Ghosts & Echoes by Lyn Benedict

Author:Lyn Benedict [Benedict, Lyn]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780441018703
Amazon: 044101870X
Publisher: Bill
Published: 0101-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

15

Trouble, Trouble

“SPECIALTY?” SYLVIE ECHOED. HER VOICE WAS SOFT, MUFFLED BY THE wall shelves of wicker baskets, by the soft rug on the floor, by the fact that even after ten-odd years dealing with the Magicus Mundi, she could still be shocked and repelled.

Black magic was bad enough, but it was familiar to her. She’d seen it in Troilus Cassavetes, who used voodoo to rule his drug running in South Miami. She’d seen it in Gabriel Brand, who’d used false lycanthropy to slaughter his enemies. And she’d seen it far more often than she liked in the Maudit society, the organization of sorcerers that played every type of nasty magical trick possible. But someone who specialized in a single black skill—the Hands of Glory—who profited on murder, who cultured malevolence—it just made her despair.

Odalys shook her head, a clear “I don’t want to talk about it,” and headed back into the main shop.

Sylvie followed, her own distaste for the subject gone in the urge to push Odalys on it. “An address would be nice.”

Wright twitched away from his scrutiny of a shelf full of spice jars, his eyes seeking Sylvie’s, asking a wordless question. Sylvie’s stomach roiled. She hadn’t asked Odalys a single thing about Wright’s problem; the woman had diagnosed it herself, proffered aid without being asked, and Sylvie had done nothing. Asked nothing. Hadn’t even accepted the small help Odalys had offered. Caught up in her worries about Zoe, she was neglecting her client.

Or at least, so she excused it to herself.

You don’t want her help. You want to keep Demalion here, the little dark voice whispered.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Odalys said. “I’ve got help for your little problem.” She held the pendant out; in the bright sunlight, the stone glittered as it spun, age-smoothed stone with shiny flecks and a hole through the center of it. “Consider it your pay for watching the shop.”

He reached out, as cautious as a child approaching a strange dog. At the last, he pulled back. “No,” he said. He put his hands behind his back, his expression closing off into distaste, a little fear. Sylvie frowned. Was it Wright’s fear? Or Demalion’s?

“It’s good for what ails you,” Odalys said. “It’s a fragment of a tombstone from sacred ground.”

“I hope no one’s missing it,” Sylvie said. Her fingers itched to take it away from her, keep it away from Wright.

“It’s old,” Odalys said. “Broke off naturally. I swear.” Her lips curled, a smile that said she didn’t care whether Sylvie believed her or not. “It will help you. Why do you think we mark graves with stones? Our ancestors remembered. To keep the dead from rising. Body or spirit. We dress it up with religion and respect, but gravestones are all about fear. About holding down the dead.”

Wright’s hands fell slack by his side, and Odalys reached forward, folded his long fingers around the stone. “Spill a little blood to initialize it, rub it in, and let it hang over your heart. It’ll drive away any revenant spirit.

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