Dark Descent Page 2

  “Any powerful witch could,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it was one of the Fates.”

  I went back to my desk and contemplated my next move.

  It was almost quitting time when Deci found me. I was loitering in the accounting department, flirting with Aspen, a curvy blond wood naiad who worked as some sort of junior number cruncher for my aunts.

  “Son of Fortuna, I would like to speak to you. Alone,” she said. She still seemed frail, but one glance from her was all it took for the rest of the staff to scatter like frightened deer at the sight of a hunter.

  “Aunt Decima,” I said. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Is it?” When I’d first arrived, Gaston had been slowly poisoning her. She’d been near death. She was taller than I had previously thought. She’d been in a wheelchair then, but was now walking with the aid of a cane. The fierce look in her eyes was the same.

  It wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation. The hatred in her eyes gave it away.

  “Now, Auntie Deci,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Son of Fortuna, you can quit the messing about and find my niece,” she spat. “And don’t you dare call me auntie.”

  I smiled. I knew it irritated her.

  “Call me Nyx.” I didn’t like to hear my mother’s names on her lips. My mother’s sisters had hunted us my entire childhood. When they’d finally found us, Morta had snipped my mother’s thread without even pausing to think about it. They were murderous old crones and it was wise for me to remember that.

  “I’d prefer to call you the devil’s own spawn,” she said. Deci’s illness had caused the flesh to melt from her bones, but she was as feisty as ever.

  I stepped close to her and bent down until we were eye to eye. “Don’t you ever talk about my mother like that.”

  “Who said I was talking about your mother?”

  I wanted to ask if she knew who my father was, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. She probably wouldn’t tell me the truth anyway.

  “Anything else?” I was growing tired of our banter.

  “You will be betrayed. Again.”

  “I won’t,” I said. I didn’t tell her that Elizabeth was out of my life for good.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Deci replied. Her tone made it clear she thought my denial was utter bullshit. “But I’m going to give you a reminder of what will happen to your mortal should you fail.”

  “I’m not even seeing her anymore,” I said. Whatever Deci had planned for Elizabeth, it wasn’t going to be good.

  “Doesn’t make any difference.”

  “Is there something you three aren’t telling me?” I asked. “Claire seems to have vanished off the face of the earth.”

  She flinched. I almost missed it. “Do as we’ve commanded you,” she said, “or your pet will pay.”

  “It’s hard to be scared of someone who let Gaston pull the wool over their eyes for so long,” I said. “He almost killed you and you didn’t even suspect a thing.”

  “Yes, you killed our Tracker,” Deci said. “He could have found Claire.”

  “He was poisoning you,” I replied. “Normally, I’d be all for it, but he was also hurting someone I care about.”

  Her hand trembled and I realized then just how old and frail she was. I felt like a jerk for bullying a woman.

  Until her next words. “You will die, son of Fortuna, if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Chapter Three

  The next few days, I skipped out of work at Parsi and stomped all over downtown Minneapolis looking for my missing cousin.

  I’d gotten used to the protective anonymity of the occulo spell, which had suppressed the essence of what made me me and changed my looks enough that my aunts hadn’t recognized me on sight when I first came to town. I felt self-conscious without it, but they knew who I was now. I was also without my treasured leather World War II fighter pilot jacket, since the weather was too warm to wear it without looking shifty or like a crazy person, or both.

  I passed a sorcerer from the House of Zeus. The man murmured, “Buona Fortuna,” before crossing the street. Without the occulo spell, the magical citizens of Minneapolis were starting to recognize me as Nyx Fortuna, the son of Lady Fortuna, also known as Lady Luck.

  I stopped at the coffee shop across from Parsi. I needed caffeine. I ordered a Red Eye and sat at a small table where I could face the door.

  The wound from the wraith twinged. I looked around, half expecting to see a wraith charging, but the store was full of mostly mortals. I noticed Aspen, the cute naiad from Parsi, in an intent conversation with a guy whose back was to me. The deep tan and liberal use of cologne identified him as Sean Danvers the necromancer. What was she doing with him?

  She gave me a nervous little wave and then returned her attention back to her date. Danvers pivoted in his seat to see who had interrupted their little tête-à-tête, if even only briefly. His eyes gleamed when he saw me. He gave a short nod and a wide smile. The smile faded when I didn’t jump all over myself at being the recipient of such largesse. He scraped his chair as he made a show of turning his back to me.

  “Feeling’s mutual,” I muttered. I drained the last of my Red Eye and resumed my search for leads on Claire’s disappearance.

  But luck was in still in short supply, at least as far as the search for the missing cousin. I finally gave up and headed to Eternity Road, the pawnshop Talbot’s dad owned. I worked there most weekends.

  One of the benefits of my job at Eternity Road was that magical items sometimes came through the door. Plus, Ambrose had stuff stashed in every nook and cranny and had promised me a generous employee discount if I found anything of my mother’s.

  “No luck finding Claire?”

  “It’s like she’s vanished off the face of the earth,” I said.

  Talbot and Naomi were busy making gooey eyes at each other. Naomi was my other cousin and Fate-in-training and the only relative of mine I could stand.

  I tugged on her red braid to get her attention. “Did you hear what I said?”

  She slapped my hand away. “Honestly, Nyx, you act like you’re five sometimes, instead of an immortal.”

  I didn’t tell her I had no intention of staying immortal. My mother had stolen my thread of fate and hidden it from Morta’s deadly scissors. When I finally found it, I was going to borrow them, snip my thread, and end my life.

  My hand went to where the chain lay hidden under my shirt. A diamond-studded key, an emerald frog, a little coral fish, and a black cat carved from Indian ebony dangled from the chain. I still had to find the rest. I hunted for a miniature book, an ivory wheel of fortune, and a horseshoe made of moonstones.

  “We’re running out of time,” I pointed out. “If I don’t find Claire, the aunties have something nasty planned for Elizabeth.” And I’d have to live through watching my aunts torture anyone unfortunate enough to get close to me. Again.

  Eventually, with or without my help, my aunts would die. Then Naomi and Claire would take over and then after a time, they would die. And I would still be there. Trapped at twenty-three. I had an acute case of arrested development.

  Naomi’s expression softened. “I know,” she said. “I’ve already checked with all of Claire’s friends, but I’ll check again.”

  “It’s like she’s a fucking ghost,” I said.

  She paled. “You don’t think she’s dead, do you?”

  It was a remote possibility, but not likely. The Fates would know if one of their own had died. It was Morta’s job to show up and cut the thread of fate that held someone tethered to life.

  People vanished every day. If I could find out why Claire had vanished, maybe I’d figure out where she’d gone.

  Talbot kicked me hard.

  “No, I’m sure she’s alive,” I said. “I’ll find her. I promise.” She had to be alive or Elizabeth would pay the price. My aunt Morta, Claire’s mother, was not someone who tolerated less-than-perfect results. />
  Talbot stopped staring at my cousin and gave me a wide-eyed look that told me he’d thought of something. “Naomi, were there any changes in your cousin’s routine? New friends?”

  “She always ate breakfast at Hell’s Belles before work,” she replied.

  “Doesn’t seem like her scene,” I commented.

  “‘Scene’?” Naomi choked back laughter. “Nyx, sometimes I forget how old you really are.”

  I met her eyes. “I don’t.” I’d been alive a long time, too long really. Every once in a while, some quaint phrase from another time would come out of my mouth. It made other people uneasy, but it was worse for me. It only reminded me how many lonely years had passed.

  “I just assumed she had a crush on one of the guys who hung out there, but was too shy to say anything,” Naomi replied.

  Claire? Shy? An unlikely trait in a Fate-in-training. My expression gave me away.

  “She’s nothing like Aunt Morta, you know,” Naomi said. “You’ll never find her if you keep thinking of her like that.”

  I crossed my arms. “Like what?”

  “Like she’s the enemy.”

  I’d never met her, but I knew Claire was the enemy. She was from the House of Fates, after all.

  Naomi, despite being a Fate-in-training, had proven her loyalty to me. Right up until the time she went along with holding my girlfriend hostage to get her cousin back. I’d been pissed at her, still was, but I needed her help. And my best friend was in love with her, so I’d forgive her. Eventually.

  “You didn’t think it was odd?” I asked. “Her sudden enthusiasm for Hell’s Belles?”

  “No,” Naomi said. “It was just breakfast.”

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  The café was frequented by mortals, magicians, and demons, which made it hard to snag a booth.

  A couple of House of Hades ferrymen sat at a prime location and nursed their sodas. I gave them a look and they grabbed their check and vacated the booth.

  Naomi touched one of the horseshoes on the wall for luck. “I’m starving.” I’d examined the wall a thousand times, searching for my mother’s horseshoe charm, but it wasn’t there.

  A new server came to take our order, which made me jittery. The last time that had happened, someone had tried to poison me.

  “Coffee and the sandwich special,” I ordered. Hell’s Belles didn’t look like much, but the food was incredible.

  I waited until Bernie’s section emptied out to question her. She was manning the counter, so I left Talbot and Naomi playing footsie under the table and sauntered over.

  Bernie was a barrel-chested demon with sad basset hound eyes. I showed her a picture of Claire. “Seen her around?”

  She nodded. “She comes in sometimes with the little redhead, but I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  “She’s her cousin,” I replied.

  “Your cousin, too, then,” Bernie said.

  I didn’t exactly advertise that I was related to the Fates, but news had a way of getting around. Bernie knew more than she was letting on. Demons weren’t known for being helpful. I gave up and went back to the booth.

  I took a bite of my avocado BLT and then sighed with appreciation.

  “How old is Claire, anyway?” Talbot asked. The question wasn’t random. The Fates, and presumably, Fates-in-training like Claire and Naomi, aged slowly, but they did age.

  Naomi ignored him. Interesting. “The aunties already searched her room for clues. And so did the Tracker. And they didn’t find anything.”

  “That you know about, anyway,” I replied.

  Naomi managed to look hurt and offended all at once. “You make it sound like they don’t want to find her.”

  The thought had occurred to me, but I’d dismissed it. Aunt Morta had a spine of steel, but by the tiny bit of emotion she’d shown, she obviously loved her daughter. Besides, it was in Morta’s own best interest to find her daughter. Claire would take her mother’s place as Fate one day. What would happen if there were no Fates to meddle in mortal affairs?

  “Starling, Claire’s best friend, finally called me back,” Naomi said.

  “And?”

  “She said that Claire had been distant lately. She’d met someone, but Starling never met him.”

  “Did she tell you his name?”

  “No,” Naomi said. “She said Claire rarely talked about him. But she saw the mystery man and Claire once.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “She said she didn’t get a good look at him. Tall, blond, good-looking.”

  Minnesota was full of people of Scandinavian decent. Tall, blond, and good-looking described half the population, including the Fates’ recently deceased Tracker.

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “Starling never lies.”

  It was another dead end. How would I ever find a nameless, faceless guy in a city the size of Minneapolis? I’d killed the only Tracker I knew. But it had given me an idea.

  “Naomi, do you know where the Tracker lived?”

  “He had an apartment on Main,” she said. “Why?”

  “Because it’s possible he knew more about Claire’s disappearance than he let on,” I said. I didn’t want to remind her that the Tracker had betrayed the Fates in the worst possible way, poisoning Deci and stabbing Sawyer to death.

  “I’ll be back,” I said.

  “We’re going with you,” Talbot said.

  “Someone needs to mind the store,” I said. “Your dad will be pissed if nobody shows up for work.”

  It was safer if I went alone. When he’d died, Sawyer had been tutoring Gaston in the fine art of necromancy. Hades only knew what kind of booby traps were waiting for me at the Tracker’s apartment.

  The wards around his apartment had been breached. I drew my athame and turned the handle. It was locked. I used a quick spell to unlock it. Someone had taken the time to lock the door afterward.

  Gaston’s place was a studio apartment sparsely furnished with IKEA furniture. I’d assumed being a Tracker paid better than his apartment suggested. A futon in the corner served as both bed and couch. There was no TV, no stereo, and only one faded poster on the wall for decoration.

  Someone had been there before me. The place had been tossed, neatly and carefully, but not carefully enough. The futon’s cushion was slightly askew, but other than that, whoever it was had taken the time to tidy up after snooping.

  There was little evidence that the Tracker even lived here. Before I’d killed him, he’d spent most of his time hunting and torturing me, so maybe he hadn’t had time to decorate.

  A search of the kitchen cupboards yielded a couple of chipped mugs and some plastic bowls. I stared at the David Bowie poster hanging above the futon. I was missing something, I could feel it in my gut.

  The poster didn’t fit Gaston’s personality. Besides, I was pretty sure Bowie was a House of Zeus guy, so what was Gaston doing with his poster?

  I stood on the futon and carefully lifted the bottom. There was nothing there. I thought for a moment. “Aperio,” I said. The Latin for reveal didn’t reveal much, at least not at first.

  A thin file materialized on the wall behind the poster. I reached for it and then pulled my hand back at the last second. Gaston had made an effort to conceal the contents. He’d probably booby-trapped it, too.

  There was a nasty little curse tablet attached to the file. If I had touched it without removing the curse, something very bad would have happened to me. A curse tablet asked the gods to bring harm to another. This one specifically cursed anyone other than the owner who opened the file.

  The curse looked like it had been painted in oily black paint, but it was bespelled demon blood. It was old magic and black as my Docs.

  “What now?” I asked to no one in particular. I nearly jumped out of my skin when Sawyer’s voice replied.

  “Carefully trace the shape in reverse, but don’t touch it.”

  I gritted my teeth and did as h
e ordered. It freaked me out that my dead uncle was talking to me from beyond the grave, but he had been a necromancer. “So is this going to be a regular thing?” I asked him.

  “What?”

  “You’re talking to me like you’re still here, but I watched you die after Gaston put a knife in you. Are you going to be hanging around?”

  “Don’t you enjoy my company?” There was a trace of amusement in his voice.

  “It’s definitely been useful,” I admitted. I returned my attention to the hex and traced the shape in reverse in the air.

  “You must do it three times,” he instructed. “And then—”

  I traced the symbol in the air as ordered. “And then what, Sawyer?”

  But he was gone.

  I had only a few seconds. I went through everything I knew about magic and came up with a one-word solution. I was gambling it would work.

  “Rememdium,” I said.

  I held my breath and waited, but nothing happened. No boiling oil, no hail of knives, not even a bad case of gout. It worked.

  I grasped the folder gingerly. There was a troubling smear of dried blood on the tab, but just under it, I made out “Claire Foley.”

  I opened the folder and found a brass skeleton key taped to the inside. I put the folder underneath my shirt and left the building. Where or what did the key open? It was related to Claire somehow, but how?

  Chapter Four

  Back at Eternity Road, Talbot and Naomi were in the exact spot I’d left them. It felt like I’d been gone for days, but the clock told me I’d been gone a little over an hour.

  “Why don’t you two take off?” I suggested. “Get some fresh air. I’ll mind the store.”

  “Are you sure?” Talbot shot me a grateful look, but my offer wasn’t completely altruistic. I needed time alone to think. And maybe snoop through Ambrose’s vast collection of books for any mentions of keys.

  “Yeah, get out of here,” I said gruffly. “All that young love is making me a little queasy.”

  Naomi blushed, but she grabbed Talbot’s hand and they made a quick exit.

  I was sitting on the chair behind the pawnshop’s register, reading a book on the history of hereditary magic, when Aspen walked in.