Into the Fire Read online

  “You made a murder board,” I said.

  “Which you wanted, I think,” Mayfair admitted, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “It has everything I know about the murders I’ve been investigating.”

  I moved closer, trying to make out Mayfair’s handwriting. “The anniversary of the first murder is a couple days away,” I said.

  A woman had been found dead in an abandoned house, evidence of a ritual sacrifice present. This included blood writings on the walls, floor, and ceiling; candles, incense, and feathers (feathers?); plus the way the body appeared—he’d written crucified on the board and underlined it three times.

  “Crucified? Seriously?” I asked.

  “Not in the Christian sense of the word, no. She wasn’t nailed to a cross,” Mayfair said. “Romans used crucifixion long before Christ. Her arms and legs had been tied, spread-eagle, on a wooden structure. Someone then used magic to rip the Soul from her body.”

  The book he’d had upstairs—the picture—he’d just described it.

  “That’s possible?” I asked.

  “Apparently,” he answered. “Kylie couldn’t find even a shred of the woman. There was simply nothing left. Which led me to conclude the ritual intended to strip her Soul, but I didn’t know why or what for.”

  According to the board, a month later, he’d found another body, another ritual murder. “One month to the day,” I said.

  He nodded. “Exactly the same M.O., I guess you’d say. This time, a young man. The first victim’s age was thirty, the second nineteen.”

  “Did these people have any connections?” I asked. “Did they know each other? Go to the same gym, attend the same schools?”

  “Not that I could find,” Mayfair answered.

  The victim had been found in another abandoned house—not unusual with all the foreclosures these days. No real differences between the two scenes except for location, one on the northeast side of town, the next near Sedalia down south. A third body the next month. I scanned the dates, a bell going off in my head.

  “Each murder happens thirty days to the day of the last murder,” I said.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Which means the next one will be two days from now, if our killer stays on schedule.”

  “Halloween,” Jenni offered.

  “Is that significant? Halloween?” I asked.

  “Samhain,” Mayfair said. “All Souls’ Day in Celtic culture. Harvest—the end of one cycle, summer, and the beginning of the next, winter. More poetically put, when the light wanes and darkness rises.”

  Way to be ominous and not creepy at all.

  “These books are full of Irish folk tales,” Jenni said. “Most depict major events happening on Samhain, or samfuin—summer’s end, literally.”

  “So,” I said. “We have a supernatural serial killer who strikes every thirty days like clockwork, murdering people to steal their souls, and the next is set to happen on a major Irish folk holiday. Why? What’s the end game? What do they gain?”

  Mayfair stepped up, grabbed the edge of the chalkboard, and flipped it over.

  Rift was scrawled across the top in giant letters.

  “The end of the world,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “These books, separately, could be innocent enough,” Jenni said. “But when you start to connect the dots—a passage from this book to one from another and another, you get the big, scary picture. Jack has been kind enough to lay it all out on the board there.”

  “They add up to a rift,” Mayfair said.

  “Okay, what is a rift?” I asked.

  “We explained the multiverse to you,” he said, “and the Veil that separates all the different dimensions, an in-between place. Imagine a rip in the Veil—that’s what a rift is. Someone on this world, tearing through the Veil, and making a doorway to the In Between.”

  “Like the old Wizards did,” I said. “But a doorway? That implies someone wants in.”

  “Or out,” Mayfair said. “I think it’s an invasion, Sam. A rip here opens a door there. Then they come through and invade.” He snapped his fingers. “End of the world.”

  “Who? Who invades?” I asked. “Why?”

  “The Vampires,” Mayfair said.

  “I think I’m over my sparkly Vampire crush now,” Jenni commented.

  “You and me both,” I said. “I’ll skip the next Twilight-like movie you want to drag me to. Count me firmly on team Van Helsing from this point forward.”

  “Cushing or Jackman?” she asked.

  “Is that even a question you need to ask?” I replied.

  “Ladies,” said Mayfair. “I just announced the end of the world is coming, and you’re arguing about different versions of a fictional Vampire hunter?”

  “Point,” I said.

  “Besides,” he continued, “Peter Cushing is and always will be Doctor Who.”

  “Those,” said Jenni, “are fighting words.”

  Trying to get us back on track, I said, “I still don’t get the rift, though. How did you connect the dots from one book to the next to come to the end of the world?”

  Jenni said, “We are revisiting Doctor Who when the world isn’t in danger.” She started setting various books out on the floor in front of her, opening them to bookmarked pages. “Nevil helped us, actually. He gave it away a couple of different ways. One, he licked his fingers to flip the pages. When he stopped, he would press his fingers on the page, leaving a little wet mark. Second, he would take notes on a separate piece of paper set on the opposite page.”

  “How does that help?”

  “Indentations on the page,” she answered. “Where he used his pen. Rub your fingers across the page, and you can feel them.”

  I blinked. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah,” she said, grinning. “What can I say? I’m a nerd. I pay attention to the details.”

  “With Jennifer’s discovery,” Mayfair said, “we were able to scan through the books quick enough, find passages he seemed most interested in, and, as you put it, connect the dots. There are a few holes we’re still working on, but there’s enough here to draw a conclusion.” Those passages were referenced on the chalkboard.

  “Still doesn’t answer the question of why,” I said. “Why would he murder twelve people to open this rift?”

  “More than twelve, Sam,” Jenni said softly.

  I turned to Mayfair, who nodded grimly.

  “Twelve ritualistic murders would not be enough,” he admitted. “Human Wizards cannot access the same massive amounts of magic—of raw power—needed to open a rift. No one Wizard would be able to do it, certainly, and I can’t imagine hundreds of Wizards going bad, so there had to be another explanation.”

  “We found it in the details of the ritual,” Jenni said. “The whole thing is designed to pull the Soul out of the person and store it for use later.”

  “You said the Soul was power, what the Wizard uses for their magic,” I said. “The stronger the Soul, the stronger the magic.”

  “Exactly,” Mayfair agreed. “Are you familiar with a canopic jar?” He pointed to a drawing on the board of a small jar with the head of a dog on it.

  “Not really,” I said.

  “Ancient Egyptians believed in an afterlife,” he offered. “They’d mummify their dead, removing their organs and placing them inside canopic jars for the trip to the afterlife. I think the two rituals are connected. Through the centuries, one drifted from the other, certainly, but in the original, jars were used to store the Soul for use later.”

  “A Wizard collects the jars,” I said, “then uses them to open the rift and end the world?”

  “Yes, but he or she would need more than twelve,” he said.

  “How many more?” I asked.

  “Too many,” he answered.

  * * *

  I went through all of the evidence myself. A fresh set of eyes, I told them, couldn’t hurt. Took me all of twenty minutes to decide their theory had merit.

&
nbsp; “I made a few calls, woke some people up,” Mayfair said while I studied the board. “I’ve mentioned how Wizards are a secretive lot? We prefer to be left alone. The Stewards are the worst. We rarely interact except at official Council sessions, which are held twice yearly these days. What I found, each Steward I contacted had seen similar, ritualistic deaths in their territories. This suggests a larger problem than we suspected, and far more dead bodies.”

  “Which means more canopic jars,” Jenni added. “More power being stored up.”

  “A rift,” I said, tapping the word on the board.

  “A rift,” Mayfair agreed. “The conclusion of the cycle, according to the texts we’ve pieced together, is to gather the jars for one last, massive ritual, funnel the power through a Wizard, who then opens the rift, which lets the Vampires in.”

  “And Nevil is somehow involved in all of this?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mayfair said. He scratched his chin. “I don’t want to believe he is. I mean, he is an ass, but I never thought of him as evil. There’s a lot of evidence here I can’t ignore. Plus, the ritual needs a Wizard. No Vampire could do it. Plus, he hid all of this from me.”

  “Okay,” I said. “None of which explains why. The Vampires get an all-access pass to the human race. What does Nevil get? We are talking the end of the world, right? That would kind of suck for everyone in it, including him.”

  “We don’t know for sure,” Jenni answered.

  “Vampires would still need humans, Sam,” Mayfair said. “Without us, they have nothing to feed on, nothing to sustain them. Killing us would destroy them, too. Maybe the Wizard who helps them gets to rule what’s left; I just don’t know. There has to be something in it for them; we don’t see what it is yet.”

  I took in the board, then said, “You found eleven bodies.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “You’re the only one who found eleven bodies? Of all the Stewards?” I asked.

  Mayfair stepped up next to me. “Yes. What are you thinking?”

  “I think the ritual started here and will end here,” I said. “This is personal. They wanted you to know.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Think about it,” I said. “None of the other Stewards were onto this. They found a few bodies here and there, but you put it all together because you found eleven. Why?”

  “Anonymous tips,” Mayfair said. He frowned. “I could never trace their source.”

  “They wanted you to find the bodies,” I said again.

  That killed the mood in the room.

  I flipped the board, scanning Mayfair’s handwriting. One other thing bugged me.

  “Let’s say you two are on the right track, and it looks like you are,” I said. “Do I fit in here somewhere? I thought, maybe, it might all be connected to me, to this thing in my head.”

  They shrugged.

  “We actually talked about it,” Mayfair added. “On the surface, it doesn’t fit and could just be a coincidence.”

  “However,” Jenni said, “Jack was the only Steward actively investigating all of this, even if he didn’t have all the pieces. The other Stewards weren’t. Nevil hid these books up here, but Jack managed to find a couple of books on his own out in the wild. He kept digging and got closer to the truth than he thought, so it would make sense to distract him.”

  “Which is where you could fit into this, Sam,” he said. “You’re the perfect distraction.”

  “The problem,” Jenni said, “is Nevil. If he is our bad guy, he would have to have known about you, known about the stuff in your head and how to mess with it.”

  “Or be working with the Wizard who created the weave in the first place,” Mayfair offered.

  “Kind of a long shot,” I muttered.

  “Exactly,” Mayfair agreed.

  “If you’re right,” I said. “And there isn’t any reason to think you’re not. Hundreds of people have been murdered by magic. No matter what you think of Nevil, one person couldn’t pull it off all on their own, could they?”

  “It’s impossible,” Jenni said. “You had people being killed all across the world, all on the same night each month.”

  “The ritual calls for one hundred and forty-four canopic jars,” Mayfair said. “That means there were at least twelve Wizards out there each month, murdering twelve innocent people at the same time.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  I sat in the kitchen at Banba, the little clock on the stove reading 4:00 AM, dividing my time between a tall glass of water, a cup of coffee, and a slice of cold pizza. Jenni and Mayfair were thick as thieves, discussing the theories they’d been putting together since they left the hospital.

  I admit feeling a twinge of jealousy run up my spine. I’d wanted to be let in on the case, wanted to build a murder board and be the one to help figure it all out. Instead, Jenni did all of that and more, leaving me sitting here with cold pizza and wondering what the hell I even brought to the team.

  Pepperoni. My favorite.

  “What do you think, Sam?” Jenni asked. She fell into the chair opposite me, a lopsided smile on her face. Her eyes conveyed the tiredness I felt deep in my bones. Caffeine could only do so much before your body stopped reacting to it, and she’d had a long night.

  “About what?” I asked.

  “All of it,” she said.

  Mayfair leaned against the counter, legs crossed before him and a cup of something in his hands.

  “I think,” I said slowly, “you’ve both done a lot of work putting this theory together, but it’s only a theory.”

  Jenni’s face fell.

  “To prove it,” I said, “we need to go to Nevil’s house. Confront him when he’s not expecting it.”

  Mayfair stood up a little straighter. He had a white towel thrown over his shoulder, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up above the elbows. A nasty scar on the back of his left arm I’d never noticed before stood out in the light as a ragged red line. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him quite so casual.

  “How dangerous is he?” I asked.

  Mayfair set his cup down and crossed his arms. “Very. My father trained him. The Rangers are combat trained, for lack of a better phrase. They’re on the front lines and have to be able to not just defend but attack fast and hard. If he’s gone bad and he knows we know, he will be a massive threat.”

  “Then,” I said, “going after him when he’s asleep and vulnerable is the best plan. Swoop in, take him while he is unaware, bring him here for questioning. Can you block someone from using their magic?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s temporary, but doable.”

  I stood up. “Let’s get going.”

  “Hold on,” he said, hands up. “I admit, I should’ve trusted you sooner, Sam. Your instincts have been spot-on. But this will be dangerous.”

  My pride puffed up at his first comment. I mostly ignored the second. “I understand and accept the risk.”

  After a moment, he nodded. “Fine. You’re my backup. Let me gather a few things.” He disappeared through the door.

  Jenni watched him go, smiling.

  “You like him,” I offered.

  Turning, she nodded. “Yes, I do. But not the way you mean, hon. I am off that team. Not a fan of the penis.”

  We laughed.

  “Maybe that’s why it’s easy to like him,” she said.

  “I’m still struggling to trust him,” I admitted.

  She wrapped her hands around her coffee, warming them. “I get it. There’s a lot to be wary of. Having said that, I don’t get a creepy vibe from him. He genuinely cares. The idea that Nevil could be the big bad is tearing him up inside. Just like you, he doesn’t trust easily. From what he’s said, Nevil has been a huge part of his life. For the man to betray him, it hurts.”

  “Nevil is an ass, but I never thought of him as evil.”

  I sighed. Why did everything have to be so complicated all the time?

  “How’s your hea
d?” she asked.

  I touched my temple. “Oddly enough? Nothing since the cafeteria.”

  “That’s good, right?” she asked.

  “Probably,” I answered.

  Mayfair returned wearing his trench coat, hat, and carrying his favorite cane. Another coat and hat, both smaller, rested on his arm. He offered them to me.

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  “Think of it as tradition,” he said. “And what are we Wizards if not all about traditions?”

  Again, I sighed.

  Jenni giggled and clapped, sobered, and nodded to me.

  Traitor. “What about her?” I asked.

  “She’ll be fine,” he said. “Nothing can get into Banba I don’t let in.”

  “What he said,” Jenni added. “Besides, I have books to go through. I’ll be fine as long as the coffee maker doesn’t break.”

  “Bite your tongue,” Mayfair said, then barked a laugh.

  “Time to bamf,” I said to Jenni.

  “Good luck,” she said.

  * * *

  Bamfing, as I now thought of it, was the closest thing to living in the sixties as someone born in the late seventies could hope for. The multicolored, psychedelic tunnel I traveled down had to be what the flower children hoped to experience every time they dropped acid. For me, it was just a nightmare. Every moment feeling like you could just cease to be, as if every thread of who you were barely hung on and stayed together. A single frayed edge could unravel who and what you were in a fraction of a moment.

  Quick as it started, we stood on solid ground again. I took a minute on my knees to catch my breath. I did not throw up, but my stomach still ebbed like high tide coming in, threatening to wash up and away everything I’d ever eaten in my life.

  “Here,” Mayfair said.

  He handed me a plastic water bottle and a hunk of bread. I drank half the water in one gulp before tearing at the bread and shoving it into my mouth. Barely chewing, I just swallowed and hoped it would settle my stomach, maybe soak up some of the bile.

  “Clever,” I managed after a few minutes.

  “Jenni suggested it,” he said. “The house is there.”

  Mayfair pointed at a little yellow house across the street. The neighborhood didn’t scream “evil Wizard lives here,” at least, not to me. A lot of single-story houses with big yards—big enough to tell me we were in an older burb, maybe north of Mississippi and Havana, where the houses had a bit of breathing room.