Kelley Armstrong - Haunted

"I understand. Now tell me more about this Dachev. If he's in your realms, that makes him a supernatural."

"He's a magician."

I thumped my head back against Kristof's shoulder and sighed. '"Of course he is."

Magicians were related to sorcerers, and they had even more reason than their brethren to hate witches. Magicians are a substandard form of spell-casters. I say that with no snobbery. Sorcerers and witches can argue over which race is less powerful, but even a sorcerer would admit, albeit grudgingly, that a witch outranked a magician any day.

For centuries, there had been no distinction between male spell-casters-they were all sorcerers, and all inferior to witches. At the time, their magic was limited to simple illusions and sleight of hand, the kind of magic you can see at a kid's birthday party these days. Then witches, being the generous fools they often are, decided it was time to join forces, a drive for sexual equality a thousand years before the suffragettes hit the streets.

Witches taught the sorcerers how to strengthen their skills with stronger magic and incantations. All went just dandy for a few hundred years, until the Inquisition hit, and sorcerers turned on the witches. But that's ancient history… even if it doesn't keep either race from holding a grudge five hundred years later.

Back to the original racial integration. There were some sorcerers who couldn't cut it. They didn't have the supernatural juice to learn what the witches were teaching them. So, as any group with an ounce of ingenuity and pride does when it can't fit into the larger society, these sorcerers reinvented themselves, breaking away from their brothers and declaring themselves a new race: magicians. Rather than fight a losing battle to learn higher magic, they would concentrate on the lesser skills of illusion and sleight of hand, and be happy with what they were.

A very noble plan of modern-day self-affirmation. Unfortunately, as they soon discovered, those lesser skills weren't good for a whole helluva lot. Magicians ended up forming two factions: entertainers and con artists-and the lines between the two weren't always that clear. Today, almost all the magicians who remain fall into the latter category. In a world accustomed to David Copperfield no one will pay to see a guy pull a quarter from behind your ear.

In Bulgaria, circa 1926, though, things were different and, as the Fates explained, that's where Andrei Dachev had made a name for himself with his sideshow acts, traveling from town to town, bringing light entertainment to a country still reeling from the Balkan conflict and the

First World War. Although Dachev was an accomplished magician, the real attraction at his circus was the freak show. And I don't mean sword swallowers or fire-breathers. Dachev's freaks were the type that children would dare one another to look at, then suffer weeks of nightmares if they did. His freaks were born severely deformed or had been mutilated in horrific accidents, and all were young women, adding to the titillation value.

For three years Dachev toured Bulgaria and surrounding countries, sticking to the rural areas, avoiding cities and larger urban areas where his freaks might be less welcome. And if, over those three years, the occasional girl disappeared from a town he passed through, well, Dachev was a handsome charmer, with an eye for the ladies, and these things happened.

Eventually, though, one of these missing girls had a beau who didn't buy this "ran away with the circus" explanation. He followed Dachev. Soon, he discovered that the circus freaks hadn't suffered a cruel twist of genetics or accidental fate. They were man-made. Though he managed to rescue his fiancee before Dachev started in on her, when it came to the other half-dozen victims, the authorities decided to quietly provide them with a fast-acting poison and allow them to make their own decision. All chose death, and Andrei Dachev was executed as a serial killer.

"And you unleashed this… this thing back into the world?" I said.

The eldest Fate appeared, mouth a thin, tight line. "We did not unleash-"

"Yeah, he was a ghost. Powerless. Found a way around that one, though, didn't he? What the hell do you think he's been doing down there all these years? Hail Marys? He's been reliving his glory days, just itching for the chance to-"

"No, he has not."

"Oh, and you know that because-"

"Because he cannot." She paused, and her middle sister took over. "Andrei Dachev has no memories of the atrocities he committed, Eve. That is part of their punishment. We take away all memory of their lives before they died. They can't relive their crimes, their fantasies, even their impulses. It's all gone. Then they are cast into a plane where, when their urges and impulses resurface, they have no possible outlet."

"Because they're in a world of killers."

She nodded. "A world without victims, without even those that they might see as a potential victim, no female killers, no weaker males-"

"All predators and no prey. Okay, so he can't remember his crimes. But those impulses you mentioned? First time he sees a pretty girl, even if he can't remember ever seeing one-"

"The memory loss sometimes has a second, reformatory effect. Erasing their memories may erase the source of some of their urges. If their lives were warped by extreme circumstances, such as early abuse, then-"

"When they can't remember the abuse, they become a different person, someone who isn't a killer?"

"Which, granted, happens very, very rarely," the Fate said. "But it does happen. That's what we believed had happened here. For ten years, Andrei Dachev gave no sign of having any of the urges that possessed him to commit these crimes."

"He played model prisoner."

"Played. Yes, most likely, though every test we gave him indicated that he had indeed reformed. Perhaps even he thought he had."

"Until he went into the world again."

She gave a slow, sad nod.

"His memory," I said. "It wasn't erased after his capture, right?"

"We can't do that. We can only erase living memories. I suppose, though, that's a blessing now."

"Or else he wouldn't know how he'd caught the Nix. So I need to persuade him to tell me, by descending into a hell filled with serial killers, for most of whom I'll be the first woman-and potential victim-they've ever seen." I sighed. "Well, at least they can feel pain. Please tell me I can use my spells and my Aspicio powers."

When she didn't answer, I groaned. "Let me guess. Because they're all supernaturals, it's a magic-free zone-wipes out any racial advantages."

The little girl appeared. "Well, it's supposed to be magic-free, but if a person went in there who possessed a type of magic none of the inhabitants should be able to possess…"

"Such as a female-only variety. Like witch magic."

"Magic blocking is tough enough. No sense doing it for a type of magic that no one there will ever use."

"Hmmm. I'd rather have my sorcerer spells, but witch magic is better than nothing. Now, I guess it doesn't matter what supernatural race these other killers are, if they're power-free, but I should ask anyway."

The Fate rattled off the various races in this particular supernatural serial-killers hell. Mostly half-demons, with one necromancer and one werewolf. No sorcerers, which was all I really cared about, in case they were still able to recognize a witch. Bad enough I might have to deal with that problem with Dachev.

Next, the Fates explained how I'd get out of the hell. I couldn't just walk out or recite a teleport code-it was locked too tight for that. Instead, they'd give me a hellsbane potion. Swallow it, and I'll be hell-free.

Finally, the Fates wanted me to do some practice runs with the sincerity-testing spell. As anxious as I was to get moving, I knew time in the throne room areas was slowed to a crawl. An hour spent testing the spell could save me a lot of grief later, and it would only take seconds of "real-world" time.