Page 61 of Tested
“Oh, sorry,” she says, with just a hint of a snicker. “Wait. Hang on. What’shedoing here?”
Smith twitches like he’s been stabbed with a pin.
I put a hand on his arm. “I told you I’d be bringing the guy I’m working with.”
Whatever is gripping my feet tightens its hold. “Wait. Which of you is the guy from the Securitas?”
“I am. Connor MacPherson, but I’m not with them anymore.”
“You didn’t tell me you were also one ofthose.”
Smith glances at me and I give him my best clueless shrug. “Should I go back to the car?” I’d hoped she could help me find the princess, but if she kicks me out, Smith can ask her questions about the murders.
“As long as you promise to keep it in your metaphysical pants, we’re good.” Sunbeam the necromancer laughs at her own joke, and I ignore Smith’s raised eyebrows.
“Your message said you wanted to hear from a couple of our recent dearly departed.” All of a sudden her voice is too close, too intimate, and it sends goosebumps down my neck. “This town’s full of ’em, you know? You might need to be more specific.”
“Three women,” Smith says tightly. “All of them in their late fifties.”
“Hmm…” Her feet still. “They’re all together. Are they sorority sisters or something?”
“They all went to the same high school,” I say.
She tosses the smoke into the water and raises her arms. Three figures rise from the pool. One is Asian and the other two are white, closely resembling the photos of the victims. They appear to be solid, although I cannot see their auras, which is unnerving. There’s either something dark wrapped around their feet or they’re standing a few inches deep in the water.
“Ask them if they know who killed them,” Smith says, his voice barely above a whisper.
Sunbeam literally wiggles her fingers like she’s some kind of Scooby Doo cartoon villain. When her fingers still, the darkness surrounding them rises and then consolidates.
The head of a snake takes shape, its tongue a gold flash flickering in and out.
“Well, that’s weird,” Sunbeam says. “Guess someone doesn’t want them to tell you anything.”
The snake’s head rises above the spirits’ heads, glaring eyes gone red. Smith mutters something that begins and ends indamn.
“They can’t tell you anything?” I ask, although the snake is threatening in a way a spirit shouldn’t be able to manage.
Sunbeam shakes her head no, and the figures fade.
“Can you look for someone else? There’s an elven princess who’s been missing for a while. Does anyone there know if she’s still alive?”
Smith gives a frustrated huff and I ignore him. Sunbeam wiggles her fingers again, the least-frightening necromancer move ever. A figure takes shape, but this time it’s no one I recognize.
Not an elf, either.
“Connor MacPherson.Meascach.” The voice comes from a patch of grey blotting out the moon’s reflection on the water. “Tread carefully. The Morrigan is no one’s friend. The vampire’s desires are evil, but so are hers, and she’ll start a war if she can.”
The words and the grey fade away, to be replaced by a much more intrusive voice. “Cryptic much,” Sunbeam says, so close it’s as if she has her chin on my shoulder. “If you need me to take care of a vamp for you, it’s a g-note per attempt. I usually get it done in one.”
A puff of air hits my neck, making me jump. Smith still looks a little constipated, unhappy with my question. The figure disintegrates into a cloud of fluttering insects and Sunbeam’s knees give way. She lands hard on the steps, the darkness of her aura almost obscuring her. Smith gets to her first. He helps her sit and waves at a leather satchel near the mausoleum.
I grab the bag and bring it to him. He pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniels, then helps Sunbeam hold onto the bottle and bring it to her lips. A healthy swig brings on a coughing fit, but when she calms, she’s sitting straighter and holding the bottle on her own.
“I should charge you extra for bringing up one of the fucking old ones.”
“Who was it?” Smith asks.
“Sorry. I didn’t ask.”
