Chariots of Wrath

by R. L. King

  Huh? I rub my head and glance at Nick, who’s struggling up to a sitting position. Is Selene arguing with whatever’s over there?

  The thing rumbles once more, and Selene sighs. “Yes. I know.”

  “You know what?” I yell.

  “What’s going on?” Nick demands. He still sounds dopey, like whatever knocked him out hasn’t quite worn off yet.

  “Just listen,” I mutter to him. “And if you’ve got any ideas for how to get out of here, now’s the time.”

  Selene stalks back to my side of the circle, walking around its edge instead of through it. Behind her, Twyla’s still unconscious and showing no signs of waking.

  “Don’t you understand?” she says, her voice full of despair. “I’m as much of a prisoner as you are.”

  I don’t want to believe her—she’s lied so many times before, so why would this be any different? I want to kill her, is what I want to do—but if she’s faking the stress on her face and in her posture, she’s a better actress than she’s ever been before. “What the hell are you talking about? What’s going on here?”

  She sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I don’t have much time.” Her head jerks toward the shadows, then back to me. “He won’t give me much time.”

  The thing rumbles, and even though I can’t understand it, I still sense agreement.

  “Then make it quick. Tell me everything. Tell me about the money you were paying DeVries. Tell me about why you killed him, and why you turned Twyla into a zombie. Tell me who this Razakal is and why you’re working with him!”

  Her eyes narrow. “I didn’t kill DeVries. And I don’t know anything about any zombies.”

  I wish I could use magical sight, so I’d have a chance of telling whether she’s lying. But she has to be. I snort. “Come on, Selene—I’m not an idiot. Who else could have done it? The only part I don’t see is why.”

  She jerks her head toward the shadows again, and when she turns back to me, her face is even paler than before. “I didn’t do it, Bron. I give you my word. I didn’t even come out here until yesterday. When—” She bows her head.

  “When what?”

  “When…he contacted me.”

  “Who? Him? Razakal?” I point at the shadows as more light dawns. “You’re working with him. You two are behind this whole thing.”

  She shakes her head so hard it must be giving her a headache. “No. Not since—”

  “Since what?” I’m yelling again, and Nick flinches away from me and covers his closest ear.

  And then I get it. “Wait. Razakal was there during the ritual when you killed Mara. The spirit told me. You were working with him then, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.” She doesn’t ask about the spirit—either she knows I’ve got some of my magic back, or she’s missed the implication.

  “Who is he? What is he?” I remember what Twyla said about what kind of strength would be required to rip DeVries’s heart from his chest. “Oh, gods…he’s a demon, isn’t he?”

  The rumble this time sounds satisfied.

  Are we amusing the bastard?

  I don’t give a damn whether we are—I’ll take it if it means I can get some answers. “He is.”

  She nods wearily. “He is, yes.”

  “And you…what…made some kind of deal with him? Five years ago?”

  Again, she nods. All the fight’s gone out of her now—I have no doubt if I could get loose, I could probably take her down with even my feeble magic. But right now, that’s not an option—my only option is to keep her talking.

  “What kind of deal, Selene? What kind of deal would you make that would force you to kill your best friend and blame it on her apprentice?”

  “I was a fool. I know that now. But it’s too late.”

  Another satisfied rumble. We are amusing him. He’s enjoying watching Selene squirm.

  I sit up a little straighter, pressing my back against the pipe. “What did you want? What did he give you that was worth Mara’s life?”

  She doesn’t look at me. “Power.” Her voice is full of shame.

  I can barely believe I heard her correctly. Right about now I wish I was the Incredible Hulk, because if I was, my rage would give me enough strength to rip this pole right out of the ground and stuff it down her throat—or up the other end. “Power? You killed Mara for power?”

  “Bron—”

  She sounds miserable, but any last possible millifuck I might have given for her has boarded the last train out. At this point, I don’t care if Razakal or whatever else is hiding in the shadows is getting off on her despair. All I want is answers. “Selene, do not try to justify yourself to me. If you have any shred of decency left, all I want is for you to tell me what’s happened. Why now? Why Twyla?” My voice now is deadly calm. “Why after all this time?”

  She stares at her feet. She hasn’t resumed her track around the circle, but the rumbling shadow-thing doesn’t seem to mind.

  “Selene—”

  “It was DeVries,” she mumbles, barely loud enough for me to hear her.

  “What?”

  “DeVries!” Louder now, as she turns back to face me. Tears streak her face.

  “What about him?”

  Next to me, Nick struggles up to a seated position. He’s fixed on Selene now as much as I am.

  “I…I didn’t do anything wrong,” Selene says. “I swear, I didn’t. I was just trying to…establish some influence in the Los Angeles area. Far away from the family, so it wouldn’t affect them.”

  “Influence? What kind of influence?”

  She shakes her head. “DeVries…worked for a man named Skellig. He was going to…get me a meeting with him.”

  “Skellig?” Nick demands. “You were meeting with magical crime bosses?”

  “That was what the money was for, wasn’t it?” I ask. “For the arrangement you wanted to set up with him.”

  She looks surprised that I know that.

  “Yeah, I know about the money. We have it. But if you met with DeVries, why did you kill him?”

  “I didn’t kill him!” she wails. She pauses a moment, shoulders shaking, then looks hard at me. “Bron—I know this won’t matter now, and I’m so sorry. For everything. I never meant for you to get involved with this. But…never make a deal with a demon.”

  “Ya think?” Holy shit, but otherwise smart people can have the common sense of rocks sometimes, and it’s almost always over either sex or power. Then something clicks: “Wait. You made a deal with Razakal for power all those years ago. Have you been under his thumb ever since?”

  “No,” she moans. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I thought he was gone. We made our deal, and that was it.”

  “But it wasn’t.” Yep. Common sense of rocks. On second thought, maybe I’m insulting rocks with the comparison.

  She shakes her head. “After I first met with DeVries, Razakal…contacted me again. He was angry.”

  “Angry why?” I glance past her, but the shadows are still swirling like before. I wonder if Razakal is still getting his jollies from her misery, knowing it’s safe for all this to come out because we’re all going to be dead soon.

  “Because…” She takes a few deep, gulping breaths and shudders again. “Because…”

  “Hang on…” Nick speaks up, sitting straighter and pointing at her. “Hang on. I think I get it now. You were meeting with Skellig…and Razakal didn’t like it because he’s the mysterious new guy who’s trying to destabilize the magical scene in L.A. You were consorting with the competition. Is that it?” He addresses his last question past her, into the shadows. “You’re the one with the soul engine!”

  The rumble this time is ominous.

  “I think you hit a nerve…” I mutter under my breath. Then, louder: “So you were telling the truth, at least about that part. It wasn’t you who killed DeVries—it was Razakal. Or one of his demon flunkies.” I remember the muscular black figures from the chip factory, and wonder if they or some of thei
r buddies are lurking around here somewhere too.

  She nods miserably. “Yes.”

  “And he’s the one behind the cannibal zombies,” Nick adds.

  “I don’t know anything about any cannibal zombies! I told you that before!”

  She’s losing it now. I wonder what will happen if I push her over the edge. “So what’s the ritual for? Why are you killing Twyla?”

  “I don’t want to…” she murmurs, barely loud enough for me to hear. “I don’t want to…I love her…”

  “Then why?” I’m yelling again. “Selene, come on. Grow a damn backbone! You’re a powerful mage! Stand up to him!”

  “I…I can’t…”

  “Why not?”

  “He’ll take my soul!” she screams, clenching her fists. “I’m bound to him. I’ve angered him, and now he’s insisting I give him the soul of someone I love in atonement.”

  My whole body grows cold at her words. I’m not exactly naïve, but the sheer monstrousness of what she’s said chills me to the core. I don’t care how scared she is. I don’t care how far up her ass this guy’s hand is. This is just wrong.

  I glance at Nick, and he’s looking as shocked and sickened as I am.

  From the shadows comes another rumble—this one sounding almost like a laugh.

  The bastard is gloating.

  “Yeah, laugh it up, asshole!” I scream. “You might be too chickenshit to show yourself, but we know about you now!”

  “Uh…Bron…” Nick mutters, rattling the chain. “Maybe that might not help…”

  I’m not even hearing him. “Selene, I don’t believe you! You’re not sorry at all! If you were, you’d let him take your worthless soul instead of giving him Twy’s. You don’t love her. Don’t lie! All you love is yourself!”

  “No!” she screams, burying her face in her hands. “You don’t understand! I can’t fight him! He’s too strong. I can’t—”

  “Try!” I lean forward, reaching out with my unshackled hand, doing everything I can to implore her to stop this. “Selene, try! Do something. Don’t tell me—show me!”

  For a moment, I think she might do it. She stands there, her shoulders trembling, her back bucking, her face buried in her hands—but at least she isn’t moving toward Twyla. I hold my breath, feeling Nick doing the same thing next to me, his shoulder pressed against mine.

  From the shadows, the dark form rumbles again: louder this time, and more menacing. Not gloating now. Something moves within it—something with a shape that’s almost humanoid.

  Selene’s head jerks up. She takes a few hitching breaths, swallows, and nods. She’s still crying, but silently she turns her back on us and walks to the center of the circle.

  I let my breath out, slumping against the pole.

  It’s not going to work.

  She’s not going to do it.

  Whether she won’t or can’t doesn’t matter—the end result is the same. As soon as she finishes that ritual and gives Twyla’s soul to Razakal, she’s going to kill Nick and me—and probably hand over our souls too. And at that point, whether he decides to keep her around or eat her as well will stop being of any interest to me.

  Selene raises her head and begins reciting an incantation. I don’t recognize it—it’s way more complicated than anything I’ve ever been exposed to—but as she continues to chant, the shadows from behind the circle detach themselves from the wall and move closer, flowing out onto the floor until they surround the circle in blackness. I can no longer see Selene or Twyla, but I can still hear the chant growing louder from behind those shadows.

  I’m out of ideas. If Nick could get near the circle, maybe he could disrupt the magic. It might kill Twyla, but she’s dead either way so it would be worth the chance.

  If he could do it.

  If I wasn’t chained up next to Nick, maybe I could use my feeble magic to do something. I don’t even know what, but anything is better than nothing.

  But none of that matters, because we can’t. Nick can’t glitch the circle because he’s too far away, and I can’t use magic because I’m too close to him. I can’t even pop the handcuff, because—

  I jolt straighter as inside the circle, the chant’s getting louder and more desperate. Even without magic, I can feel the power growing.

  “Nick!” I grab his arm with my free one and twist to face him.

  Something in the intensity of my expression must be terrifying, because he flinches back. “What?”

  “Remember before, when you controlled your glitch for a couple of seconds? Back at the bookstore?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Can you do it again?”

  He blinks. “What? Why? It doesn’t matter.” He rattles the chain. “I can’t get near—”

  “Can you do it?” I demand, with a quick sideways look at the circle. It’s completely engulfed in swirling black shadows now. Razakal is as focused on the ritual as Selene is, and I have no idea how long the process will take. This might be our only chance to do anything.

  “I don’t know!”

  “Just—try it.” I shake his arm, rattling the chain on his cuff. “Just try it for a couple of seconds. You did it before—you can do it again.”

  He looks like he’s about to ask me why again, but then gives up. He takes a couple deep breaths, closes his eyes, and his face scrunches with that familiar look of constipation. Even in the middle of all this, I make a mental note to remind Quentin Happenstance to show him how to do the trick without making him look like a baby needing a diaper change.

  No time to waste, though. With a last, quick glance at the shadow-swirled circle, I gather my will, pull magic to me, and concentrate hard on the bracelet locked around Nick’s wrist.

  It’s been years since I’ve done this, and unlike the tracking spell, I’ve only done it a couple times. The unlocking spell is a simple one, almost a parlor trick, and no good on “real” locks like doors or cars. But a handcuff lock is a simple one, so maybe if I focus hard, I can—

  The little catch springs free less than a second before my head lights up with pain and I feel the magic around me fizzle as Nick loses his control. I sag back, panting.

  Nick expels a loud breath, not even realizing he’s free until he raises both hands and asks, “Did it work?”

  “Shh!” Another quick look at the circle. The chant is still rising, and the black shadows are still swirling. I have no idea how I know it, but I’m sure the ritual is getting close to its climax. If we don’t do something now, it’ll be too late.

  “Go!” I hiss at him, waving him toward the circle with my free hand.

  I’ll say this about Nick: he might not be your classic lantern-jawed action hero with bulging muscles and machismo to spare, but he’s got no shortage of courage when it counts. Without even questioning me, he leaps up and dashes forward toward the circle.

  The instant he’s far enough away from me, I focus on my own cuff. Despite all the stress, it’s easier this time: the cuff pops free and clatters to the floor. I scramble up and follow Nick, but not too closely.

  I have no idea what’s going to happen when he gets in range of that ritual. I doubt he does either, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s fully expecting the whole thing to go up in a massive explosion that takes out the whole soundstage. That’s some pretty big mojo going on in there—if Happenstance’s theory is correct, we could be in for trouble.

  Nick doesn’t hesitate, though. Screaming something incoherent and waving his arms like he’s crazy, he throws himself at the shadowy wall surrounding the circle.

  I skid to a stop, bracing for impact.

  For a second, nothing happens. Then the black, flowing form surrounding the circle breaks open and oozes toward Nick, reforming itself in a half-dome around him. On the side of the circle nearest him, the crystals explode with loud pops and the candles wink out. The circle collapses in on itself, winking out and plunging the whole soundstage into near-darkness.

  “Nick!” I scream.r />
  “Get Twyla!” he yells back. I can’t tell if he’s in pain.

  If he’s just sacrificed himself to save us, there’s no way I’m letting that go to waste. I take off at a run toward the circle, still leaving room between myself and Nick’s cocoon.

  Nothing happens as I cross its boundary; I didn’t think it would, because dead circles aren’t dangerous. Twyla still lies there on the makeshift altar, Selene standing over her. Selene’s eyes are wide, her mouth open, her face drawn with shock.

  I don’t hesitate or think about what I’m doing. Instead, I ball my fist, haul off, and let her have it with everything I’ve got. Punch through your opponent, my old self-defense instructor said. Punch with your whole body, not just your fist.

  I think he would have been proud of me today.

  Selene doesn’t even make an effort to avoid the blow. My fist smashes into her jaw, driving through. I hear something crack—maybe her teeth, maybe her jaw, maybe my knuckles—as my hand erupts with pain. The rest of her body follows her head, doing a graceful little pirouette and dropping to the ground. Her long red robe and wild black hair fan out around her.

  That’s the last I can spare to look at her, though. Instead, I snatch up Twyla’s shoulders and shake her hard. “Twy! Wake up!”

  I’m screaming in her face like a lunatic, but she’s not responding. That’s a bad thing, because she’s taller than I am and I’m not exactly Arnold Schwarzenegger when it comes to upper-body strength. I’m not even sure I can drag her out of the circle on my own.

  The rumble fires up again, but this time it doesn’t sound like it’s smug, or laughing, or gloating.

  It sounds disturbed.

  It keeps coming and coming, like a cascade of rocks slamming into each other in an avalanche, and somewhere beneath it I can hear Nick, still yelling. But I can’t tell if the yell is triumphant or agonized.

  With at least half my strength coming from adrenaline, I grab Twyla under her arms and drag her off the table. She slides off and drops to the floor with a thump, nearly pulling me down with her, but I manage to keep hold and start backpedaling, dragging her through the intricate chalk lines making up the circle’s structure.