A Spell to Wake the Dead, page 10
“I don’t see why you should put yourself through torture for a complete stranger,” I say.
“Mazzy.” Nora glares at me with bloodshot eyes. “The Hand of Nephthys is out there murdering people. Not just May and her sister. All those homeless people and runaways and probably loads more people we don’t even know about. We have information that nobody else has. That nobody else could possibly have. And you want to throw that away because you don’t feel like dealing with the inconvenience of how May communicates with us?”
“That’s not what I said at all.” I sigh. “And I wouldn’t exactly call her controlling you an inconvenience.”
“But what if this is all we have?” says Nora. “What if the trail goes cold without May? Do we just give up and go home and let more people get killed?”
“No, but how do you expect this to play out? You won’t even talk to Detective Huld,” I say. “What’s the endgame here? It’s not like we can single-handedly take down a murderer—or a bunch of murderers—and drag them to jail.”
“Elliot taking those pictures gave me an idea,” says Nora. “What we need to do is collect as much evidence as we can, like completely irrefutable proof that these murders were done by the Hand of Nephthys. And then we’ll take it to the police and show them before Detective Huld gets a chance to step in.”
I drag my hands through my own wind-tangled hair, making it crackle with static. “Why does it matter if Detective Huld—”
“Look!” she interrupts, pointing across the street, where a gray SUV with a Delaware plate has pulled into the lot. In the summer months, at least half the cars in town are from out of state, but it’s much less common at this time of year.
“Is that the guy who parked next to us at Mayflower?” I ask.
The man who gets out of the car is wearing a dark baseball cap, but it’s too far away to see if there are tattoos on his neck. Nora snatches up her phone and starts snapping pictures. As the man disappears inside, Elliot hangs up the pay phone.
“Zoom in,” I say, craning over to peer at her phone. The man’s body fills the screen, and then she swipes up. A blurry gray smudge winds around the side of his neck.
“It’s him,” she whispers.
“It has to be a coincidence.” I’m saying this because I want it to be, not because it actually has to be. “He’s probably visiting for the week, and we just ran into him twice. It happens.”
“Why would anybody come here in November?” Nora asks. “This place is dead.”
“It’s a lot deader than usual,” I say, and we both cringe. “Maybe he has a summer home and likes the offseason?”
“Right, because who doesn’t love freezing rain and everything being closed?” Nora rolls her eyes, and I’m relieved to see her old personality coming back.
The back door swings open, and Elliot jumps inside.
“It’s done,” he says, panting. “Go!”
As we swing out onto Route 28, Nora leans over me to snap another photo of the gray SUV.
“What did the cops say?” I keep an eye in the rearview mirror until the convenience store is out of sight.
“Not much,” says Elliot. “I just told them about the body and then hung up when they asked for my name.”
“Okay.” I wipe one sweaty palm on my skirt, then the other. “Did you see that guy who went into the store just as you were leaving?”
“No, why?”
“He was at Mayflower the day we found the teeth,” I say. “And he’s got a Delaware plate on his car, which Nora and I find slightly suspicious.”
“He might have something to do with the Hand of Nephthys,” adds Nora.
“Isn’t that supposed to be a local group?” Elliot asks.
“Technically,” she says. “But if they’re faking their own deaths, who knows what they might do to protect their identities? Or maybe he’s a wash-ashore, and he just joined.”
Nora snorts at her own joke and pulls out her phone. Wash-ashore is the term locals use for people who move here from other places. It’s barely funny, considering everything that’s washing up lately, but at least she’s making jokes now instead of singing and braiding her hair.
“Ooh, somebody wrote back on the forum,” she says.
“What did they say?” I ask.
“Somebody named Raven said they haven’t heard of the Hand of Nephthys cutting people’s hands off, but allegedly they carve a symbol into their victims’ sternum during rituals.”
“Nothing about them taking their hearts?” I ask.
“No,” says Nora, still reading. “People are arguing about what the actual symbol is. One person says it’s a tree, and somebody else says it’s a falcon.”
“There wasn’t a carved symbol on the second body,” I say. “It was a stitched-up wound. Did you notice anything like that on May’s chest?”
“No,” says Nora. “Her dress was covering it.”
“Can’t you just ask May how she died?” Elliot asks.
“That’s literally what I’ve been trying to do all this time.” Nora’s voice is sharp with irritation. “You try understanding a dead spirit who’s screaming inside your brain. You have no idea how hard this is.”
“Okay, okay. Let’s figure out a different plan,” I say.
“If we hurry, we could go back to Scargo and check the body for symbols before the cops get there,” says Nora.
“No, that’s too risky,” I say. “But hear me out.” A plan is forming in my brain. A batshit plan, but everything is basically batshit at this point. “What if we went to the morgue and asked to see May’s body? If there is a symbol on her chest—or if her heart was cut out—that’s some solid evidence that she was killed by the Hand of Nephthys.”
Nora sets down her phone, her whole face alight. “Yesss.”
“Wait.” Elliot squints at me in the rearview mirror. “Can you just show up at a morgue and do that?”
“No idea,” I say. “But it can’t hurt to try, right?”
My anxiety is gusting in like a windstorm, and I know we’re pushing things way too far, but hopefully once Nora realizes we can do this investigation and gather real evidence without May’s help, she’ll be more open to severing their connection. This could be the key to fixing everything.
“Let’s do it,” says Nora. “The worst they can say is no.”
CHAPTER 19
After a minute of internet research and twenty-five minutes of driving, we file through the front door of the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner. Inside the single-story building, it’s bright and modern, but there’s a faint scent of chemicals and an underlying sense of something dark and unsettled. This is the place where bodies get sent when their deaths are suspicious. This is where the recently murdered people end up.
A tired-looking woman behind the front desk glances up from her laptop. She frowns as she takes in Nora’s smeared eyeliner and mud-spattered clothes.
“Can I help you?” she says.
I clear my throat. “We, uh, were wondering if it’s possible to see the body of the woman who was found on Mayflower Beach?”
She stares at me like I’ve just sprouted a second nose. “It is absolutely not possible.”
“Please.” Nora plants her hands on the desk, and the woman leans back like Nora’s goth-ness might be contagious. “It’s really important. We were the ones who—”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” says the woman, holding up a hand. “If there were a body here, that would be an active investigation, and nobody but staff and law enforcement would be allowed to go near the deceased.”
Nora chews her lip. “What if we had a missing family member and we wanted to check if it was her?”
“Then you should speak the police first,” says the woman. “Now I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Come on,” mutters Elliot, heading for the door, but Nora doesn’t move. Her lower lip starts wobbling.
Don’t do it, I think as hard as I can. The last thing we want to do is make a scene right now, not when we’re trying to keep a low profile. I’m about to take her arm and pull her out of here, but then she blinks and rearranges her expression into a smile.
“Okay, we’ll do that.” She brushes a fleck of dirt off her furry coat. “Sorry to take up your time.”
“That’s all right.” The receptionist’s sour expression says it’s anything but all right as she rounds her desk and starts shepherding us toward the door.
“So, um, should we call the regular police, or maybe 911?” Nora is dithering beside an empty desk for some inexplicable reason.
“What is she doing?” whispers Elliot.
The woman doubles back for Nora. “Just call your regular police station’s non-emergency number.”
“Okay, and who should I ask to talk to?” asks Nora. “Is there, like, a detective or someone else I—oh!”
Somehow, Nora has managed to trip over the receptionist’s foot, or the receptionist tripped over hers, and the two of them go sprawling. The woman catches herself on the corner of the desk, but Nora bounces off and lands on her hands and knees on the floor.
“Jesus Christ,” mutters Elliot as we help Nora up for the second time today.
“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry about that,” she says as the receptionist stalks ahead of us and holds the door open. Elliot and I stagger out into the parking lot with Nora clutched between us.
“Do not come here again,” says the woman, and right after the door slams shut, I hear the click of a bolt.
“Holy hell, Nora,” I say. “What was that?”
“Just keep walking,” she mutters.
Nora’s got this odd, faraway look on her face as we cross the parking lot, and I’m afraid she’s going to start singing and braiding her hair again, or tell us we have to run off and find another body. But as soon as we’re back in the car and pulling out onto the road, she turns to me with a massive grin.
“Got it,” she says, holding up a white access badge.
I swerve briefly into the wrong lane. Thankfully, it’s empty.
“Please tell me you didn’t steal that receptionist’s badge,” Elliot says.
“Um, no,” says Nora. “She’d notice it was missing right away and know we took it. I grabbed this off that other desk when I ‘fell.’ ” She makes air quotes around the word. “It’s late, so whoever this belongs to probably won’t be in the office until tomorrow. We can sneak in tonight and put it back on their desk.”
“We can’t actually sneak in there, though,” I say.
“Why not?” she says.
“Don’t they have security cameras?” Elliot asks.
“Probably,” she says. “But I bet I can get around that.”
“How, exactly, are we going to get around security cameras?” I ask.
Nora shrugs. “I found a new spell that temporarily disrupts electronic devices, and I bet it’d work on cameras.”
Alarm bells start ringing in my brain. “Where did you find a spell like that?”
She waves her hand airily. “Yesterday. Online.”
“It’s not from the person who posted that moon shadow spell, is it?” I ask.
“Nope,” she says, but I don’t quite believe her. “Anyway, I tried it out on my phone, our TV, and our internet router. It’s pretty simple, but it only lasts a few minutes, so we’ll have to hurry.”
The alarm bells in my brain turn to full-blown tornado sirens. This isn’t how Nora and I practice magic—I can’t begin to imagine having that kind of direct effect on the world. Considering we still haven’t managed to pull off a spell to clear up acne, it makes no sense that Nora suddenly knows how to disable internet routers. It’s not even in the same league as anything we’ve tried before.
“I have an extremely bad feeling about this,” I say.
“Of course you do,” says Nora. “But we have to do it anyway. May and her sister need our help. Listen—we know things that the police don’t, right? But if we go to them now, they’ll never believe a word we say. Once we’ve got enough evidence, I promise we’ll give it all to them, but right now, we’re just going to look suspicious. And we’re going to attract even more attention from Detective Huld.”
“But we’re not actual murder suspects,” I say. “They can’t blame us for being at a beach with a candle, and they don’t know it was us who found the second body.”
“Who even knows what they can blame us for?” says Nora. “Anyway, if the spell doesn’t work and the electricity stays on, we’ll just leave.”
“And if something goes wrong and the cops catch us, we’ll tell them the whole truth?” says Elliot.
Nora’s eyes slide sideways. “Sure.”
I don’t like the way she’s practically vibrating in her seat right now, but I don’t have a better option to get to the bottom of everything and make it all stop.
“All right,” I groan. “But you promise that if we do get caught—”
“Then I swear we can come clean about everything. But we’re not going to get caught,” she says, and I wish I had half of Nora’s conviction about literally anything.
I glance over my shoulder at Elliot. “If you don’t want to get caught up in this mess, we totally understand. I can bring you home.”
“Are you kidding?” he says. “There’s no way I’m letting you two sneak into a freaking morgue without me.”
Despite myself, I smile as I merge onto the highway.
CHAPTER 20
“Is this good?” I say, pulling so far off the road that branches crunch against the side of my car. My teeth are chattering, even though the heat is on and I’m wearing a heavy sweatshirt.
“If your goal is for me to not be able to get out, it’s perfect,” Nora grumbles.
“Just climb over and get out my side,” I say. “I don’t want anyone to see it parked here and call the cops.”
“It’s not illegal to park on the side of the road,” she says, but she crawls over the center console anyway and takes the face mask I’m holding out. Elliot gets out of the back, carrying the big golf umbrella my dad put in my car for emergencies.
Nora laughs. “Are you expecting rain?”
He shakes his head. “I’m going to use it to shield us from security cameras while we look for the body.”
“We’re not going to need it,” says Nora, “but okay, I guess.”
“I still kind of hope the cops show up,” he mutters, but I know that’s not true. The idea of spilling everything to the police is appealing, but getting arrested isn’t. Besides, Nora’s right that we stand a better chance of being believed if we have more concrete proof about what’s happening and who’s responsible. I just wish the potential proof wasn’t inside a morgue.
We pull up the hoods of our black sweatshirts and tuck the masks over our faces before ducking through the patch of woods that leads to the chief medical examiner’s office. It’s nine fifty-five. The night is cold and moonless, and there are no streetlights out here, so we switch on our phone flashlights. We haven’t seen a single car since we got here, but I can’t shake the feeling that anyone could be out there in the trees, watching.
The building is deserted and unlit, and as we tiptoe closer, the only sound is our nervous breath, coming fast. A tiny red light glows beside the entrance, and as soon as Nora flashes her badge at the card reader, the door clicks open and we slip inside, keeping our heads low.
“Stop here.” Elliot opens his umbrella and we all duck underneath, and then Nora pulls out two mason jars. Whispering an incantation, she pours the contents of one into the other and gives them a little shake to mix. Instantly, a migraine stabs into the space behind my eye sockets. The glowing exit sign flickers out. The emergency lighting along the floor goes black. The low background hum disappears. It’s as silent as a tomb.
“My phone just died,” whispers Elliot. “Nora, are you kidding me right now?”
“Told you it’d work.” Nora is positively dripping with smugness.
My phone screen is blank too, and uneasiness worms around in my gut. This shouldn’t be possible. I wonder if having May inside her head is making Nora more powerful, if having possession of two minds gives her twice the intention to apply to her spells. Or if May is somehow changing her. The thought makes me nauseous. We know nothing about May, except that she’s dead and she likes bending people to her will. It’s not smart for Nora to just accept whatever she’s giving her.
I take two flashlights from my bag and hand one to Nora. Even though the batteries are fresh, mine won’t switch on, and hers flickers for a few seconds before dying. She pulls out a lighter and a small candle in a silver tin.
“I thought that might happen,” she says. “Good thing I brought backup.”
This building seemed so official and clinical in the daytime, but the faint candlelight and wavering shadows make it feel like a completely different place. A sinister place. The chemical smell reminds me of the frogs we dissected in ninth grade science class, all stiff and rubbery and wet, and I can’t stop thinking of all the murdered people who have passed through here. I wonder where they came from, how long they stayed, how many of them gave up their secrets once they were sliced open.
Nora gives her spell jar another shake, and something inside catches my eye. I lean in to get a better look, and she snatches it away, but not fast enough.
“Is that a tooth in there?” I ask.
Nora pauses. “Maybe.”
“Nora Hawthorne, tell me you didn’t find a spell online that told you to use the tooth of a murdered woman,” I say. “Tell me that did not seem the slightest bit suspicious to you.”
“The spell didn’t say to use the tooth.” Nora clutches the jar to her chest, like I’m about to snatch it away. “I had a flash of intuition about adding it. And I was right. Look how well it’s working.”
