Spirelli Paranormal Investigations Box Set Page 4

  He looked at the barrier. If he could talk to squirrels, he shouldn’t be so uncomfortable talking to someone he couldn’t see. He hesitated then slowly raised his hand and waved. “Ladies.” Yeah, awkward. “I’ve got a stash of water in the car if you need more.” Jack grabbed a protein bar from his pack. Lifting it up, he said, “Coming your way.”

  As for them not being alone . . . Marin seemed to have some common sense. He wouldn’t have hired her otherwise. And she hadn’t mentioned immediate danger. He pulled her phone out and drafted a quick reply. Who’s with you? Can they hear/see me?

  Jack lifted the phone up and pointed in the direction he planned to throw it. He waited a few seconds then chucked it. Hopefully ghosts didn’t have a way to interfere with electronics.

  It didn’t take long for Marin to reply, and this time the phone arrived with startling accuracy, thrown almost directly into his hands.

  Not certain – possibly a spirit. Dead spell caster? Trapped victim? Suspect spirit can see & hear what’s directly outside bubble. Giving me a bad feeling. Ideas on getting us out?

  Great—the dragon was worried. Time for reinforcements. He pocketed Marin’s phone. There was only one person Jack knew who had solid spell-caster knowledge and probably knew about ghosts: his English buddy Harrington at the Inter-Pack Policing Cooperative. According to Jack’s sources, the guy had a spirit living in his library.

  It wasn’t like they were tight, but Jack had done a little job for him and still had his number. And it had been Harrington’s idea to bring Spirelli Paranormal Investigations into the light, to make the business official. Hell, Jack had a website now that he could almost completely blame on Harrington.

  “Grabbing some more water from the car. Be back in thirty minutes, this spot.” Jack hesitated, then went ahead and added, “Be safe.”

  He dropped a waypoint on his GPS, verified the direction of the car, and booked it. He needed to get out of earshot—whatever the hell that was for a ghost—and call Harrington.

  He arrived at the Range Rover slightly out of breath. Maybe he’d been drinking a few too many beers lately. He retrieved his cell and dialed Harrington. Jack only had a landline for him, so he crossed his fingers and waited.

  “Harrington.” Crisp, clear British tones came across the line.

  “Jack Spirelli here. I need some information on dispelling wards and some background on ghosts.”

  Jack could hear the creak of old leather in the background. He could just see Harrington leaning back in an old-fashioned chair, twirling a moustache, contemplating what he could extort in exchange. Yeah, maybe his imagination was in overdrive after the whole silver dragon thing earlier.

  “You’ll owe me a favor.”

  And the negotiating had started. Jack sighed quietly. “Local only; that includes Texas and not the surrounding states. And no more than two days’ work.” He kept a steady watch as he spoke, scanning the surrounding woods, the small road, and the two parked cars.

  “Three, and you work for anyone, not just me.”

  Fuck. He squeezed his eyes shut. Then a thought occurred. “Spirelli Paranormal Investigations for three days, local work only, transferable. Deal.”

  Harrington made a sound that might have been a laugh. Apparently, his substitution of the business name hadn’t gotten by Harrington. He must not have an aversion to working with dragons, because he said, “Agreed. I assume this relates to the cryptic email you sent earlier. What do you want to know?”

  “Yeah. But it’s under control for now. There’s a ward around an area about the size of a suburban lot that looks like a shadow, even in direct light. It allows entry but prevents exit, and acts like a one-way mirror. I can’t see inside, but I have contact with people on the inside who can see out.”

  “You’re using those warded glasses I gave you for that last job?” When Jack confirmed that he was, Harrington continued, “First, the physical description sounds like death magic. You’re likely not seeing a shadow, but rather a complete absence of light. If the ward mimics a shadow, it might be fading, which means it’s quite old. That’s in your favor, because wards powered by death magic are strong.” Harrington paused. “Very strong.”

  “All right. How do I break the ward? I’ve got an earth witch and dragon on the inside. And outside I’ve got the warded spectacles, a magically powered light source, and a strengthening potion from an earth witch. Jack cringed at using up his entire store of magical objects. He’d been trading whenever possible, trying to gather a stash of goods that might even the playing field on his magical jobs. So far this paltry stash, plus a few items he’d left at the house, were all he’d come up with.

  “If you don’t have a spell caster who can deconstruct the ward, the easiest way to defuse one is to exhaust the power source,” Harrington said.

  “Are you saying trigger the trap until there’s no more juice?” Jack managed to not throw the phone—just barely.

  “Yes. But there’s no way to know if the next cricket who crosses the ward will expend the remaining energy or if the body mass of five hundred dragons would even make a dent. If it were a regular ward, set and abandoned, it likely wouldn’t function for long. But a ward powered by death magic has exponentially more magical reserves.”

  Jack tried to give Harrington’s words some thought. “So you’re telling me my people are screwed.”

  “Without a spell caster? Yes, that’s likely.” Harrington’s tone divulged no overt concern for the players in Jack’s little drama. “But a talented spell caster, someone like Lizzie Smith—”

  “Or you.” Jack cringed to think what kind of trade he’d have to negotiate to get Harrington to Louisiana.

  “True. I could likely deconstruct it with a little time.” Harrington paused, the absence of an offer temporarily stalling the conversation. “Your dragon—Marin?—she’s already tried to evade the ward?”

  “I’m assuming the ward-hopping thing didn’t work or she’d have done it. And even if she could, that would leave our earth witch still stuck in the trap, possibly with a ghost.”

  “Possibly?”

  Jack started stuffing water bottles into his pack. He was running low on time if he was going to return within thirty minutes, and he had another call to make. “Yeah. Marin’s not sure, but she thinks there’s a ghost in there with them. Is it possible a ghost could be trapped inside the ward?”

  “It depends on how the ward is structured. But if your dragon thinks there’s a ghost, then there’s a ghost. Marin’s young, but dragons generally have impeccable magic-detection ability.”

  Unless there was a death magic ward in play, apparently. Jack pulled his phone away to check the time. He needed to leave in the next five minutes.

  “No other thoughts on breaking this ward down?”

  “Get a spell caster.” Again, Harrington refrained from offering his own services.

  Jack scowled. He definitely planned to pawn off his favor-in-trade on Marin. He swung his pack on his back. “What can you tell me about ghosts?”

  “They have limited interaction with the physical world. There exists an assumption that ghosts are tied to their physical remains, or the geographic location where the physical body died if there are no remains, which limits their movement through space. I’m unaware of a reliable method of dispersing a ghost’s energy.” Harrington paused. “Theoretically, if a method was created to disperse the energy of a ghost, there would be ethical questions. Is dispersal of ghost energy akin to the death of physical body? Or perhaps not, since the physical body has already died? Perhaps it’s a death of the soul?”

  Who was he talking to? Harrington, waxing philosophical, was simply bizarre.

  Jack interrupted him before he went too far afield. “So, what about magic? Can a ghost utilize magic? There’s a decent chance that the ghost inside the ward is the spell caster who laid the trap.”

  “Or the victim the spell caster used to power the ward. A more likely scenario for the creation
of a ghost.”

  Jack started heading back to the meeting point, but he kept to a leisurely pace. “Sure. It could also be a hiker who was trapped and died. Regardless, do we need to be worried about a magic-wielding ghost?”

  “No guarantees, but I’d say no. Manipulation of items in the physical world? Yes. Using the ghost’s own magic? I don’t think so.” Background noise filtered through the phone, then Harrington added, “Call a spell caster. Get the ward defused.” And he hung up.

  Jack would love to flip the guy the bird. Wasn’t this exactly what IPPC was for? Sure, they were primarily a European and British organization, but IPPC had extended some tentacles into the States. And they were the only policing organization that existed with jurisdiction over the magic-using community. Shit, who even knew about the magic-using community. But no. Evidently Jack should just go ahead and take care of this mess, since he happened to be here. Fucking annoying guy.

  Jack shrugged off his annoyance and called Chris.

  Chris picked up, but this time she was cheery, and no kid noises percolated in the background. “What’s up, Jack?”

  “Hey. Just need a little info on the area I’m in. I need you to look into any known deaths around a specific set of coordinates. Murder, suicide, accident—doesn’t matter. I’ll text coordinates when I hang up. Oh, missing persons also. No specific time frame.” Jack paused to verify his route. He grimaced slightly, then said, “And I need it as soon as possible. I’m in a bit of a bind.”

  “I have time now. Hubby has the kids out at the playground for the afternoon. You’re intruding on my ‘me’ time, but I forgive you.”

  “Thanks. Gotta run.” Jack hung up and texted the coordinates.

  Jack picked up the pace and made it back to the meeting point in just under thirty minutes. He pulled out Marin’s phone and typed a quick update.

  My source says ghosts can move things but not do magic. Working on the ward issue. Any new info re: ghost or ward?

  “Hey, guys. I’m back with more water and protein bars. You there?” And still, Jack felt like a complete ass, talking to the air.

  A small branch whizzed by Jack. “Guessing that’s a yes. Incoming,” he called before he chucked Marin’s phone and then three water bottles over the shadow. As he reached for the fourth bottle, he noticed a group of spikey white flowers directly in front of the shadow ward. Quickly, he scanned the surrounding area for markers he’d made note of earlier. He’d be damned if the ward wasn’t shrinking. This particularly large bunch of the distinctive flowers hadn’t been visible before, so that meant at least six or eight inches in a half-hour.

  Jack lobbed the fourth bottle past the ward and said, “Send your phone back so I know you guys are okay.”

  Nothing.

  He called again. “Send the phone back, Marin.”

  He waited impatiently for at least three minutes, and then a bright flash caught his eye.

  “Shit.” Keeping a close eye on the ward, he circled around to the area where he’d spotted with his peripheral vision what must have been dragon flames. The top few branches of a tree smoked, but the branches hadn’t sustained a flame. He ran the rest of the distance.

  When he found the tree, he searched the area systematically for any signs of spreading fire. All it took was a stray ember or two and the right type of fuel, and he’d have a fire on his hands. One that could easily bypass the ward. Marin and Charlotte would be trapped inside with an approaching fire they couldn’t escape.

  As Jack completed a last sweep of the area, he heard an alarm sound. Scanning the area, he spotted Marin’s bright yellow phone. She must have missed him this time. But at least she’d had a backup plan. He picked it up and read the message.

  Def’ly have a ghost. Peeved, thinks we’re target practice. Phone throwing makes it angry. Marin-dragon is protecting me. We’re moving around a lot. Out soon? Thx! Charlotte.

  Jack could imagine them running around in circles, trying to stay away from some demon-like spirit as it threw miscellaneous pieces of forest debris at them. If Marin hadn’t felt the need to turn dragon to protect Charlotte, it might almost be entertaining. But he had no real idea what kind of danger they were in, so—not entertaining.

  Jack’s phone rang. The sound was unexpected and jarring in the silence of the woods. He pulled it out of his pocket. “Hey, Chris. That was fast.”

  “It’s been like twenty minutes. I thought you were in a rush?” Chris huffed out a put-upon sigh. “Listen. There’s not much. A few missing persons, all eventually found. Not a lot of serious crime out in Miersburg over the last half-century, and no notable deaths. But—and this is good—there’s a local legend about a witch living in the woods. It dates back to the turn of the century. I found it in a search of the parish history. What do you think?”

  “I think spell caster or witch; it’s the same difference to the non-magical townspeople of turn of the century Miersburg.” Jack saw another flash or orangey-yellow flame. This time angled much higher and clearing any trees. What the hell was going on in there? “So—what’s the story? My timeline’s getting a little tight over here.”

  “It looks like an affluent local woman married a philandering ne’er-do-well. They moved into the family home; once the money was gone, he left. She lived in her family’s cottage waiting for him to return, even after everyone saw he wasn’t coming back and her family had died. I’m paraphrasing, but that’s the gist. I sent you the article. The locals thought she was odd. Eventually the townspeople started calling her a witch.”

  “Huh. Where’s the magic? Why do they call her a witch?” Jack scanned the treetops, trying to catch any other flashes of flame in the sky. If Marin set the woods on fire while he was getting a history lesson from Chris . . .

  “She was alone and lived outside the town proper. And her story was a huge scandal, enough to make it into a little old lady’s recollections of the town. That was enough back then to get you labeled a witch. I don’t have a specific location for her house, but—in the woods, north of town, isolated. Could be your gal.”

  “Got it. Keep looking. See if you can find her name. And the name of her husband and whatever happened to him.”

  “Seriously?” Chris’s voice had turned peeved. “That kind of stuff isn’t easy to find on short notice. Whatever. I’ll see what I can do.” And she ended the call.

  Jack had to remember to throw in a word of thanks every once in a while. Chris got prickly when she felt underappreciated. Right. Next time.

  No more flames had popped up while Chris had briefed him. Avoiding a massive fire seemed like a good plan, regardless of whatever else he did. So, bonus.

  Jack tried yelling a few times to attract Marin’s or Charlotte’s attention, but he got no response. He’d lost contact with both of them. Unfortunately, neither of them knew that the ward was shrinking—probably being drained by containment of two large, mobile bodies. What would happen if the ward collapsed in on them? Or what if they simply stayed near the edge and the ward moved past them, leaving them on the outside of the trap, like the flowers? That could be the solution—an escape for them both. Or maybe not.

  Regardless, there were now a few options available and no way to convey them reliably to the women. Jack pulled out his phone and drafted two very short emails: one to Charlotte’s husband and one to Harrington. Then he stepped across the barrier.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A silver dragon crouched, hissing steam at a—Jack did a double take—floating iron skillet. Marin swatted massive claws at the skillet, and knocked it to the ground. After the odd weapon fell with a solid thud, Jack saw that small wounds sprinkled her body. Each wound oozed blood. And that was when he realized: Marin’s scales had flexed and turned with her body as she’d taken off in flight. They hadn’t been the rigid, overlapping scales he remembered from the only other encounter he’d had with a dragon.

  Jack mentally thumped himself and then jogged toward Marin, keeping half his attention on the prone
frying pan. As he approached, something slammed into his side. He stumbled, choking, coughing. He shoved his knuckles into the grass, pushed hard, and lurched upright. And fell again. His shoulders burned. He rolled to the side and a flying branch pounded the grass next to his head.

  Get behind me.

  Marin’s voice brushed through his mind as he scrambled to dodge another blow.

  Now.

  Before he could stand, Jack was enveloped in a dragon wing. The silvery hide of her wing shielded him, giving him just enough time to stand.

  “I’m good,” he yelled.

  As Marin folded her wings close to her body, Jack ran behind her.

  “Charlotte huddled behind Marin, one hand resting on Marin’s silver scales. “The ghost should run out of juice soon. Ghosts can’t—”

  A dragon grunt interrupted her.

  Jack scanned the area for an improvised weapon. Then realized— “Shit. We can’t hurt it.”

  “No.” Charlotte’s brow furrowed and she gave Jack a dark look. “If the dragon—Marin—weren’t still immature, her scales wouldn’t be so soft.”

  Hey. I can hear you guys.

  “I didn’t send her here to be a pincushion. And she sure as hell wasn’t supposed to end up trapped.” Jack was interrupted as Marin shifted, maneuvering quickly to the right. Following her as she moved, Jack asked, “Why exactly are we using a soft-scaled dragon as a shield?”

  He’d just spotted a tumbledown cabin not far away.

  Better than having your tender human skin pummeled. And I heal faster. But this shit is getting old. How much longer can it hold out?

  Charlotte said, “Not much longer. I hope.” Turning to Jack, she said, “We were heading to the cabin when you showed up.”

  A hiss of steam spewed from Marin’s snout.

  Since scales rippled under his hand at the same time, Jack figured those hisses were pain responses. So the few flashes of fire he’d spotted might have been accidents. He edged closer to Marin’s tail until he had a clear view over her back. But all he saw were the objects the ghost was using as projectiles. No ghost, cloud, figure—nothing. Stones flew at high speed and pinged off Marin’s body. And branches darted through the air like arrows. After watching for a moment, Jack realized the missiles came one at a time.