Water of Souls Read online

  The sounds of the engine have barely died, the hood of the squad car still warm against the winter chill, when who I can only assume is Mordecai Jones comes out of the dark brown building that looks like it was made out of a shipping container.

  He is not at all what I was expecting. Not. At. All.

  “Goodman.” Mordecai doesn’t have to crane his head back to look into Terrance eyes because he’s still standing on the porch of his business. If he stepped down the two steps and came to be on even footing with Terrance, then he would have to. Because Mordecai Jones cannot be taller than three feet. And possibly an inch or so added with the way his hair is coifed into a large swoop at the front of his face and then falling to curl around his ears in salt and pepper waves. It’s almost Elvis wannabe, but I’m sure by his air and expression that he wouldn’t appreciate the reference.

  He stands like he’s a hundred feet tall though, with his broad shoulders pushed back and his head held defiantly. The deep lines along his face are so prominent that I instantly want to paint him. There’s a scar that runs across his chin and down his neck. It’s old, fully healed, just a pale line against his tanned skin. He’s a magnetic figure, standing on his porch looking at Terrance with a keen gaze. There’s something about him that makes me want to fall into a crouch, to prostrate myself at his feet. I shake my head, raise my eyes just the fraction necessary to meet his gaze.

  He’s staring at me.

  With ice that holds fire.

  “Jones. It’s nice to see you again.” Terrance is trying to sound civil. Mordecai Jones wants nothing to do with niceties.

  “Wish I could say the same.” Mordecai doesn’t move a muscle, but his eyes flick from my face to Terrance’s. Even his lips barely move as he speaks. “What can I do for you?” He flicks his gaze once more at me, this time fully taking me in with only a second’s consideration. It makes me uneasy, but also a bit pissed. I deserve a little more than a cursory glance. I’m powerful. And a freaking Blood Queen. Not that he knows that.

  Still, there’s something about him. Something that takes my ‘Queen’ status and throws it in the gutter.

  “Just got a couple questions, Jones.” Terrance’s voice is firm, not unkind.

  “Your questions tend to lead to me spending a few nights in jail, Goodman.” There’s grit and distrust in Mordecai’s voice now.

  Terrance doesn’t say anything in response. I take this as affirmation that Mordecai is speaking the truth.

  I know I should keep quiet, but I don’t. I move forward, hand out. I want this Mordecai to take me seriously and I know the want has everything to do with my ego and nothing to do with my brain.

  I can feel Terrance’s energy behind me, it’s literally shouting for me to keep my mouth closed and come stand back beside him. Sometimes I forget that I don’t have the protection of a badge.

  The closer I get to the man standing on the porch, the more I feel compelled to fall to one knee and beg his forgiveness.

  His forgiveness for what though?

  “Hi, Mr. Jones. My name’s Victoria—”

  “Girl, you best step away from my porch.” He steps down one riser and somehow, moving down makes him appear bigger. I realize in that instant that Mordecai Jones doesn’t have human dwarfism. He is, in fact, a dwarf. As in take-the-ring-to-Mordor, wields-an-ax dwarf. Although, real dwarfs can call upon their power to become larger. The effect doesn’t last long, it’s more an illusion than anything.

  I think back to my notes in the journal I’d been filling with Liam. Dwarfs were proud, territorial. They don’t like to be challenged, especially in their own ‘kingdom’. Now, it had been nearly fifty years since the last actual dwarf kingdom fell, but I got the feeling that Mordecai Jones’ little taxidermy shop was Camelot in his mind.

  What did Liam say to do if I ever met one? I wrack my brain and I feel the answer on the tip of my tongue.

  Of course, I don’t have time to recollect myself because Liam’s voice comes to life in my head. Bow. Only a little. Most preternatural creatures follow an unwritten rule that dictates humans remain outside our reality. So be subtle. Don’t let Terrance think you’re doing anything unusual. And Tori, be cautious. This isn’t any ordinary dwarf.

  My first instinct is to mentally shout at Liam to leave, but I can’t. I need the help right now and... I’m feeling a bit bad over him getting jailed by the light court Prince and then basically having to banish himself to get back to me. It’s dirty pool to do something like that. It makes a girl almost unable to refuse his intrusions. Almost.

  I step back until I am just in front of Terrance. I keep my gaze on Mordecai’s face. His eyes are still trained on me, defiance in the hard set of his jaw. I wait until he has locked eyes with me yet again and then I bow my head, eyes closing. It is only a fraction of a moment, a fraction of a gesture.

  When I lift my head though, Mordecai’s eyes are slightly more open, his jaw slightly more slack.

  Now apologize. Repeat after me- ‘Mr. Jones,’

  “Mr. Jones.”

  I listen to Liam’s voice and I speak Liam’s words. With each utterance, Mordecai’s face grows more calm. ‘I’m sorry for invading. I don’t belong here. This is your home and I’m not even a cop. I’ve no authority in your territory.’

  “Mr. Jones. I’m sorry for invading. I don’t belong here. This is your home and I’m not even a cop. I’ve no authority in your territory.”

  Now say your name again, but put your power behind the words. Let it breathe outward. Let him face and feel the aura of the Blood Queen.

  “My name is Victoria Iracebeth Cage.” I pause, wondering if I’ve been successful. I can feel the magic flowing through my veins. I can feel the energy prickling along my skin. But can he feel it? There’s not much death beneath my feet, within my grasp. I am relying on my fae powers now, powers that I am not keenly aware of. Can he feel it?

  He can. Again, Mordecai’s eyes open further, an almost imperceptible change. I speak again, this time reaching forward until I can feel the hum of his pumping blood inside my throat. I want to caress its warmth, the life flowing within it. I pull it to me slowly, measure by measure, and his face goes from rosy tan to ash white. My eyes threaten to roll back, leaving only an unsettling white in the absence of my iris and pupil. My eyelashes want to flutter closed. I fight it.

  I can feel the past in this dwarf’s blood. I can feel his lineage.

  He was once a King. Not just a King of a home and a small territory, but a true King. The last dwarf King.

  “Mordecai Jones, Miss Cage. Pleasure to meet you.” Mordecai’s body is slumped forward, only a fraction, as if he is fighting gravity that wants to pull him to the ground. I let go of his blood, sending it back to him in such a rush that his face goes red before calming back to his natural tan.

  “Pleasure is all mine, Mr. Jones. Like I said, I’m not a cop. I’m a consultant with the Bonneau police department and I own a funeral home.” I turn my body so that I can see Terrance’s face. He’s looking at me, his left brow quirked up suspiciously. “We’d like to ask you some questions, if that’s okay. And I promise, if I believe you’re not involved, then we’ll leave you alone to do whatever it is you were doing before we pulled up and disturbed your peace.”

  “Peace.” Mordecai scoffs, some of his vim and vigor returning. Now, though, his voice is changed. There’s the heavy sound of an accent, something more suited for the highlands of Scotland than a backwater South Carolina town. “Ah can’t gie nae peace nowadays. Livin' in a toon 'at thinks I’ve dain somethin' wrang when Ah haven’t.”

  “Nothing wrong recently.” Terrance corrects, his voice soft, but still strong enough to carry over to the porch. His face holds curiosity though, listening to Mordecai’s change in speech.

  “Ah sauld a dizzen idiots whit they thooght was djinn ginger. It’s nae loch a murrdad someain, Chief Goodman.” He says the word ‘chief’ like it takes some effort to expel the title from his mouth. “Only reas
on ye caught me is 'at a body divit cam tae th' station sayin' i’d robbed heem. Which Ah hadn’t. As Ah tauld ye.”

  “You sold a druggie a vial of orange juice and told him it was one of the most powerful hallucinatory drugs on the planet, Mordecai. You did rob him. And when we came here to arrest you, we found the real thing on your property.”

  “But Ah didn’t seel it.” Mordecai’s voice is firm. “Ah hud it, but Ah didn’t feckin' seel it, Goodman.”

  Fighting the urge to raise my hand like I’m a kid in a school room, I clear my throat and speak. “What’s Djinn juice?”

  Terrance responds before Mordecai can. “Illegal substance that came on the market right after the Rising. It was quashed pretty quickly, but there’s still a few people who manufacture and sell it. Real crazy stuff. ‘Pink elephants in the room’ stuff.”

  Mordecai goes to speak again, but Terrance holds up a hand. “It’s illegal to have the stuff. Period, Mordecai. You did your time. You’re out on probation.”

  “An' Ah cannae make a livin' coz nobody wants tae hae an ex-convict mince their beloved pets. Ah hauld ye accoontable fur 'at.” The muscles in Mordecai’s arms flex. Terrance holds his ground. I only take a step back... because I can feel the fire again, in his eyes and running through his veins.

  I tune Terrance’s response out as Liam comes to life in my head again.

  What the humans don’t realize is that Djinn Juice is actually ‘Djinn’ juice. Or blood, rather. Liam is the teacher in my head.

  What do you mean?

  It’s illegal now, but for a long time in preternatural history, Djinns or genies were hunted down for their blood. Too much is a near-fatal poison. Just the right amount and your reality will shift. Your world will turn upside down and everything will be terrifying and intriguing. Once it’s out of your system, you’ll return to normal, but you’ll never be the same. It’s worse than your drugs like heroin. You don’t just get addicted. You begin to think the Djinn-induced psychosis is the real world and everything else is the illusion. It goes into your soul and exploits your deepest desires.

  Sounds like some pretty wild stuff.

  Just take me at my word when I say that, yes, it is.

  I’ve been lost to the conversation in my head for a moment. When I come back to the present, Mordecai and Terrance are having themselves a good old fashion western showdown. Without the guns, thank god. Although, Terrance looks like he’s seconds away from drawing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Wait a minute, boys. There’s no reason to whip ’em out and measure. We can all act like civilized adults here.” I place myself between the circling men, holding my hands out and palms up. Mordecai has called upon his illusion to make himself just shy of five feet. Terrance has his hands hovering above his gun, the holster unsnapped. My toe hits something on the ground that rustles, but I can’t look. No, I have to focus on the testosterone-bleeding duo of man-gry idiots pretending that this is the O.K. Corral. Just peachy.

  “Ah willnae be called a liar onie mair. Sellin' a bit ay ginger. he acts loch i've gain an' murrdad th' whole toon. Ah deserve mair respect. mair feckin' respect.” Mordecai’s blood nearly burns me when I reach out with my power. It’s like lava from a volcano. It makes sense, given dwarf origins. But, god, it burns. More than I expected.

  “You need to calm down, Mordecai. I’m the law. I’m doing my job.” Terrance’s fingers flex, so close to his gun that it wouldn’t take him more than a second or two to draw. I’ve seen him. He’s fast. He’s trying to teach me to be that fast. I don’t think I ever will be though. He was born to be a cop. I wasn’t.

  “Aam dain wi' bein' calm. Ye come tae mah hoose. Ye treat me loch feckin' scum ay th' earth. Nae mair.”

  Just as Mordecai lifts his hands to strike—and it would have been a killing blow had he landed the magically-charged muscle against Goodman’s body—I pull his blood to me. This time, I do not know who it hurts more, me or Mordecai.

  I scream, falling to my knees, but still holding his blood inside me. I pull it, cell by cell, out of him until his face goes ash white once more. He crumples to the ground, clutching at his chest, clawing at his throat.

  He feels what it is like to die.

  And I feel what it is like to kill.

  I cradle his molten hot blood inside of me. I feel the power it will grant me if I keep it. I love it.

  It’s intoxicating.

  It’s rum and whiskey and wine.

  A hand on my shoulder makes me jump, pulls me away from murderous thoughts. Terrance’s hand. “You okay, Tori?”

  I nod slowly.

  “Good, then stop whatever you’re doing, will ya? We sort of need him alive to speak.”

  With a gasp, I release the blood. I was going to kill him. I was going to kill him. And it would have been so easy.

  I can taste his blood still, the volcanic onyx of it. The metallic sweetness. The earthy undertone. I want it back. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me?

  Blood magic and death magic are a powerful combination. Liam’s voice comes softly into my head. Something about the way he says it makes the guilt more poignant. I almost killed a man.

  “You all right, Mordecai?” Terrance is bent down, helping the dwarf—now regular size again—to his feet.

  “Don’t touch me.” Mordecai pulls away, his human affected voice back in play. “I’m fine. Ask me your damn questions and go.”

  I look down at my feet then, remembering the rustle from moments ago—moments ago that now feel like another lifetime, a life where I would have never been tempted by the power, by the blood. At least, not in the manner that would lead to a man’s death.

  The contents of the manila folder is spread out at my feet.

  A photo of Maggie is on top. Well, not Maggie, but her body. The shell that used to house who she was.

  I bend down and push all the papers back into the folder, trying not to focus on the bones and remnants of the simple dress with the drop waist. The men are silent. Mordecai has moved to sit on the second rise of the porch stairs. Terrance is leaning against the banister.

  When the silence lengthens, I decide to end it.

  “Mordecai, someone is... kidnapping women and,” I find I can’t find the words. I wanted to end the silence, but I cannot speak. I don’t want to say what’s been happening. Even though I’ve faced it in reality. I walk forward, file in hand, and I simply hand it over. Mordecai’s fingers close around the khaki paper with some hesitation.

  When he flips it open, his eyelids part wider, his face falls in what can only be described as horror. He is not our killer. I know it instantly.

  Besides, I realize, I would have felt the murder in his blood. It’s a talent of mine.

  “He didn’t do it, Terrance.” My eyes find my friend’s face and there’s exhaustion in my voice. I wanted it to be this Mordecai, the creepy taxidermist on the edge of town. It would have been movie picture-perfect. Clean and simple. But nothing in life is easy like that.

  “Fuck. You thought I did this, Goodman? Selling fake drugs makes me a damn murderer now? Get off my land.” Mordecai hands the file back with shaking hands. “Get off my fucking land now.” There’s the slightest hint of the brogue in his voice now, but it’s so faint that a person would only hear it if they were trying to.

  “If any evidence points to you, I’ll—” Terrance is cut off by Mordecai standing and advancing down the stairs.

  “Get. Off. My. Land.” Mordecai is trying to call the power again, but it’s flickering, like dying candlelight.

  He needs to replenish. Liam sounds in my head. He’ll go to ground for a while. It’s been a long time, I think, since this dwarf King has had to use his powers.

  “Don’t leave town, Mordecai.”

  “I don’t ever leave, Chief Goodman. It’s part of my parole. Or did you forget that little detail?” Mordecai has slumped against the banister at the top of his porch’s stairs. He’s pale again, like I am once more pulling his b
lood to me. I’m not though. Liam is right. He has exhausted himself.

  “Just had to say it.” Terrance’s voice climbs over his shoulder as he walks away to open the cruiser’s driver’s side door. “Just had to say it.”

  I go to follow Terrance, but I turn around abruptly. “Your Highness, I apologize for meeting this way.” I bow; this time it is a larger, more obvious motion. “Thank you for your time. I hope we meet again, under better circumstances.”

  “It is I who should bow to you, Blood Queen. However, it is not my hope that we meet again.” He pushes himself away from the support of the railing and he moves further into the shadows of the porch to disappear into the shelter of his home.

  When we’re pulling away from his house, the rear wheels skidding in the messy drive, Terrance rubs the back of his neck. A signature move when he’s stressed. “You sure he didn’t do it, Tori?”

  “Positive.” I nod, my mouth in a hard line. “And that means the killer is still out there and we have no clue, no freaking clue who he is.” Or she, I mentally fill in. But it’s hard for me to think a woman could do this to other women.

  “Can you tell me how you know?”

  “It’s very... necromancy-ish.” I mumble. “I’ve no idea how to actually tell you aside from saying his blood didn’t feel like a killer’s. Not even a little bit. I don’t think Mordecai Jones has so much as killed a fly in his life. He might do drugs, but that’s about as nefarious as he gets.”

  “He’s not human, is he?”

  “No, he’s not.”

  We ride in silence the rest of the way. He doesn’t take me straight home, but instead to a little coffee shop in town. It’s not the best joe in town, but it’s passable and the scones are just this side of brilliant. Especially the blueberry ones.

  A familiar face greets me as we push through the glass doors. Mr. Barrington is picking apart a buttermilk biscuit, his tea cold enough that no steam billows from the top of the chipped, white mug.