The Watcher asc-3

by Jeanne C. Stein

  Frey stops me from moving forward by taking my hand gently into his mouth. I'm so intent on trying to make sense of the scene, I almost blunder into the trap. A thin wire stretches ankle height across the door. We can't see what it would trip, but it doesn't matter. I step over while Frey leaps it with feline gracefulness.

  The chanting comes from our right, out of sight behind an outcropping of rock. It's a melodious, ancient sound that reminds me of the old Catholic high mass. Latin, maybe, or Celtic. It's accompanied by an instrument with sweet, clear tones. A recorder.

  Frey and I scramble across a bare expanse of ground to take shelter behind a rock. I don't know if we're in Mexico or have crossed into the United States. Most of these tunnels exit somewhere in the Otay Mesa area of San Diego County, but I haven't a clue how far we traveled.

  I peek up from the rock, keeping as still as I can to avoid attracting attention. My breath catches in my throat when I recognize what is hanging from that cross. There are two bodies, back to back, lashed together. One, facing me, is a woman, her limp, naked body a pale, flickering silhouette in the firelight. I can't make out the other. I can't even tell whether the two are human, although I suspect they are.

  Or if they are alive.

  Where is Culebra?

  The chanting becomes louder, more urgent. I glance at my watch—it's ten minutes before midnight. I'd lost track of time. We must have traveled much farther than I imagined.

  I shift my gaze in the direction of the sound. Dozens of people form a hellish chorus, standing close together, dressed in long dark robes with the cowls pulled over their heads. They sway and moan the words, caught up in some demonic rapture.

  A woman steps from the group, opens her robe, lets it fall to the ground. She has dark hair that sweeps forward to cover her face. Her naked body glows in the reflected light. When she turns toward the altar, I see it. On her right shoulder is a tattoo. A crimson skull with a rose. Belinda Burke.

  At a signal from the witch, the others let their robes fall, too. Now, men and women, all stand naked. They intertwine hands and follow as she makes her way toward the altar. She alone climbs the steps. Still chanting, the others form a circle around the fire and the altar.

  Belinda Burke looks down on her congregation. She raises a staff and they grow quiet.

  "We have taken the first step," she says, her words infused with a dark energy that makes a shiver touch my spine. "The gathering is complete. The hour approaches. We will accomplish what no other coven has done before. We will summon the demon, Aswah, and he will be our servant. He will cleanse the earth of those who hide themselves among us, pretending to be human, pretending to do us no harm."

  She gestures to the cross behind her. "We will seal this pact with the offerings. A human woman, to show Aswah what earthly pleasures await him. And the demon, shapeshifter, to remind him of his mission."

  My body tenses as her words stab at my heart. Culebra? Is it you?

  There is no answer from the motionless figure. How could this have happened? Culebra is powerful, possesses strong magic. How could he have let himself be trapped by a witch?

  Burke is still talking, but I no longer listen. I've got to stop this. I feel Frey shift beside me, his eyes hold a question I can't yet answer.

  Burke raises the staff again. The coven responds. The chanting is louder, more compelling, filled with the zealousness of renewed purpose. Burke's voice floats out over the others, intoning the summoning spell. The fire leaps higher as if in response to her words. The ground begins to shake beneath our feet.

  It's two minutes to midnight. Think. What did Williams say? There is only an instant when the summoning can be completed, when the worlds of the living and dead overlap. We have to interrupt at that instant.

  The fire parts, dividing itself to form a chasm in the pit. Burke's face is wild with desire, her voice shakes with emotion. She is caught up in a frenzy of excitement and joy. Her feelings reach out across the coven, sucking them in, increasing their own passion. I feel it, too. Watch in wonder at the power that springs forth from the gathering. I'm drawn in, thrilled by an almost sexual longing to be a part of what is happening. I stand up, ready to join them, ready to raise my voice in welcome to—

  Frey snaps at me, biting down hard on my arm.

  I jump at the pain, whirl to face my attacker.

  Frey growls and snaps again.

  Blood, my blood, runs freely down the length of my right arm. The sight and smell of it clears my head in an instant.

  The minute hand of my watch sweeps toward midnight. Thirty seconds.

  I start to run, across the ground, clearing the distance in a heartbeat. Frey is in front of me. He hesitates only a second and I point to the person closest to him, just yards away. He launches himself at the same time I throw all my weight against the circle, breaking the bond between outstretched hands. A lightning bolt of power passes through me and I stumble from the impact. Then it flows out of me and into the ground, and the chanting stops.

  There is a roar. Animal-like and ferocious. I whirl toward the sound. The fire in the pit closes around something scrambling to escape. A huge creature, black, red eyes, sharp-tipped horns glistening. The mouth is open, screaming in rage and fear. Its eyes turn in my direction, its gaze burning into my soul, knowing, blaming me for what is happening. It reaches a clawlike hand toward me, to draw me into the pit. I feel myself moving forward. I dig in my heels, but I can't stop. It smiles, a ghastly grin that shows fangs and a forked tongue, and I know. It recognizes that I am vampire and it will have its revenge. I'm at the very edge of the pit. My clothes are burning, the heat singes my skin.

  With an explosion of ash and flame, the fire collapses in on itself. The demon is drawn down, howling with frustration, back into the pit. I'm thrown to the ground with bone jarring force. The earth beneath our feet roils and stirs as if revolting against the demon it's being forced to take back. With one last violent shudder, it grows still.

  I collapse back, relieved, and rest my head against the ground while I collect my thoughts. We stopped the demon. Frey and I.

  Where is Frey?

  I push myself up on my elbows and look around.

  I'm surrounded by an angry coven, pushing closer, their rage palpable as they close the circle around me.

  "Vampire."

  Burke's voice draws my eyes to the altar.

  She's standing at the foot of the cross, a crossbow in her hand. At her feet, a still, dark form.

  My heart leaps.

  Frey.

  She nudges him with her foot. But he doesn't move or make a sound. The bolt in his side says it all.

  CHAPTER 32

  FREY IS NOT MOVING, BUT HE'S ALIVE. I KNOW BEcause his form has not changed. He remains a panther. When a shape-shifter dies he reverts to human form. I can't remember whether it was Culebra or Frey who told me this, but the important thing is, he's alive. But for how long?

  My gaze shifts to the witch. She holds the crossbow to her shoulder, the bolt pointed at my chest. I'm fast, but can I out run an arrow?

  Muscles tense to try.

  Burke smiles and shifts the crossbow. The bolt is pointed now at Frey. "If you run, I shoot him again. Then I kill the woman. Then I kill Culebra. It's your choice.'"

  I relax, letting the energy drain out of my system like water down a pipe. "What do you want?"

  She gestures with the crossbow. "Join me."

  I hold up my hands to indicate acquiescence and start for the stage. The coven follows at my back, snapping and growling like a pack of wild dogs. Their animosity shimmers around me, a black energy I can feel on my skin and taste in my mouth like acid or vomit. They want nothing more than to tear me apart. Perhaps that's what the witch has in mind.

  She's taller than I remember, her lean body glows in the moonless night. She's stands erect and unashamed, her nakedness a challenge. She watches me come up the steps, the crossbow pointed at my chest and held with a steady hand. She has a sm
ile on her face as she motions for me to come closer.

  "You are Anna Strong."

  If she expects that I will react in shock that she knows my name, she is disappointed. After all, I know now the warning she so dramatically delivered when I'd crashed into her wall was aimed specifically at me. To achieve this very result.

  "Do you know what you have interrupted here?"

  We are face-to-face. Her expression is calm, untroubled. She speaks as if to a recalcitrant child. I think I'd prefer it if she screamed. This air of mild annoyance is definitely at odds with the powerful rage I feel from her followers watching us.

  I gesture at the people below. "Looks like they've been stood up. I don't think they're very happy about that."

  She looks down at them. "They are angry. Understandably. The opportunity to raise Aswah will not come again for a decade. What do you suppose they would do if I threw you to them?"

  But she makes no move to do it. Her tone is lazy, indulgent, a woman who likes the sound of her own voice.

  "Pretty good special effects, Burke," I snap back. "But a little over-the-top, don't you think?"

  She raises her chin and smiles. "You know my name?"

  I nod. "I saw your mug shot at SDPD the other day. It was a very unflattering picture. You look short with clothes on."

  "Foley was right about you. He said you have a smart mouth."

  For the first time, she says something that surprises me. "Foley knows about"—I wave a hand around—"this?"

  "Why don't you ask him?"

  From the shadow behind the cross steps a figure. He, too, is smiling and he holds out a hand as if we're meeting in the most mundane of social occasions.

  Agent Foley drops his hand when he realizes I have no intention of shaking it. Instead he puts one hand on Belinda Burke's shoulder while taking the crossbow from her with the other. It remains pointed at my chest.

  "Well, Anna. It's about damned time."

  CHAPTER 33

  “SO, FOLEY?" I ASK. "DID YOU ARRANGE ALL THIS? You've been following me around for two days. If you wanted a date, all you had to do was ask."

  Foley frowns. "Following you? What makes you think that?"

  "Come on. Don't be coy. The telephone calls? The shooting in the canyon? I know it was you. Were you having fun?"

  I remember what Frey said about Martinez having Max and wanting me. "Well, here we are." I turn to Burke and gesture to the unmoving, silent figures hanging from the cross. "Why not let them go? The demon is snacking on whatever they snack on in hell. You have no need to keep them."

  Burke shrugs. "My followers will want to take their revenge on someone. It may as well be those two. Unless, of course, you are volunteering to take Culebra's place?"

  I glance down at the mob. I sense only humans, full of venom and unrestrained fury, but no supernaturals among them. I know I'd have a better chance of surviving than a human or an injured or drugged shape-shifter. Culebra must be hurt or under the influence of a powerful spell. He has not reached out telepathically to me. And there is Frey. He is lying injured and bleeding at our feet, the arrow in his side rising and falling with each labored breath. He must get help soon. "Will you let the panther and the girl go, as well, if I agree?"

  She frowns. "You aren't serious? Do you think you could survive against this crowd? Do you think they would allow your friends to walk away? Some of Aswah's followers have waited years for this night. You have ruined it. If I don't allow them their revenge here and now, they will not rest until they have tracked down the shape-shifters and the girl and destroyed them."

  Foley interrupts with an abrupt guttural hiss. "I don't know what you two fruitcakes are talking about," he snaps. "But I've got what I want. I don't give a shit what happens to those two." He kicks at Frey. "And the panther? Isn't that overdoing it just a little, even for a drama queen like you?"

  He's talking to Burke and I see her shoulders grow tight. But Frey makes a mewling noise at Foley's touch and that ignites a fire in my belly. "Don't touch him." It comes out in a growl.

  Foley laughs. "Or you'll do what?" He centers the crossbow again, at my chest.

  Burke stiffens beside him. "Be careful, Foley," she says. "Anna is …"

  She doesn't have a chance to finish the sentence. In the next instant Foley finds out exactly what I am.

  CHAPTER 34

  WHEN I LUNGE, WHEN THE VAMPIRE LUNGES, Foley flinches. He's not prepared for the sight or sound of my fury. I'm at his throat, dimly aware of the danger of the crossbow in his hand, acutely aware that he is a threat to my friends, Frey at his feet, Culebra on the cross. I press my body against his, forcing the hand with the crossbow down between us. If he fires now it will be painful, but not deadly.

  But Foley doesn't fire. In fact, he does nothing. His eyes are wide, staring, unbelieving. He can't seem to look away, makes no move to flee. He is rooted to the spot, terrified, confused. I remember what it was like, that first realization that what confronts you is a creature from a nightmare. It hasn't been that long. The paralyzing fear, the reeling mind, the body numb with shock.

  It fills the vampire with power, wonder, lust. It makes taking a human easy.

  I feel it now. I hear the voice—Anna's voice—telling me to be careful. Foley is human. If I kill him, if I feed from him, I will be changed. He is not a willing host. He is not feeling the pleasure that comes from wanting.

  My heart is pounding, deafening in my ears. My body is on fire with the bloodlust. This overwhelming urge to kill a human overtook me once before—when I had Trish's tormentor by the throat. Frey stopped me then. I have to stop myself now.

  Foley is limp in my arms. He's whimpering, making a sound much like the one Frey made moments before. Not of pain. This is the sound of surrender, of terror. My lips are at his throat, the rush of his blood makes them tingle with anticipation. I let my tongue rest lightly over the pulse point at the base of his jaw. His heart is hammering and I revel in the knowledge that he is mine for the taking.

  A movement, small and inconsequential brings me back. Frey, squirming in pain at our feet. And a sound, the witch yelling.

  I jerk my head back from Foley and whirl around.

  Humans are coming up the stairs toward me. They clutch pieces of sharpened wood in their hands and their faces are masks of hatred. These humans know about vampires. They are not paralyzed by fear or wonder. With a swooping motion, I grab Frey. I glance over at the cross. I can't do anything for either the human or Culebra. I can only save Frey and myself.

  Culebra, I scream silently, I'm sorry.

  There is no answer.

  The woman hangs alone on the cross. Culebra is gone.

  CHAPTER 35

  THE PANTHER'S BODY IS LIKE A CHILD'S IN MY arms. I leap off the altar and race for the darkness beyond. The humans, however full of hate, cannot keep up. I leave them behind with a howl of satisfaction.

  I don't go to the tunnel. The witch knows the tunnel. It is her domain. I head out into the desert, following an instinct I didn't know I possessed. Back to Beso de la Muerte. I need to get the cat to shelter.

  I race over the desert terrain with a sure footedness that surprises me. When we came this way before, Frey led and I followed. I don't know what instinct is at work now, but I surrender to it, let an inner guidance system direct my feet the way I had let Frey guide me earlier. In much less time than it took us to reach the tunnel, I'm racing down the dusty streets of Beso de la Muerte.

  When I reach the saloon, animal instinct stops me from bursting through the doors. I don't know if Culebra is dead or if he has beaten me back here or if the witch awaits both of us inside. I lay Frey on the street, out of harm's way, and approach. My senses tingle with apprehension. I listen, not only with my ears, but with my entire body. My nerve endings are on fire. The skittering of bugs crawling across the floor and the hum of the wings of flying insects are sounds both distinct and identifiable. I listen harder—for mortal breathing and the pulse of a heartbeat.
I probe for things nonhuman—vampire and shape-shifter. When I am sure I am alone, I sweep the cat into my arms once more and take him inside. I lay him gently on the floor and hunker down beside him.

  The hammering of my heart, the rush of my blood, the desire to attack something is so intense, I actually consider going back to find the witch. Foley is human. The witch is something else. Without Frey's well-being to consider, I could stop her from harming my friends again. Permanently. Killing her, drinking from her, would be exquisite revenge for what she did to Culebra, to Frey.

  The human Anna comes back slowly.

  When she—when I—return, I have to close my eyes, clear my head until the shaking stops. I've felt it before, the dichotomy. I've fought against it. But tonight, when the vampire took over, Anna was gone. Rational thought gave way to instinct, and human emotion to an animal's drive for self-preservation. If Foley had fought, I would have killed him. I would have killed Burke or any of her coven if I'd gone back. I've been fooling myself to think my humanity was stronger than the creature that shares my body.

  The guttural sound of an engine floats across the still night. A car approaching. The barrier must be down. Perhaps when Frey and I broke the circle, we broke the spell as well.

  I lay Frey down carefully behind the bar and crouch there, too, to wait. It might be the witch and Foley. If it is, I'll be ready.

  The car pulls to a stop right outside the saloon. Three doors slam, almost in unison. My mental probe detects nothing. Either three humans approach or these visitors have cloaked their own thoughts the same way I am cloaking mine.