Sekhet Page 5

  Finding the name, blinded by anger, Molly had taken it upon herself to get rid of the problem. In doing so, Molly had not only scared the elders when they had discovered what spells she had cast, she had scared herself. Never thinking black magic would become second nature to her, she had extended into a world that most never returned from. That had been a day where all Molly had seen was darkness.

  It had come so easily to her, as if she had been practicing her entire life. Casting in a shrill, unshaken voice coupled with a heart full of commanding contempt for the man so blinded by hate, her fingers had burned through his clothes. It had doomed him by what could have only been described as justifiable revenge from within a world he, in truth, knew nothing of.

  Molly had left him with no less than eighty percent of his body scorched, every finger broken, ribs crushed, and a face unrecognizable by the time she had exhausted herself. Even then, Molly hadn’t been satisfied. That had been the day Victor had realized his gift, as powerful as it may be, was nothing compared to what she was capable of.

  That day, Victor had received an agitated phone call from Molly’s grandmother, Dot. At the time, he had been chasing his tail looking for evidence that had, to his annoyance, been misplaced, or so they said. Arriving home just after midnight, he had been too tired to even bother preparing something to eat, as that involved energy, although, as always, he made sure to check his messages.

  There were two from Olivia, at her parents’ home, inquiring about – even though they had only recently met – almost demanding to know, really, his whereabouts; a message from his mother, who insisted she understood the reason behind his lack of communication; and a very worried Dot, who cried over the phone that Molly, who had all but lost her mind, was missing, and even Dot, with all her considerable powers, could not determine her whereabouts.

  Ignoring the calls from his mother and Olivia, Victor had gone searching for Molly. He had found her three miles outside of Twisp, in a shabby, long-forgotten woodshed. The stench of burnt flesh surrounding him from every angle, assaulted his senses as he walked cautiously through the battered door. His nostrils burned, and vomit rose from the pit of his stomach, scorching the back of his throat.

  Molly hadn’t moved an inch as he’d walked over to the hulk of melted flesh and smoldering apparel. He had seen so much since choosing his career field, be it on the streets of Seattle, or coming across a spirit who had suffered a horrendous death. This, though, had caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end.

  Victor found himself screaming at Molly as the shock ran through him, demanding to know what or who had possessed her. As had he looked at her blackened eyes, and witnessed the leer on her face, a series of emotions had rushed over him. At that moment, Molly was still under the control of something more sinister than he could have ever anticipated.

  Molly had surrendered every part of herself over to darkness, and it had, without hesitation, dug its fingers so unforgivingly into her very core, he had sworn to never again help her the way he had that night.

  Molly had been severely reprimanded by the Council, to the extent of having her casting abilities frozen by four elders, including Lucy, her own mother and her two BFFs, Natasha and Veronica. Her grandmother, Dot, Head Elder of the Witches’ Council, had agreed. They had taken turns casting, hindering her power, while she sat painting her nails a bright florescent cerise, ignoring all that went on around her.

  She could have stopped them. If she’d understood her powers.

  Although some may have thought her choosing to paint her nails at such a time was a way for her to demonstrate that she was no danger to them, Victor believed it was the only way she found peace in such a time of torment.

  A year later, the elders had lifted her ban, but not without a stern talking to and parole, as Molly called it. By then, it had been so long since she cast even the smallest of spells, it had taken her a month to get back to textbook quality on even a knockback or binding spell. Such things were supposed to come naturally, but for that whole month, nothing seemed natural. Everything had to be precise and accurate; nothing functioned as it should. It was not until her anger had swelled that the power had come back.

  Molly found it hard to camouflage her abilities. That day at Lincoln Park had demonstrated just that, when Victor had walked away from her. He had felt her power, but had said nothing. He is going to tell you, Molly, she thought, as they sat in the café.

  Just then, Victor nudged her with his foot, his earlier amusement disappearing, his smile replaced by a deeply etched frown. “I am surprised you haven’t asked,” he said.

  “In some cases, old habits do die,” Molly said, trying to sound lighthearted as she fiddled with her zarf. Finally deciding she needed to know more about the second ghost floating around the park, Molly said, “So are you going to tell me about the young woman? What did she see?” She bade her time while Victor took another swig of his coffee.

  She saw it all transpire,” he told Molly. “At first, she tried to interfere, screaming so close to his face her breath should have warmed it. Her punches sailed through without as much as a scratch, as she lunged at his back as he pinned Emily to the ground, only resulted in her being caught between Garth Mosely and the poor girl, whom she later learned was named Emily. She came to the devastating conclusion that she was useless.”

  Molly nodded.

  “As hard it was to see, this young woman lingered by the trees, watching, deciding that she would be there when it was over. She could hopefully help her then, but she was at a loss as to what she could do, considering she herself is confined within this realm, and she had no idea why she hadn’t passed over and continued with whatever life brings after this thing we call normal living. She wasn’t even sure what she was expected to do to rectify her own situation. In reality, what was it that she could actually do for Emily?”

  “So she saw Emily’s ghost?” Molly asked, leaning slightly forward across the table.

  “Yes, only to have that bastard bring her back. At first, she thought Mosley hadn’t meant to kill her, that things had just gotten out of control. That was until Emily’s gasp for air brought him back to what he was doing before her sudden hasty demise.”

  “He brought her back … so he could …” Placing her hand over her mouth in horror, Molly went silent. Even her thoughts were absolute stillness.

  “Only this time, he strangled her, stopping just before she began to pass out. It was then that he stabbed her.” Disgusted rage radiated from Victor in waves.

  “Because she hadn’t suffered enough?” Molly spit the words out, biting them off one by one.

  Suddenly, the picture hanging on the wall behind Molly broke, much to the shock of those sitting nearby. People jumped and a server came immediately and ren[moved it from the wall.

  Victor knew all too well that the heavy frame didn’t just crack on its own. Aloud, he laughed it off, blaming the changing weather they seemed to be having, drawing a chuckle from an elderly couple, and a giggle from a young woman, who clearly believed that a guy like Victor would find her flirtatious titter appealing.

  Molly took in the people around them. Was one of them Sekhet in disguise? A horrible thought filled her – was the Hell Demon here to demand her due? Victor? Strangely, she recognized, not by name but by face, a medium-built, nicely dressed man with deep-set eyes. Why was he familiar? She hadn’t a notion, leaving her to consider the fact that maybe he was just one of those people whose face looked just like the next person you see on the bus, or the train, or just buying groceries. For some strange, unknown reason, she had always thought these generic people to be untrustworthy.

  Drawing her out of her thoughts, Victor’s voice was a hushed whisper, but clear enough for Molly not to have to lean forward across the table to hear. “From what this young woman said, there is a grisly, disgusting old ghost in the park. During the day, he follows individuals around, displaying his innards, while screaming obscenities their way. Of course,
they can’t hear him, but he seems to enjoy himself.”

  “What a weirdo.” Taking a sip of her coffee to hide her worry that Sekhet might indeed be here, Molly asked, “So this young woman, what did she want from you in return?”

  “I asked if she wished to see anyone before passing over, but she couldn’t even recall where it was she was from, let alone who she should be looking for.”

  “Does that happen often?” Molly asked.

  “Sometimes,” Victor nodded. “If the spirit has been stuck in limbo for an excessive amount of time. From her attire, we could be looking at a hundred years. Or more. I didn’t recognize her face from the Missing Persons file, but when I saw her on the bench, I did notice her clothes were dripping wet, and when I went in search of her, she was bent at the water’s edge. She died in that park. I have to wonder if anyone ever knew, though.”

  “Drowned?” questioned Molly.

  “Maybe.” Victor took a gulp of his coffee. “I may find a record of her in Missing Persons. Or Runaways, more likely.”

  “It is a sad world when a person goes missing and no one gives a shit,” said Molly, shaking her head.

  “She appeared to be extremely confused. For some reason, she believed that before her death, the park was something entirely different. I’m guessing it may have been before the city took over the land,” added Victor. “She may just be seeing things that existed from generations past. I gave her two choices: one, that I would find out who she is and how she died; or two, I could just help her pass over so she could continue with whatever life has in store on the other side.”

  “She chose the latter, I’m assuming?” said Molly in an understanding voice.

  “Yes, but I think for my own purposes, I want to know who this young woman was. It seems only right to have a name to go with the face.”

  Molly accepted the fact that the murder of Emily was affecting him more than he would ever let on. Just as Sekhet was affecting her more than she was willing to admit.

  Outside the window, Victor was suddenly aware of the traffic, bumper to bumper as always, with the occasional car horn blaring, followed by a middle finger salute from a pissed-off driver, who seemed to be of the impression that his car was the only vehicle on the street. Victor pulled his eyes away from the ongoing craziness of what was deemed routine to look at Molly. Her face looked dark. Throwing her a questioning look, he asked,.“You have everything under control?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, then I don’t need to worry about you. Or do I?”

  Molly decided to take Victor’s reaction as a verification of his accepting the truth as she told it – that she could control the darkness inside her. Now all she had to do was convince herself.

  “Unfortunately,” Victor said, “I do have to leave. I want to go have a word with our Mr. Garth Mosely and see if my knowing his exact moves from that night jogs his memory.”

  “You’re going back to the park now?”

  “Well, not right now. I will have to wait until morning, but I need to take some time to think about my strategy. Besides, I told Olivia I would meet her so she can get the rest of her things out of my apartment.”

  “She’s really leaving?”

  “Apparently.”

  “That will be fun.” Molly giggled, and he cleared his throat dramatically, resulting in her laughing outright. Suddenly feeling guilty, Molly added, “Try not to make things worse.”

  “Like how?”

  “You know exactly what I mean, Victor. If you want her in your life, figure it out.”

  Victor didn’t answer.

  “Whatever. I have to head out of town anyway, but I should be back by Thursday.”

  “You never told me about this.” Victor’s curiosity spiked with the mention of Molly going out of town for a few days, especially considering he usually was the first to know. “Where are you going?”

  “I have to go to Twisp to visit my grandmother. I have a few things I need to ask her. And if she doesn’t know, I will have to take it to the Council, which I would prefer not to do.”

  “Anything I can help with?” Victor was hoping to get a little information.

  “Probably not right now. Don’t worry, it’s nothing I can’t handle. Either way, if you need me to be bad cop, you know where I am.”

  Bad cop, bad anything, was the last thing Victor needed Molly to be. Ever.

  CHAPTER 7

  Smartly Dressed Lawyers

  Superstition was part and parcel when dealing with murderers. They tended to flaunt and parade their abilities to withhold information when it came to their crimes, and there was very little you could do to obtain that information without blatantly kicking the shit out of them. Victor was in one of those moments.

  Usually, the personalities of Joe and someone like Garth Mosely clashed just enough to cause chaos, which would result in a hasty intervention from Victor, leaving him to clean up the mess. As much as it pained him to be the clean-up guy, he had to admit, he could have done with Joe’s help today. But as the thought entered his mind, deep down, he was glad Joe was still on suspension. This was exclusively about the victim, and Victor needed answers, not black eyes and grumbles of police brutality from a lawyer who accepted that his client was guilty; not openly, of course, but lowered eyes said more than words.

  The evidence was indisputable, but choosing money over conscience, lawyers would continue with each case, defending their client until that very last minute, then shaking Victor’s hand for police testimony well done, would exit the courthouse. Although he realized they had a job to do, Victor couldn’t shake the distaste he had for criminal defense lawyers.

  This time, however, he had the upper hand, being armed with inside information. Today would be markedly different from the first time Victor had interviewed Mosely about the murder of Emily Watson, where he got nowhere and spent the next two days throwing a fit every time the case was mentioned. Now, he had details previously known only by Mosely himself.

  Figuring out the best way to casually drop these newly learned particulars into the conversation was something Victor had been thinking about since leaving Molly at the coffee shop. He hadn’t divulged every detail to her, but still, he had noticed her fingers fluttering in the slightest of motions, and her eyes growing dark just as the glass cracked in the picture frame behind her. Would he speak with her about it? Probably not.

  Having to travel to Snohomish County Jail since 2011, when the City of Seattle had last dealt with Renton, was something that annoyed Victor immensely. Even though Mosely resided in Renton, Emily had been killed in Lincoln Park, and for that reason, Victor had assumed it made more sense to detain Mosely in King County. The judge thought differently. That decision forced Victor to travel thirty minutes, not counting Saturday traffic, out of his way. On the drive, Victor couldn’t help but wish he could find Frankie – the man he was sure had killed Lily – as easily as he had found Mosely.

  As one of the two armed guards standing at the door greeted Victor, the other guard opened the door for him. Victor closed off his mind to everything else as he strode into the interview room and took his seat.

  “Can you smell that?” Victor asked, as he placed his coffee alongside the closed file he threw onto the tabletop. “No? Well, I guess you wouldn’t, being in here.”

  “Go to hell!”

  Moseley’s lawyer made move, indicating Moseley stop speaking.

  “Petrichor,” Victor responded. Moseley’s blank expression told him the story of a man who should have stayed in school longer. “It’s the smell of dust after a heavy rain graces us with its appearance. Actually comes from the Greek word petros, which means stone, which I find strange, considering rain is water and doesn’t hurt like being physically hit with a stone. I mean, let’s face the facts here, that would hurt.”

  When an awkward silence filled the room, Victor smiled in Mosely’s direction. “Not interested in the workings of H2O, huh? That’s okay; we’ll just lea
ve it as ‘it’s raining.’”

  Garth Mosley’s eyes were deep, drawn closer together by unruly eyebrows, while his heavy-jowled face was pale under the light. He looked different to Victor now from the previous interview, when he’d first laid his eyes on the utterly despicable man.

  “Now that you mention it, let’s get down to business, shall we?” Victor all but sang, glancing at Moseley’s court-appointed lawyer as he pulled his seat closer to the table.

  “We have a witness, who was more than happy to give me what you refused to.” He pointed at Mosely as he opened the file, taking out photos and laying them out face up, close enough for Mosely to have a clear view of the gruesomeness. Watching Mosely’s face harden, Victor wasn’t sure if it was from aggravation or anger. “This photo shows obvious strangulation marks on the girl’s neck. Now tell me, Mr. Mosely, was this just before Emily Watson died, forcing you to revive her, or was this just when you instigated a notion of perverted control?”

  “No comment,” the court-appointed lawyer intoned, moving in to whisper in his client’s ear, who, to Victor’s immense satisfaction, couldn’t take his eyes off the photo.

  “What about this one?” Victor placed another photo of Emily in the center of the table.

  “No comment,” the smartly dressed lawyer repeated.

  “Here, keep it.” Victor smiled at the lawyer. “But this photo…” Victor took it out and smacked it down with enough force to make Mosely jump “…is the most interesting. Do you wish to know why?”

  Victor sat back, mimicking the posture of the man opposite him. “This interests me because I know this knife you used didn’t break the skin on the first attempt. Not that you didn’t try your best. I guess that is the worst thing about a dull blade. They are just so … infuriating. I understand you sat over her, laughing, as you ran your finger along the knife edge.”