Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Erasmus
“Not what I expected,” Loretta said, her voice somber. “What the hell happened to make that woman believe she deserved to be murdered? By her son no less.”
I sucked on my candy, squeezing out every sugary drop of goodness, hoping that same sugar would take away the bitter taste of Gladys’s soul. It was a lot to ask of a Jolly Rancher.
I shook my head. “I’m not sure. All I can tell you is that she wasn’t lying.
” I cringed. “I could feel it. The whole of her soul is saturated with grief, regret, and self-loathing. I don’t know what Gladys feels guilty about, but whatever spurred that feeling, she’s on board with it one hundred and ten percent.
There wasn’t an ounce of doubt.” I considered that statement before amending it.
“Gladys doesn’t want to think her son could kill anyone but her.
She’s fairly confident that’s the case but not one hundred percent sure.
” I’d felt the waver in her soul when she considered it.
“Good to know,” Franklin said. His hand rested on the small of my back, his fingers gently kneading into my tense muscles.
I’d come into the situation tense, although I think I’d done a commendable job hiding that fact from Franklin.
I was still reeling from my earlier conversation with Aurelia.
If I wasn’t a sniveling puddle on the floor by the time we were finished, maybe I’d ask Loretta about what I’d learned.
Did she know the first djinn was a witch?
Just because Loretta Cicely was a witch herself didn’t mean she had that kind of knowledge.
Witches had done an admirable job purging their grimoires of any hint regarding djinn creation.
It was generally accepted that was one of the darkest times in witch history.
It was a time their species fiercely regretted and strived to place behind them.
Djinn weren’t just a source of fear, but deep regret and embarrassment.
It was more than possible any knowledge regarding Ajita was lost to the living.
“How are you feeling?” Franklin asked. “I’m not questioning your necromancer abilities.”
“I never thought you were.” I offered Franklin a grateful smile. My quivering had settled, but the uncomfortable taste of Gladys’s guilty soul lingered. “Let’s bring back the next one and see what she has to say.”
I didn’t wait for Franklin to answer. I simply walked to the nearest remains and began. “You might want to start recording again, Loretta.”
“Already on it. Feel free to proceed anytime you’re ready.”
Closing my eyes, I focused on the nearest set of remains. This one was more eager than Gladys had been. “Clarissa Daniella Peyton, I call your soul back to your body.” I’d barely gotten the words out when the bones on the table rattled with the force of Clarissa’s soul’s return.
“Shit.” Dr. Stowe dashed forward, catching a smattering of small bones from Clarissa’s foot as they tumbled from the table.
The bones settled but continued vibrating. I winced. “Just a heads-up. Clarissa’s pissed.”
“You’re damn right I’m pissed!” Clarissa’s rage sang through the air.
“And I have every fucking right to be.” She didn’t mince words.
That was for certain. “One more week! I had one week left. I’d already defended my thesis.
I was going to finally, finally get my doctorate.
” Clarissa’s bones rattled again, rolling out of their alignment.
This one was going to give me a headache. Reaching into a pocket, I activated one of Pops’s pain charms. It was always better to get ahead of the pain than chase it.
Franklin’s pinched eyes and obvious frown indicated he hadn’t missed the motion. The quicker we got this done, the quicker I could let Clarissa’s enraged soul go. With that in mind, I said, “Clarissa, I’m Necromancer Boo—”
“Yes, yes. I know,” she answered with a huff. In my mind’s eye, I envisioned Clarissa standing there with her arms crossed, foot tapping. “Have you gutted the asshole that did this to me?”
My mouth slipped open only to quietly close. Thankfully, Franklin took up the verbal reigns. “Not yet. That’s what we’re trying to find out. That’s why we called you back. I’m sorry to say that we found your skeletal remains buried in the same area as five other women.”
“Five! Why in the hell would Clinton murder five other women? I was the one he was hung up on, the one he wouldn’t stop stalking. I told the police! I did every damn thing I was supposed to do and this still happened. Worthless. The lot of them are abso-fucking-lutley worthless.”
I watched Franklin and Loretta share a concerned look. “I’m sorry. Clinton…?”
“Baxter. Christ, what is wrong with you people. There should be a trail of paperwork long enough to cross the Atlantic Ocean and wind up in Spain. I made sure to document and file every fucked-up thing my ex ever did. If you’re telling me you’ve lost or somehow erased all that information, then—”
“We just learned your identity.” I needed to settle Clarissa’s soul before her bones went flying.
“You…what?” That got her attention. “What do you mean?”
I was impressed by how calmly Franklin explained the situation. Clarissa interrupted a few times but seemed to truly lose it when she learned exactly where she’d been found. Or more precisely, what state.
“What do you mean? What is my body doing in Mississippi? I’m from New York. I’ve never even stepped foot in the state. I hate the heat.”
I didn’t tell Clarissa that a dead body didn’t have much opinion on the heat one way or the other. Instead, I focused on the important bits. “New York?” I shared a concerned look with Franklin. I may not be the detective in the group, but even I could see the growing problem.
“Do I sound southern to you?” Clarissa huffed.
“Absolutely not.” No use arguing that point.
Franklin didn’t comment on the fact that having grown up in Chicago, he wasn’t native to the region either. Instead, he asked, “Did this Clinton Baxter have any ties that you know of to the state of Mississippi? Is there any reason he would have brought your body here?”
“God, no.” Clarissa sounded mortified by the mere idea. “Clinton hates the heat more than me. New York is even too hot for him. Clinton wants to move to Maine.” I could hear the eye roll in Clarissa’s words. “As if I would have ever moved there. I’m telling you, the man is delusional.”
I honestly wasn’t certain what to make of Clinton Baxter and decided I’d reserve judgment until we knew more.
Besides, there was a fair chance he had nothing to do with Clarissa’s murder.
I wasn’t making light of the stalker threat he posed, but pegging Clinton as our murderer was far from a slam dunk.
Franklin quizzed Clarissa more while Loretta threw in a few questions of her own.
Clarissa was a volatile soul and often needed to be reeled back in.
I wasn’t certain if she’d been this fiery while alive.
More often than not, souls retained their living personalities.
What I did think was that her anger over her death added a few more logs to her natural fire.
Franklin and I’d worked together on enough cases that I got a feel for when he was winding down. Relief flooded me when Franklin gave me the all-clear to let Clarissa’s soul go. She wasn’t all that willing but left with a gentle nudge on my part.
Sagging into Franklin’s firm body, I rubbed my forehead before leaving that heady space and walking toward the desk and an awaiting soda. Popping the top, I took a long drink, draining half the can before setting it back on the tabletop.
“Miss Peyton was a little…” Dr. Stowe seemed to be floundering for the right word.
“Extra,” Loretta supplied, and I nodded in agreement.
“You don’t need me to tell you how angry Clarissa’s soul is.” I picked up the can of soda and finished it off.
“How are you doing?” Franklin asked, concern lacing those few words.
“Better now that I’m not holding onto Clarissa’s soul.
” It hadn’t left the same foul taint that Gladys’s soul had, which was a blessing.
The weights their souls carried were very different.
Clarissa’s was like an exploding firework—there and gone, leaving a painful ringing in your ears.
Gladys’s was like thick tar, sticking to all my surfaces and leaving a lingering, bad taste.
As painful as Clarissa’s explosions had been, I much preferred them over souls like Gladys’s.
“Do you need a breather?” Loretta asked.
“Or maybe a day or two?” Franklin added.
I settled my palm on Franklin’s large bicep, running my fingers up and down his arm. I hoped my affection and appreciation could be seen in my grateful smile. “I’m good, but thank you for asking.”
“Are you sure. We can wait if—”
“No.” I shook my head while heading back to the remaining skeletal remains. “I’d like to get this over with and give you guys some answers.” I had a sinking suspicion it wasn’t answers I’d be giving, but more questions. Sometimes, it really sucked being right.
“What the hell is going on?” Loretta asked.
She was a petite witch, and her office chair seemed to swallow her whole.
The chair was definitely more Franklin-sized, unlike the chairs he and I were currently occupying on the opposite side of Loretta’s desk.
She’d ushered us into her office after I let the final soul go.
The wooden chair my ass was parked in wasn’t that comfortable, but I was currently too drained to give a shit.
Sitting down felt too good to care what the surface was.
“I don’t know,” Franklin answered, frustration adding sting to those three words. “Six bodies. Six different states. Four different known suspects.”
Four of the six souls thought they knew their murderer. The other two had no idea.
“And yet none of them actually saw their attacker,” Loretta said, her fingers threaded together and holding up her chin.
Franklin grunted, his words unintelligible.