Night Owls

10

THE REST OF their search had yielded nothing. Val had, for the second day running, pushed until it was nearly dawn. She might still have been there, tucked away in the back of a closet somewhere to hide from the sun, if Chaz hadn’t pointed out that the police would be back and she’d be yet another corpse on the pile. Unless, that was, they didn’t zip up the body bag all the way before they took her out of the house.

Then she’d just be fucked.

She’d taken the backpack with her, to get good and familiar with its owner’s scent. A round of sniffing outside the Clearwaters’ house as the dawn loomed hadn’t told her which way the Brotherhood’s coward had gone—the Jackals’ reek still covered up any human scents. Chaz, by that time, had been tugging on her arm as he cast anxious glances at the nearby houses. People would be getting up for work soon, if they weren’t already, and they’d have another world of trouble on their hands if they were spotted outside by a rubbernecking neighbor.

At home, Val had curled around the backpack before dropping into her dreamless sleep. She woke that night to the smell of myrrh. It took her a few minutes to place it—she hadn’t set foot in a church in decades—but every breath brought to mind memories of a hard wooden pew and the clanking of the thurible as the priest passed by. She remembered Father Pelham swinging it like a pendulum as the smoke curled out of the holes. When she was six, she’d been at the edge of the pew and sucked in a lungful of the incense. She’d had such a coughing fit as the bitter, sharp smoke made its way down her throat that her mother had ushered her out of the service.

As consciousness flooded in, the smell of it filled her nostrils. It wasn’t as acrid as that long-ago incense had been, but it was close. Val sat up, still holding the backpack. Sometime during the day, she’d dug her hand into the front pocket, and now she realized she was clutching at something inside. When she rubbed her fingers together, they felt oily. She switched on the bedside lamp as she pulled her other hand out. Nestled in her palm was a lump of burnt umber resin. There it is.

It wasn’t much to go on, but it was something. Different branches of the Brotherhood had different rituals. One lump of myrrh didn’t mean much—it might simply be something the backpack’s owner used as a salve—but when she had no other leads, she’d take it. In Sacramento, they’d anointed themselves with rosewater before a Hunt and cleansed their hands with lavender after. Myrrh meant an older sect, more orthodox. Those, she knew, were a dying breed.

She set the resin down on her nightstand and relinquished her hold on the backpack. There was work to be done, but first she wanted to wash the stink of myrrh and Jackal out of her skin.

Chaz was behind the register when Val got to Night Owls at eight. Pale purple smudges lurked beneath his eyes. The titan-sized cup of coffee beside him was nearly empty, and when Val peeked into the wastebasket, she saw two others that he’d already demolished.

“How are you not vibrating and twitching from all that?” The sisters next door made their coffee strong enough to walk on its own most days, but Chaz’ heartbeat wasn’t even elevated.

“I seem to have built up an immunity.”

“Or you’re just that exhausted. Did Justin come in? He and I can handle it here. You should go home and sleep.”

“He’s in the back, taking his break. And I caught a nap this morning. I’m fine.” He took another swig of coffee and offered her a toothy grin. “I left the newspapers on your desk. Nothing in there that we didn’t know already, but I figured you might want a look. I tried getting a copy of the police report, but no luck.”

“Well, you’re not quite as charming when you’re all rumpled.” She took the key to the rare books room from its hook. Her own had flakes of skin and ichor stuck to it from where it had touched the Jackal-woman’s neck. Val didn’t want to touch it any more than she had to. “I’m going to go spend some time with that damned thing, see if anything jumps out at me. Try not to drink so much of that your heart explodes, okay?”

“You got it.”

She headed to the rare books room, smiling a little at the sign tacked to the door in Chaz’ scrawl: Room reserved for private research. Please pardon the inconvenience. He’d known she wouldn’t want anyone going in there today. The smile faded as she entered and was hit with a waft of stale Jackal scent. The book sat on the desk, where she’d placed it last night after the three had left. Why hadn’t they taken it with them? Surely the other few hundred pages were useful to them, even if a few were missing. Val slid into the chair and stared at the book.

It seemed . . . less somehow. The air of malevolence that had emanated from it last night was, if not entirely gone, then certainly diminished. Tonight, it was just an old book on an old desk. She could have tucked it into any empty space on the shelves in that room and searching eyes would have skipped right over it. So what had changed?

The cover was cool beneath her fingers. She looked at the box of cotton gloves, but decided against wearing any. Magic was often tactile to some degree, especially when an object had been imbued with it. Val was no sorcerer—if this thing was warded, or if spells were nestled between the lines of text, she wouldn’t know what they were by touch. Still, she might be able to tell if something had been broken. She’d heard stories of casters hexing their spell books so that if the wrong person opened it, all the letters jumbled up and became so much gibberish. She’d even seen someone perform the trick once, changing a pocket volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets into two hundred pages of lorem ipsum dolor sit amet. Had this happened here?

She steeled herself and opened the cover. Just because the Jackal bitch had opened it without repercussion didn’t mean there wasn’t something nasty waiting to give her a jolt. And yet . . . nothing. The parchment felt brittle, like dried onionskin, but it was simply parchment. The ink had faded to brown, but it was definitely ink, not blood. The book felt, well, dead.

Val peered at the Jackals’ runes, trying to make sense of them. Some, she almost knew; others she recognized from seeing them in the nests. But her ability to actually read this book was about as strong as someone who’d learned Spanish from Sesame Street trying to read Don Quixote in its original form.

She set about looking for patterns instead, seeking out runes that appeared in the same order across several pages. She found a few, but all she got for her troubles was a full sheet of notebook paper and the start of a headache.

A soft knock came on the door. Chaz poked his head in and shook a small coffee at her. The liquid sloshed inside. Hazelnut tonight. “Want a sniff?”

Val pointed at him. “Heart. Exploding. Didn’t we talk about this half an hour ago?”

“I didn’t say I’d listen. And you’ve been in here three hours. It’s almost eleven.” He stepped inside and closed the door. Setting the coffee down in front of her was a poorly disguised cover for a peek at her notes. “Anything we can use?”

She shook her head. “Not unless there’s a Jackal-to-English translator on the Internet.” The warmth of the coffee cup felt good on her palms. “There’s got to be something, at least the reason she left it behind. But hell if I can see it.”

Chaz reached a tentative hand for the book. “May I?”

She hesitated a moment, then smiled. The professor would have opened it up before he sent it along with Justin, and she’d suspected Justin of opening it up last night. If it was warded against humans, those had been broken already. Plus, Chaz was scary good at word puzzles, snagging new books of them as they came in and completing them on his break. Maybe he’d see something she hadn’t: a repetition, a symbol, some sort of Rosetta stone buried in the text. Val pulled a pair of gloves from the box and passed them to Chaz before she handed over the book. Her dead skin might not leave oils on the pages, but Chaz’ would.

Plus it never hurt to have an extra layer of precaution between him and the page in case there was any lingering magic.

There weren’t any other chairs in the room, so Chaz plunked himself down on the floor, the book in his lap. He donned the gloves and began turning pages. After a few minutes, he glanced up. “You can start breathing again anytime now. I’m not getting turned into a pillar of salt. And it’s really starting to freak me out.”

Val hadn’t even realized she’d stopped, but he was right—her lungs itched and her chest felt heavy. Breathing was still a necessity if she wanted to talk, but her kind didn’t need to do it to carry oxygen around their bodies anymore. She inhaled and exhaled a few times for Chaz’ benefit. He shook his head and went back to scrutinizing the book.

It grew so quiet in the room, Val could hear the murmur of conversations in the store. The register hummed steadily along every few minutes—not the busiest night, though she knew she should go out and relieve Justin soon. Her hovering wasn’t going to grant Chaz any sudden insights.

As if thinking about him had summoned him, Justin’s steps came padding up the aisle. He had a timid gait, like he was afraid walking past someone might disturb them. His knock was equally soft. Val opened the door and winced. Chaz might look like shit from his lack of sleep, but Justin looked ten times worse. His eyes were red rimmed, his nose rubbed raw.

“I’m sorry, Justin. I’m coming out now. Chaz can—”

He spoke over her. “It’s okay, I just need help with a special order. Will you come take it? Please?”

The tremor in his voice gave her pause. It wasn’t sorrow. She peered at him, searching beyond the grief and exhaustion. His eyes were wide, nostrils flaring. His fingers twisted together, apart, together. A jolt went through her—this was fear.

Val’s head snapped up. Are they back? It hasn’t been two days. Did they come to check up on us? But no, if the Jackals were here, she’d have smelled them. The only person up at the front of the store right now was a forty-ish woman in an expensive-looking tracksuit—the kind made more for fashion than working out—jangling her keys and glaring daggers of irritation at Val and Justin.

Val squeezed Justin’s shoulder as she passed by him. “I’ve got this. You go take five, splash some water on your face.” She plastered on a smile and went to help the woman.

“Honestly,” said the woman, raising her voice for the other customers’ benefit. “I don’t know what your employee is playing at, but wasting my time isn’t funny. I have kids I need to get home to, and he’s sitting there doodling rather than taking down my information. I was very tempted to just walk out of here and order my book online.”

Doodling? That wasn’t like Justin at all. “I’m very sorry, ma’am, I’ll speak with him. And I’m happy to offer you a twenty percent discount for the inconvenience.”

The woman grunted. “That will do, I suppose.”

Val smiled. “If I could just take your name and phone number?” She pulled a blank special order card from the stack. They took orders by hand and entered them into the computer at the end of the night. It was probably less efficient than entering them directly into the computer, but Val believed it made them focus on the customer, not the screen.

The woman recited her information, and Val jotted down the book’s title and ISBN. Justin had at least gone as far as looking it up and confirming its availability. “We should have it in two days. We’ll call when it comes in and you can pick it up next time you’re nearby.”

“Well. Thank you. And I do hope you’ll talk to that boy. Maybe if he didn’t spend so much time partying, he’d be focused on his job.”

Val blinked. “Partying?”

“Surely you saw his eyes. They’re bloodshot. He’s either hungover or strung out, miss, and that’s only going to cost you in the end.”

You bitch. Maybe she didn’t need to breathe, but Val took a deep breath anyway before she answered. Yelling at customers wasn’t good business. “Ma’am, you might not be from Edgewood, so maybe you haven’t heard, but we had a murder in town last night. That young man who was helping you was close to one of the victims. He hasn’t been drinking; he’s been grieving. I think, if it’s all right with you, I’ll cut him some slack.”

Spots of color rose in the woman’s cheeks. “Oh. Oh my. I’d heard, about . . . a professor, wasn’t it? From the college?”

“And his wife. They were good friends of ours.”

She looked down at her shoes. “I’m . . . I’m terribly sorry, miss. I should have thought.”

“It’s all right. Why don’t you head on home to your kids. We’ll take care of this order for you.”

The woman scurried out, her shoulders hunched. Val wondered if she’d show up when the book came in.

As she tucked the card in with the evening’s other orders, she glanced around the register. The woman had said Justin was doodling, but the scratch pads were all blank. Justin knew better than to do homework up here, and even if he’d decided to break that rule, she didn’t see any textbooks stashed away. She looked in the trash can, to see if he’d tossed anything out.

In the bin were three special order cards, two torn in half, one crumpled, all of them covered not in doodles, but in runes.

Just like the ones in the Jackals’ book.

CHAZ PUT THE book aside reluctantly when Val asked him to watch the front of the store, but one look at the tattered special order card she held up stopped his grumbling. “Justin knows how to read it?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out.”

“You don’t think he’s, like, in league with them, do you?” Even as he said it, he was shaking his head. “No, that makes no sense. He’s a good kid.”

“And he would’ve just brought the damned thing straight to them.” She’d already run through the possibility in her head and dismissed it. Unless he was an amazing actor, Justin’s reaction to the Clearwaters’ deaths was real. Something like that, if you knew who did it—especially if they’d screwed you over—you got angry. Justin was just plain heartbroken. “I’ll tell you what I find out.”

Chaz grabbed an armload of books that needed shelving. “Here if you need me.”

Val stepped over to the break room and punched the code to unlock the door. She opened it slowly, not wanting to startle Justin. Or, if on the off chance he’s had us totally snowed and is waiting on the other side with a stake, I want to be able to get away.

But he wasn’t waiting with an implement of doom. He sat at the supervisor’s desk, his head in his hands. When the door creaked open, he flinched.

Val dragged a chair over next to him and lowered herself into it. “You want to talk about it?”

“I don’t even know what it is.” He raised his head at last and looked at her pleadingly. “I can’t make it stop.”

“Tell me what’s happening. When it started.” She kept her tone low and neutral, putting a tiny bit of Command into the words—more to calm him than drag words out of him. She took his paper cup and refilled it from the watercooler next to the desk.

He took a sip and sighed. “It started this morning. I tried taking notes in my Milton class and it all came out . . . weird. Every time I’ve gone to write something down, it’s just these scribbles. I thought.” His tongue snaked out to wet his lips. “I thought maybe I’d hit my head, or, I don’t know.” Another sip. This time when he looked up, he seemed embarrassed. “I spent the afternoon googling brain tumors and psychotic breaks.”

“I think we can rule those things out, don’t you?” She set the card in front of him. “You’ve seen that writing before.”

Justin’s cheeks went as red as his eyes, but he powered on through the guilt. “That’s what I mean. I saw the weird writing in the last thing Professor Clearwater gave me, and the next day I’m copying it. Isn’t that . . . Wouldn’t that signal that I’m having some sort of episode?”

“I don’t think so.”

He blinked at her. “What, then?”

“You’re not going to like this very much. I don’t even know if you’re going to believe it.”

“Hey, if it means I don’t have a tumor . . .” A tiny laugh escaped him, born more of anxiety than mirth.

“I think when you opened that book, or when you read certain pages, you triggered something. A spell, a ward, I don’t know what, exactly. But whatever it is, it’s hanging out in your head now.” The dubious look on his face made her words tumble out faster. “I know how it sounds. And if you want to go and get your head x-rayed, I’ll drive you right now. But they’re not going to find anything.”

“Magic, Val? That’s . . .” He spread his hands, not quite ready to tell his boss what he thought of that sort of thing.

“I know. But tell me, did you have any other symptoms of what you researched?”

“Nnnnooo.” There was something else keeping him from getting up and walking out on this conversation. She could see it in his hesitation, in the way his eyes darted around, but always came back to hers. How they held a little steadier each time.

“What aren’t you telling me?” No Command, not now. She could make him see things her way, but it was better if Justin came around to it on his own.

“I heard things about their house. The crime scene. There are all kinds of rumors on campus, about a cult or a ritual killing.” His voice broke. Val reached out to comfort him, but he waved her off. “You know what he said to me when he gave me the book? The very last thing he’d ever tell me?” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “He said, ‘Trust Valerie.’ And he quoted Shakespeare at me.”

“Shakespeare?”

“From The Tempest: ‘The hour’s now come. The very minute bids thee ope thine ear. Obey and be attentive.’ I think maybe he meant . . . Maybe he meant we’d be having a conversation like this. Or maybe I’m in denial and you’re an asshole for indulging it, but . . .” He shrugged at her. “But let’s go with the former for now, huh?”

“We’ll figure it out, Justin. I promise.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, staring at the runes scrawled on the card. Finally, Justin cleared his throat. “So do you, y’know . . . have any ideas how to make it stop?”

“I have a friend who might.” Chaz is going to hate this. But it was for Justin, and as much as he’d balk at her plan, he liked the kid. It would work out. It would have to.