House of Chaos

by K. R. Alexander

  “Understand?” I asked Wade. “I’ve never opened a real rift either, but I know the theory. The rest comes from intention with the magic. And the mirror. You’ll have that. Okay?”

  “Yeah.” Wade kept nodding as I talked—all the time leaving me with the feeling that I was explaining how he just needed to do this and that and next thing he knew he’d be flying a plane.

  “You do understand?” I prompted in a whisper, not wanting the other guys to think we were totally incompetent. Slightly incompetent was bad enough.

  “Sure, of course. It’s like using light in a dark room, or a scry to see through a wall. You ask the magic to form a way into something else. Those are by sight; this is by spirit.”

  “Yes. Exactly.” Startled but relieved, I nodded. “That’s it. It shouldn’t matter that neither of us have done one because … well… We have all this for extra energy to draw from and two casters on it at once. The thing is to move fast. Get his attention and as soon as we feel him there in the room—”

  “Ripley? How do you know this is the only demon in the house?”

  “I don’t think there can be two in one place. Like there can’t be two kings for one country. A demon gets to be a demon by consuming energy of others and bloating on power. There might be other stray spirits still lingering in the area, but he’ll not be willing to share with another demon and he’ll have consumed at least most, if not all, other energies around the house. Taking him out doesn’t mean the house will be totally not haunted anymore, but it will mean it’s safe. That’s what matters, that he can’t hurt anyone again. He’s the one we have to stop.”

  Wade gave a sharp nod. “And … what if he doesn’t show up?”

  “Show up?”

  “You said we need to know he’s in the room.”

  “Well … you know what I mean. He’s in the whole house. All the time. But he focuses his energy. The way you might be shaving in the morning but already thinking about the kitchen and what you’ll have for breakfast. Only, in a spirit case, that’s literally splitting energy. When he’s really there, focused on a space, and we have all his attention, that’s when we act.”

  “Right…”

  “You’ll be fine.” I grabbed his hand, meaning to give a squeeze, but the gesture came out sharp, more like a yank from my sweaty hand while I gulped and felt like time had sped up.

  The sun was vanishing, getting away from us. Fireflies would be out soon.

  “Let’s cast a circle before we go in.” I brought the daypack and Wade the duffel.

  “Ripley?”

  I looked around at him.

  He opened his mouth, looking into my eyes.

  I waited. Only the cicadas buzzed.

  He closed his mouth, swallowed. “It doesn’t matter that you didn’t do the work with them. You still know a lot about it. You know what to do now. I trust you. We all do.”

  That wasn’t what he’d been going to say. I hesitated, as if he might come around. We only looked at each other.

  Then I hurried to gather the others, all besides Fulco, lurking in the shade, and cast a circle for us as the very long shadows were fading into a dusky haze.

  I flung open the door and we marched inside while the sweltering interior still held a hint of evening light. Enough to see as we set up a circle of warded crystals, candles, smoldering herb bundles, and more.

  He didn’t come, didn’t so much as watch us as far as I could feel. All set for a dinner party and no one shows up. But I hadn’t expected him to burst in. He was waiting for me to wear myself out on silly summoning rituals and random magics like having to open the doors. I did nothing of the sort.

  I pulled the diary from the daypack and held a lit candle to it. That got some attention.

  40

  A frigid breeze rushed across my face, whipping back my hair, extinguishing the candle I held, leaving the smell of smoke and chard paper from the diary in my nose.

  I dropped the book with a thunk on the wood floor and stood on it with one foot. Everyone moved around me, the three shifters forming a half-circle behind, while Wade was to my right, partly facing me, and Fulco faced us like the top point on a triangle. Objects that held my parents’ and my own warding and energies formed a circle on the floor around us in the wide dining room. The rest of the candles still flickered and glowed. I relit the one I held with a glare, then lifted it before my own face.

  At arm’s length, the candle danced, leaping unnaturally high, and cast a dozen shadows of lurking, stalking, creeping figures around the room.

  The blood was beating in my ears, raging at the house, the demon, and my own inadequacies. Yet I wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t respond to his arrival or taunt him about the diary that he meant to keep safe—as if it was something he should be glad to have around. In his own imagination, he’d probably turned it into something that corroborated his version of events. Or it simply kept her close.

  None of that mattered. I hadn’t the faintest idea how to trick him. So there was nothing more to say. Talking now could only be a distraction and slow my mission.

  Even Vel kept silent, in place behind and to my left in the circle. They couldn’t cast with us. They could still help with their energy and intention like the warded objects, giving power that was counter to the demon while boosting to me. They could also serve as bait, which was why Fulco faced us all and we all faced him. It had been his idea. Brilliant? Or suicide? Was he for us or against us? I still didn’t know—didn’t have any better ideas to help us win. But we were about to find out.

  That blast of cold rippled around us in the blistering room while I channeled everything. The objects and wards, the earth and air and candle flames, my own anger and the very boards and book below my feet.

  I raised the candle to the mirror held by Wade, both of us lifting our arms to keep the force over our heads, and opened a rift that was no more then a shimmer of light splitting the air like heat lightning. It wasn’t exactly a portal to another dimension, yet I pretended it was, hoped like hell it would work, and imagined the white light tunnel that my parents used to send spirits through. The spirit was supposed to see the tunnel. We didn’t have to see it. So … doing everything just fine … I hoped.

  Angels and demons, it was getting cold in here. The sweat was freezing on my skin like I’d walked into an industrial freezer. My breath steamed before the candle flame that leaped six inches from the wick. Wade’s hands trembled on the mirror, which clouded with his breath. He held it up, reflecting into the ripple of faint light and soupy air that was the invitation to show a restless spirit the door.

  Yes, there it was. And the mirror and candles and magic and presence of the demon. All in place. Now how did you get him to go through? A quick boot in the ass. What I wouldn’t give to be able to do that myself. Or just shoot the bastard, really. But those options weren’t on the table. We were winging it and had our first clue in the vicious cold cutting around us like icicles.

  I gave Wade a sharp look. “Draw the cold.”

  He nodded, but his eyes were wide as twin full moons and I’m not sure he was doing anything.

  I formed the magic into a wall as substantial as the spirit and imagined bundling up that cold the way Mom could wrap a wild cat in a towel before it got a claw into her. Wrap it up, throw it in, cut the rift. Just that fast: grab, bunch, throw.

  I tried for all I was worth with that magic, praying Wade helped, unable to tell, holding out both hands, one with the candle, envisioning the magic tangible as my own skin. I felt a snag at the back of my awareness, as hard to describe as a foreign smell. Something hit, pure energy that I couldn’t touch, yet felt all through my body. Somehow, impossibly, I’d just snagged a demon in my magic net.

  I wanted to whoop and jump and scream. Punch the air, spin and jog on my toes and run in circles. I’d done it. Just like that—like I fished for demons every night of the week!

  I flung that icy bastard right into the mirror, which in turn bounced back i
nto the rift.

  Fulco moved, in my face in a flash, catching Gideon’s arm as Gideon came at me from behind. Biggest and strongest, we’d suspected Gideon might be first to go. I only dodged, tried to keep my focus, but even the flash of motion, then the struggle between the two, gave me a second’s lapse.

  Fulco already had eye contact with Gideon, stare fixed, hand clamped on his wrist. Gideon stumbled, locked into the vampire’s gaze.

  I scrambled to keep that icy blast bundled up, but it was like trying to keep water in a hairnet. Where was Wade’s magic? Why couldn’t I feel another force? His hands glowed a pale gold but where was the help?

  No sooner had the magic hold broken on the unseen force swirling around us than there was a shriek, fresh blast of cold air, and something like a talon slashed my jaw. The blow sent me crashing sideways while Wade yelled my name and Gideon stumbled back. Adam jumped forward to grab my arm, keeping me on my feet.

  “Keep the mirror!” I shouted at Wade as he started toward me.

  Gideon held his ears, free of the attack of the demon that Fulco had driven from his mind, but at what cost?

  Vel dove for Fulco.

  Adam seized the candle that had smashed from my hand and again gone out. “You’re bleeding—”

  “Get back in your spot!” Still trying to hold onto the magic all the time, keep it there as chaos erupted around me—no one being quiet anymore.

  Vel and Fulco crashed into Adam. I had to go for the candle as it again flew through the air. No idea of Vel was also being manipulated by Xaphan or simply saw another chance to go for the vampire. Wade was saying something to me, everyone else swearing, Gideon hit his knees, hands still over his ears.

  Keep the magic, just keep it. That last effort was almost enough. You could feel it, Ripley. Come on.

  I grit my teeth, facing the mirror and rift, rushing to get my feet planted in a wide stance, one back on the book, cursing out the demon and holding the magic at the same time, all silent, fixated. I wanted to shout at Wade. What was he doing anyway? Holding a mirror and glowing?

  There, this time as I swept the room, as the others fought and Gideon tried and failed to stand up, I felt kickback from Wade. Something else in the room, some magic besides myself and a demon. It wasn’t much, but, God, I’d take anything.

  Once more, I tried for the net, scooping out the cold while my teeth rattled and breaths came short in a powerful cold that sucked air and life from the room, numbing my fingers and tip of my nose. Drops of hot blood spattered my T-shirt from a cut across my jaw. Exact same spot as I’d already had the light cut from the tree branch, only this was deep. How much physical damage could he do without a body? I’d thought he would go for mental stuff.

  I had to order myself not to think about the others, not worry about them and what mental stuff the demon was doing—just focus. Push. Go for it. Except that Vel and Adam were ganging up on Fulco. He couldn’t break the hold on them when he also couldn’t focus, much less get a look into their eyes.

  Vel whipped a wooden stake from the top of his shoe. It had been concealed under long pants. They crashed past Wade and me, across the floor, Adam slamming the vampire to the ground, Vel rushing in.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I screamed.

  Then—crack!

  The stake in Vel’s hand exploded in a shower of splinters and flash of sparks that lit up the room for a blink but caused no smoke.

  Thank you, Wade—I take back the criticisms! I love you!

  Vel yelped, springing back, and fell flat on his ass.

  Fulco grabbed Adam’s head in both hands, staring into his eyes.

  Keep the magic, come on, Ripley, keep it and use it and focus or else—wham—a fresh blow to my knees, crashing me toward the floor. Only the floor was gone.

  41

  It was the missing foyer floor from the farmhouse all over again. I fell, yet this time didn’t hit, plunging through cold air, a vortex without limits all around me. I wanted to believe it wasn’t real, an illusion, a trick, all while being unable to stop falling for long enough to make that my own truth.

  Someone was yelling, or screaming. Stars flashed past my sight as I plunged into the freezing void of space, body growing stiff, life sucked away in a place without heat or oxygen. Still falling, spinning in nothing, knees bent in, curling up, all too late. It was over.

  “You fool, can you not hear me?”

  “Fulco?” I blinked and he was there, floating with me in outer space. His hands gripped my face, looking in my eyes. I was pretty sure he hadn’t spoken aloud. It seemed that way, seemed as complete and real as the stars and galaxy.

  “Remember where you are,” he ordered, staring viciously into my eyes, his bony hands hard and real and even painful on my face. There was hot blood on my jaw, now on his palm. That was real, like his hold. At the same time, his hands were cold as space. I had never touched a vampire. Never thought how cold he would feel. It was terrifying. Here they are, up and walking and talking, seeming to breathe, able to talk. To be reminded so viscerally of the deadness of them sent a jolt along my back.

  I pulled away, trying to turn my head, repulsed by his touch. Or was I only scared? So much sadness and fear comes out as something else. Repulsion might really be embarrassment. Just how I have a way of getting angry, snapping at people, when I’m scared. When I want to run away, but that would be stupid or embarrassing or shameful, so I lash out instead. Or jump into bed with them.

  God, I hadn’t thought that was like me at all. I’d had sex with twice the number of people in the past two days as I’d previously had in my life. And very nearly with a demon. And that was after I’d been annoyed with Wade for even bringing up the fact that we’d gone on a speed date when I’d met him about the job just three days ago.

  Which begged the question … why was I thinking about this here and now? What difference did it make if my own fear threw me into a fit of rage, or if I’d slept with the entire adult population of Midway City? I mean, did that have some impact on banishing a demon just now?

  I was on my knees on the floor. A hardwood floor. The room was dark, lit only by some candles in a circle around us and a couple of flashlights lying on the floor.

  A vampire was on his knees in front of me, nose-to-nose, holding my face in intensely cold and very strong hands. My blood was on his skin. Did it make him hungry? Could he smell it, feel it? Vampires weren’t sharks; I didn’t think the smell of blood would make him bite me or otherwise flip out, yet his nearness did raise interesting concerns about being bitten and how very dreadful that would be for me.

  Where did he get his food? There had been deaths and disappearances in Midway City besides my parents in the past years. Vampires didn’t need much, but they did need some human blood or they would shrivel up—quite literally, gradually fading to dead husks, at which point, if ever found, they were mistaken for bodies that had been dead for however long they actually had been dead, minus animation.

  Inviting Fulco to have a burger with us wouldn’t have served any purpose, even if he could have taken the sun. Could we get wings again tonight? So much good food lately. So good and vibrant. Everything back in full color. Two weeks ago had been shock, hurt, pain, grief, anger, then numb-numb-numb, and now … pow!

  Everything at once in a rush of tastes and emotions, sensations and realizations. Was I really in love with these guys? Just that fast? Of course not. This must be the tripping, crazy part of grief that no one ever tells you about. Sort of the opposite of postpartum depression. Have a kid, get bummed out. Parents die, go on an orgy.

  No, it wasn’t real. It was just the fear and loneliness talking, needing someone to cling to so I’d clung to them because Wade seemed like an interesting mage and decent enough guy, and Gideon and Adam cooked and were good company—and looked like demigods—and Vel … well, Vel didn’t count. That wouldn’t happen again. Obviously.

  Then there was Fulco, who looked like a Latin soap opera star, only ra
ther pale and cold, and talked like a Victorian gentleman. I mean, “Can you not hear me?” Who’s that stilted? Dude, it’s, “Can’t you hear me?”

  Which made me realize he’d been saying it again. And again, in some form or other, ordering me to focus. In my head, eyes locked on mine, holding my face like we were doing a Vulcan mind-meld—without the spider hands thing—and talking in my head.

  Then I finally, finally realized he was the one pulling me back to them and through the past couple of days and into myself and my own emotions. Because the alternative was the void, the fall.

  Only I wasn’t falling. I was here, on my knees, reminded that I was surrounded by a job to do and people counting on me who I maybe, a little bit, somehow … loved.

  What had they told me? Right there, swirling around, pressing my brain like Fulco’s dead hands pressed my face. Like when you can’t remember a word but it’s a word you’ve used for the past decade or two and you want to scream because it’s right there and you can’t remember.

  I blinked. I don’t know how long it had been since I’d done that but my eyes burned from staying open and two tears slid down my cheeks onto his cold thumbs, not from the feelings but the sting of my exposed eyes in the dust that swirled around us.

  And that swirling was due to a demon who was still here—the bastard.

  I grabbed Fulco’s wrists, blinking again and fixing on his unreflective eyes.

  No idea if I’d been on my knees for ten seconds or ten minutes but the hint of light remained above us, Wade was still on his feet with the mirror, though fighting to stay that way as something seemed to beat him back, and I still had work to do.

  His wrists were cold and clammy as his hands. Because he was dead. And I wasn’t. Then I knew. I remembered what my parents had told me about dealing with the really bad cases.

  I nodded. Fulco let go.

  I jumped up and threw another magic net.

  42