Lilith's Amulet

by Elizabeth Blake

  Drool dangled from the Jackal’s jaw. A deep rumble throttled the air. Its growl grew, doubling in volume until Lilith could drown in it. The Jackal advanced, and Razorback would arrive soon.

  Run, her brain urged.

  She didn’t. She couldn’t leave Haniel stranded, mostly because she had no desire to sift through mongrel scat for the digested remnants of his heart. And also, she was cornered.

  Her few remaining snakes tried to distract the werewolf, but it reared up, stomping down on them. Snip, snip. Tails writhed underpaw. The Jackal stalked forward and bellowed. Its carrion breath churned her stomach. Spittle flew from its maw and dribbled on her ankle.

  Heat seared her skin. Her stomach churned. Indignation followed.

  I didn’t do all this to die as dog kibble.

  Her lips peeled back. She didn’t roar, howl or growl; she screamed. The sound raked the air like razors scratching a hundred chalkboards. Sibilant and aggressive, hysterical. The Jackal cringed, and she scrabbled away.

  His teeth were bigger than hers, but hers were sharper. He was stronger, she was faster—on a good day, but probably not today. He was vulnerable to silver, but she didn’t have any.

  In a fair fight with everything being equal, the bigger guy wins.

  Lilith didn’t have any hope of beating a hungry werewolf, let alone two, in a fair fight.

  Luckily, she liked to fight dirty.

  Her spark warbled and swelled, agitated and eager to play. Soon, it’d be enough to work with. Lilith continued to backpedal, regaining space, buying time. Wet filth soaked her dress as she slunk deeper into the alley.

  The Jackal sniffed at some of the squashed serpents on the ground as if trying to understand her association with them.

  She needed more snakes, the most venomous ones she could conjure. And because size mattered, she wanted them to be big. Lamppost-sized. Electric pole-sized. Oak-tree tall and stout.

  Lilith imagined an eastern mamba as green as summer limes with venom so potent even a drop would cause respiratory failure.

  If only I could lace its venom with silver.

  She hesitated. Was it possible?

  She’d bespoke specific snakes, choosing what type and how big, but maybe she hadn’t been creative enough. Could she manipulate other details, even design a specific toxin? Perhaps if she focused hard enough…

  Scouring the alley, she noted a series of pipes running up the side of the apartment building. Also, a fire escape, as expected, but it was broken and high up and so rickety-looking. Her eyes bounced back to the pipes.

  Lilith held her breath and concentrated, picturing a behemoth mamba, a creation large enough to wrestle a werewolf.

  Silver venom, silver venom, she chanted to herself.

  Meanwhile, the Jackal stalked her with its head low, eyes fixated. Warm breath puffed in the frigid air. Drool dribbled over its sneering lips.

  She backed down the alley, knowing there was nowhere to go. The walls seemed to close in on her. Cornered, trapped, her heart trembled. She pumped magic into the serpent’s Becoming.

  Silver and strong, she prayed.

  The iron pipe plumped, twitched.

  Razorback appeared at the end of the alley and shouldered past the Jackal. It was even larger than she’d first assumed. It snarled and charged.

  Oh, shit.

  Lilith ripped the snake into existence, shoving spark down his throat.

  The gigantic serpent fell to the ground with a thud, twisting his body. Skunk-like stripes ran down his back.

  The two mongrels jumped, yelping in surprise.

  While Lilith admired the sheer volume of snake flesh she’d created, she noticed something was off. Instead of the triangular skull and tapered nose of a mamba, Skunk had a broad, coffin-shaped head. His eyes were too far forward and his jaw was wide as a dinner plate.

  Oh, double shit.

  She’d messed up. The green anaconda from the zoo must have been on her mind; she’d created a constrictor, twenty-feet long and four-hundred-pounds, but sluggish. No mamba, no legendary venom, just a silver-striped beast.

  The poor, dull bastard didn’t have the juice to go up against a werewolf.

  Hopefully, the wolves wouldn’t know.

  “That’s right,” she said, “I’ve got more where that came from.”

  Pure bravado. She’d wasted a lot of power creating Skunk.

  The mongrels recovered and advanced, heads low, teeth bared. Skunk surged forward, intercepting them. Razorback reared back, spine curving in aggression and surprise. Skunk looked for a chance to latch his six rows of teeth onto a snout or paw.

  Lilith’s brain scrambled for a plan. If the anaconda held them off long enough, she could create another champion.

  Provided the spark replenished fast enough.

  Just then, Haniel limped into view. Panting and heaving, he skidded and slipped on the ice. His legs went out from under him, and he fell on his face only a few yards from the Jackal’s swishing tail.

  Damn it.

  Haniel crawled back. The Jackal spun, slipped on the same patch of ice, and stumbled. Skunk took the opportunity, lunged, hooked around the werewolf’s hind legs, and squeezed. The enormous wolf toppled…right on Haniel.

  Lilith’s heart stopped.

  A puff of sulfur rained through the sky. The legion manifested in a swarm and yanked Haniel back into the street, out of harm’s way. Lilith heaved a sigh of relief and pushed herself up to her elbows. The spark grew in her chest.

  Get to work, she lectured herself. Imagine a taipan—

  Razorback bit one of Skunk’s coils, but the powerful serpent wound tight. Pain only made Skunk tighten his grip. The Jackal chomped down on Skunk’s spine, claiming a chunk of flesh, and the snake looped his tail around Razorback’s legs. Finding purchase, he cinched them together.

  Skunk was dying, though, and wouldn’t last long.

  Lilith reached inside herself and grasped the spark.

  Please, let me have enough power to pull this off.

  The spark flared, churned, and darted out. A second pipe shifted, shuddered, and bent to Lilith’s call. She closed her eyes long enough to dream of an inland taipan with a fierce black head and amber body, toxic to a magnificent degree.

  With all her might, Lilith focused on creating the most venomous snake she could conjure.

  Yet it didn’t break free.

  The Jackal clenched its jaws on the constrictor’s body and shook Skunk. Bones broke, the snake bled.

  Her spark wrung itself dry, but the taipan, caught in a brick and mortar chrysalis, was unable to truly Become. Its mouth opened, tongue flickered, spine twitched—but its tail melded into the wrought-iron pipe, scales merging with metal.

  The taipan twisted. Powerful muscles bulged down its body, but its lower body remained trapped by bricks and brackets.

  Lilith’s magic trickled in, wisp by wisp, but she tried to hold it, waiting until she had enough to guarantee the taipan’s Becoming.

  The snake wasn’t patient. It flattened its ribs as if trying to fit into a small space. Its body torqued so hard flesh began to tear. Acrid serpent blood stung the air.

  Lilith crouched on her toes, waiting for the spark inside her breast to rekindle, ready to spring up and tear the snake down if she had to.

  Just a flicker more.

  Meanwhile, Skunk twitched his last, and his bloodied body drooped. A vicious SNIP punted Lilith’s spine.

  Out of time.

  Lilith dredged up every last bit of her spark and heaved it into the taipan. Her knees gave and she collapsed. The snake broke free and fell. Lilith sighed, but her relief didn’t last.

  The taipan was born small, scarcely six feet long, anemic in comparison to the anaconda. She had one saving grace: heavy venom glands bulged at her throat. She hissed, opening her mouth, extending two inch fangs.

  What if its fangs can’t pierce the mongrels’ hide?

  If the taipan couldn’t envenomate, or if her hemo
toxins didn’t work on werewolves, Lilith was doomed.

  Before the mutts freed themselves from Skunk’s tangled body, the taipan rushed into the fray, fangs gleaming with silvery venom.

  Exhausted, Lilith slunk against the wall and whispered, “Kill them, sweetie.”

  ‘Sweetie’ raised her forebody, stacked her torso into an s-shape, and lunged at the Jackal. The hobbled wolf teetered across the short alley and smashed its shoulder into the brick wall.

  The fire escape rattled, sheared, slid loose. A platform, slats, rungs all tumbled down, heading straight toward Lilith’s head. She was so tired that she sprawled there, wondering if the mess was heavy enough to crush her skull or if she’d live through it.

  Leathery hands shoved her away.

  Metal clanged to the ground where she’d been.

  Five-horn winked and trotted back over to Haniel, who’d been propped against the wall. He seemed unable to put any weight on his knee. Almost-wing, Triceratops, and Hog-nose positioned themselves between him and the werewolves.

  Sweetie’s black head latched onto Razorback’s back leg. The wolf bayed. The Jackal limped in, bit Sweetie’s tail, and pulled back, trying to make the snake disengage.

  Even if Sweetie wanted to let go, she couldn’t, not with the way her fangs hooked, and so the snake tore. Her venomous head remained stuck in Razorback while her tail went with the Jackal.

  SNAP.

  Lilith shouted in rage. After all the time she’d spent on Sweetie, all the spark she’d given, and the damned wolves didn’t have the decency to die. She reached down and grabbed one of the fire escape’s rusty rails. She pulled on it, stomped on the bracket, and wrenched it free. Holding it like a javelin, she flung it at the Jackal.

  The iron bar’s flat side smacked the wolf and fell, completely harmless.

  The Jackal dropped Sweetie’s body and spun toward Lilith. She gulped at the sight of its blood-frothed lips and shining yellow eyes.

  She tried to summon her spark, but she’d utterly depleted it.

  “Go to hell,” she said, and reached for another rail, determined to kill the wolf the old-fashioned way. Her next toss struck the wolf, penetrated the dense hide enough to bring blood, but didn’t stick in the muscle.

  More sulfur infused the air as Haniel’s legion grew a dozen-strong. The imps, who seemed fond of mimicry, gathered bits of trash and loose metal and began to pelt the Jackal. The wolf spun, snarling, limping on a busted fibula. Its jaws snapped in the air where an imp had been, chasing elusive prey.

  Lilith utilized the distraction and bent to scavenge another spear. The spark began to sift in, just a wisp, a tease. Not enough. Her fingers closed on a rusty pole and she yanked it. The deteriorated end snapped at an angle, making a nice spearhead.

  She raised the spear high and rushed the Jackal. The wolf turned toward her, maw open wide. She thrust the pole deep into the meat above its shoulder, spearing through the morrillo. The Jackal barked and tottered.

  It hadn’t been a fatal blow by any means, but the wolf collapsed.

  Confused, Lilith looked up.

  Haniel stood on the other side of the carcass, his big hands wrapped around the rail he’d retrieved. The tip was buried deep under the wolf’s ribs, up into its heart.

  “That’ll slow it down,” Haniel gasped, body drooping.

  A wicked grin took Lilith’s face.

  He’d helped her. Maybe even saved her, though she wasn’t willing to admit it aloud.

  She surveyed the wreckage. Minions continued to bombard the Jackal with debris, and the whimpering mutt looked like a pin cushion. Razorback had gone down on its side. Foreleg puffy, breath wheezing in and out. If the Jackal cleared the spears, it might live, but Lilith wasn’t optimistic about Razorback’s chances.

  They’d killed a wolf.

  Haniel toppled into the arms of his legion.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Lilith said.

  Chapter 14

  Catherine’s estate looked like something plucked from Harvard Yard. A quaint stone path led to the front door, and a lantern flickered in the adjoining window. Smoke billowed from the chimney. Lilith couldn’t imagine a more tempting welcome for weary travelers, vagrants, or thugs.

  The perfect bait to ensnare a vampire’s supper.

  Lilith and Haniel trudged up the path, mutually exhausted from their scuffle with two werewolves. The door was open as if Catherine had noticed them from afar, came to greet them, and then grew bored waiting.

  Warm air wafted out, stinking of green firewood and ham. Haniel and Lilith stepped inside where they were met by a shivering manservant. The human’s frame carried more weight than the average post-apocalyptic Bostonian’s should, which, Lilith decided, explained why the house smelled of pork.

  Hunger scorched her veins.

  Catherine’s servant attempted to close the door as soon as Haniel stepped through, but Lilith pushed it open until the last of her snakes had arrived. The servant cowered against the wall, avoiding Lilith’s gaze, then he glanced ravenously at Haniel.

  Lilith demanded, “Where’s Catherine?”

  The manservant hustled down the hall, presumably to find his mistress.

  Haniel leaned against the wall to take weight off his knee.

  “Don’t leave my side,” she said, and his eyes narrowed in a challenge.

  Arrogant prick doesn’t know not to trust a fat stranger in a starving city.

  Murmurs rolled up from the bowels of the home, a sound heavy with baritone notes and chased by dry laughter. As if the house itself conspired under its breath. The scent of numerous Lazarites scratched at Lilith—so many vampires, all so hungry.

  Spies, probably.

  Vampire households exchanged spies, pets, and hostages to keep tabs on each other. Every noble in the kingdom had gathered a nest of sycophants who craved power and reeked of desire.

  As if I need another reason to stay out of the whole social mess, Lilith thought.

  Vampire brood were even worse than spies. If their cups ran dry, if the pain of their torture outweighed the favors they were given, they turned.

  Lilith had seen such betrayal. Hell, she was guilty of it herself.

  Despite gathering their enemies and traitors close, the Exalted didn’t lose an ounce of hibernation over it. Even young Catherine, who had survived two uprisings, hadn’t come to her senses.

  Lilith ground her teeth. She wasn’t there to save anyone but herself.

  The manservant returned and brought them up some stairs and into another room, a library. The library was aristocratic. Prim, patterned wallpaper, untarnished silver candlesticks, stern portraits, gilded statuettes, and glass knickknacks.

  Cats roamed across the floors and perched on furniture and filed themselves away on bookcases, yet Lilith strained to see one errant hair out of place. Felines fled at the sight of her serpents.

  Nosy snakes flickered their inquisitive tongues, sampling the scents rolling up from Catherine’s nest. Lazarites. Bugs. The guts of drywall, plumbing, caverns and subways. Their accumulative dry, roach-like stink.

  I’ll take my snakes over these vermin.

  Haniel wandered over to a chair by the fireplace and slumped into it. The fire burned colorful, painted scrapwood, which created malodorous smoke.

  Lilith and Haniel weren’t alone for long. A gaunt vampire servant arrived holding a tea service tray with all the accoutrements in delicate crystal dishes, waiting to be served with tiny elaborate spoons and fine cups.

  Lilith wanted to shrink under the expensive rug and disappear. She was grubby, her chest half-bare, rags covered in grime, and she’d lost a shoe while running from a werewolf.

  Not a single fiber of her being wanted to play nice and have a tea party, but she would. She needed something from Catherine, and Catherine liked the pretense of civility. Lilith cringed, anticipating how Catherine would relish teasing her.

  The servant vampire smirked at her.

  Her ego bristled. Fee
ling petty, she morphed the slave’s mustache into a serpent, which squirmed and slithered off his shrieking mouth as he fled.

  Haniel snickered behind her, and Lilith crossed her arms over her chest.

  More than ever, she longed for her humble, isolated cave where there was no running water or electricity, no servants, responsibilities, and silly, prestigious spoons.

  Whenever she dipped her toes in the muddy pond of society, she found the waters odoriferous, infested with malaria of the mind and dysentery of the heart.

  Worse still, having to ask for help made her question everything.

  Should she live as she did?

  Did she really want what she claimed?

  Could she survive on her own?

  Why hadn’t she applied herself, acquired more? Would it be so awful to own things? To have a damned car and a slave to drive it?

  In the desert, she never had these questions. These doubts.

  Haniel’s rumbling voice interrupted her thoughts. “I could sleep for a week in this chair.”

  He’d leaned back, legs spread, the injured limb extended to ease the knee, his thick arms on the armrests. With his head tipped back and his chin jutted in her direction, she saw how much he needed a shave. The beginnings of a thick beard decorated his jawline.

  We’ve only known each other a couple of days, she realized, although it’s felt like a year in purgatory.

  Maybe she was only questioning herself because of her skin-and-bones exhaustion. Her lifestyle wasn’t the problem, she was simply hungry, homesick, and on the run.

  Catherine thought her household—all these servants, followers, favors, and trinkets—represented wealth, but Lilith knew better.

  Catherine was poor, like a starved sow suckled dry by too many selfish, short-sighted piglets. She’d never know freedom the way Lilith did.

  Or as Lilith would know it again, after she defeated heaven’s mercenary.

  “Where’s your friend?” Haniel grumbled. His exhausted words stretched and stumbled together. It was almost cute, but she ignored him.

  Catherine and Lilith had first met in a squalid district of Amsterdam. The backstreets swarmed with navy men, drunkards, and ladies of the night. Lilith and her only other friend, Arachne, were still blood-drunk from their binge the night before. Lilith’s veins had stretched to bursting, her heart tripped along as if she’d never died and would never, ever die again.