Bone Lantern Witch Read online

  She smiled. “That doesn’t really affect my abilities, one way or the other, Mr. Grant. And if you’d rather I didn’t help you find your daughter, I can leave.” If they were going to be blunt…

  “I’m uncomfortable invading my daughter’s privacy by letting a stranger into her room,” Grant said.

  She had to work hard not to react to that. He had offered his daughter up as a sacrifice to a demon, but he was uncomfortable invading her privacy? Right.

  “I can attempt to pick up something from items you have down here. A coat maybe? Something she’s worn recently. Perhaps Carmen can bring something down from her room that she’s in regular contact with?”

  In all honesty, Angie didn’t want to invade the girl’s privacy either. She wanted to find her and ensure she was safe from any and all demon-dealing people in her life. But Angie knew exactly how much she could pick up with her skills, and she was reluctant to “see” that much about someone without their permission.

  It was one of the reasons she’d spent so many years training this particular skill. She still got readings occasionally just by brushing up against someone, but only if that someone had some sort of tie back to her or someone she cared about. With absolute strangers, it took effort to read them now. An effort she could dampen if needs be.

  “I’ll have Carmen show you to my daughter’s room,” Grant said. “The sooner she can be found the better.”

  Angie kept her expression neutral. The change in his attitude could give her whiplash if she wasn’t careful.

  His lips lifted in a slight smile. “You aren’t intimidated by me,” he murmured. “Are you, Ms. Jordan?”

  “Did you intend to intimidate me?” she asked in return. She knew he had. She knew he was playing games. But she made her living dealing with other people’s mental games—mostly games they played with themselves, but the skills transferred.

  “You know why I had to bring in demon hunters.”

  Again a statement. She didn’t respond at all this time. The idea that he thought he’d “brought in” the demon hunters was laughable, though. No one brought demon hunters to help. Demon hunters showed up where there were demons about to break loose. The human summoning those demons was usually just a side issue for the hunters.

  “You don’t think I care for my daughter, so why would I worry about her privacy,” Grant continued.

  She still didn’t comment. He was right. There was no need to say more.

  “I do care for her,” he said. “No matter what you or Sebastian or the other woman think. I do love her.”

  Angie assumed the other woman was a reference to Aidan. Aidan would be amused by being referred to that way instead of insulted, so Angie took insult on her behalf. She continued to hold her silence, though. At the moment, Grant’s daughter Mara was all that mattered. Grant’s excuses and justifications be damned.

  “You don’t believe me?” he asked.

  This time it was a question. “My belief or disbelief doesn’t have anything to do with me doing my job,” she said. “Any more than your belief in my skills does.”

  “But I want you to believe me,” Grant said.

  “I know you do. That still doesn’t matter to me.”

  His mouth ticked at one side. She couldn’t tell if it was the beginnings of a snarl or a smile. He controlled the gesture too quickly to reveal more. But she’d hit a nerve, one way or another.

  Sebastian remained silent during the exchange. At Grant’s faint facial tic, though, Seb took a single step closer to her. She wondered if that was a protective move or if he thought he might have to intervene between them.

  Could go either way, she thought, contemplating Grant’s expression.

  Grant turned his attention to Sebastian. “All that matters is getting my daughter back. Do what you have to do. I won’t interfere.”

  Angie bit her tongue on her response to that last sentence. The demon hunters wouldn’t let him interfere in their efforts to prevent a demon escape. Sebastian would stop it, and there wasn’t a damned thing Grant could do about it, no matter what deal he’d made with his particular demon.

  Demon deals were always tricky things. Demons were tricky things. Which was why she’d rather stick to her little psychic niche and leave the demon work to the hunters.

  Sebastian ignored Grant’s insinuation that he had much say in this matter, and said, “We’ll get on with it then.” He motioned Angie toward the door.

  What he didn’t do was thank Grant for his time, or ask permission to leave, or do any of the polite please-and-thank-you dance that Grant obviously expected. Because the man’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. Angie could feel the animosity pumping from him.

  She should have attempted to shake his hand in parting, to get a reading on him. That was one of the things Sebastian had brought her here to do. But every part of her rebelled at the thought of touching Grant. She’d apologize to Sebastian later. She just couldn’t touch Grant. Something about him… Those long fingers.

  No, even the idea of getting that close to him made her skin crawled.

  Whatever Grant might be, he wasn’t a man to be underestimated. He was playing a game with them. Not just the obvious one of wanting his daughter back to finish his deal with the demon. There was more to the man than they knew.

  And she’d be happy to leave whatever that more was to Sebastian.

  Once they ensured Mara Grant was safe from the threat that was her own father.

  Chapter Four

  Carmen met them in the hall, reappearing from the stairs she’d disappeared down as if someone had called her. And perhaps Grant had. Angie hadn’t seen a way to do that, but in the dark room she hadn’t really been looking.

  Light spilling in from the hallway window seemed overly bright after the dim study. She blinked a few times to adjust to the glare. Outside of Grant’s presence, she felt like she could breathe again and gulped in a large lungful of the neutrally-scented air to cleanse her senses.

  “We need to see Mara’s room,” Sebastian said. “Thank you, Carmen.”

  Angie didn’t miss how much more polite and friendly he was with Carmen than he was with Grant.

  Carmen glanced at the closed study door once before saying, “This way, Mr. Sebastian.” She glanced at Angie and said, “I’m sorry I didn’t get your name earlier.”

  Angie waved away the apology. “It’s a difficult time. I’m Angela Jordan. But please, call me Angie.”

  “Ms. Angie. Thank you for your help.” She flicked a glance at the closed door again. Then gestured back toward the front of the house and the main staircase they’d passed earlier.

  Carmen led them up two flights, the stairs switching back on themselves so that each landing gave Angie a brief view of that floor. Nothing she saw gave any more personal impression of the home occupants than the downstairs hallway had. There were only neutral landscape paintings on the walls—some she suspected might be quite valuable, though she didn’t know anything about art—tables topped with single pieces of object d’art, but no personal photos or knickknacks, pale green walls, rug-covered hardwood floors. Spotless and nearly empty.

  Either Carmen was the best housekeeper on the planet, or Grant allowed no signs of people actually living here in any place visitors might happen to see.

  It was one thing to keep a neutral first floor, but the rest of the house?

  On the third floor, Carmen turned to the back of the townhouse. There were two doors on this level, one facing the front, one the back. The one at the back opened onto a largish room and for the first time, Angie saw signs of a real person living here. The room was cluttered with clothes and toys—most of which were too young for a twelve-year-old, but at least it was something—and all the paraphernalia one might expect in a preteen girl’s bedroom.

  There were posters on the pale yellow walls, boy bands Angie didn’t know. The rugs here were orange and fluffy. The large bed had a white headboard and the duvet topping the big mattress
was a mix of burnt orange, yellows, and reds. A huge window bracketed by wispy white curtains took up most of the back wall, giving great views of the surrounding townhouses and letting in lots of light.

  An overlarge dresser sat against one wall, and double doors stood open on a walk-in closet next to the dresser. Against the opposite wall, another open door led into a bathroom.

  Angie wandered to the dresser, covered with scattered makeup cases, a hair brush, some hair clips, and a collection of stuffed animals lined against the wall. There wasn’t a large mirror on the dresser, but a smallish makeup mirror had been turned face down on one side of the dresser top. The drawers were all neatly closed but for one which had some t-shirts falling over the side.

  The floor inside the walk-in closet was choked with dropped clothing—mostly t-shirts and jeans, though there were a few skirts and pretty, girly dresses hanging on the circling rails, and a collection of sneakers any shoe connoisseur would envy.

  The room smelled faintly of something citrusy, and while it wasn’t perfectly tidy, there was no dust, no empty food cartons, no rug stains. The bathroom was clean, and the bed linens looked fresh. Clean—but mussed and lived in.

  The place felt like a haven of reality and realness in the otherwise museum of a home. This was where someone actually lived.

  Angie was careful not to touch anything, keeping one hand wrapped around her purse strap where it crossed her chest, as she took in a visual of the room first, wanting to glean what she could of Mara before moving to a deeper psychic reading. What she got was the impression of a girl on the cusp of being a teenager, yet still clinging to some of her childhood loves. A girl wanting to grow up and yet not quite ready to give up being a child.

  There were books stacked on the small bedside table, but no bookshelf in the room. She wandered close to read titles. The top one had a funny cover featuring a large, bald cartoon man in his underwear and a red cape, with two young boys standing next to him looking bemused.

  Under that, though, the titles got a lot more adult. One was a college level genetics textbook. Another was a book on curses. The three under that seemed to be about demonology, but she’d have to move the top books to see the titles better. All of them had library labels on the binding.

  Angie very deliberately didn’t touch the books. She’d save them for last.

  Under the watchful gaze of Sebastian and Carmen, she finally reached out to make physical contact with her surroundings. She started at the dresser, with the disorderly makeup.

  Opening her psychic senses, she pulled in a deep breath, let it out slowly, rested her hand on the pile of makeup…

  She got the impression of a young girl, but a sense of someone older than she looked. Not that she was older than twelve, but that she had more understanding of the world and reality than a typical twelve-year-old. Angie felt longing, too. A wisp of wishing for less of that understanding.

  There was a deep sense of…loneliness. Yes. Loneliness. Isolation.

  Angie picked up the makeup mirror and carefully looked into the reflective glass on the side that showed things as they are, not the magnified side that would distort the image. The girl who looked back was quite pretty, though at an awkward age. Her nose was just a little bit big for her face, but her cheekbones were cut high, her chin and jaw curved down into a gentle point, creating a lovely heart-shape. Her straight brown hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, with stray strands brushing her pale temple. Her eyes were a deep blue and fringed by dark lashes. Her lips were pursed as she practiced applying lipstick. Her mouth seemed a bit large for her face, like her nose, but all features she’d grow in to.

  Mara Grant was a charmingly lovely child. A child who had seen and knew too much, and would prefer to just be a child.

  Angie sighed, trying not to tear up. She’d had a great childhood—despite the demons and some early issues with controlling her magic—and a close family who’d gone out of their way to keep her safe and get her the teachers she’d needed to control all of her gifts, even though everyone but her mother was mundane. They’d looked after her, and ensured she had as normal a life as possible. Even her rotten brothers. They’d had a typical sibling relationship with a lot of love and lots of fighting and lots of annoyance, all wrapped up in a familial hug.

  Her heart ached for the lonely child in the mirror, practicing makeup on her own, trying to pretend she didn’t know too much for her age.

  “Where’s her mother?” Angie asked quietly. Because she was deep into her psychic senses, her normally deep voice had dropped even lower. She hoped Carmen had heard her.

  Sebastian, to her surprise, answered. “According to Grant, she died when Mara was a year old. In a car accident.”

  Angie closed her eyes and concentrated on that thought. Did Mara remember any impressions of her mother? She’d been a baby, so she wouldn’t remember her directly, but maybe she had a sense of her.

  The impression Angie got made her gasp. Frowning, she opened her eyes and stared at the mirror. She saw her own reflection now, not Mara’s. She was too deep in thought to concentrate.

  Had she really felt…?

  “Mara’s mother has been dead for eleven years?” she asked, just to be sure.

  “According to Grant, yes,” Sebastian said. There was a note in his voice. A question that wasn’t obvious to anyone who didn’t know him.

  He must have heard something in her voice, too.

  She kept it to herself. She’d discuss this with him after they’d left the house. Instead, she moved on to the closet.

  Mara might be lonely, but she was not without a substantial wardrobe. Here, Angie picked up a sense of urgency. A feeling that time had run out as Mara scrambled through her belongings. Angie had a flash of clothes being stuffed into a backpack, but not a traveling bag, a school bag. Books and folders scattered across the floor of the closet as small hands pushed t-shirts and jeans down to the bottom of the black backpack. Angie blinked away the image and looked for the school books but didn’t see them anywhere.

  She came out of the closet and surveyed the room. The bed gave her images of restless sleep. She couldn’t tell how many nights, whether it was one night of restlessness or many, but Mara hadn’t slept well here before she disappeared. Angie searched inside the bedside table, still careful not to touch the books on top of it.

  “Does Mara have a cellphone?” she asked. Her voice was still too deep, but the sound at least seemed to carry better with this question.

  “She does,” Carmen said. “But it’s turned off. We’ve called. It goes right to voicemail. We leave messages.”

  “But you haven’t heard back from her,” Angie guessed.

  The cellphone wasn’t in the bedroom anywhere that she could see. Unless Mara had hidden it in a drawer. Angie went back to the dresser to search the drawer that had been left open with t-shirts falling out. No signs of the phone.

  She tried the bathroom. No phone. No more information about where Mara had gone.

  One thing was clear, though. Mara had known something bad was happening. She’d felt a sense of impending danger. And the image from the closet left Angie certain the girl had at least planned to run away. Whether she’d succeeded before meeting with a demon was still unclear.

  Although, if what Angie had picked up about Mara’s mother was right…

  Finally, Angie returned to the bed and stared at the pile of library books.

  The books would be tricky. Many hands, many impressions. And while Angie had a great deal of control over her psychic gifts, an object that had passed through so many hands and lives was always a complicated thing to tease out. She might not get anything useful if too many others had possessed the books recently, only a headache for her trouble. But the titles under the middle school novel were not typical twelve-year-old reading. She had to at least try.

  She pulled in a deep breath to settle her senses, letting her gaze soften as she picked up the kid’s book. There was a riot of amusement
and laughter and fun associated with that book, from a lot of different children. And more of that sense of longing, very distinctly from Mara.

  Angie set the book on the bed and reached for the second in the pile. The genetics book. Here she got mostly interest and curiosity from a number of individuals. One very excited reader—not Mara. A few very uninterested readers. After a few moments, she found Mara’s impression of the book. Curiosity. A touch of…satisfaction? Interest and desire to know more but… Angie shook her head and set the book aside. Whatever Mara had encountered in the genetics text, it wasn’t what she’d been looking for. She’d spent only a little time with it and there weren’t any big, jolting emotions associated with what she’d learned.

  The book on curses proved impossible for Angie to sort out Mara’s presence from all the other people who’d handled the book. There was a lot of emotional overlay on that one, mostly anger or bitterness, a lot of revenge-minded individuals.

  Angie set it aside with a sigh. As a witch, she believed deeply in what a lot of modern lore called the “rule of three,” the idea that what you sent out came back to you threefold. She didn’t necessarily believe in the “three” part, but she did believe things like curses could backfire on a person, especially a witch, because of this rule.

  In fact, she’d recently been learning and practicing a spell that was a practical application of this idea, a mirror spell that sent back whatever someone else sent out. It was one of those neutral spells that could be a blessing or a curse, depending on the initial person’s intent. Angie liked those kinds of spells.

  She didn’t mess with curses. But from a philosophical standpoint, she liked the idea of someone “getting back what they gave out.”

  The next book in the pile was a hardback encased in one of the plastic cover protectors libraries used to keep books in good shape for longer periods of time. The cover itself was simple enough, a dark brown with a gold leaf title in the middle of a fancy golden scroll frame.

  An Encyclopedia of Demonic Rituals.