Read Online Haruspex (Marla Mason) by T.A. Pratt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: T.A. Pratt
Ads: Link
sense. Not much, but a little.”
“Tell me,” Marla said. She had a stake in this, a duty, an obligation to dead Artemis Mann, the Belly Killer’s latest victim -- but all that aside, curiosity compelled her. To know the future. Even Rondeau’s jawbone couldn’t tell her that.
“You don’t want to know. I told Carlton Spandau, and you heard about him.”
“Victim number six. Is the killer someone I know? Someone Carlton knew?”
“He’s nobody ,” Rondeau said, seemingly affronted by the killer’s lack of stature. “Never been an apprentice, never witnessed anything...” He shook his head. “Carlton hired me to track him down, and after the sixth killing, I found him. Until three months ago, the killer was just an ordinary guy with a lousy job. Then... something happened. Something that made him strong enough to kill Carlton, Mangrove, Sorenson... I don’t know what, but when I tracked him leaving the murder scene, I smelled electricity.”
Marla blinked. “The Thrones?”
Rondeau shrugged. “I don’t know, but I don’t want any part of it.”
How could the Thrones be involved in murders? It didn’t make sense. “He killed Artemis Mann.” She spread her hands. “I have to find him.”
Rondeau nodded, understanding, but shrugged. “I won’t tell you. Carlton didn’t give me up, I assume, but you might.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at her warily.
“Do you want me to reverse my cloak, Rondeau?” she said softly. “Could you refuse me, if I clothed myself so?”
He clenched his jaw, so hard Marla heard his teeth crack. He didn’t seem to notice. She couldn’t read minds without great effort, and at the cost of suffering a terrible headache for days, but she knew his thoughts well enough. The last time he’d seen her wearing her cloak with the twilight-purple side showing, she’d ripped off his jawbone with a single hard twist and tug.
She relented. “Tell me, Rondeau, or I’ll tear out your jaw’s baby teeth with pliers.”
He relaxed. She’d made a serious threat, but she hadn’t stirred up his old pain and humiliation. They’d returned to almost friendly territory.
“I’ll want something in return,” he said.
“I’m reasonable. Besides, maybe he’ll manage to kill me, and you’ll be done with me forever.” She grinned nastily.
He looked wounded. “If you died, who would take care of my jaw?”
#
According to Rondeau, the Belly Killer worked at Jacob’s Jumble, one of those cramped downtown junk shops that existed to hold transitory cast-offs, replenishing itself ghoulishly from estate sales and grimy auctions houses. People like Marla visited such places, too, looking for odd bits of power, broken fragments of discarded magic.
Approaching the shop in the drizzly morning, invisible to both the stray dog ambling down the center of the trash-strewn street and the muttering man in patched fatigues pushing his shopping cart, Marla wondered if the murderer might have found an object of power at the store. Perhaps he’d discovered a rusty knife used in some long-ago sorcerer’s vendetta, and been forced by the object’s peculiar energies to continue the killing. Marla hungered for such an explanation, because that suggested the Belly Killer was an ordinary man caught up in dangerous forces, slave to someone else’s agenda, fueled by a scrap of life-force imprinted on a forgotten object. Marla could neutralize such influence, repay her obligation to gut-spilled Artie Mann, and slide out of this business without making ripples.
She stood, invisible as a thread of steam, before the door to Jacob’s Jumble, reading the store’s name picked out in flaking antique gold and black paint on the dirty glass door. The sky hung heavy, seemingly inches from the rooftops, threatening rain and maybe hail. Rondeau had cautioned her, saying the Thrones had an interest in the killer (this nobody, this unheard-of!), and that suggested he was more than a madman. Marla
“Tell me,” Marla said. She had a stake in this, a duty, an obligation to dead Artemis Mann, the Belly Killer’s latest victim -- but all that aside, curiosity compelled her. To know the future. Even Rondeau’s jawbone couldn’t tell her that.
“You don’t want to know. I told Carlton Spandau, and you heard about him.”
“Victim number six. Is the killer someone I know? Someone Carlton knew?”
“He’s nobody ,” Rondeau said, seemingly affronted by the killer’s lack of stature. “Never been an apprentice, never witnessed anything...” He shook his head. “Carlton hired me to track him down, and after the sixth killing, I found him. Until three months ago, the killer was just an ordinary guy with a lousy job. Then... something happened. Something that made him strong enough to kill Carlton, Mangrove, Sorenson... I don’t know what, but when I tracked him leaving the murder scene, I smelled electricity.”
Marla blinked. “The Thrones?”
Rondeau shrugged. “I don’t know, but I don’t want any part of it.”
How could the Thrones be involved in murders? It didn’t make sense. “He killed Artemis Mann.” She spread her hands. “I have to find him.”
Rondeau nodded, understanding, but shrugged. “I won’t tell you. Carlton didn’t give me up, I assume, but you might.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at her warily.
“Do you want me to reverse my cloak, Rondeau?” she said softly. “Could you refuse me, if I clothed myself so?”
He clenched his jaw, so hard Marla heard his teeth crack. He didn’t seem to notice. She couldn’t read minds without great effort, and at the cost of suffering a terrible headache for days, but she knew his thoughts well enough. The last time he’d seen her wearing her cloak with the twilight-purple side showing, she’d ripped off his jawbone with a single hard twist and tug.
She relented. “Tell me, Rondeau, or I’ll tear out your jaw’s baby teeth with pliers.”
He relaxed. She’d made a serious threat, but she hadn’t stirred up his old pain and humiliation. They’d returned to almost friendly territory.
“I’ll want something in return,” he said.
“I’m reasonable. Besides, maybe he’ll manage to kill me, and you’ll be done with me forever.” She grinned nastily.
He looked wounded. “If you died, who would take care of my jaw?”
#
According to Rondeau, the Belly Killer worked at Jacob’s Jumble, one of those cramped downtown junk shops that existed to hold transitory cast-offs, replenishing itself ghoulishly from estate sales and grimy auctions houses. People like Marla visited such places, too, looking for odd bits of power, broken fragments of discarded magic.
Approaching the shop in the drizzly morning, invisible to both the stray dog ambling down the center of the trash-strewn street and the muttering man in patched fatigues pushing his shopping cart, Marla wondered if the murderer might have found an object of power at the store. Perhaps he’d discovered a rusty knife used in some long-ago sorcerer’s vendetta, and been forced by the object’s peculiar energies to continue the killing. Marla hungered for such an explanation, because that suggested the Belly Killer was an ordinary man caught up in dangerous forces, slave to someone else’s agenda, fueled by a scrap of life-force imprinted on a forgotten object. Marla could neutralize such influence, repay her obligation to gut-spilled Artie Mann, and slide out of this business without making ripples.
She stood, invisible as a thread of steam, before the door to Jacob’s Jumble, reading the store’s name picked out in flaking antique gold and black paint on the dirty glass door. The sky hung heavy, seemingly inches from the rooftops, threatening rain and maybe hail. Rondeau had cautioned her, saying the Thrones had an interest in the killer (this nobody, this unheard-of!), and that suggested he was more than a madman. Marla
Similar Books
