Kitty's House of Horrors
Page 48

Chalk in hand, Grant drew symbols—at the body’s head, feet, left and right hands. This was ceremonial magic. I knew the signs, had seen similar rituals—a circle often meant protection or a barrier. Symbols, light, incense. I had a very bad feeling about this. I was standing at the wall; I couldn’t back up any farther.
The last item Grant drew from his bag was a round mirror. This he set on the floor by the candle. Light from the candle reflected off it, a spot of brightness.
Grant knelt by Valenti’s head and said, “Ronald Valenti. I need to speak with you.” A few moments passed, a few quickly thudding heartbeats. “Valenti. Hear me. You’ve been a very bad man, but here’s your chance to do something right. Speak to me, Ronald Valenti.”
Grant was right. I didn’t like this. But I didn’t interrupt.
The mirror fogged over. The light dimmed.
“Tell me what I need to know,” Grant said in a whisper.
The body’s eyes blinked.
Jeffrey drew a sharp breath. “It’s back. His aura’s back,” he whispered.
“What color?” Grant said.
“Dark. Muddy.”
“Ronald Valenti,” Grant hissed at the body. “Who else is working with you? Where are they? What is your plan? Show me in the mirror.” The magician looked at the fogged mirror. I couldn’t tell what he saw in it, if anything.
The body blinked but otherwise didn’t move at all. If it had started speaking, I probably would have run. Grant must have seen something, because he studied the mirror, jaw set.
Then his gaze shifted back to the body. “Just one more thing. Why? Why do this?”
Again, I couldn’t see what the mirror showed, but Grant seemed to be fascinated by what he saw in it.
Grant didn’t ask anything else. When he was satisfied, he put his hand over the corpse’s face, closing the eyes. “Ronald Valenti, I’m finished with you. Rest now. Depart this place. Finish your journey onward. And may you rot in a fitting hell.”
A breath sighed through the room, as if a window had blown open, and the candle went out, all on its own. Tina gasped—she and Jeffrey were holding each other tightly now.
“It’s gone now,” Jeffrey said. “He’s dark again.”
Grant pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket, wiped away the symbols he’d drawn, and scrubbed the chalk circle until it was a blurred, formless mess. The mirror was bright and clear.
“I’m done with it,” he said, nodding at the body. “We should put it with the others.”
Or drop it in the lake. But that would feel like poisoning the lake.
“I think I need to take a shower,” Tina said.
Nobody moved except Grant, who was packing items back in his case. The magician finishing his work. And I didn’t know why anything Grant did surprised me anymore.
“That was sick,” Lee said, harsh, frowning.
Grant stood, glared. “What that man did to Ariel, Jerome, Dorian, and the production assistants was sick. He and the others did what they did for sport. I do it out of necessity. And I don’t do it lightly.”
Cormac would have understood. Cormac would have approved, so I couldn’t argue.
Grant paused in front of me. I’d been staring at the body, and I turned to him reluctantly. “You look like you want to say something.”
I shook my head. “I don’t have anything to say.”
His expression didn’t change. It hardly ever did. But he put his hand on my shoulder, a brief touch, a faint comfort.
Anastasia was the one to finally ask, “What did you learn?”
“They’re still filming us,” he said. “They’re planning on selling the footage as proof that monsters can be killed. That they ought to be killed.”
“A snuff film?” I said, astounded.
Grant nodded. “Provost and Cabe are his partners. They’re out there now. I saw two bases of operation, one near the lodge and one near the outgoing trail. They attacked Jerome and Kitty from that one. They have us trapped, and they have all the time in the world.”
“Then we go after them,” Lee said. “We know where they are now, we go get them, then get the hell out of here.”
“They have weapons,” Anastasia said. “They’re entrenched. We’re too vulnerable. That’s exactly how they planned it.”
“So we flush them out,” I said, because that was what Cormac would say and how he’d have handled this. He sure as hell wouldn’t sit here waiting for the bad guys to come to us. Get the upper hand. Startle them.
“How do we do that?” Lee said, anxious, frustrated. Sweat shone on his brow, and the ocean smell of him was stronger.
I picked up the walkie-talkie from the pile of Valenti’s leavings, switched it on, and pressed talk. Everyone in the room cringed or lurched, making various noises of protest—what the hell was I doing?
Poking the wasp nest. I was good at that sort of thing.
“Hell-lo-ooooo,” I said, singsong, into the speaker. Moving to the front door, I cracked it, turning my ear to the great outdoors to hear what I could. I let my finger off the button and waited, listening through the static hiss for something more meaningful. And waited. My heart was thumping hard, but I didn’t let on. I was in the middle of a practical joke, and I was determined to find this little piece of it funny. I grinned while the others watched, horrified. Except for Grant, who smiled, just a little.
Then the static clicked and shifted, and words came through. “Hello? Valenti?”
And that was Joey Provost’s voice, with the show business veneer rubbed off. What was left was backstabbing manipulator. Such a fine line between the two. I didn’t hear anything outside; he wasn’t close, which was something.
“’Fraid not. It’s Kitty Norville. Thanks for calling The Midnight Hour. Do you have a problem you’d like to talk about?”
I waited through another few moments of poignant static before hearing, “Where’s Valenti?”
“Ooh, that’s a really tough question. How religiously inclined are you?”
“Bitch,” he hissed.
“I love it when people call me that, it’s so meta. Just tell me one thing—what made you think you could get away with this? Get away with murder?”
He didn’t answer. I waited, listening through static for a long time. For all I knew, he’d shut his device off. I’d hoped Provost would be stupider than that. I’d hoped he’d have to talk, then give something away, like an undefended location. I threw the walkie-talkie down. Which Cormac probably wouldn’t have done.