Alexandra Sokoloff - Book of Shadows

Garrett stepped to the bench, scanning underneath and around it, saw piled trash and gum wrappers and cigarette butts, smelled a faint stench of vomit.

He straightened, and slowly sat on the bench, looking up at the angel.

And then he felt a prickle on the back of his neck, as tangible as fingers.

He stood, twisting to look behind him.

He saw a gnarled and dying tree, a crumbling stone wall, the skeletal girders of an unfinished building beyond. No one human.

But the feeling of being watched was overpowering.

Garrett took a few steps on the path, looking toward the skeleton of the building with its open tiers… and then froze, staring down to the side of him. Behind the bench were footsteps in the weeds… blurred, but unmistakable: scorched, blackened footsteps in the withered wildflowers… just like the burned footprints at the dump.

Someone stepped behind him and he spun—to face Bree. “What is it?” she asked him, her face pale and tight.

Garrett looked back at the scorch marks. “I don’t know.”

She followed his gaze to the blackened prints and frowned. “Freaky…” she said from far away.

Garrett got his digital camera from his Explorer and returned to the footprints. He clicked off photos and collected some of the burned flowers in several evidence bags. And again he heard Tanith’s voice in his head: “The demon scorches the flowers where it walks…”

While Bree watched him from the fountain, he stepped back and took several more shots of the park, of the benches, of the dry fountain with the angel, then circled back to Bree and sat on the rim of the fountain beside her. There was a pile of crushed cigarette butts at her feet. Garrett flipped open his notepad. “How old is Amber?”

Bree exhaled smoke from a fresh cigarette. “She said seventeen.” Bree shrugged with cynical skepticism.

“Do you have a photo of her?”

Bree’s eyes clouded. “Uh uh.” She sounded for a moment like a little girl. Then her face hardened again. “You could get a mug shot though.”

“Does she have a family somewhere?”

“If you want to call it that. She ran away when she was fourteen. Wanna know why?” Her gray eyes were challenging.

Garrett’s face tightened. It was always the same story. What people did to their kids could almost make him believe in demons. “I’m sorry,” he said inadequately. “But do you know where her family is?”

Bree crushed out a butt and lit yet another cigarette. “Maine somewhere. What difference does it make? They sure as shit don’t care.”

She was racked by a coughing fit. Garrett waited, thinking, Worse than Landauer. When she had control of herself again, he asked, “Bree, since she disappeared, have you felt in danger yourself?” She looked up, her eyes widening. He continued. “Have you ever felt you were being followed or—watched?” Garrett’s gaze went to the perimeter of the park, past the bench where he had been sitting before.

The girl’s eyes followed his. “I don’t think so,” she said warily. “What do you mean?” When Garrett hesitated, she asked raggedly, “Do you know who did it?”

“No, I don’t.” Garrett took out one of his cards. “But I want you to call me. If you feel—strange about anything, if anyone comes asking about Amber, if you just want to talk.” He wrote a number on the card. “And this is the number for Youth Services—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bree said wearily. “Stoney gave me the number.” She glanced away from him, up at the angel. “What else am I supposed to do, huh? These days? You tell me.”

Garrett’s guilt about keeping Landauer out of the loop had reached lapsed-Catholic proportions, so he phoned him from the car. Land sounded grumpy and Garrett guessed he’d pulled him away from his dinner. It was also entirely possible that his partner had spent the whole day in bed.

“Not an emergency,” Garrett said quickly.

“Then the fuck you calling?” Landauer grumbled.

“Look, Land, I might have something. I found a missing person. A hooker named Amber. A friend of hers says she disappeared from around Chinatown on August one. Sixteen-, seventeen-year-old Caucasian. She hasn’t been seen since.”

Land was surly, but his brain was working. “There was no MP of that age range on the list.”

“I know. I checked with the front desk and her friend came in on the day after she disappeared. There was never an official report filed.”

There was a pause; Garrett could picture Landauer frowning, working it out. “How’d you know to—” he stopped. “August first. That’s one of those days Stevie Nicks gave you.”

Garrett shifted uncomfortably behind the wheel. He didn’t bother to correct Landauer with Tanith’s real name. “Yeah.”

The silence on the other end was ominous. “What does this have to do with Moncrief?” Landauer asked, finally. Garrett could hear the scowl in his voice.

“I don’t know, Land. But maybe there’s a witness. I’m going to follow up.”

Landauer sighed, martyred. “What time?”

Garrett could hear his reluctance and pounced on it. “Look, go back to your dinner. I can call you if there’s anything there.”

“You sure?”

“No problem,” Garrett said, keeping his voice casual. “I’ll fill you in in the morning.”

He disconnected, fought down another surge of guilt, and turned onto Highway 1 toward Salem.

The sky was dark and the moon was huge in the sky as Garrett parked again on Essex Street outside Book of Shadows. He looked up through tree branches at the shining amber disk, and realized tonight it was full—it looked twice normal size and golden-toned, as a full moon often will do. A strong wind swayed the branches of the elm trees lining the sidewalks. Dry leaves rolled and swirled in the street. Halloween weather, Garrett thought to himself, and the thought was ominous. Three weeks to go.

He climbed the front steps of the house and walked into the shop to the musical tinkling of bells, and the fragrant warmth of the shop enveloped him. Tanith looked up from the book she was reading at the counter. They were silent, looking at each other under the strings of white lights sparkling like stars, and Garrett felt the charge between them from across the room, felt it through all of his body. Finally she spoke. “Detective Garrett, we really must stop meeting like this.” There was amusement in her eyes, and also a challenge that excited him. The white cat rolled over and stretched luxuriously in front of her.

“I’m sorry to keep dropping by,” he started.

The look she gave him said she didn’t believe him for a second. “That’s perfectly all right,” she said languidly. “This time I did see you coming.”

He never knew whether or not to believe what she said; it all seemed like a game to her.

“I may have found another,” he said, knowing she would know what he meant. Her amusement vanished, and she closed her book.

“Where? Who?”

“I haven’t found a body. But a young woman did go missing on August first. A streetwalker.”

Tanith’s face was still, but she said nothing. He watched her as he spoke. “It looks like you were right, and at this point I don’t care how you’re doing it. You have some kind of understanding of all this and I need to use it,” he said brusquely, without adding “Please.”

She stood and moved out from behind the counter, walked across the shop and locked the door, then flipped the OPEN sign in the window to CLOSED. She turned and looked at him expectantly.

Garrett took files out of his binder and spread photos of the park with the angel out on the counter. “This is the last place she was seen.”