Sekhet Read online

  It had been a terrifying lesson. Released by the demon, she had run to Daniel, Victor’s estranged father, desperate for help. It had caused some ill feelings between her and Victor, but what could she do? She had absolutely needed the best advice she could get.

  Daniel Wright was the most level headed, kind hearted and strong-willed man Molly had ever known. In fact, growing up in Twisp, a little town in Western Washington just south of the Canadian border, he had been like her surrogate dad. Daniel knew the headstrong teenage brain all too well; his own son was just growing out of it at 21, giving Daniel hope that their sort-of estrangement would soon end.

  In complete contrast to Victor’s sandy, shoulder length hair, brown eyes, strong nose and full lips, Daniel was broader across the shoulders, with a head of jet black hair still as thick as the day Molly had met him, with not a gray hair in sight. Green eyes, exhibiting crow’s feet, scanned each and every individual they came into contact with, his lips permanently holding an enigmatic smile.

  Having dealt with his disappointment that Molly, of all teens, could have been so air-headed, Daniel did what any necromancer would. He never thought he could fool Sekhet – after all, she cared nothing for the living. He knew he would have to negotiate an agreement with the Hell Demon: he would resurrect some recently deceased beings, in order for her to hunt, to satisfy her predator instinct, if she would forgive Molly’s misguided attempt to grow her supremacies.

  Sekhet, after two weeks of reburying bodies, had grown bored and returned to her own realm, but not before informing Molly that Molly would be her aide in the Underworld – but only when Sekhet was in the mood to summon her. Aware that she must treat a demon with honesty and respect, always – never command, demand, or try to exploit them in any way – it had been a terrifying lesson, but Molly still thought herself smart enough to handle the consequences. Molly told no one she had found Sekhet horrifyingly fascinating.

  Lily could pick up on all this as if she were watching a movie. Glancing at Joe now, Lily had to admit he was handsome. A little taller than Victor. A couple of years older. Thin, but not so thin that all she would want to do was feed him. He was well-built, with sculpted abdominals showing through his plain gray T-shirt. His strong arms hoisted him over tree roots with ease. Lily could tell that Joe was definitely someone Molly would consider dating. If he ever got around to asking her.

  Lily could pick up so much; why not who killed her? Why couldn’t she remember that? She would dare to approach Victor and just ask him.

  “Who am I kidding?” Lily hissed, angry at herself for being so nervous. What was the worst thing he could do? It wasn’t as if she wasn’t already dead. “Besides, Victor can probably sense every trapped soul from here all the way back to Seattle. A gift or a hindrance?” Lily said to herself as she focused wholly on the back of his head. “Okay, let’s find out.”

  Marching toward Victor with purpose, throwing caution to the wind, Lily got so close that if he could have possibly smelled her perfume, he would have. Dolce and Gabbana Pour Femme Intense, a powerful floral aroma, but for the $112 she had paid for it, little was definitely more. Could Victor smell it? Was there anything left of it?

  “I need to speak to you,” Lily all but yelled in Victor’s ear, but he disregarded her, refusing to acknowledge the ghost standing to his left. He had been aware of her presence from the beginning – he had felt that familiar hair prickling on the back of his neck while he was shaving, before leaving his cluttered apartment. The prickling pins and needles that traveled down your spine, refusing to leave any nerve endings untouched, the identical feeling he got every time he and his partner Joe got called to yet another murder in the back alleys of Seattle.

  Molly, sensing Lily’s approach, threw Victor a questioning look, receiving a slight shake of his head in response. If they hadn’t been present, Lily was sure Victor would have talked to his ghostly stalker. Seeing Joe looking at his partner with suspicious eyes, Lily, growing agitated, decided to take the lead.

  “Stop ignoring me,” Lily barked. “I know you can hear me.”

  Bending to impersonate someone whose boot laces had come undone, Victor spoke in whispered words. “I can’t help you right now.”

  “I know you can!” Lily took a step back, allowing him the space he obviously needed to feel more approachable. “Please, I need your help.”

  “I told you, I can’t do anything right now.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” pleaded Lily.

  “I said—” Victor began, only to have Lily stop him in midsentence.

  “It’s not me who needs your help.”

  Victor was confused. Lily was dead, she had sought him out, and now she didn’t want his help?

  “It’s my husband.”

  “Your husband needs my help?” Victor asked.

  He was fully aware of who she was: Mrs. Lily Davis. Murdered by a jealous husband. He had yet to prove it, though. “Is he deceased?”

  “You’re the detective, you should know that.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Lily wanted to kick herself. Antagonizing Victor would serve no purpose.

  Victor’s face changed abruptly as he glared at Lily. When a ghost turned up accusing him of not doing his job, that was the moment his barriers went up. “I can’t help you,” he repeated flatly, turning away. What are you doing, Victor? He asked himself as he began to turn back to face her.

  Lily saved Victor the trouble – she appeared directly in front of him, eyes wide in horror. “Wait! Please. I’m sorry.” With the ability to just disappear, Lily knew, at that moment, she had the upper hand. “Frankie is about to kill someone.”

  She finally had Victor Wright’s interest. He blinked hard, standing to his full height and towering over her small physique, choosing when to emit an audible breath at appropriate intervals. This was a lesson he had learned over time when dealing with the dead.

  “Tell me what you know,” Lily begged.

  Victor was reminded of the old saying, “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

  But In this case, it would. She apparently didn’t realize what had happened. She was trying to stop him, not knowing that it was already too late, that it was her husband who had killed her. Another chance to put those darned drama classes he had to suffer through in high school to good use; the last thing Victor needed right now was a ghost throwing a fit over the fact that he was still chasing his own tail at this stage of the investigation. He had to play stupid. Swallowing, Victor tried to clear his face of any telltale sign that he was, in fact, the detective assigned to her case. With no luck.

  “I know you have to help me.”

  “Can’t I just have a day off?” Victor said.

  An hour later, Molly and Joe were in the one-bedroom cabin, borrowed for the weekend from a friend who had obtained it at some stage during a messy, mid-life crisis divorce. Situated in the Mount Baker National Forest, Denny Creek Campground was just beyond the tree line and the river. Victor knew Lily was still with them. Molly knew someone was with them. If Joe was aware of anything, he wasn’t letting on.

  Children’s voices could be heard in the distance as they sat at picnic tables, waiting for a variety of food which, on a normal day, was out of bounds. Camping and parenting seemed to co-exist simply because it was all about experiencing and remembering days and nights, so unlike the normal day-to-day run of the mill. Sweets, hotdogs and burnt marshmallows brought a weekend of teeth-rotting guilty pleasures.

  It had been decided that Molly would take the bedroom, and Victor, who was still outside, sitting alone at the picnic table, would set up camp on the couch, which had seen better days. It did still have cushions holding some sort of comfort, and while the blankets smelled slightly musty from the long winter, it was nothing a firm shake in the warm air wouldn’t fix. Joe, who had been here before, had already thrown his backpack under the windows, pointing out that he was partial to watching the moon if he couldn’t sleep.

  Sitting al
one at the table outside, Victor pushed his sandy hair back from his face. Unlike Joe, who insisted a buzz cut was the way to go, considering the job they were in, Victor refused to get rid of his thick locks, even though his hair was close to being out of control, two inches away from hitting his shoulders. Until he got an official reprimand from the higher powers, he would keep his hair the way he liked it. Even then, they would have a fight on their hands. He had learned the hard way that when attending a crime scene, he should not have his hair flying everywhere, which was the reason he always carried elastic bands. He was nervously snapping one of them right now.

  Unknown to Molly, Victor, in fact, unable to withhold anything from his partner, had recently informed Joe of Molly’s abilities – but not before adamantly making it clear to Joe that he was never to talk about this to anyone.

  “How do you expect me not to talk to my future wife about this?” Joe had said, filling Victor with a terrible dread that he should have kept his damn mouth shut. “I’m joking!”

  But Victor wasn’t quite sure. It had been enough to make him back up, forcing enough distance between them for Joe to feel awkward.

  Leaving his place by the window, with a glance in Victor’s direction, Joe sauntered into the bedroom.

  “Don’t even try,” Molly said. “We all already agreed I can have the bed.” Laughing at Joe’s expression, she pushed past him, in search of coffee. There had to be some kind of caffeinated beverages in the cabin. The prospect of drinking anything but stiff coffee in the morning was absolutely absurd, and her search grew feverish the longer it took to locate her addiction.

  “Third drawer down on the left,” Joe called from the bedroom. Clearly, Molly’s inability to find a simple pack of coffee was noticeable.

  “I see it,” Molly called. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

  “I’m not, either,” Joe answered from the bedroom. “How long do you think Victor will be conversing with his friend?”

  “His friend? What friend?” A hot blush ran from up Molly’s neck, across her cheeks, and onto the top of her scalp, as her mind rushed to find something to say. What does he know? What has Victor told him? I didn’t know he was aware of anything. Oh, shit! What does he know about me?

  The cup she had been holding felt cold in her hands as she opened her mouth and spoke the words that seemed to be caught tightly against her vocal cords. “Victor can be… a tad peculiar.” A strange, high-pitched laugh escaped, bursting out as if it had been oppressed for some time.

  Maybe he didn’t hear me. That’s it, Molly, just go with it. Molly relaxed enough so that she was no longer considering racing from the cabin and jumping into the river. Thinking now, she added, “You know Victor, always talking to himself.”

  “You better be making me some coffee, lady,” Joe called from the bedroom, his voice light.

  Pouring herself a cup of steaming java, Molly said, “Make your own.”

  “I could make you,” Joe boasted.

  “I would love to see you try.” Molly snorted. “No man can make me do anything.”

  “Not with your abilities,” he returned just as tartly, and the cup fell from her hands with a crash as yelp of surprise filled the small cabin.

  The sound of bed springs popping came from the bedroom. Joe burst into the kitchen, gun in hand. “What happened!”

  Not waiting for an answer, he took two enormous strides to the door. “Victor!” he roared, holding the gun over his head. “Run! Victor, run!”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Molly gasped, considering casting a spell, just to freeze him to the spot.

  “Victor! Don’t worry. I’ve got your back!” Joe was yelling.

  Victor’s head lifted in complete and utter shock as he witnessed his partner of three years face-plant into a patch of snowy pine needles.

  “Is he crazy?” Lily muttered as she took in the scene unraveling before her eyes. Not only was Joe face down in dirt, but Molly had jumped on his back, grabbing for the gun, all the while pushing him deeper into the earth. His arms flailed madly while his feet kicked frantically, like a child throwing a tantrum over not getting a chocolate bar.

  “For the love of god, will you stop?” Molly shouted.

  Struggling to hold Joe down, she was breaking out in a cold sweat, only Molly wasn’t one hundred percent sure if it was the fact that she was using every bit of energy she had, or the memory of his words, ‘not with your abilities.’ Her distraction was all Joe needed. Before Molly knew it, she was flat on her back, looking directly up into Joe’s dirt-covered face.

  Victor, still sitting at the picnic table, was laughing hysterically.

  “What do you think you are doing? There is a cougar out here stalking us and you want to wrestle?” Joe gasped, trying not to laugh, helpless against Molly’s surprising strength, which left Joe even more enthralled by her. “Victor, help me!”

  “What?” Victor turned away from the ghost beside him; Lily was now howling with laughter.

  “Let me up!” Molly cried.

  Joe sat up, laughing, covered with mud, snow and pine needles. Victor sat there, shaking his head. Molly’s dark hair had come undone from its resting place, tightly bound into a high ponytail for convenience, now long strands whipped across her face and shoulders. Joe’s breath caught in his throat as he took in her appearance.

  “There is no blasted cougar,” Molly uttered through her teeth. “I dropped my coffee cup and it burnt my hand, you idiot. That is why I screamed. And I will have you know, it was not a scream; it was a startled yelp. Besides, how exactly did you get cougar out of all that?” Glaring at Joe, Molly got to her feet, wiped the dirt from her clothes as best she could, and marched back to the cabin, grumbling to herself about stupid cougars, and stupid, crazy men.

  “He’s crazy,” Lily offered, taking her leave, but not all that confident Victor would keep his end of the bargain to stop Frankie from killing someone.

  “Dude,” Victor laughed as he shook his head. “There are other ways of getting her to throw you on the ground – you know that, right?”

  “Of course I know that.” Brushing off his hiking pants, Joe chuckled, “This is what I call breaking the ice.”

  Joe was ready to have a fun weekend, that was until Victor’s words filtered through the air. “We need to head back to Seattle first thing in the morning.”

  “Huh?” Dragging his eyes away from the cabin, Joe glanced at Victor, a slight frown etched on his brow. “Why?”

  “I just got a lead.”

  “Yeah?” Interest washed across Joe’s face.

  “Lily Davis.”

  That was all Victor had to say. All thoughts of Molly and her dirt-smudged face disappeared from Joe’s mind. “What about her? Did she tell you who killed her?”

  “She doesn’t know.”

  “She doesn’t? You’re kidding. Well, what does she know?”

  “That her husband is about to kill someone,” Victor said.

  “Someone else, you mean?”

  “We have yet to prove Frankie is responsible for Lily’s death, let alone to have actually committed the crime himself, hands-on,” Victor pointed out. “There’s nothing to suggest Frankie Davis touched his wife the night she was murdered.”

  “Nothing yet,” Joe countered.

  “We really need to get back to Seattle. I want to bury this guy.”

  “Well, shit, yes!” Joe said. “You better tell Molly.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to do it?”

  It was too late in the afternoon to head back. They decided they would spend the night in the cabin and go back the next morning.

  “Not god-awful early,” Joe pleaded.

  They sat around that night, a roaring fire in stone fireplace against the cool night air, and told stories. Since Molly and Victor knew all theirs, and Joe had already heard his share of the most outrageous exploits from Victor, it was Joe, mostly, who talked. Molly was surprised at the hardship and the sadness he had e
ndured; it seemed to have had no ill effect on him. Curled up against Victor’s back on the couch, listening, Molly had to admit to herself that her childhood hadn’t been so bad.

  Joe’s upbringing had involved countless homes and a number of stepfathers, most of whom had insisted on being called Dad. By the age of fifteen, Joe had decided he had had enough and had taken to the road.

  “I left California in the early hours of the morning, while my mother and Dad Number Four were winding down a house party that had been going on all week.”

  Joe, armed with only the clothes on his back, went in search of a new life. He found it in Seattle, but it wasn’t paradise. He was homeless, he didn’t know how to seek help, or even that there was any help out there. He lived under a bridge that first summer, lying about his age, getting a job in construction, and caught sight of things most people would only ever see in horror movies. By that first winter, he had discovered Seattle’s homeless shelter system.

  “I got lucky. By the Grace of God, with the help of some over-enthusiastic shelter workers, who saw in me a burning determination to succeed, they got me a place in a family. It was like a real family…and I was part of it,” Joe said, fighting tears. “Stan is the only true father I’ve ever had.”

  Joe had become part of a family without even recognizing the signs. He graduated from high school, then the Police Academy. Six months into the job, while on the beat, he had met Victor.

  “The rest was history,” Joe smiled, throwing another log on the fire.

  “Have you ever seen your real parents again?” Molly asked. “I mean your birth parents?”

  “There’s no birth dad – I’m a virgin birth,” Joe laughed.

  “Me, too,” Molly said. “I never met my father. And I don’t believe my grandmother. I think she just made up a name and a story to tell me. I think they really don’t know who my father is. But what about your mother? Do you ever see her? Are you in touch with her?”

  There had been only one occasion after leaving home that Joe had been in touch with his mother.