met." Lt. Benjamin "Bear" McTierney worked homicide; he and Jo had been friends ever since they'd met four months ago while working opposite ends of a case involving a tong gang in Little Manchuria that had been smuggling both illegal aliens and Chinese vampires into the city. "How you doing, Ms. Reilly?"
Evan raised one brow. Bear was, as his name suggested, a big, burly man gone slightly to fat upon his promotion from streetwork to desk jockey. He wore his brown hair slightly longer than regulation, and pulled it back in a ponytail that emphasized his short thick neck. There was often laughter, as well as sadness, in his eloquent blue-green eyes. "Hello, Bear," she replied. "I hope you won't get into trouble over this."
Bear scratched his beard, a monstrous thatch of fur that joined heavy sideburns and mustache, swathing his face in mink brown hair. "Yeah, well... just don't touch anything, okay? I'd hate having to explain to the forensic guys that the beautiful fingerprints they just found belonged to my gay buddy and her gorgeous partner." He grinned.
"Of course." Evan laced her arm through Jo's. "Shall we?," she said. As they approached the yellow taped perimeter, Jo said, "So, Bear? Whatcha got so far? Any witnesses?"
Bear held up the tape to allow the two women to enter. "Nope. Nary a one. Momma Fat's girls suddenly forgot how to speak English, and when we brought in a translator, they forgot how to speak Cantonese, too." He sighed, escorting them into a small alley between two brick warehouse buildings, and stopping when they reached the body.
"Peter Boswell, attorney. That's all we know so far, pending official I.D. The first man on the scene got it from his wallet, which was still in his jacket. Nothing stolen." Bear squatted down, his big thighs making the seams of his cheap polyester pants groan in protest. "Somebody really did a number on this guy. We still haven't figured out the weapon that was used on the first victim, but I know it's the same killer did both. The wound patterns look the same to me, only I'm not jumping to any 'official' conclusions until after the autopsy."
Jo nodded. Boswell's body was sprawled on the street, amid heaps of trash and vile smelling pools of dark liquids. His empty eye sockets were filled with congealed blood; his face and hands were marred with deep gouges. The front of Boswell's shirt was in tatters, a gaping hole in his chest clearly visible. Most shocking of all, the crotch of his pants had been torn away...
Bear gulped, averting his eyes. "Yeah... nasty, huh? We haven't found it, either. Or the one that's missing on the other victim from a month ago. Or the hearts. Or the eyes." He rose, waving away a newbie technician who had come stumbling back from vomiting outside the lines to finish taking pictures. "We got no leads, nothing. The FBI says it looks like we've got a serial killer on our hands, but they won't be able to do a profile or anything for at least six months. Christ!" He tugged his beard. "If the murderer keeps the same pattern he's started, that'll be another six victims. One every twenty-eight days."
Evan's head came up. "Twenty-eight days?," she asked. "He's on a lunar cycle, then."
"So far. It's still too early to come to any definite conclusions."
Jo crouched down and examined the victim's wounds, keeping her hands ostentatiously in the pockets of her jacket.
Evan drew Bear aside. "Why did you call Jo?," she asked. "What does this have to do with..."
Bear interrupted. "With the weird ass shit she gets involved in?" He looked around then said softly, "I found something on the first victim. Same thing on the second. I've been holding it back from the released reports." He dug into a pocket and handed Evan an envelope. "I'd appreciate it if this goes no further than the three of us," he continued, nodding to Jo.
As Evan opened the envelope, Jo sauntered up and put a casual arm around the smaller woman's shoulders. "Whatcha got there?"
Evan spilled the contents into her hand... and sucked in a breath. "Morrighu, Badb and Nemain!"
Jo peered down... on Evan's palm nestled a claw, curving and sharp as a razor. The end was blunted, as though it had been clipped off deliberately rather than torn off accidentally. Jo looked up at Bear and raised an eyebrow. "That's wolverkin, all right." She sniffed. "Maybe there's a rogue running around..."
Evan knew there was a small community of wolverkin, or werewolves, who dwelled in the city. They lived in a compound near the stockyards; a sprawling, brawling tribe who were incestuously close and almost xenophobically fearful of outsiders. But... "It would have to be a rogue, Jo. If the wolverkin had broken the Pact, there'd be more than one victim in the streets."
Bear scratched his head. "Wolverkin? Rogue? Pact?" He looked at both women. "Something you should tell me? Or is this one of those spooky things I really don't want to know about?"
Jo grinned. "You don't wanna know. Leave it to me, Bear. I'll check out that angle and get back to you. In the meantime, can you forward copies of the autopsy reports to me on the sly? Not that I can read 'em, but Ev's smarter'n me; she'll figure out all that medico mumbo-jumbo."
Bear nodded. "Yeah, I can do that." A uniformed officer strolled by and when he reached the big man, whispered, "Apache attack, watch your back." As he disappeared, Bear frowned. "You gals have to scoot. Internal Affairs is on the prowl. They catch you around here, and I can kiss my cheap gold retirement watch goodbye."
"I hear ya." Jo hastily put the claw back in the envelope and shoved it in Bear's jacket. "We're outta here, big guy. No worries."
Jo led Evan away, sticking close to the wall and hiding behind the dozen or so officers who suddenly materialized in a welter of frenzied activity. Everybody wanted to look good for I.A.D. or at least, not be caught doing any less. The Commissioner was digging into the shadowy corners of the police department, determined to sweep away any slackers, troublemakers or downright corrupt officers he could find, and Internal Affairs was his broom.
When they reached the Doozy, Jo said, "Ev? You got connections with the wolverkin?"
"A few. Why?"
"'Cause I don't really know 'em that well. Got one who could vouch for me with their alpha, the Howler, but he's honeymooning in Hawaii with his new mate." Jo saw Evan into the car, shut the passenger door, and walked around to climb in herself. Shoving the key into the ignition, she said, "Home? Or Howler's place?"
Evan considered a moment. "Howler, I think." She settled her doctor's bag beneath the seat; she hadn't needed it. "If Lunabiter or Slashcatch is there, we'll be all right."
Jo started up the Doozy, revving the powerful engine and making Evan wince. "You got it, baby. To the Fur-Filled Mansion, and don't spare the horsepower!"
They took off with a squeal of tires on asphalt and Evan's yelp of protest floating back behind them.
Lunabiter frowned. "You say the police believe it was one of us?" She was the dominant female of the pack; 'top bitch' as Jo would say. Luna appeared to be a wiry woman in her late thirties, dark hair streaked with broad bands of gray; eyebrows so heavy and thick they met at the bridge of her nose; and a pair of midnight black eyes.
Evan hastened to explain. "No... There's a policeman who's investigatin' the murders. He found wolverkin claws on both victims and asked Jo and me to look into it because he knows Jo often investigates the unusual, but he really knows nothin' save that murder has been done."
"We have no rogues," Luna replied flatly, lines at each corner of her mouth deepening. "If we did... Rest assured the unlawful one would not live to kill twice."
Evan nodded. From everything she'd heard of wolverkin, what Lunabiter said was true. The tribes were scattered, but they all lived under one law - the Pact. One of the tenants was: they did not kill humans - ever - and if they had to do so for self-defense, they used mundane weapons. After the Great Slaughter by the Church in the 1400's, which decimated the wolverkin population almost to extinction, they wanted only to live quietly, drawing no attention to themselves in order to survive. Those who broke the Pact were punished swiftly and harshly; there was only one penalty, and that was instant death.
Jo leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "So... You have no idea how a pair of wolverkin claws got on the victims? They were pretty mutilated..."
Luna slashed her hand through the air, inches from Jo's face. "No! The Howler's tribe has NO ROGUES! None here have violated the Pact." Her black eyes flashed. "None!"
Jo held up her hands. "Okay, okay. Shit! Don't get your tail in a knot, sweetheart." Luna snarled, and Jo continued, "Sorry. But you can't deny the claw I saw, and Evan saw, WAS wolverkin. Any idea how it could've gotten there?"
"No." Luna was growling softly to herself, and her dark hair stirred on her shoulders, trying to rise. Wolverkin only changed into their wolf shapes for three nights out of the month - before, during and after the full moon - but even human, they retained many of the wild qualities of their alters.
"Luna... Think, please." Evan's gray eyes locked on the werewolf's black. "No one accuses you of anythin'. But we need your help to end this confusion."
When Lunabiter didn't answer, Jo rose with a regretful sigh. "C'mon, Ev. She ain't cooperating, and I ain't busting my ass no more."
Luna stirred. "Wait, human." She seemed to be considering something. "Sit." Jo sat back down again and Luna rose, leaving the room with the injunction called over her shoulder, "Stay here. I'll be back."
"Sit, stay, roll over, play dead... Goddamn if I don't feel like a friggin' trained poodle." Jo rubbed her chin. "If she asks me to fetch, I'm gonna whack her on the nose with a rolled up newspaper, I swear."
Evan chuckled and patted Jo's hand. "Luna's an acquired taste, colleen. But she IS more reasonable than most of her folk, and she's willin' to acknowledge my imaginary status and speak to us. That's more than some of the wolverkin would do."
"Yeah... Their motto's 'Bite first, ask questions later."' Jo looked around the room. The furniture was leather, but much of it patched, torn and sagging. The floors were scuffed wood, stained with unidentifiable substances, and huge puffs of hair were gathered in every corner. "I see the wolverkin ain't exactly the Donna Reed's of the housekeeping world," she said aloud.
Lunabiter came back into the room, leading Slashcatch by the hand. He was a teenager with a shock of white hair that fell over one blue eye. Luna pushed the youngster down on an ottoman that leaked stuffing, and said, "I have only heard rumors of what my bloodchild is about to tell you. I ignored them, believing what I heard was harmless, or twisted out of all meaning. But now... I have reason to believe it is not."
Slashcatch looked chagrined. Peering at Jo and Evan with his visible eye, he said, "Me and some of the others... There's this shop down on 4th and Main. One of those occult deals? Anyway, the owner said he'd pay big for wolverkin claws and stuff - you know, blood, hair, urine, even..." He gulped, clearly embarrassed. "You know. Stuff."
Evan's brows drew together in puzzlement, then she said in sudden comprehension, "Oh!" Leaning over to Jo, she whispered, "He's too embarrassed to say, but the dealer also wished to acquire sperm." Jo nodded, and Slashcatch continued.
"Anyway... I mean, who's gonna give some magic practitioner blood or anything, right? We aren't stupid. But he offered to pay in cash. So... Some of us cut off a couple of our claws and sold 'em. No big deal."
Lunabiter wrinkled her nose, lifting her lips in a snarl. "Except now, you and your packmates have foolishly endangered the tribe!" She cuffed Slashcatch on his head with one hand, rocking him on his seat. "Puppy! Do you know how close you came to violating the Pact? Do you want the police to hunt us down like animals? Stupid, milk-toothed, blunt clawed puppies!" She cuffed him again.
"Take it easy, Luna!," Jo gritted, half-rising from her chair. Her hands were balled into fists. Evan gave her a startled look, then grabbed Jo's upper arm and squeezed warningly, shaking her head and mouthing silently, "no." Jo reluctantly sat back down again, guts roiling and the taste of bile in her mouth.
Jesus Christ!, Jo thought, wiping her mouth with the back of one hand. My old man used ta do that kinda crap to me. Hitting me like that, always yelling I should take a swing, take my best shot I was so fuckin' tough, I was such a mean bitch... Hell! One and only time I did, it felt real good... right up until he got up off the floor and beat the holy shit outta me.
Lunabiter glared at Jo, then turned her black eyes back on her son. "Did you never think, youngling, how this human knew about the wolverkin?"
"No," Slashcatch answered sullenly.
"We'll go have a little talk with the man," Evan said, rising and motioning to Jo to do the same. "If I can, I'll retrieve the remainin' claws from him. Slash, how many did you sell?"
When the teenager didn't answer immediately, Luna cuffed the side of his head again. "Six!," Slashcatch exploded, saliva spraying from his mouth, voice rising in a whine. "Six, okay?! We only sold six!"
"That's enough." Jo looked at Luna with cold blue eyes. "Don't hit the kid anymore. We're going. Evan'll bring your stuff back." She turned and left the room, hands jammed into her jacket pockets.
Luna ran a shaking hand through her dark hair. "I know you're not of Fenris' Kin, Evan, but..."
Evan nodded. "I'll do what I can." With a worried expression, she hastened from the room, hurrying to catch up with Jo's long legged stride.
Jo was silent all the way home... it wasn't until she'd flopped down on the sofa in their apartment with a beer clenched in one fist that her taut body finally began to relax.
Evan puttered around, sensing the moment was not right; plumping pillows, watering plants, cleaning imaginary spots on the kitchen counter... she and Jo had both had to move following their confrontation with Eridu and his demonic horde six months ago. Now, they'd gotten a place together in Bougainvillea Towers, a turn-of-the-century former hotel that had been converted into luxury apartments. A small balcony with floor-to-ceiling French doors was off the living room, and the view they had of the city at night was spectacular.
Jo took a swallow of beer and rolled the sweat-beaded bottle on her forehead. "Shit... I'm sorry, baby. I totally lost it in there."
Evan sat down beside Jo and laid a hand on her knee. "It's all right, colleen. Want to talk about it?"
"Not particularly." Jo blew out a breath. "Aw... crud. My old man was a real piece of work. A high story man, worked construction all his life. Big, tough son of a bitch, real mean when he got drunk. He used to knock the stuffing outta me fairly regular. Mom, too. I guess I just can't stand it when people push kids around, hit 'em and stuff."
Evan snuggled closer to the taller woman, laying her head on Jo's shoulder. "Slash isn't exactly your normal teenager. And wolverkin live by different laws than we do. But I can see why you'd get upset."
"I know." Jo gulped the rest of her beer. "I just got a real hot button when it comes to that. Don't take much to set it off."
"Well... t'is all right, colleen. Luna isn't the type to take offense easily. When do you want to go look for this shop?"
Jo checked the cheap Timex knock-off strapped to her wrist. "In about an hour, Ev. I gotta go see a man about a dog."
Evan's eyebrows rose, but she refused to take the bait. "Fine. We'll meet over at Babylon High about seven, hmmm?"
"Babylon High? Astarte's place? What the hell FOR?"
It was Evan's turn to be enigmatic. "I want to ask a goddess about her supplicants."
Jo checked up and down the street. For midday, it was pretty quiet downtown. Only the Dragoman Heights Building, a massive, Art Deco skyscraper that dominated the skyline, was bustling with business; the ornately Gothic fountain in Dragoman Square, with its hideous chimerae and water squirting monsters, played host to dozens of suit-clad people devouring their brown-bag lunches and chain-smoking.
The shop she stood in front of was called "Old Curiosities." Behind the fly-specked glass of the window, a stuffed baboon in top hat and tails menaced a trio of blank-faced porcelain dolls. In addition, a swooping paper dragon and an open parasol of some strange matte black fabric were included in the collage. There was something about the display, something faintly menacing, that made the hairs on the back of Jo's neck rise.
Jo hadn't wanted Evan to come along; she knew the other woman would disapprove of any strong arm tactics she might have to use to get information. So... I sorta lied. Big deal. No prob. She can go doggie and chase a Frisbee in the park or something. I'll tell her all about it when we meet tonight. Besides... sometimes I miss working alone.
Jo pushed open the door, squinting to adjust her eyes to the interior gloom. Almost immediately, a raspy voice said, "May I help you?"
The man behind the counter was inhumanly tall and skeletally lean; Jo identified him as a ghoul. His loose, blousey shirt would hide the extra elbow joint, and quick movements of his spidery fingers concealed the fact that he had six on one hand, four on the other. His hair was magenta, and hung down to his shoulders in greasy strings.
The man's eyes were hidden behind round lenses of smoked glass. He smiled, careful not to show the sharp points of his teeth. "Miss? Are you looking for something in particular, or just browsing?"
"Actually, I'm wondering about something." Jo leaned casually against the waist-high counter, putting one elbow on its scarred oak surface. "What's a nice ghoul like you doing in a place like this?"
The man drew back and hissed, and Jo chuckled. "Aw, c'mon! It wasn't THAT bad of a pun!"
"What... what do you want?" The ghoul eyed the platinum blonde woman with concern. "Money? I don't have much..."
"I ain't interested in money. I'm interested in information." Jo squeezed her eyes into slits. "Let's exchange names, dude. I like to be on a friendly basis with the people I deal with."
The ghoul hesitated. Among its kind, to exchange names with another was tantamount to trusting the other person with one's soul.
Jo reached into the inner pocket of her beat-up leather jacket and produced a crumpled business card. Laying the card on the countertop, she slid it to the ghoul with one finger.
Silently, it picked up the card and scanned it. Then, it nodded, licking its lips with a long, purplish tongue. "K'klitni," the ghoul said, giving Jo his name. "How did you get my pater familias' name?"
Jo plucked the card from K'klitni's hand. "Jo Tate. I did your daddy a favor once. Now... I wanna know how come you're buying up so much wolverkin stuff. Word is, it's a hot commodity and a seller's market. 'Fess up, K'klitni. Whatcha doing with that stuff?"
The ghoul toyed with a lock of its oily magenta hair. "I have clients who want special things sometimes."
"And one of your clients wanted wolverkin artifacts? Name?" Jo smiled, leaning closer to K'klitni, who backed away a pace.
"The name he gave me was an obvious fake. You still want it?" When Jo nodded, the ghoul continued, "Albert Mage. And the address is just a drop-off on Kirlian Avenue."
"So how many claws did you sell him?"
"Six. All I got. He wanted other things, too, but... I was unsuccessful in acquiring them." The ghoul drew off its glasses; its eyes were chartreuse and pupilless. "He paid well."
"How much?"
"Several hundred pounds of food. Medical waste, by the look of it."
Jo suppressed a shudder. Ghouls exclusively ate human flesh; in the old days, they'd lived in graveyards, catacombs and tombs, devouring the dead. Now... they usually got themselves into positions where they could, in a quasi-legal sense, feed themselves and their families without unwanted attention. "Mmmm... Sounds finger-lickin' good. Listen, K'klitni... this Mage dude comes around again, I want you to give me a buzz, okay? Do this for me, and I'll see what I can do about an arrangement with the coroner's office."
K'klitni's eyes glowed brighter and it licked its lips again. "Yes. You have a deal." Jo handed the ghoul one of her own business cards, and left the shop, letting the door bang closed behind her.
Once out on the street, she drew in a deep breath and began walking south, back towards the Doozy she'd left parked in the city garage.
Babylon High was a nightclub with a guilty secret; a constant stream of beautiful women who came and went, chauffeured in limousines to five-star hotels to grace the bedrooms of high level executives, wealthy industrialists, and, frankly, anybody who could afford their specialized services.
The club was run by Astarte, the Babylonian goddess of love and sex; her call girls were sacred prostitutes transplanted to a much different place and time, although their worshipful mission was the same - generate sexual energy to please Astarte, who fed on the "sacrifices."
"A sex goddess in a Puritan society who camouflages her worship behind the mask of illegal prostitution. She's a smart one, Astarte," Evan said.
Jo nodded, replying, "Whatever," and took another sip of her astonishingly expensive beer. "Bet she ain't hurting for cash, either."
The two women sat at a tiny table in the neon-lit interior of the club. A stage featured three gyrating dancers who wore masks and nothing else. From the ceiling swung gilded cages, where other women, and those who appeared to be women but were not, performed explicit sex acts.
Jo watched the stage. She'd never been to Babylon High, but she'd heard about it. When two of the women began licking and caressing the third, she turned to Evan and muttered, "Maybe I should take notes. Or pictures, huh?" Evan grinned in response.
Their server, an androgynous figure wearing a bright red tuxedo, returned to their table. "Ms. Ishtar will see you now," he/she said in a fluting voice. The server's eyes were outlined heavily in kohl, and his/her lips parted in a slight, condescending smile.
Jo tossed a ten dollar bill on the table and grabbed her beer bottle. She and Evan threaded their way through the banks of tables and across the dance floor, where couples danced to the heavy industrialized beat of the wildly popular underground band, Winchester Goose.
When they reached the backstage area, Jo dug a finger into her ringing ear. "What the heck kinda band name's that, anyhow?," she asked Evan. "I mean, even Strawberry Alarm Clock's name had a sorta rhythm to it, even if didn't make any sense."
Evan grimaced. "It's an Elizabethan euphemism. A winchester goose is a swellin' in the groin caused by venereal disease." She pushed her way past a troupe of sweaty, spangled dancers.
"Oh? So now they're not only a crummy, loud band, they're a crummy, loud band with really gross pretensions? Jeez..." Jo shook her head. "Just gimme Molly Hatchet or Led Zeppelin anytime." She grinned when Evan made a face of mock disgust.
They arrived at a door guarded by two extremely large men, both black, both armed to the teeth. Jo waggled her fingers at one and said, "Hi, guys. Jo Tate and Evan Reilly. We gotta invitation from the big, bad momma herself, so open sesame."
The man glared and folded his massive arms across his chest. "Nobody allowed," he said in an unfriendly tone. "Ms. Ishtar's not to be disturbed."
Evan pushed back a stray lock of orange hair. "Listen, gentlemen. Astarte's waitin' for us, and it's not a good idea to keep her waitin', if you know what I mean. Why don't you just ask if she's expectin' us?"
The other guard leaned down until his face was inches away from Evan's. "Maybe you don't hear so good. Beat it, slitch, and take your white trash girlfriend with you." He poked Evan in the chest hard with a thick finger, almost making her lose her balance.
The shattering of glass was shocking as Jo smashed her beer bottle against the man's head, sending him staggering back with a heavily bleeding cut over one eye, and then menaced the other with the broken neck. "Listen up, goddammit!," she snarled, blue eyes glowing with fury. "NOBODY touches her! NOBODY! Now get that fuckin' door open or I swear to God I'm gonna do somebody, right here, right freakin' NOW!"
The uninjured guard was swinging up the sawed off shotgun he carried on a strap over his shoulder, and Evan hastily snarled the Rann of Morfessa, casting up one hand to catch a swirling, glowing sphere of fire in her palm and sending it hurtling towards the guard.
The fireball burst against the shotgun, and the metal barrel immediately glowed red hot and began to melt. With a screech, the guard pulled the strap over his head and let the ruined firearm fall to the floor, where it turned into a molten puddle in seconds, leaving only a scorched stock behind.
The other man, blinking blood out of his eyes, was in the act of reaching for his own gun when the door abruptly opened.
"What is going on here?," a woman's voice said.
"You said you didn't want to be disturbed, Ms. Ishtar," the first guard said, dancing away from the smoking metallic puddle that threatened his shoes.
"Idiots!" The woman called Ms. Ishtar, seen only as a silhouette, seemed to shrug her shoulders. "I told Hari I was expecting visitors." The two guards looked at one another, then back to their employer. "Ah, well... I will deal with Hari later. Ladies... Please, come inside." Ms. Ishtar moved away from the door.
Jo let the jagged bottle neck drop from her hand and straightened her leather jacket. As she walked past the bleeding guard, she said, "Better put some ice on that, shithead. And next time you manhandle somebody's girlfriend, better make sure they ain't tougher'n you coupla pussies."
Evan merely gave the other man a look from her stormy gray eyes that made beads of sweat break out on his brow, then she swept inside the room on Jo's heels.
The door closed behind them. The room was opulently furnished, the floor a tiled mosaic that depicted sex acts of every variation, even some that were mindboggling. Jo's brows rose as she contemplated one scene; she finally nudged Evan and whispered, "You think that's two guys and an octopus, or three women and a she-male contortionist?" Evan didn't reply.
Ms. Ishtar, or Astarte, motioned the women to sit down on a curved sofa covered in sable throws. "Refreshments?," she asked.
As Astarte busied herself at the bar, Jo studied the goddess. She was tall, well over six feet, but lushly proportioned. Her hair was auburn, her eyes golden brown, and her skin the shade of clover honey. She was also unbelievably, even inhumanly beautiful; the sheer perfection of her features would have caused Helen of Troy to gnash her teeth in envy.
Astarte walked across the floor carrying a tray, stiletto heels clicking on the tiles. "I apologize for my associates. They are often overly fierce in their protection of me." She shook her head and smiled, revealing even white teeth. "I am grateful that you did not annihilate them, Gifted One."
Evan replied coolly, "I didn't think it necessary to do more than warn." She accepted a glass of Scotch and took a sip, then her eyebrows rose in appreciation.
Astarte chuckled. "I've had that blend laid aside for a century or so." She handed Jo a glass of beer, then sat down opposite them in an overstuffed chair, crossing her legs and making her scarlet miniskirt ride up, showing an expanse of smooth, golden flesh. "Now... what can I do for you, ladies? Your note was a little unclear, Gifted One, if intriguing."
It was Evan's turn to chuckle. "Aye... I thought that would get your attention." The note the Celtic woman had sent had merely read, "It's eight o'clock... do you know where your priests are?"
Evan continued, "There've been a pair of murders... both men, and both had their genitalia removed, among other things. Would YOU know anythin' about that?"
Astarte shook her head. "My cult does not deal in murder, Gifted One. Unlike some other gods, the sacrifice of human life is not pleasing to me. True, some of my male priests, like Hari, have voluntarily chosen to castrate themselves in the Ultimate Sacrifice, so I see why you'd at least suspect there was a connection. However... Cybele's priests were exclusively eunuchs; why not go question Her?" The goddess smirked, knowing her rival Cybele's worship, and that deity, had died out centuries ago.
Evan ignored Astarte's spiteful dig. "Do you know of any reason why wolverkin claws would be found on the bodies? T'was not the wolverkin who committed the murders; this much we know."
"I would say...," Astarte began delicately, then stopped. "Hmmm... have you considered it was a ruse? To make you suspect the wolverkin?"
"Naw. Wouldn't cut no ice with the police." Jo stretched out her legs, nursing the beer. "They don't even KNOW about wolverkin, not really. And the claw from an animal... I mean, only a complete friggin' moron would think the cops'd fall for a thing like that. Identical mutilations on both bodies? No animal does that."
Astarte smiled again. "It seems as if you have a mystery on your hands. I wish you luck in solving it." This was clearly a dismissal, but Evan refused to take the hint.
"Does the fact that both men visited prostitutes before their deaths mean anythin' to you?," she asked. Jo was startled by this new information, but quickly pulled on a nonchalant facade.
The beautiful goddess frowned. "I... It was not any of MY priestesses, I assure you."
"No. It wasn't." Evan rose. "My thanks for your time, Astarte," she said, taking Jo's arm and leading her to the door.
After they had gone, Astarte got up, crossing the room to her desk... then dialing a number on her telephone. "Hello?," she said, lips curving into a seductive smile. "Armand? I have a job for you..."
They arrived back home, stopping to pick up ribs from a barbeque joint near their building.
Once inside, Jo eagerly tore into the greasy ribs, muttering through a big mouthful, "Mmmph. I almost forgot. Got something for you today." She wiped her hands on a napkin, then reached into a pocket of her jeans, pulling out a small, flat box.
"What is it?," Evan asked, laying down a french fry and taking the box.
"Aw, jeez. Just open it, willya?" Jo gnawed another hunk of meat off a rib, ignoring the sauce smeared on her face.
Evan flipped back the lid of the box... and caught her breath. Inside, nestled in white velvet, was a bracelet. "Oh, Jo! It's beautiful!" She took it out and held it up to the light, admiring. Each link in the bracelet was fashioned into the shape of a gold running wolf alternating with platinum quarter moons. "Where did you...?"
Jo wiped her mouth. "I was downtown this afternoon... Had some time to kill, and I saw that in this antique shop window. I hadda get it for you... I figured it was fate or something."
Jo's words registered, and Evan narrowed her eyes. "Downtown? You were downtown today?"
"Uh, yeah." Jo suddenly realized she'd made a mistake. Sortof. "Shit." She ran both hands through her platinum hair, forgetting she had barbeque sauce on her fingers. "Well... okay, I fucked up, I guess. I found the shop Slashcatch was talking about and talked to the owner. A ghoul, if you can believe that. Told a great story about a client who asked him to get the claws, and took delivery at a mail drop. I checked that out, too. Run by this Ukrainian dude whose name has about a hundred consonants to one vowel. Nearly tied my tongue in a knot questioning him."
"Oh?" Evan pursed her lips. "Any reason why you didn't see fit to invite ME along on your little jaunt?"
"Honest, baby. I didn't mean nothing by it. I just... well, sometimes I work better alone. That's all." Jo leaned an elbow on the table. "Are we gonna have an argument about it now?," she asked mournfully.
Evan looked at Jo's barbeque-sauce-laced hair, and the splatters of grease and sauce on her face, hands and shirtfront. "No. But I think next time, you could at least tell me what's goin' on." Her feelings were hurt, but she decided to let it pass... this time.
Jo sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm a major screw-up. I don't know why you put up with me."
"Because I love you, that's why." Evan leaned over and delicately licked a smear of sauce from Jo's face. "I think I'd like to finish MY dinner in the bedroom," she said pointedly.
Jo brightened. "Yeah... Sounds like a plan to me." She stood up, wiping her hands on the legs of her jeans. "I'm looking forward to dessert, myself." She winked at Evan, who replied, "You'd better wash your hair first, colleen. I'm not wantin' to get a hairball lickin' THAT clean."
Jo touched her hair, winced, and said, "Oh, shit!," before heading for the bathroom, muttering curses under her breath.
As the sound of running water came from the bathroom, Evan giggled... then went to join her lover.
Across the city, in the ruins of what had once been the Gralloch Music Conservatory, a man sat on the marble floor, smothered in heavy robes, breathing the incense fumes that swirled in graceful patterns around his head.
Berresford Ellis was a sensualist; he'd criss-crossed the globe in his endless search for new experiences, new heights of ecstasy. Having inherited a fortune from his oil baron father, he'd been able to completely indulge his sexual appetite, but as time had passed, he'd grown jaded and dissatisfied, needing more and more stimulation to excite his dampened senses.
Then he'd discovered magic...
On the floor in front of him was an ebony cane, the carved silver knob set with a huge smoky garnet. In the depths of the jewel could be discerned a flickering, undulating shape; Ellis held both hands over the stone and recited an incantation in a harsh, unmusical tongue.
A hazy form appeared in front of him, then rapidly coalesced into the shape of a woman. She was completely nude, with long brown hair foaming down to the floor, and a necklace of human teeth that hung around her impossibly tiny waist. The woman was incredibly beautiful, except that her eyes were scarlet, like an albino's; and from the knees down, she had feathers and scaly feet like a bird's.
"You summoned me, master?," the apparition said. Her voice had oddly deep undertones to it, like a man's groan.
"Karcis... I need you tonight." Ellis licked his lips. "You promised."
The succubus Karcis parted her gleaming lips in a silent laugh. "I require another sacrifice to manifest myself in your world again, O master," she said. "Let my servants free again this night, and you shall have all that you desire."
"You said the last one would break Paracelsus' binding," Ellis replied sullenly. "I don't like this."
Karcis stepped forward and laid a cool hand on Ellis' face. "The old mage is stronger than I thought," she said. "Another mortal life, and we will be together forever." When Ellis frowned, she continued, "Just you and I... a paradise of endless delights, all for your pleasure alone. Only I can satisfy you," she said seductively, leaning down to flick her overly long tongue against the man's ear. "Let me be free... help me..."
Ellis' hands came up to touch Karcis' heavy breasts, and the succubus moved back, out of his reach. "When the next mortal life is given to me, I will come to you in all my power," she said... then vanished.
Ellis gritted his teeth and cursed. Even the light touch she had given him was enough to make his manhood throb. The succubus was unlike any other woman he'd ever had... she was a glorious banquet of sexual delight, far more imaginative and uninhibited than any human female. He had to have her... No matter the cost...
With a sigh, Ellis got up and went to a large wooden cabinet that stood in one corner of the room.
"Oh, God, that feels good...," Jo moaned, tossing her head from side to side. She lay on her back, knees up and thighs wide apart, both hands buried in Evan's wild orange hair.
Evan lapped at Jo's sex, wriggling her tongue against the other woman's hard clit, two fingers deep inside her thrusting hard and fast. When Jo moaned again and started to tremble, she pulled her fingers out and sat up, grabbing a pillow and sliding it under platinum blonde's ass.
Jo spread her thighs even wider apart as Evan mounted her, lowering her own sopping pussy to brush against Jo's tight curls. Evan braced herself on one hand and pulled one of Jo's taut nipples in her mouth, sucking hard, tongue flicking back and forth rapidly.
Jo gasped, then reached down and pulled apart the lips of her vulva, feeling Evan do the same to herself with her free hand. Evan squatted down further and began to pump her hips up and down, around and around, sliding wet flesh against flesh, rubbing their clits together, hot juices mingling. Releasing Jo's nipple, Evan panted, "Okay for you?"
Jo groaned, "Yeah... oh, yeah, maybe up a little, right there!" and put both hands on Evan's ass and squeezed, grinding her pussy into the other woman's with quick movements of her hips. "Mmmm... fuck me..." Both feet were in the air, bobbing in time to her lover's rhythm.
Evan panted, muscles in her back and shoulders shifting as she rode Jo hard, making her ass bounce against the bed. She licked Jo's breast, finally taking a hard nipple between her teeth and biting gently, scrubbing her tongue against the sensitive tip. "Shit," Jo gritted, and her hands clenched on Evan's ass harder, hips working and rolling in waves.
She was almost there... Evan mashed her pussy down harder, pumping faster, screwing her clit around in Jo's heated slickness, sweat pouring off her face and down her tattooed back, gray eyes narrowed. Then, with a yelp, she came, hips shuddering convulsively, barely registering Jo's full-throated scream, "FUUUUUCK!," as she, too, started quivering in orgasm.
After a long, timeless moment, the heart-stopping pleasure eased, and Evan collapsed on top of Jo, gasping for breath. Jo panted, eyes closed, but her hands came up to smooth her lover's long, sweat soaked hair. "God... I needed that," the platinum blonde said. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?"
Evan smiled against Jo's throat, her pulse beginning to return to normal. "You only want me for my body," she replied teasingly.
Jo relaxed slowly with a sigh. "Yeah... and what a body!"
Evan chuckled and rolled off the other woman, nestling against her side. "Next time, YOU get on top," she said.
"Lazy..." Jo turned over so that she was face to face with Evan, and hooked one long leg over hers, drawing their bodies closer. "I think I'm gonna get a new tat," she said. "Whaddya think about doing one around my navel?"
"Protect the seat of life? I'll make a design for Bald Henry to copy," Evan replied, snuggling her head under Jo's chin and putting an arm over her waist. "I'll get to work on it after this murder business is finished."
Jo ran one finger over the armband tattoo on Evan's tricep, tracing the pattern of interlocking lines that formed a complex grid of dark blue. "I still can't get over this artwork... It's just so, well, cool!"
"T'wasn't cool at the time. We tattooed ourselves not just for decoration." Evan held up her hand. A circular design had been etched on the webbing between thumb and forefinger. "This was my clan mark," she said, eyes growing darker with remembered pain. "I got it when I was eleven, after I'd killed my first man."
Jo gulped, eyes widening. "Holy shit! You killed a guy when you were only eleven?"
"Yes." Although their bodies were still close, Evan seemed to retreat inwardly. "He was a raider, a Saxon from the north. They came in their dragon boats, burnin' and lootin' all along the coast; they left nothin' but death and fire in their wake." She sighed. "I didn't find out about my shiftself until after I started the moon bleedin' when I was thirteen. And I hadn't been given to the Druids yet for trainin'. So..." She stopped, hesitating.
"Yeah? And? C'mon, Ev... Tell me. I wanna know." Jo prodded.
Evan took a deep breath. "And... I stuck a wooden knittin' needle in his eye when he was rapin' me... then, when he was blinded and screamin', I ripped out his throat with a broken piece of board. T'was hard, you know," she continued dreamily, "but I was pretty strong, even so young."
Jo shuddered in sympathy, then pressed her warm body against Evan's suddenly chilled one, hugging her close. "Jesus... I'm sorry, baby."
Evan hadn't finished yet. "After he was dead... I left the hut. I was covered in blood - his, my own, my older sister's... She died, colleen, tryin' to keep the raider off me. When I got outside... it was chaos. Fire everywhere, folks screamin', the dead piled about... And those motherless bastard's laughin' and tossin' more torches, and pullin' up their britches after rapin' the women.
"I was so angry... I've never been that angry in my life. I stood there, on the shore, listenin' to the groanin' and cries for help from the wounded - some of them my own blood kin - and I wanted so very, very desperately to kill them all, destroy every one of the raiders. That... that rage built up inside me until I thought I would explode into a thousand pieces. And that's when it happened."
Evan fell silent, lips pressed together. Jo rubbed her back and said, "What happened, Ev? What did you do?"
Evan sighed, and a tear slipped down her cheek. "I did. I killed them. Have I not told you before that I had a talent for the magic? Well, that day I found it. I reached out in a way I'd never done before, just reached out and grabbed the power... It was like ridin' the lightnin'; like dancin' in a bonfire; and one by one, the raiders began to die...
"They collapsed, just fell like poleaxed oxen. I found out later that their hearts had burst within their chests, their blood dried and baked to a powder within their veins by the heat of my anger. T'was not till days later, when the Chief Druid of Eire, Cathbadh, came himself to see me, that I learned what I'd done. I went to live with the Druids, then; I had precious little family left, and precious little to lose."
Jo kissed her forehead. "Jesus... I'm so sorry, baby." Her blue eyes gazed into Evan's. "You... Hell, you survived, right? You're here, here with me, and I'm gonna protect you and love you as long as you'll let me."
Evan smiled faintly and reached out to touch Jo's cheek. "Aye... You ARE here, colleen. And I love you for it." They kissed... and the phone rang, startling both of them.
"Aw, shit!," Jo spat. "Just ignore it, Ev. Let the machine pick it up."
"Answer it." Evan's gray eyes took on a distant expression. "T'is important."
Groaning, Jo rolled over on her stomach and grabbed the phone. "Yeah? This better be pretty fuckin' important... No shit!" With a convulsive heave, she sat up, running one hand through her hair and making it stand up in a quiff. "Okay. Yeah, I said okay, goddammit! Gimme ten minutes." She slammed the phone down on the nightstand, braced her elbows on her knees and covered her eyes with both hands.
"What is it?," Evan asked.
"It's Bear... He's dead. GodDAMMIT!" Jo punched her fist into the wall above the headboard.
Silently, Evan got up and began to get dressed.
Detective Hammond "Piglet" Russell was waiting outside the all night coffee shop on Preservation Parkway. A small, compact man with a neat blonde goatee and green eyes, he had been Bear McTierney's best friend.
The Duesenberg hot rod squealed up into the nearly deserted parking lot, back fender bumping against the street and striking sparks. Russell sipped his steaming latte and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin.
Jo wrenched the door open as soon as the car came to a halt and scrambled out, Evan following her at a slower pace. "What happened?," the platinum blonde asked. She wore a pair of shredded jeans and a man's sleeveless undershirt that was on backwards and inside-out.
Russell waited until Evan joined them, then said, "Good ta see ya, ladies. How ya'll this evenin'?" His exquisite manners and soft southern accent had targeted him for a lot of ribbing when he'd first joined the force, but after taking a bullet to protect his partner in a firefight during the Republic Bank stand-off, he'd earned a reputation for bravery, and a great deal of respect.
"Shit, Piglet! I ain't here for a friggin' lesson in Emily Post!" Jo glared at the smaller man. "What the fuck happened to Bear?!"
Russell took another sip of his latte. "C'mon inside, we'll talk about it over some caw-fee, don't stand here in the chilly air." He pronounced it, "a-yuh." He led the two women inside the coffee shop to a private booth, and quietly ordered drinks from the weary-looking waitress.
When their coffee arrived, Jo was jiggling in her seat, on the verge of exploding with frustration. She ignored the mug in front of her. "Now... I want some answers, goddammit! Give!"
Russell's green eyes were sad. "Ah got the news over the radio 'bout nine o'clock this evenin'. Bear was found outside his apartment buildin' by a lady jogger. He'd been kilt same as the other two... eyes, heart and penis gone. Been dead sev'ral hours. Funny thing is, we didn't find no more claws. Just the original two. Bear'd taken ta carryin' 'em around on him. But there's more..."
He nodded to the waitress, signaling for a refill of his latte. "Bear's been actin' funny all day... said he found a connection between the murders, had ta do with this burglary a coupla months ago ovah in the Diamond District. Some rich gentleman got hisself robbed of a buncha rare, museum quality artifacts... black magic things, Ah heard. Anyways, Bear asked fer the file this afternoon, was goin' through 'em and gettin' more and more excited like. Then he told the sergeant he was gonna go home and study 'em up some more. Nobody heard ennythin' else till the 911 call."
Jo's mouth was set in a straight, tight line. "Jesus... poor Bear. Damn!" She shook her head. "I gotta personal stake in this now, Piglet. You make sure I get everything, you hear me? Everything!"
Russell nodded. "Yeah, Ah figured you'd be wantin' ta get in on it. You was Bear's friend, too." He reached into the soft sided briefcase on the seat beside him and pulled out several manila files. "Here. The first two autopsy reports on the victims... crime scene photographs, everythin' we got. Copies, but good ones. And Ah made copies of the burglary case notes; Ah don't see no connection myself, but Ah ain't smart as ol' Bear, neither. Now, don't let nobody know you got 'em, okay?" He looked slightly anxious. "If ya'll get caught, you didden get 'em from me."
"I hear ya." Jo pulled the files across the table and put a proprietary hand on them. "Thanks, man. I owe ya one."
Russell stood up. "Naw," he replied, handing their waitress several folded bills. "Ah done it fer Bear, 'at's all. Ya'll just be careful... Ah got me a feelin' this ain't ovah yet. Good evenin', ladies." With that, he left, swinging back out into the night.
Evan laid a hand on top of Jo's. "Colleen..."
"No." Jo grabbed the files and hastily rose, nearly bumping into the hovering waitress. "Let's go. We got stuff to do."
They left the coffee shop, Evan aching to put her arms around Jo and comfort her... and Jo silent and withdrawn all the way home.
Ellis was covered in sweat and gasping for breath. Karcis smiled, showing small, needle sharp teeth. "Are you satisfied, O master?," the succubus asked.
"Y-y-yes," Ellis stuttered, reaching out for her again, but Karcis scuttled off the bed, the teeth on the thong around her waist clicking dully.
"Where... where are you going?," Ellis asked, sliding off the bed. His body was lean, without an ounce of fat, the muscles well defined and sleek.
"I must return to my imprisonment," Karcis replied, her form beginning to shimmer. "That last life was not strong enough... I feel the protective barriers rising again, and I must go back lest I be destroyed."
"No!' Ellis put both hands in his hair and yanked. "No! NO! NO! You said... You promised!," he whined.
Karcis licked her lips. Her image was fading... "In three days, we will try again. My servants are weary now..." Her voice echoed hollowly as she vanished completely.
Ellis stumbled into the next room. The Gralloch Music Conservatory had been built in the grand, Art Nouveau style, and had hosted many important concerts and benefits... He remembered going there as a child to see "Cosi Fan Tutti." But a fire in the seventies had destroyed much of the old landmark. His corporation had purchased the land and building, intending to tear down the wreck and build a mall... but for now, it was his home.
Plenty of money can buy anything, even discretion... A suite had been restored on the second floor. Ellis lived in luxurious style, and it was no coincidence that his magician's work room was located next to the bedroom.
In the center of the bare marble floor stood a stand... and on that stand was the cane with the garnet jewel of Karcis. Ellis stared at it, remembering...
He'd heard of the alchemist Paracelsus' ebony cane, supposedly set with a fabulous stone that contained a spirit that did all his bidding. Further research into the history of the alchemist and the stone revealed several interesting things.
The garnet, called the Eye of the Beast, had belonged to an 12th century sorcerer in Jerusalem called Abraham Balai. It had been captured in the fall of Jerusalem by a Crusader, a Templar Knight whose identity was lost to time. After that, it disappeared for a few centuries before turning up on Paracelsus' cane.
But before Abraham Balai, the stone had supposedly been the property of one of the Magi, that sect of mysterious magicians who had secretly ruled the Persian Empire before its defeat at the hands of Alexander the Great. This Magi had imprisoned a Div - an evil female spirit named Karcis - within the stone, binding it with the Rule of Solomon to do his bidding. Paracelsus had used the Div Karcis as well, during his endless and ultimately fruitless search for the Philosopher's Stone.
Ellis went to the cabinet in the corner and opened the doors. Resting on a shelf was a box, filigreed gold over iron, set with turquoise and carnelian studs. With trembling hands, he pushed back the domed lid of the box...
Inside, the space was much larger than the dimensions of the box suggested. He looked at a score or more of tiny female shapes, iridescent wings folded close to their bodies. Their faces and forms were exquisitely beautiful in miniature, but their fingers and toes had sharp hooked claws, and their delicate mouths were filled with razor sharp teeth. These were peris, Karcis' servants... despite their small size, they were rabid killers, descending upon their victims and literally eating their way into their favorite parts of the flesh - the eyes, heart and genitalia.
Ellis had released the peris three times already... the first, two months ago when he'd first made contact with Karcis after hiring a professional to steal the cane and Paracelsus' instructions from the collector who owned it. During that all-too-brief communication with the Div, Karcis had told him she had to have a human sacrifice in order to manifest, and given him the peris, with instructions on how to release and control them.
The wolverkin claws had been his idea... the peris weren't very bright, and needed something to focus on in order to find their victim. And the victims deserved their fate; they were corrupt men, black souls steeped in sin.
Those claws were unique, and he'd known if they were instructed to destroy a HUMAN who had one, or any wolverkin artifact for that matter, they'd do precisely that. Karcis' sacrifices were, of necessity, male; and if they'd had sex recently, the power she received was better for her purposes. So he'd formulated a fool-proof plan...
Wolverkin were very, very careful and distrustful almost to the point of xenophobia; how many humans could there be with claws in their pockets? There was no room for mistakes in this dangerous business, and he thought he'd managed to get things just exactly perfect...
Besides, he'd kind of hoped the police would put the murders down to animal attacks. So far, he hadn't read anything in the papers about them, so he thought he was fairly safe. After all, there was really nothing to connect him with the killings. Except one...
He closed the lid of the box and walked slowly back to the bedroom... and the phone rang. He'd bribed a workman from the telephone company to run an illegal and off-the-record line to the Conservatory.
"Hello?," he said, answering the phone. "What?! What do you mean, you didn't get the chance to plant it on him? But..." Ellis stopped, brows drawn together in consternation. "No. No, it's all right. We'll do it again in three days, all right? Yes, the usual payment. Yes, I'll pay you for this one, even though you fucked it up. Now, listen to me! I'm really disappointed... you didn't do what you were supposed to, but I'll pay you anyway for your time, just like we agreed. But don't push it, bitch! Hear me! DON'T push IT!" He slammed the receiver down and wiped his suddenly sweaty brow.
If his confederate hadn't planted the claw as planned... if the peris hadn't killed that person... Who the hell HAD they killed?
Ellis suddenly felt sick... and very, very scared.
Evan looked up from the file she was studying. Jo was scowling fiercely, her face a study in concentration. Evan laid aside the folder. "Jo... Tell me about your father."
"Huh?" Jo's blue eyes flew up to meet the other woman's. "What the... what the fuck does THAT have to do with the price of blowjobs in Beijing?"
"From a few things you've said, I gathered... well, that he wasn't a very nice man, colleen. I was just curious." Evan had been reading the first victim's autopsy report; he'd been an office worker with a construction company, and she'd suddenly remembered that Jo had mentioned that her father had been a construction worker. Now she wondered why Jo never talked about her family...
"Shit... Um... yeah, 'not a nice man' don't quite cut it, baby. He was mean sober, and meaner drunk. Used ta beat the all-fired holy crap outta me and my mom." Jo shrugged and turned back to the burglary report she'd been studying. "Least he didn't do anything, you know, sexual. But he liked to use his fists. Anyways, he fell off a big mother skyscraper he was workin' on; he'd had one too many whiskeys at lunch and lost his balance. But the company hushed it up and paid mom his pension and insurance and stuff."
"And your mother? Where's she now?"
"Mom died a coupla years ago. Breast cancer. By the time they caught it, it was too friggin' late. She died in this hospice across the state. I didn't find out about it until they called me to find out what kinda funeral arrangements I wanted ta make. Buncha heartless bastards," Jo fumed. She looked up from the file. "What brought this on?"
Evan gave her lover a slight smile. "As I said, colleen... Curiosity. You never talk about your family."
"Ain't got none. Well, except my crazy old aunt who lives in Bluebottle, Georgia. Real bubba-ville hick town. She's my mom's older sister. I ain't seen her in about a hundred years." Jo cocked her head to one side and, much to her surprise, yawned hugely. "Jeez... I'm wiped. I gotta get some sleep; it's friggin' three o'clock in the morning." She tossed the file aside. "You comin', Ev?"
"In a minute. I'm almost done here." Evan watched as Jo uncoiled her length from the floor and stretched, one hand wandering down to scratch her denim covered ass. As Jo padded from the room, Evan picked up the burglary folder and scanned it quickly.
She was on the point of laying it aside and getting on with the autopsy report when something caught her eye. Evan read more carefully... then she closed her eyes, leaning back on the sofa.
Kernossus, the Celtic woman thought, suddenly feeling every one of her two thousand plus years. She's back.
Evan sat like that for a little while longer... then got up to join her lover in restless sleep.
"Yer kidding, right? Tell me you're jerkin' my jane, here, baby. I'm beggin' ya!" It was eleven o'clock in the morning, and Jo had gone from grouchily sleepy to fully alert with Evan's news.
"I'm entirely serious." Evan took a bite of the breakfast burrito she'd concocted, licking salsa from her lips.
"Aw, shit! Shit, shit, SHIT!" Jo spun away from the kitchen counter. Oh, Jesus Christ!, she thought. Not another one... "Another fuckin' demon! A goddamned, mother fuckin', hellfire and brimstone belchin' demon! Shit!"
"Jo, calm down. A Div is only like a demon. They're from Persian, not Christian, mythology."
"You think I give a flyin' fuck where the bastard comes from? I don't care if he's straight outta Disneyland, Ev! It's a DEMON!" Jo suppressed the urge to race into the bedroom and start packing. "I'm getting too old for this shit. At least tell me this one's not gonna start paying house calls, willya?"
Evan chuckled. "I don't think so, love. But Karcis is a bit different from most Divs I've heard about. For one thing, she's sexually oriented, like a succubus. That's why poor Paracelsus never found the Philosopher's Stone; Karcis could've given him the time of his life, but she doesn't really possess much arcane knowledge. She does, however, have ambitions. One of them's to permanently cross over into this plane."
"Great! Just great! Another demon who wants to rule the friggin' world! Can't they be a little more original? Like, wanting to totally fuck up the economy? Oh, wait... I guess THAT'S already happened," Jo said sarcastically.
"Jo... As near as I remember, Karcis doesn't want to rule the world. She IS shootin' for goddess status; once she crosses over, if she can get enough worshippers under her belt, she'll be ridin' high and mighty as the leading figure of a cult. If not... well, she thrives on negative sexual energy. Maybe she'll get a job at the Cutting Edge."
Jo rolled her eyes and smothered a snort. The Cutting Edge was an exclusive, members only S&M club. "Yeah, right... I can see it now. 'Coffee, tea, or nipple clamps?' Jeez, Ev... So is she as dangerous as Eridu? I mean, can we expect a buncha her buds to come charging in here, champing at the bit to break our heads?"
"Well..." Evan hesitated. "Let me explain. How I made the connection was this: The coroner's office is completely baffled by the wounds - they haven't figured out what weapon was used because nothing they can think of makes sense. 'Looks like tiny bite marks; maybe a customized tool?'," she quoted. "Then... I read the burglary report. One of the items stolen from that collector, Armand Duvalier, was an ebony cane set with a garnet the size of a baby's fist. I happen to know that cane was once owned by Paracelsus, and that Karcis was trapped inside; how Bear figured it out, I'll never know. But..."
"But? Oh, Christ! TELL me there ain't no buts, Ev! I don't think I can stand it!"
"As I've already said, Karcis is Persian. She has servants who attend her... Peris." Evan quickly explained what peris were, and what their function was.
Jo shuddered. "Like getting nibbled to death by fuckin' ducks... Great! Wonderful!" She threw her hands up in the air. "I tell ya, if it weren't for the retirement benefits, I'd quit this chickenshit outfit in a heartbeat!"
Evan giggled. "WHAT benefits, colleen?"
"Oh, yeah, that's right... there ain't none!" Jo scrubbed her face with one hand. "Goddammit. I think I'm moving to Bermuda or something."
"After this is over?"
"Well, no, not really. I hear there's some wild and woolly things that go down in the Islands, too. Ain't nowhere on this planet safe." Jo sighed. "All right... so now what?"
"Now... I think we should talk to Monsieur Duvalier. The police haven't been able to trace any of the stolen items... and I'd truly like to know what information he has on Paracelsus' cane."
"Okay. Whatever." Jo grabbed a burrito and crammed half of it into her mouth, salsa running down her chin. "Mmmph... foo wan tek t' fimfmofile?"
"Hmmm? Chew and swallow, colleen. Gibberish isn't one of my languages." Evan smiled.
"I said...," Jo repeated, gulping. "Do you wanna take the Pimpmobile?"
"The Lincoln? YES!" Evan grinned. "How about you finish breakfast, while I call Monsieur Duvalier?"
"Sounds like a plan to me." Jo stuffed the rest of the burrito into her mouth and reached for a second; as Evan left the kitchen, she detoured briefly to kiss a bit of tomato and jalapeno from the tall blonde's chin.
Armand Duvalier's family had escaped the Revolution with their fortune intact, fleeing for the relative safety of England. They had eventually returned to France, just in time for World War II, where they'd collaborated with both the Nazi's and the Resistance, hedging their bets while acquiring even more wealth and priceless artworks.
Duvalier was slightly pudgy, with neatly trimmed black hair and brown eyes that were set just a shade too close together; this, along with a long, sharply pointed nose, combined to give him the look of a well-fed weasel.
He now lived in America; the black sheep of the Duvalier family, he'd been tossed out on his ear when he was seventeen after getting expelled from university for extortion, sexual escapades and selling drugs. He'd managed to get his own fortune by marrying well, and often, to wealthy geriatric widows who were charmed by his European suavity and the hint of scandal in his background.
The Frenchman took a puff of the black cigarette in his hand, set in an ivory holder. "Oui, mam'selle Reilly. I collect the occult, you see. It is a fascination of mine." He tapped the cigarette against the side of a crystal ashtray. "I have many rare artifacts."
"You keep them here?" Evan looked around. Duvalier lived in the penthouse suite of the Coeur de Lyon, a towering edifice built for the fabulously wealthy, and situated in the heart of the Diamond District, the city's stomping grounds for the rich and privileged.
Duvalier laughed. "We have good security, the best! My cases were filled, a lifetime's work, a good deal of it gone - poof! - in a moment. However..." He crushed out his cigarette, blowing a stream of smoke from his nostrils. "The thief was not so professional, in my opinion. Oh, he managed to evade the alarms... but he did not know what he was doing otherwise."
Jo leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "How's that?"
"You see here?" Duvalier crossed to one of the massive mahogany cases the lined the walls and opened the door. Reaching inside, he withdrew a book with a battered cover of dark red leather. "Unprofessional!"
"May I?" Evan reached for the volume, and Duvalier handed it to her with a shrug. She opened it reverently, read a moment, then breathed, "The lost Sword of Moses... Jo, do you know what this is?"
"Not a clue. Fill me in, Holmes." Her blue eyes twinkled at the expression of scholarly lust on Evan's face.
"One of the famous lost grimoires. There's a extant copy of the first Sword of Moses in the British Museum, but it's long been known that a companion volume existed, tho' none have ever seen it." Evan closed the cover of the volume. "I can see why you believe the thief to be a novice, monsieur," she said, handing the book back to Duvalier, who replaced it in the cabinet and sat back down.
"I still don't get it," Jo muttered.
Duvalier explained. "You see, mam'selle Tate, if our thief had known what he was doing, he would have left the little bijoux in the cases - trinkets, really, even if gold and silver - and taken things like THIS. That grimoire is irreplaceable and the only known copy in existence. He could have named his own price from nearly any collector. He ignored the important pieces, taking only the glitter." He frowned. "But... he took the cane."
"Wouldn't the garnet be worth much?," Evan asked.
"Yesss...," Duvalier said thoughtfully. "But one as big as the Eye of the Beast... There is no one save a private collector who would purchase such a large stone, and all would know what it is upon first sight. Further, if it were cut into smaller stones - even if it could be - it would not be worth nearly as much. So... Why take it at all?"
Jo frowned, thinking. "Okay... See if this makes sense... I've heard about some collectors who hire thieves to boost a rival's collection. Happened to some stamp guy a few years back. Could somebody've been sent to steal one specific thing, and taken the other stuff to cover it up?"
"It's possible," Duvalier allowed. "If this were the case... I would say that the object in question was the Paracelsus cane."
"How so?," Evan asked.
"The other things that were stolen... they were unimportant. A seal ring belonging to Dr. Dee, a necklace purported to have been worn by Marie Laveaux... things like that. The cane was the only truly important piece that was stolen."
"Monsieur Duvalier... Do you know what the cane was?" Evan, too, leaned forward, fixing her gray eyes on the gentleman.
Duvalier scratched his cheek. "Oui," he replied simply. "If you mean that the jewel was the prison of a demonic entity. If the Eye of the Beast had been an ordinary garnet, mam'selle, do you suppose it would hold any value for ME, despite its former owner?"
Jo sighed. "See? Demons. Shit fire and spare the matches!"
"What my associate means, monsieur," Evan hastened to say, "is that we've had experience dealin' with such before. Was anythin' else of occult value taken?"
It was Duvalier's turn to sigh. He closed his eyes a moment, then opened them again. "Oui. Paracelsus' personal journal. All his working notes, everything. In it, there was the spell he used to summon Karcis, to bind her to his will. As far as he was able."
Evan's eyes widened. "'As far as he was able?,"' she repeated.
"He could receive no information on the Philosopher's Stone. However... You may not know that Karcis CAN be freed. If enough lives are sacrificed, the bindings put on her will be broken. And I pity the mage who frees her; the ending of his life would completely shatter Karcis' last tie to the Eye." Duvalier smiled. "Let us hope the thief, or his employer, is not such a fool."
"Aye." Evan was silent a moment, then she stood up and shook Duvalier's hand. "Thank you, monsieur. For your time and for your information."
"To help two such beautiful ladies, I would go to far more trouble," he answered, kissing Evan's hand while Jo scowled.
When he held out his hand to Jo, the woman sneered slightly and flipped her fingers at him in farewell. As she walked beside Evan to the elevator, the platinum blonde muttered under her breath, "Greasy Euro-trash sonnuva bitch."
Evan gave her a startled look, but remained silent.
Back in the penthouse they had just vacated, Duvalier pursed his lips, then got up and poured himself a cognac.
Just as the glass touched his lips, a voice behind him said, "Well, Armand? Do you think they can do it?"
"Oui, Astarte. I believe they can." He turned, green eyes meeting the goddess' golden brown... and smiled. "I do believe they can."
"I figure the bastard's getting antsy," Jo said as they drove home in the night-black Lincoln limousine she called the Pimpmobile. It had been converted into a hearse at one point in its checkered career, and Jo had gotten it cheap from a man who swore it was haunted. It had been, but between them, the two women had managed to lay the restless spirit to peace.
Evan twisted a lock of orange hair around one finger. "The killer? Perhaps. He kills one victim, then waits a full twenty eight days for the next." She shifted in her seat, moving closer to Jo. "Then, the day after the second murder, he kills again. We KNOW it wasn't a copycat; what made him step up his schedule?"
"I told ya. He's getting antsy. I know from psychos, okay? He shot his wad too quick or something, wanted to cream his jeans again, so he gets Karcis or her peris to do Bear. What I wanna know is: How come he didn't leave a claw on Bear?"
"No time?"
"Nuh-uh. Bear was laying there for hours before that health nut chickie found him." Jo jerked the wheel, steering the car around a puttering VW, and cruised back over to the exit lane. "We know he's got four left, right? I mean, that's part of his ritual or some weird ass shit like that..."
Jo seemed to contemplate the matter as she drove the Pimpmobile through the exit and turned west to the Bougainvillea Towers. Suddenly, she slammed on the brakes in the middle of the lane, setting off screeching tires and bellowing horns behind her. "Holy motherfuckin' shit!," she screamed. "I got it!"
Evan twisted her neck around, looking at the cars piled up behind them, and turned back to her lover. "By Kernossus, woman! Are you tryin' to get us killed? Let's go!"
Elated, Jo stomped on the gas, making the big car lurch forward, tires squealing and smoking. Once she'd straightened out the wheel, Jo looked at Evan with a huge grin on her face. "Oh, baby... I got it! I got the bastard by the friggin' balls!"
"What ARE you talkin' about?" Evan was starting to get annoyed. "And will you BY DANA watch where you're goin'!," she yelled as Jo narrowly avoided hitting a white-faced man on a motor scooter.
Jo banged her fingers on the steering wheel in a syncopated rhythm. "Ha! I know how come Bear got killed, and how come he ain't got no claw! Jesus Christ! That fucker REALLY screwed the pooch this time."
"I find that phrase SO offensive," Evan said, reaching out one hand to yank the wheel to the right in order to avoid hitting a pedestrian.
"Sorry." Jo jerked the car over, cutting off an infuriated woman in a Toyota, and rolled up into the Towers parking lot. Getting the Lincoln into their assigned compact car space usually involved plentiful cursing, sweating and even the creation of new, original blasphemies, but today, Jo manhandled the Pimpmobile into position with nary a swear word in sight.
Cutting off the engine, she turned to Evan. "Listen, baby," she began eagerly. "We know the first two victims were with prostitutes before they were killed, right?"
"Yes," Evan admitted cautiously.
"Okay. Now, I happen to know Bear was clean; never did the walk-on-the- wildside, freakout boogaloo with no hustler. BUT - there WAS one thing he had in common with the other two dudes."
Jo waited expectantly, holding her breath while Evan frowned, puzzled. Finally, the Celtic woman shrugged and said, "I'm still baffled, colleen."
"Well, we've been assuming that the killer left the claws on his victims as a kinda calling card... but what if his victims already HAD the claws before they got killed?" Jo's blue eyes sparkled with excitement.
Evan mulled this over a moment... "Mmm... but how would they... Oh! I see!" She scooted so close to Jo that their thighs touched. "If the claws were bein' used as some kind of... hmmm... trackin' device by the peris; then Bear had them, and they focused on HIM instead of their intended victim."
"Riiiight," Jo purred. "So - and tell me if I'm a babbling idiot over here - that would mean that it was the prostitute who was the common cause in the first two murders, right? I mean, she hadda plant the things. So our murderer has a partner, who maybe don't know what she's gotten into, and yesterday she FUBAR'd the killer's plans by NOT planting the claw on her john, and Bear was just in the wrong place with the wrong stuff at the wrong friggin' time."
"FUBAR?"
Jo looked smug and patted Evan's cheek. "Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition," she said. "Now all we gotta do is find that prostitute."
"But the police..."
"Fuck the police! They can do interviews from now till doomsday, but the shit's fixing to hit the fan, if it hasn't already; and besides, I think the ladies of the evening ain't too fond of cops, and not likely to be passing out info, not even the time of day. Personally, I think we oughta pay the coroner's office a little visit..." Jo gave her lover a significant look. "Maybe do some of that voodoo that we do so well."
Evan leaned over and kissed Jo on the mouth, murmuring, "Yes. Tonight when it's quiet." She put one hand on Jo's thigh and squeezed. "After I give you a prize for bein' so smart and figurin' it out, Jo Tate. And THIS time, you're on top."
Jo closed her eyes and sighed happily, murmuring, "Mmm-mmm good..."
A wolf with fur the color of ripe tangerines slipped through the hole she'd dug beneath the high wire gate that surrounded the perimeter of the Angelicus County Coroner's Office. Wriggling on her belly and clawing at the hard packed dirt, she managed to get under the fence and took off at a dead run across the treeless field behind the sprawling, low-slung edifice.
When she reached the building, Evan sent a thought to her lover, ::Jo? Are you 'bout ready?::
Jo thought back, :Yeah. Roger-dodger, 10-4 good buddy and all that kinda shit. Kiss for luck, baby... tongue optional.::
Evan's tongue lolled out of her mouth in a wolfish grin. She reared up and planted both enormous paws against the locked doors, threw back her head and howled.
The long, wavering cry echoed across the parking lot, and reached Jo's ears. Huh!, she thought. This might work. If there ain't no pooches around here what needs a good screwing.
::I heard that!::
Jo winced. ::Sorry, Ev. Present company excepted:: She grinned. ::You already had yours, anyhow.::
Jo's short, platinum blonde hair was hidden beneath a black baseball cap; she wore black jeans and a brand new inky T-shirt. The sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, but she wore gloves on both hands.
Jo waited, listening...
Evan scrabbled at the door, howling mournfully. Finally, one of the doors opened cautiously. "What the hell...?," came a puzzled male voice.
::Now, Jo!,:: Evan thought, and knocked the white coated employee down, insinuating herself inside. She sniffed; the man who'd come to the door was out cold. The wolf took a quick look around, spotting the desk where a security guard gaped.
Growling hideously, she leaped across the intervening space with a singular, fluid bound, hitting the guard in the chest with her full weight. He fell over, squealing in panic, trying to draw his gun. But he was old, very overweight, and simply no match for Evan in her shiftself. She clamped her jaws around his jowls and squeezed carefully, judging the exact amount of pressure she could bring to bear, then jerked her head sideways, slamming the guard's head into the side of the desk. With a shudder, he fell unconscious.
Evan reared up and nosed the gate buzzer, finally hitting it on the third try. From the banks of security monitors, she could see the razor-wire topped gated open slowly... and then the black clad form of Jo scuttling through and sprinting across the parking lot.
When Jo got to the front doors, she heard the buzz, and hit the right one with both hands. Getting inside, she crossed the small lobby with a few quick strides, then joined Evan behind the security desk. "Gotta fix that tape," she muttered to herself. In a few minutes, she'd rewound the entire videotape and started it recording again, over the portion that would show the illegal entry of a wolf and a woman. They would leave by the back, out the ambulance bay.
That task finished, Jo blew out a breath and turned glowing blue eyes on Evan, who nosed the platinum blonde's hand with her muzzle. "Good girl... you wanna Scooby snack?," Jo quipped, and snickered as she led the way through the swinging doors that would take them to the morgue.
A single employee was on guard outside the morgue; a pimply faced intern who had on a pair of earphones that leaked Metallica in a tinny blare. He had a comic book in front of his face, one of the new ones featuring impossibly big- breasted women in skimpy costumes; and he was devouring Ding-Dongs, one right after the other.
"Oh, shit... this is gonna be too friggin' easy," Jo said under her breath. She whipped off her T-shirt, revealing the fact she wore no bra to confine her small, pert breasts.
::Jo? What in the world are you doin'?" Evan's plumed tail stopped wagging and fell.
"I'm gonna give that kid one helluva wet dream... Stay here, baby. Lemme handle this." Jo sauntered out of the hallway, straight into the room, scanty hips swinging back and forth like a pendulum.
For a minute, the intern didn't notice the intrusion; his slightly bulging eyes were fixed on the comic book. But soon, those eyes rose and bulged even further, and the comic book went one way, the headphones another. "Um... Uh... You...," he squeaked, then cleared his throat, prominent Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "You lost or something?"
"Naw, I ain't lost. You're Andrew, right?" Jo had spotted the young man's nametag. She leaned one buttock on the corner of the desk. "I'm Bambi. I'm s'posed to give you a strip-o-gram from your buds."
"Huh? A s-s-strip-o-gram?" Andrew reached out and mechanically picked up a Ding-Dong, then let it drop when he noticed it in his hand. "For me? B-b-but it's not my birthday or anything."
"Aw, c'mon, stud! Who cares it ain't your birthday?" Jo bent over and ran a finger down over Andrew's downy chin, smiling widely. "You're not shy, are you?" She lowered her voice to a husky purr. "I like 'em shy."
Adam's apple bobbing even more wildly, Andrew sputtered, unable to say a word.
Jo edged closer, leaning down further until her breasts were practically touching his face. "You gotta private place we can go, Andrew? Someplace we ain't gonna be disturbed for a while?" She nearly lost it when Evan's scathing comment, ::I'd give him five minutes, if that!,:: sounded in her mind.
Andrew rose, bumping his chair back with a squeal of metal on tile. "Um... yeah... we got an employee lounge over there," he said, pointing down another corridor. "Uh... there's not much of a crew this late at night. Just the cleaning guy, the security guard and my friend, Joey. You... you want to go there?"
"Sure, you hunka burnin' lovemuffin." Jo got up and grabbed Andrew's hand. "Lead the way."
Evan watched her lover tow the boy into the employee lounge; a few minutes later, she exited alone. ::Well? P'raps I should've placed money on his longevity - or lack of it,:: Evan sent in an acid tone.
"Don't get yer pretty tail in a knot, baby. I cold-cocked the kid before he could even put his dirty paws on my luscious little boobies. Andrew's off in la-la land, dreaming about getting his rocks off with strippers named Bambi, and probably doing nasty things to the pile of linen I stuck him in. Now, shall we go?" Jo snatched her shirt up off the floor and pulled it over her head.
Inside the morgue, it was cold, the temperature much lower than the rest of the building. Jo rubbed her hands down her arms. "Brrrr... it's colder than a witch's tit in here!," she complained.
::I'm nice and toasty warm,:: Evan thought.
"Yeah, but you're wearing a friggin' fur coat!" Jo eyed the handwritten chart that hung on the wall. "We want E-26, Ev. That's the first guy, whassisname."
::Felix Yoder. Ironic, isn't it?::
Jo scanned the doors of the stainless steel corpse coolers, looking for the number. "What?"
::Felix... in Latin it means, lucky.::
"Yeah, well I guess old Felix's luck ran out, Ev. Happens to the best of us." She found the drawer she was looking for; pulling down the handle of the door and popping it open, Jo drew the drawer out.
Yoder's corpse was in a black bodybag. Jo unzipped it, praying it wouldn't be too gross, and that she wouldn't disgrace herself by heaving all over the dead man.
Evan shifted back into her skinshape. She, too, was dressed in black from head to toe, and her orange hair had been twisted into a tight braid that hung down to her waist. "Mmmm...," she murmured, looking at Yoder's body. "I'm takin' it that Karcis' isn't too choosy about her men."
In life, Felix Yoder had been short, grossly overweight, and hairy. His bottom lip protruded in a perpetual pout, and his hairline had receded drastically. A line of black, waxy thread stitches marched from his pubis to just beneath the gaping hole where his heart had been removed; so much of the surrounding tissue was gone that no amount of stitching was going to close the wound.
His body had been held pending further findings; as Yoder wasn't married, nor did he have many relatives, the coroner's office hadn't had any trouble retaining the corpse.
Jo wrinkled her nose and grimaced. "Ugh! Damned if I want to end up stark naked with strangers staring at me and putting their greasy hands all over me! I want that, I'll go get a job as an exotic dancing chickie."
"Dollar bills in your G-string? Aye, I can see that," Evan replied with a smile. "Ready to do the spell?"
Jo yanked down her shirtsleeves. "Yep. Ride 'em, cowgirl!" She walked over to Evan's side of the drawer.
"Yee haw," Evan said with a grin. She held out her hands, palms up, and Jo covered them with her own. Even through the surgical gloves they wore, each woman could feel the other's warmth.
Evan began chanting under her breath - the Rann of Clear Waters Gazing. This spell would cause an image to form of the events leading up to Yoder's death... and hopefully, the person or persons behind it.
Jo fed Evan energy in a steady stream, tapping into the ley line she'd scouted out earlier. Eyes closed, Jo gathered the magic as she had been taught, drawing it into herself, then shunting it to the Celtic woman, who continued to chant.
When the last words of the Rann spilled from Evan's lips, Jo opened her eyes...
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Hope you enjoyed the story. Any and all comments may be directed to Wynna1[at]yahoo.com.
Stay tuned, folks. There's more Underworld Chronicles out there; we've only just begun to scratch the surface.
If you have enjoyed Bardwynna's "I Dream Of Genies", then please be certain to e-mail her at Wynna1[at]yahoo.com and thank her for posting this Story.
Click here for a list of all of Bardwynna's Stories and Poetry at Sapphic Voices Authoresses.
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