The Drifting Gloom (Maddy Wimsey Book 2) Read online

  Isabelle crunches out into the room. “Oh, wow, there’s glass everywhere.”

  “Yeah,” I mumble. Suppose I should be relieved this particular entity appears to be a malicious prankster and not something worse.

  She creeps over to my stall. “So, you can hop on my back or I’ll look for a broom? Maybe use paper towels?”

  “You’ll wind up cutting your hand. It’s only to the door anyway.”

  Piggyback ride it is. Okay, so now we’re thirty-five years old going on five.

  I hop down once we’re outside, both of us laughing our fool heads off. Though we had a valid reason to horse around, sometimes acting like a kid is good for the soul. Our lighter mood carries us back to the campsite without any further feelings of danger.

  Chapter Two

  Disbelief

  Saturday Night – July 8, 2017

  Wearing only my jewelry and our two-person sleeping bag, I cuddle up to Caius once we’ve all decided to call it a night.

  Not that we’re really planning to do anything more than hold each other with Isabelle, Owen, and Noah just ten feet away, but after like six years of sleeping with nothing between us, sleeping nude has become a habit.

  Caius throws off an astounding level of body heat for a wiry man. Snuggling up against him is better than having an electric blanket. He glides his hand up over my hip, cradling my back and tugging me closer.

  “You’re worried about something,” he says into my ear.

  I rest my head on his shoulder. “Yeah. Did you sense any unusual energy when we ran off to the bathroom?”

  “Nah. Unless Owen’s fizzy beer counts.”

  “Hah.”

  His fingers trace side to side on my back.

  “Oh, careful, mister. Keep that up and we’re going to do more than cuddle.”

  “Is that so terrible.”

  “We’re not alone, and you’re not exactly quiet.”

  “I can be as quiet as the situation calls for. But whatever you sensed, it’s disturbed your aura. You’re tense.”

  I reach an arm across his chest, leaning closer, almost laying on top of him. “It felt dark, Caius. Malevolent…”

  Caius props himself up on an elbow. He knows me. He knows my tone. He knows when I’ve been spooked. “Go on.”

  “I suspect it could have done more—a lot more—but it only broke a light bulb to be a dick.” I tell him more about our adventure to the bathroom—and in the bathroom. As I do so, he reaches up out of the sleeping bag and brushes his hand over my head. His touch is so soothing, I might actually be able to sleep tonight.

  When I finish, he says, “Hmm. That sounds similar to how my mother described Elise talking about her ‘shadow eye’ thing.”

  Ugh. Shadow eye? So much for sleeping. “You think it’s the same entity?”

  “Possibly. But you could have come upon any number of discarnate entities, Maddy. Perhaps it’s been roaming these woods for decades… centuries.””

  “Maybe, but it felt… personal,” I say. “Like it was sending me a message.”

  “What kind of message.”

  “To back off.”

  He nods, takes in some air. “Back off from what?”

  I think for a moment, but keep circling back to the coven. “Elise is the only person I know dealing with a similar entity.”

  We think about that some more as the others nearby whisper among themselves. Isabelle laughs from inside her tent... but it’s a nervous laughter. Caius listens, then looks back at me, one side of his mouth curling into a rogue’s grin. “One thing I know is that shadow won’t even know what hit it if it keeps messing with you.”

  “Heh.” I chuckle. “Thanks.”

  Only, it’s not me I’m worrying about. If it is what I think it is, I got the feeling it wanted Isabelle. Of course, it knows it can’t get into my head so it’s going to attack me in other ways, by hurting the people I care about. Abigail, the high priestess of our coven―and Caius’s mother―doesn’t leave home too often, but the entity would have to be somewhere between brain dead and suicidal to force a direct confrontation with her. Caius, too, is likely more than capable of fending it off. The worst something like that could do to either one of us is be annoying. I’m sure it’s quite thoroughly pissed off at my entire coven for sheltering Elise. It wouldn’t surprise me if this thing has been going out of its way to…

  I wind up staring at the tent wall in shock as an idea hits me regarding two more of my coven sisters.

  Colleen’s boyfriend started getting violent with her out of the blue, and she’d been quite careful to avoid men like that. She’d used a spell to protect herself and it probably resulted in the car accident that left him hospitalized. Also, those rabid church people have been on Tamika’s case pretty hard, too. Not that her unique personality didn’t make things worse. She’s the most outwardly protective of the coven, and won’t shy away from a verbal altercation if someone threatens or insults us.

  If those people harassing her are genuine faithful, an entity like that shouldn’t have had any purchase on their thoughts, but that preacher and his little church give me bad vibes. There’s a distinct difference between true religion and a control cult. Jesus preached love, not ‘burn everyone who doesn’t agree with you.’ Could this shadow entity be affecting them, driving them to stir up trouble with Tamika?

  My thoughts swim over my recent history. Nothing with the drifter case or Walter Manning’s murder strikes me as strange enough to question the involvement of a paranormal entity, but it’s not like this thing can be everywhere at once.

  Caius eventually drifts off to sleep. He’d be an awful spy or Special Forces soldier. I could fire my sidearm inside the tent and he’d probably snore through it. For a while, I lay awake, teasing a finger at his jangle of pentacle, triple-moon, and glyph amulets. Just being near him, feeling him breathe, is calming me, but not enough to get my brain to stop spinning.

  An hour or so later, I’m no closer to falling asleep. I need some air or something.

  Gingerly, I disentangle myself from Caius, a true task since this ‘sleeping bag for two’ isn’t exactly the roomiest thing. My hair fluffs out as I sit up, two thick masses of red curls fall like curtains over my breasts not a second before our tent flap yanks open.

  Little Noah peers in. “Hi.”

  Before I can do anything more than blush, he backs out. What the? I pat my hair in thanks for the emergency save, and slip the rest of the way free of the sleeping bag. After getting dressed, including my hiking sneakers, I crawl out of the tent and look around our dark campsite. No sign of the boy.

  Worried, I scoot over to the other tent and glance inside. Isabelle and Owen are sound asleep in separate bags. A small Pokemon sleeping bag between them is empty, but Noah’s curled up on top of his father’s chest.

  Whew.

  I leave them in peace and wander into the woods. A few minutes enjoying the quiet stillness of nature should clear my mind. Not far from my tent, I spot a flat-topped boulder about the size of a steamer trunk, which makes for a perfect seat.

  Perched on the rock cross-legged, I grip my knees and close my eyes. At this hour, the birds are quiet, but the crickets and other insects sing to me. My hair lofts upon a steady, gentle breeze, fluttering in time with the reassuring whisper in the pines overhead.

  The Goddess is here, as she is with all living things. No darkness shall encroach upon my mind, nor my heart.

  A tug on the back of my shirt almost makes me yell in surprise. Outwardly, I appear calm, but my pulse hammers in my eardrums.

  I open my eyes and glance back, expecting to see nothing―more games from an entity. But there stands Noah in his underpants. He should be shivering, but he isn’t. Wide eyes convey fear and worry. Silent tears stream down his face.

  My spike of terror collapses into concern. “Noah?” I spin around on the rock and pluck him up in my arms. “What are you doing out here alone?”

  “There’s something wro
ng with Mommy, an’ Daddy won’t wake up.”

  That phrase shoves my heart into my throat. The last time a kid said that had been a case Ed Parrish worked on soon after my promotion to detective. A four-year-old had been stuck in a house with her dead parents for a couple days, and told the responding officers her daddy wouldn’t wake up.

  Hoping with every fiber of my soul that this didn’t turn out to be kid-speak for dead, I spring to my feet and carry Noah at a brisk jog back toward the campsite. As soon as I reach our tents, I skid to a halt at the sight before me. My hair flops over Noah’s face, blocking his eyes. Even the crickets have fallen silent.

  Isabelle’s sitting on the ground by her tent in her T-shirt and panties, staring off into space with a vacant, lifeless expression like someone who’s been stuck in a mental ward for years. A coalescence of shadowy vapors about waist-high to an adult hovers next to her, wisps like hands caressing the sides of her head.

  My best friend’s expression darkens to confused anger. She breaks out in a series of random muttering like she’s trying to yell at Noah in a crowded store without drawing too much attention. Most of it is gibberish, but a “go away” or two slip out.

  I pivot Noah to put his face against my shoulder. He does not need to see his mother acting like that. A palpable wave of frustration radiates from the shadow. It draws in on itself, shrinking to half its size before raking at Isabelle with one wispy hand and streaking off into the trees.

  She blinks and shakes her head, yawns, then squints up at me. “Couldn’t sleep?” Her eyes narrow to squinting. “What am I doing outside without pants?”

  “Iz?” I rush over to her. “You okay?”

  It dawns on her she’s out of her sleeping bag sans pants. Since Caius is still sound asleep and in no danger of seeing her, she doesn’t panic much.

  “Mommy?” asks Noah, turning in my arms.

  I set the squirming boy down, and he promptly runs over and hugs his mother. Isabelle looks at me, some fear in her eyes as she mouths, “What happened?”

  I whisper, “Later.”

  She nods, pulls her boy into her a little tighter. When they are done with their moment, I point to her semi-nakedness, and she nods again. She might have even blushed a little, now that the shock of finding herself outside has worn off.

  She passes Noah to me. Owen shifts and grumbles in his sleep when Isabelle pulls the tent flap aside to grab her jeans. Seeing him okay lifts a huge weight off my chest and lets me breathe again.

  I take a few steps past the tent in the direction the thing went, but there’s no sign of it ever having been here. The forest once again gives off a strong positive energy.

  “Ouchy,” mutters Isabelle. She’d reached up to touch her neck.

  “You okay?” I ask, turning back to her. The skin on the right side of her neck has turned into a red blotch.

  She touches it gingerly again, then snugs her jeans up and buttons them. “Damn bugs. Something bit me. Go figure it’s on my neck when my lower half was wide open.”

  “Yeah…” I sit beside her. Three distinct lines run down the middle of the abrasion on her neck, the longest one in the middle is a bit over an inch. Many people would say three claws is a mark of the Christian devil, but to me, it’s a matter of fingers. Index, middle, ring are the longest, and from a hasty swipe, the most likely to make contact. But who knows, maybe there are demons out there that have a thing for the number three. “Should fade in an hour or so.”

  She rolls her neck, sighing. She knows bug bites don’t ‘fade’ in an hour or so.

  “It’s not a mosquito bite, is it?” Isabelle rocks Noah in her arms while giving me an uneasy stare.

  That entity had been frustrated. Her disbelief had shielded her for now. If I say too much after an episode like that, her armor might crack. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway. Which is a good thing. Your disbelief is like a mental shield.”

  She swipes her hair off her face and smirks. “It’s not like you to try and convert anyone.”

  I grin. “Who said anything about converting? I’m trying to leave you to your opinions by not commenting.”

  “Okay then.” Isabelle lets the air out of her lungs, yawns, and kisses Noah on the head.

  We sit in awkward silence for a while. I grab a twig and stab it at the dirt.

  “Doing one of your wards?” asks Isabelle.

  “Nope. Sometimes a twig poking at the dirt is just a twig poking at the dirt.” I chuckle. “Nervous fingers need something to do.”

  She rubs a hand up and down Noah’s back. “It’s disconcerting to see you nervous.”

  “Mommy didn’t see the shadow man. But I saw him.”

  The tiny voice sends a shudder over Isabelle. “Kids, right? They say the creepiest things.”

  “Yeah.” I twist my twig at the ground.

  “I should really go to sleep,” says Isabelle.

  “Me too.” It seems likely the entity won’t be back, so sleeping bag plus Caius calls to me.

  Isabelle looks over at me with wide brown eyes. “Mads, what if I asked you to be straight with me?”

  “I am straight. I don’t like women.”

  She pokes me, managing a weak smile. “Not what I mean.”

  “I know.” My twig snaps, so I drop the pieces in the duff. “Oops.”

  Isabelle gazes around at the woods for a while, still rocking Noah.

  I will her not to ask what I know she wants to ask. Hell, what she needs to ask.

  “Mads?”

  “Hmm?” I glance at her… and my hair promptly falls over my face.

  She snickers. “Oh, c’mon. You have to do that on purpose.”

  “Nope. She’s got a mind of her own.”

  “Oh, brother.”

  Noah reaches over and runs his fingers through my hair like he’s petting a cat.

  Isabelle’s foot bounces nervously. “So, umm, if I wanted you to tell me what you think just happened, what would you say? And let’s pretend I don’t automatically roll my eyes at the weird stuff.”

  “Total disbelief works to shield the mind much the same way as devotion to a theology. If you start to ask questions, open yourself to wondering if there are things science can’t explain, you could become vulnerable.”

  “Surely belief in something can’t cause you to become vulnerable.”

  “No. It’s more complex than that. More like fear of being vulnerable makes you vulnerable, not simply being open to the idea things like that exist. The more you can shield yourself mentally, knowing you’re protected, the better.”

  “Look, I don’t remember how I went from sleeping to sitting out here in my underwear. At one point, I thought I heard someone whispering in my ear, but not words. More like feelings. Dark feelings I don’t even want to think about.”

  I take her hand. Crap. Sounds like her armor might be cracked already. Fortunately, whether or not she believes in my magic won’t matter. A protective amulet I make her will work, no matter what she thinks of it. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  “I am.”

  “A shadow entity was hovering next to you when I walked out of the forest. It looked like it was shampooing you.”

  She chuckles.

  “I got a sense of extreme frustration from it. The shadow shot off into the trees before I could do anything, but it took a swipe at you on the way out. You’ve got claw scratches on your neck as proof.”

  Isabelle puts a hand over the spot. “It’s hot and it burns. Why’d that thing come after me? I mean, assuming it exists.”

  “I don’t like the shadow man,” says Noah, pouting. “It wanted to hurt Mommy.”

  Over the next few minutes, I give her the basic version of Elise’s story, and my thoughts that something she may have summoned is highly pissed off because it can’t get to her while she remains inside Abigail’s home.

  “So, umm… Am I supposed to like run to church now?” She sighs. “Start believing in all of it overnight?”

  �
�Iz, I can’t truly grasp your headspace since I grew up surrounded by what I believe in. No one can tell you what to believe but you. I’ve got my Goddess and gods, and the Catholics have their God and the Hindus and Greeks and Romans have theirs. For all I know, every bit of it is real. The monotheists think there’s only one god, but maybe that’s because they’ve decided to follow a jealous one. In my life, I’ve seen and done things science can’t explain. If you want me to, I’ll give you my opinion on anything. But if a priest, imam, rabbi, monk, or whatever does it for you, that’s fine too. If you wake up tomorrow and think, ‘There’s no way in hell I’m believing in this stuff,’ that’s also fine.”

  She shrugs. “I dunno. It all seems so far-fetched to me. I can’t rationalize religion… or even that damn shadow man.”

  “The wind didn’t scratch your neck, Iz,” I say, rubbing her back.

  “Didn’t mean it was a shadow man either. And how do we know it wasn’t a shadow woman, by the way?” She pauses, looks up at me. “Right, you saw it.”

  “I did. Though maybe… it’s hard to assign gender to a cloud of darkness.”

  Her lips curl into an almost smile. “And you’re not screwing with me?”

  “Not about something like this. Maybe other things. Maybe a lot of other things. But not this.”

  “And you trying to freak me out. Practical as I am, we are out in middle of the goddamn woods… and I have this.” She reaches up again and touches her neck.

  “No reason to freak out, Izzy. It’s just a free-roaming collection of negative energy. And for religion, any activity involving large quantities of humans trying to be organized will always have abuse. That’s true for kingdoms, nations, governments, corporations, and social groups. Someone’s always trying to get power. You hear about the people who misuse religion more because the good, spiritual ones don’t wind up on the news as much. People feeding the homeless or taking care of their elderly neighbors don’t make for good ratings.”

  She laughs. “Right… So is that thing going to come back?”