Body of Ash Read online

  No. It has nothing to do with ‘meant to be’. Some women just don’t want to get married dammit. And there’s nothing freaking wrong with that.

  I shut my inner voice up when she reminds me of Kyle’s promise ring, and the little flutter in my stomach its discovery had caused. Sure, you have no desire to get hitched, idiot.

  “Is the Chief expecting you today?” She asks snidely, moving papers around in a very obvious attempt to show her ring off to the greatest effect. At one point, she stops moving her hand, only to twitch the ring on her finger so it catches light. I’ve seen it. Been there. Done that.

  “Your ring’s looking especially... erhm... shiny today.”

  “Thanks,” she perks up immediately, standing and putting her hands on her hips now. “Scotty had it cleaned for me. He’s such a doll.”

  “It needed cleaning after a few weeks? What have you been doing?” I smirk at my joke, thinking I’m just the funniest damn person in the world.

  Instantly, I realize trying to use humor with a humorless toad is a mistake.

  “Very funny. Can’t you just have one nice conversation with a normal person?” She says ‘normal’ like I’m the exact opposite. Little does she know, she’s spot the hell on.

  “Sorry, I forget you have the sense of humor of a big ass rock, Andrea. That is to say. The absence of humor.” I say it with a smile on my face.

  Her mouth gapes open, like she’s surprised I’ve been so out-right rude. Obviously, she doesn’t know me very well—aside from the obvious. And, I mean, everyone knows I’m not normal, even if they can’t put a finger on what makes me abnormal.

  “If the Chief’s expecting you, he’s out back running some laps. Maybe you can join him. Looks like someone’s been attacking the Chinese food again.” She glances down at my midsection which, admittedly, doesn’t look the best in the baby blue tank I’m wearing under my worn black leather jacket. I’d pulled the coat out from the back of my closet recently. It was always with me, in a way. It used to be Adam’s.

  “Well, Kyle’s such an absolute beast in the sack. It helps to have a little padding so I come out the other side only a little scathed.” My cheeks are still hot from blushing at her remark on my weight, but now I see her face scrunch up at the reminder that I’m dating a guy who’s taller, sexier, and stronger than her pharmaceuticals salesman fiancé Scotty—who looks like someone spliced Dreyfus and Martin Short genes.

  Don’t get me wrong, Richard Dreyfus is about as sexy as they come. And I had a hell of a crush on Martin Short when I was a kid. I mean, they’re dead now—before the third world war—but a girl can dream through movie re-runs. Anyways, the point is, put the two together? Not so attractive.

  “Whatever,” she mutters, turning away from me and bending over. In doing so, she cracks her elbow against her desk. She yelps in pain, and I can’t help myself.

  “Gosh, I guess you do have a funny bone in your body after all.” With that, I turn tail and walk swiftly out of the station before she can make intelligible words instead of just sputtering half-formed expletives.

  I FIND TERRANCE IN jogging shorts and a police academy shirt with the sleeves ripped off. He’s running like his life depends on it, pouring sweat that’s made the grey top look nearly black. He’s got his lips curled back grimacing, tired from the effort of pushing his body.

  In the past few months, he’s thrown himself into exercise. And yoga, which I still find hilarious. But he needed something—to relieve himself of some of the tension of the job. And, hell, a cop’s wife can only do that job so often. A girl’s got to recharge.

  “Terrance!” I yell out, breaking into a slow jog to catch up with him. He’s just rounded the curve for another lap. He’s not far, but I can see the white wires hanging from his ears. Music, likely loud and drowning out the world.

  I push myself harder to catch up, and by the time I hit him on the shoulder to get his attention, I have to stop cold turkey and bend over to nurse my side and catch my breath. “Holy hell, Terrance. I’d no idea you could move that fast. I mean, shit. You look like a body builder. You’re not supposed to run like that too.”

  He yanks the buds from his ears and lets them fall lazily against his damp shirt. “I ran track in high school. I’ve always been quick.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.” I give in and fall to sit on the rubberized padding of the track. “I mean, I run, but not like that. Christ.” I lay back dramatically on the track and breathe quickly.

  “Slow down the breathing, Tori.” He plops down beside me, stretching his long legs out and setting his hands on the ground behind him to prop himself up. “So,” he pulls a water bottle from a holster on his belt I hadn’t noticed, “you didn’t want to tell me on the phone. I’m guessing... that’s not good.” He takes a swallow of water and then splashes some on his head. Droplets rogue away from the stream and hit my face. I wipe them away, not wanting to speak. “Tori?” Terrance questions, capping his bottle.

  “Yeah, all right.” I sit up, going criss-cross apple sauce. “This isn’t what I wanted to tell you, but I think you were right. I don’t think it was an accident.”

  He takes a deep breath and then hangs his head for a moment before looking back at me with his piercing navy blue eyes. They are especially bright right now, like an ocean before a storm. The kind of northeaster that drowns ships and crews.

  “Tell me everything,” he closes his eyes as he says it.

  So I do. I tell him everything, even how I’d reached into the ether and tried to call the spirit originally, thinking it had moved on. I hold nothing back. There’s no reason to anymore. If Terrance had wanted to turn me in, he would have a long time ago. If I burn, he won’t be the reason.

  He only murmurs one word while I’m speaking. ‘Nails’. He sounds confused, curious. I’d nodded at him, though I don’t think he saw me, and continued talking.

  When I’m done speaking, Terrance gets up. “Do you think you can get any more information?”

  I shake my head slowly. “I think we were lucky to get what we did. The children are gone. They were young, not even old enough really to be tethered to the world and stay. Not like Lily was. She’d been old enough to understand, to process her death and realize she was leaving loved ones behind. Babies and toddlers... they just go. Maybe they’re pulled away. Taken to safety. I don’t know...” I use Lily as an example, because I’d told Terrance about that a while ago now. The real reason I’d been able to save the girls from Blackthorn and Sausage Fingers. I swallow. “I couldn’t get a read at all on the mother. I didn’t even feel the father’s spirit until he made his presence known. And after he did, he was gone again. Not... like he’d found peace, but like he was just gone. Spirits can hide, even from me.”

  Terrance looks resigned. “Okay. Come with me then.”

  “Where?” I pull myself up, yanking my tank top down as it threatens to creep up my moderate muffin top.

  “I want to show you something.” That’s all he says as he makes his way back towards the station. Any tension he’d dispersed whilst running is back squarely on his broad shoulders. I’m glad Bonneau is under his care, the watchful eye of someone who really gives a damn.

  Andrea glares at me as we pass her desk. I give her a smile, like nothing at all happened the last time I talked to her.

  Terrance leads me to a room I’ve not been in before. It’s large, with the sort of overhead lighting that gives everything a sort of blue, ethereal cast. An entire wall is covered in a magnetized erase board. On it, are dozens of papers as well as a map sporting bright red dots. Steve pops in behind me and closes the door.

  “Hey, Tori.” Steve quirks a smile. His face is always so kind looking, and boyish. I know Terrance has involved him because I like him, and he’s probably also gotten the hint that I’m not overly fond of dealing with new people. If I do something strange, Steve tends to just laugh it off. He accepts the weird in me without asking questions. New people might not be like
that.

  “Hey,” I murmur, only glancing at him for a moment before further studying the room and its contents. “What is all this?” I question, walking towards the map. The first thing I notice is that one of the red dots is on West Oak, near the middle of the map. Where the Thai restaurant once was. “Fires. They’re all fires?” I turn around, knowing shock is plain on my face. “I mean, this is only what?” I turn back to the map. “Us and the three adjacent counties. All of these fires have happened here? In how much time? I mean... years right? A decade?”

  “Months, Tori.” Steve says, his face now somber.

  “Christ. And you’re sure they’re not—”

  Terrance interrupts, knowing what I’m going to ask. “Yes, we’re sure they’re not accidental. There were no casualties at the other fires. They were all signed-off as accidental in the computer system, but we’ve tracked down the paper copies from all the fire stations. Someone altered the records. Paper says they found evidence of accelerant, computer says they didn’t. And county sees the computer report and if they don’t order further discovery, then the case gets closed.”

  “So, you think someone’s setting fires and covering their tracks by hacking into the databases of not one, but multiple counties to change evidence?” I put my finger on one of the red dots. I trace my finger from it to another dot, and then another. There’s something my brain is seeing, but not consciously. Something I’m recognizing. I know nothing about fires, I don’t even remember seeing any of these fires on the news—though I watch precious little TV, just a few favorite shows when they’re in season.

  “Yes, that’s what we think,” Steve responds this time, picking up a folder on a makeshift table that’s pushed against a wall. “Because people died this time, the paperwork was different. I mean, we had bodies to sort and insurance is different with a building if it’s not just industrial.”

  “We should have had a proper autopsy on the bodies,” Terrance says quietly, as if to himself.

  “Terrance, they suffocated. An autopsy wasn’t going to tell us anything else. I didn’t need to see their blackened lungs to know that.” I’m still staring at the map, my hand casually walking over the smooth, almost silky surface.

  I finally let my hand fall to my side and I step back from the map, almost all the way across the room until I can take in the whole picture. Each dot. “Terrance, is there any way I can get a cup of coffee?” I don’t look at either of the men in the room when I say it.

  “Sure, Tori.” Terrance has no hesitation in his voice. I wonder if he’s watching me, his keen mind wondering what I’ve seen. “Steve, can you go get us all coffee? If it’s not fresh, make it fresh, will you? I can’t have another cup of that old, weak shit that Andrea makes.”

  “Sure, Chief,” Steve says, not an ounce of suspicion in his voice. He thinks he’s just leaving to get coffee, not being banished from the room. Which was my intent.

  When the door clicks closed and Steve is gone, I look at Terrance. “Have you looked at this map closely? I mean, really stood back and focused on it?”

  “Of course I have,” he says, incredulously. “It’s all I’ve been doing—staring at that damn map.”

  I nod, slowly. “Come stand where I am. You got that red pen you made the marks with? Or blue... whatever color.”

  He hands me a blue thin-tipped permanent marker. I walk over to the map and being drawing slow, methodical lines. I don’t connect every dot. This isn’t a game in a magazine.

  When I step back, I’ve made a near-perfect pentagram. The Thai restaurant where the family had died is at the very center of the shape.

  Terrance hissed, staring at the map. “I didn’t see it. I didn’t fucking see it.”

  “You wouldn’t. Not to be an asshole, but why would you be looking for something like that?”

  “A damn devil’s mark,” Terrance walks closer, his brow furrowed. “It’s some sort of devil worship shit, isn’t it?”

  I almost smile. Everyone thinks a pentagram is some sort of hell mark. It’s not.

  “No. I don’t think so.” I give him the blue pen and I go to sit in one of the chairs near the table against the wall. It looks like it would be comfy and plush, but it’s not. It’s hard as a rock. “The pentagram isn’t bad. Five points. Five elements. Earth, fire, water, air, and spirit. At the very center, is the center of all things. Of life. The core of... well, everything. It’s not inherently bad, but it can be used for bad.”

  “It’s not bad... but it can be used for bad,” Terrance repeats my words, running a hand through his dark, curly hair that’s longer than his normal cut. “Explain.” He reaches automatically for his notebook, like he always does. But, also like always, he stops himself. He can’t write down what I’m about to tell him—not and keep his job.

  “Traditionally, the orientation of spirit is up, holding order over the other elements. It’s the... god element, if you will. It keeps things neutral good. Burning these locations,” I point to the map, “was marking a point on the pentagram, until it was ultimately joined and activated by the middle point. The center of all things coming together. The Thai restaurant.”

  “Where the family died,” Terrance comes and sits down too, his lovely cocoa skin looking ashen all of the sudden.

  “Where the family died.” It’s my turn to repeat his words. “And that death was necessary to activate the power of the symbol for... for bad things. If you wanted to harness a pentagram for good, you’d want to represent life. Birth. It’s a giant rune over the counties now. I don’t know what it means yet, but the fact that it’s centered in Bonneau isn’t good.”

  “And why’s that? Wouldn’t it be just as bad centered over Georgetown County?” He leaned back in the chair, his head nearly touching the wall behind him.

  “I’m not sure how to make this make sense, but Bonneau is like... a mecca of supernatural. At least, it is spirit wise. Hellhole Bay, for example, has as many tortured wraiths and ghosts and souls in it as anywhere on earth I’d bet. This place was changed more than other places after the War. After the bloodshed and the Rising. It just... is that way. I think the ley lines must be insane here, running every which way to Sunday.”

  “Ley lines?” He asks, and then stops himself, holding up a hand. “No, don’t tell me right now. I’m on overload. You know,” Terrance sighed, “I miss the good old days. Solving regular old cases, the regular old way. Hell, we had a serial killer who was a normal, fucked-up human. That was okay. I could handle that. But pentagrams and supernatural meccas?” He shakes his head, opens his mouth to speak again, but the knob turns and Steve reenters, precariously carrying three piping-hot cups of coffee.

  He’s smiling, until he glances over and sees the map and how it’s changed. “Shit. Wow.” He fast-walks to us, nearly sloshing coffee everywhere, sets down the coffee awkwardly and then rushes over to the map. “How the hell did we not see this? Chief... is it occult stuff? Devil worshipping?”

  Terrance looks at me and I give the smallest shake of my head possible. He doesn’t need it to know that he can’t divulge the truth to the sweet-natured Steve. “Yeah, looks like that’s a possibility. We’ve got some work to do.” He says the last while looking at me. And what he really means is—

  I’ve got work to do. Supernatural necromancy-ish work.

  Chapter Four

  PENTAGRAMS AND LEY-lines have to wait an evening though, I realize as I leave the station (Andrea, thankfully, wasn’t at her desk this time).

  Tonight is true, honest-to-god, cop-organized self-defense training. And I was about as prepared as a girl could possibly not be.

  “PUT YOUR ARMS UP, TORI!” The female cop from two counties over yells at me, shoving her too-large-looking boot between my feet to force me to spread my legs further apart for better balance. “And ground yourself. You want to fall over the first time someone lands a punch?”

  As she works around me, her long black hair pulled through the issue ball cap she’s wearing,
I want to reach out and grab the swinging strands that are all bunched together in a nice little rope, just waiting for a firm tug. Then we’d see who fell over and lost their balance.

  Truth be told though, I hated this.

  I hated the fight. I hated throwing punches. I hated the violence. But it seemed my life was a pack of violence now. And ghosts. And lies. How was it that I wanted to hit everything, even the very air around me, but I still was heartsick over it? Maybe self-defense was especially hard for me, because I didn’t mind fighting for others, but this was about protecting myself. I didn’t care about myself as much as I cared about everyone else.

  Maybe that was a dumb way to be. People say self-love comes before you can really love anyone else. Screw that.

  I throw myself back into the battleground, rocking back on my heels.

  Sweat is pouring down my forehead, soaking into the collar of my black workout shirt that was at least two sizes too small. That was a lesson in ‘don’t order clothing off the internet from a shop whose sizing was so confusing you couldn’t make heads nor tails of it’. It kept riding up too, every time I lunged forward for a punch or volleyed back to avoid a blow. You know what a slightly-chubby-around-the-middle girl hates more than anything in the world? Well, aside from people asking if they really need that second cupcake? They hate their shirts riding up and showing off their biggest self-confidence issue.

  So here I was, getting yelled at by Captain Wonderbra with her model figure and arms toned just enough to press against her uniform, feeling like I was Pizza the Hut in a beauty freaking contest with a princess in super-revealing garb.

  I don’t move in time as my sparring partner rocks forward, her fist extended towards my right shoulder. I grunt as she makes impact and I shuffle back a few steps, almost losing my balance—which right pisses me off, considering my earlier thoughts over yanking someone’s ponytail.