knew Denise …
“Lord Marshal of New Orleans, apparently,” Dmitri replied.
I didn’t need to see the expression on his face to know he was giving me a hard time. I counted to ten, slowly. Then, “How do the three of you know each other?”
“I met him a few times in the old days, back when Denise and he were coven mates.”
“In English, please.”
He laughed. “Sorry, sometimes I forget that you’re still wet behind the ears when it comes to this stuff.”
I bristled for a second, but then relaxed. He was right; I was wet behind the ears. Hell, if I’d had a lick of sense or some good information, I never would have listened to the Preacher in the first place, never would have attempted that ritual without knowing more about it or what it was designed to do.
Of course, if I had, I probably never would have gone through with it and would still be wondering what had happened to my little girl, so maybe there’s something to be said for jumping in with both feet, regardless of whether your eyes were open or closed.
Dmitri went on. “Mages can operate alone, but most of them like to be part of a Circle, or a gathering of like-minded mages who pledge themselves to support and assist each other. Circles are sometimes called covens, hence the term coven mates .”
“So they worked together for a while?”
Dmitri shifted in his chair. “It’s a little more complex than that. Joining a Circle is a bit like getting married. There’s a ceremony, the ritual that ties you all together, and during that ceremony there are promises made, promises to support and protect and defend the other members of the Circle. But unlike marriage vows, which don’t have much power beyond the words that are spoken, the promises made in the act of binding a Circle together are backed by an intermingling of arcane power that cannot easily be broken.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “So Denise and Gallagher are still tied together in some fashion?”
That’s where he surprised me. “No. Denise left the coven several years ago and severed all ties with them in the process.”
“What happened?”
“You’ll have to ask her. It’s not my story to tell.”
I badgered him about it for a few minutes, but he wouldn’t budge, and he eventually turned on the TV to show the conversation was over. I wasn’t sure why it bothered me that they’d known each other before; I just knew that it did.
Something to think on later, I guess.
With my curiosity at least partially satisfied, I leaned back on the couch and tried to relax.
Unfortunately, the dead had other ideas.
Now that I wasn’t concentrating on puzzling out the connection between Denise and Simon Gallagher, I felt their presence. They were slipping into the room, not through the door, but through the wall behind me, the one that adjoined the clinic into which Clearwater and Gallagher had disappeared a few moments before. They appeared as vague wisps of light and motion that I saw more out of the corner of my eye than anything else. Hospitals attract ghosts like honey attracts ants, and I guess a clinic full of terminally ill patients would do the same, so I wasn’t all that surprised to see them.
Their attitude, however, was not what I was expecting.
Ghosts don’t normally pay too much attention to the living, at least not as individuals. It’s the emotion we give off that calls to them and not anything related to who we are or what we do. Nine times out of ten they couldn’t care less whether you’re the butcher, the baker, or the candlestick maker, as long as you’re breathing and giving them something to long for by the simple fact that you’re on this side of the Curtain and they’re on the other.
Normally.
Today was apparently one of those days that was designed to skew the bell curve way out of whack for the rest of us.
These ghosts were angry. Pissed, really. They seeped in from the clinic next door, and the temperature in the room dropped a
“Lord Marshal of New Orleans, apparently,” Dmitri replied.
I didn’t need to see the expression on his face to know he was giving me a hard time. I counted to ten, slowly. Then, “How do the three of you know each other?”
“I met him a few times in the old days, back when Denise and he were coven mates.”
“In English, please.”
He laughed. “Sorry, sometimes I forget that you’re still wet behind the ears when it comes to this stuff.”
I bristled for a second, but then relaxed. He was right; I was wet behind the ears. Hell, if I’d had a lick of sense or some good information, I never would have listened to the Preacher in the first place, never would have attempted that ritual without knowing more about it or what it was designed to do.
Of course, if I had, I probably never would have gone through with it and would still be wondering what had happened to my little girl, so maybe there’s something to be said for jumping in with both feet, regardless of whether your eyes were open or closed.
Dmitri went on. “Mages can operate alone, but most of them like to be part of a Circle, or a gathering of like-minded mages who pledge themselves to support and assist each other. Circles are sometimes called covens, hence the term coven mates .”
“So they worked together for a while?”
Dmitri shifted in his chair. “It’s a little more complex than that. Joining a Circle is a bit like getting married. There’s a ceremony, the ritual that ties you all together, and during that ceremony there are promises made, promises to support and protect and defend the other members of the Circle. But unlike marriage vows, which don’t have much power beyond the words that are spoken, the promises made in the act of binding a Circle together are backed by an intermingling of arcane power that cannot easily be broken.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “So Denise and Gallagher are still tied together in some fashion?”
That’s where he surprised me. “No. Denise left the coven several years ago and severed all ties with them in the process.”
“What happened?”
“You’ll have to ask her. It’s not my story to tell.”
I badgered him about it for a few minutes, but he wouldn’t budge, and he eventually turned on the TV to show the conversation was over. I wasn’t sure why it bothered me that they’d known each other before; I just knew that it did.
Something to think on later, I guess.
With my curiosity at least partially satisfied, I leaned back on the couch and tried to relax.
Unfortunately, the dead had other ideas.
Now that I wasn’t concentrating on puzzling out the connection between Denise and Simon Gallagher, I felt their presence. They were slipping into the room, not through the door, but through the wall behind me, the one that adjoined the clinic into which Clearwater and Gallagher had disappeared a few moments before. They appeared as vague wisps of light and motion that I saw more out of the corner of my eye than anything else. Hospitals attract ghosts like honey attracts ants, and I guess a clinic full of terminally ill patients would do the same, so I wasn’t all that surprised to see them.
Their attitude, however, was not what I was expecting.
Ghosts don’t normally pay too much attention to the living, at least not as individuals. It’s the emotion we give off that calls to them and not anything related to who we are or what we do. Nine times out of ten they couldn’t care less whether you’re the butcher, the baker, or the candlestick maker, as long as you’re breathing and giving them something to long for by the simple fact that you’re on this side of the Curtain and they’re on the other.
Normally.
Today was apparently one of those days that was designed to skew the bell curve way out of whack for the rest of us.
These ghosts were angry. Pissed, really. They seeped in from the clinic next door, and the temperature in the room dropped a
Similar Books
