Then a thick beat came on, driving and hard. I caught my breath.
“Jimmy boy, I wish I had met you,” I whispered as the Lizard King began to sing.
“He was gorgeous,” Ember said. “Do you think he was fully human?”
I shook my head. “Jim Morrison was Dionysus incarnate. He had to be. Total Dionysian energy. He ran so hard that he had to die young. You can’t embody a god like Dionysus for too long before the body begins to burn out.”
“Another shot?” Angel said, heading toward the bottle.
I wanted to say maybe we should let it be for a bit—the magic of the absinthe was stronger than any of us had been prepared for, but something inside me whispered Go for it so I shrugged and followed her over to the table. “Sure, what the hell!”
“What would you say to him if he was here?” Ember asked, dropping into a chair next to the coffee table. She put the sugar cubes on the spoons and pushed the jug of cold water toward me.
“Who?”
“Jim Morrison. The Lizard King, baby.” She winked at me and I realized that she was plastered. But then we all were.
I tried to think of an answer, but all that came to me was, “ ‘Fuck me’? I mean, I guess that would be my first response.” I started to laugh. “We should totally call him up and see what he’s doing in the spirit world. If he’s even still hanging around. He might have reincarnated by now.”
“You’re a bone witch! Let’s do it!” Angel said. Her eyes were glassy and her words were slurred just enough to tell me she was three sheets to the wind, but I was just drunk enough that it seemed like a good idea.
Ember frowned, but then shrugged. “Why not? We’ve got plenty of pizza.”
“Ghosts don’t eat, silly woman.”
“Who knows? Maybe he can take cor…corpsal…corporeal form? Then you could get your groove on with him.” She squinted at me, finishing off her drink.
“Okay!” Suddenly, it didn’t seem like an insane idea at all. After all, I was the Daughter of Bones. If anybody could coax him out of the grave, I’d be the one. I frowned, trying to remember what I’d need. “I need an offering. I mean, I could be the offering but I don’t think that’s the best lead-in. He liked booze. Let’s offer him a drink of the absinthe. And…lessee…I need a candle. A black candle and my skull.”
“Your skull is under your skin,” Angel said, laughing. “How’re you going to work that?”
“My magical skull—there, that bag over there? Bring it to me.” My magical to-do kit had one of the skulls that I worked with.
Angel staggered over to the chair, weaving dangerously toward the table. She managed to pick up the bag and bring it back, dropping it on the sofa. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road.”
Once again, something in the back of my mind whispered that maybe this wasn’t the best idea, but I was drunk enough to ignore it, and the magical energy of the absinthe was pushing me forward. I opened the bag and brought out the skull, along with a black taper candle and a candleholder.
“I need…flowers. I’ve got some white roses on the console table near the front door. Bring me those. I also need, lessee…I have a dagger here, and I need something to drop some blood into. And somebody conjure up a picture of Jimmy boy.”
Ember pulled out her phone and a moment later, propped it up in front of me. Sure enough, she had brought up a picture of the Lizard King, leather pants and all. I felt myself starting to drool and wiped at the sides of my mouth.
“Oh, he was beautiful. Bad boy beautiful.” I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. And the fact that he was singing in the background didn’t help any. All of a sudden, I had to call him up—it was imperative that I reach out and touch that beautiful, ballsy energy. I lit the candle, wavering slightly as I tried to hit the wick square on, then reached out.
“Take my hands. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Ember and Angel took my hands and I closed my eyes, focusing on the skull.
“Arawn, Lord of the Dead, I call thee from the depths of the Underworld, let me draw on your strength.” I inhaled a deep breath and felt Arawn’s energy surround me. It was heady, the energy of death, twisting through me so that I almost came right there.
“Your eyes,” Ember whispered. “They’ve turned black.”
“I know.” I turned to her. “I’m carrying Arawn’s energy in me right now.” I turned to the picture of Jim Morrison. “I summon thee from the grave. I summon thee from the Aether. I call thee from the Netherworld to attend me here. Hear me, Jim Morrison, hear the Daughter of Bones conjure you out of your shroud, into my presence. We have business!”
I focused every ounce of my energy on calling him in. I could see him in my mind, holding a microphone, encased in those leather pants of his as he stumbled around the stage, singing in that deep, vibrant voice of his.
“What the hell do you want?” The voice was just as deep as I imagined it would be, but the tone wasn’t quite so friendly.
I blinked, looking up as Angel let out a shout, staring opposite the coffee table.
“Oh shit, it worked.” Ember was pointing, her finger wavering.
There, standing in my living room, was the full-formed spirit of Jim Morrison, leather pants and all, with mist rising around him. He was just as gorgeous as ever, maybe more than he’d been in life, and he didn’t look happy.
“What the fuck? Where am I?” He jerked his head toward me. “You—you’re the one who called me!”
I stumbled to my feet. “I’m Raven, the Daughter of Bones. I’m the one who summed…summoned you.”
Morrison let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m used to crazy fans trying to call me up in séances, but of all people, you should know better.” He paused, staring at the bottle of Stygian absinthe. “Give me that.”
I shook my head. “Not a good idea. It’s made by the priests of Hades—”
“You’re a ghost. How could you even drink it?” Ember blurted out, then paled as he turned a baleful eye on her. “Never mind,” she said, backing away as he took a step closer.
“You’re not a ghost,” I whispered, suddenly realizing that we weren’t dealing with any run-of-the-mill spirit here. “Crap.” I started to sober up with the shock. I had made a terrible mistake, a really awful, horrible mistake.
“No shit, Sherlock.” He swung back to me, a wicked gleam in his eye. The edge of his lip curled up in a sly smile. “You wanted to have fun, babe? Oh, we’ll have fun, all right.”
“What’s going on?” Angel was trying to climb over the sofa, and not having an easy time of it in her inebriated state.
“Remember how I said he was an incarnation of Dionysus?” I darted over to help her before she fell flat on her face. “Apparently I was right. His ‘ghost’ is now free from human form, but he’s not a spirit in the regular sense of the word. He’s an avatar—”
Ember jumped back as Morrison grabbed the bottle of absinthe and swallowed what was left. The bottle began to glow and as he held it out, empty, it shattered, the shards spinning every which way. It was only by good fortune that none of us were in the way.
Letting out a malicious laugh, he kicked over one of the chairs, then turned toward me again. “I’m so fucking sick of being jerked every which way, just because you idiots can’t accept my death. I left when I needed to leave.” His eyes narrowed as the music switched to the Rolling Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil.” “Do you know how many obsessed fans have tried to summon me? How many times I’ve been yanked out of my rest?”
“I’m sorry—I didn’t even think…”
“Well, next time, maybe you’ll remember before you do something so stupid.” He held out his hands. The energy began to build and spin, like a vortex forming around us. A low howling began to rise until it sounded like we were surrounded by wolves. Raj took off toward my bedroom.
Frantic, I turned to Ember. “Take Angel and hide in my bedroom with Raj! I have to stop this before somebody gets hurt.”
&
nbsp; “What about you?” Ember grabbed Angel’s arm, stopping to look back at me.
“Just go!” The shock of what was happening had drained the drunken haze from my body, but the energy of the Stygian absinthe stayed behind, fortifying me. I had to send the spirit back to where he came from. I glanced at the walls, which were beginning to bleed with a translucent, viscous gel. It streaked down the walls as a dark shadow began to form in the corner ceiling.
As I stared at the swirling shadow, I realized that Morrison was conjuring it. He glanced at me, a devilish smile on his face. He meant business, all right, and I couldn’t even blame him. I had started the whole mess.
First things first. If I was lucky, an apology might do the trick.
“Go back to your realm. I apologize and I won’t ever bother you again.”
“Oh, it’s not so simple as that, baby. You’re the straw that broke the camel’s back.” He held up his hand, snapping his fingers. The shadow began to grow, spreading out. It was hungry. I could feel it, and it didn’t seem too particular as to what or who was offered up for dinner. I felt a big red target plastered on my chest.
I darted toward the coffee table and blew out the candles. If I could disrupt my spell, it might send him back the way he came.
Nothing. He was focused on me, and the shadow was now taking the form of a very large Komodo dragon. I blinked.
“What the hell—”
“I thought you wanted the Lizard King, baby.” He blurred, then appeared right next to me. “Come on, baby. You wanted to feed my pet?” He grabbed hold of my arm, his hands ice cold. But they weren’t flesh—they were solidified energy, and a low resonance raced through my body.
I looked up as the shadow began to take on a similar solidity. I had to do something, and I had to do it now or that thing would suck me dry. I couldn’t attack it, the shadow would just absorb whatever energy I threw at it. But I could attack Morrison.
As I began to gather my energy, I had a sudden flash. I could feel Arawn laughing as he whispered, “The skull…”
The skull—of course. The skull was my anchor for working. It would be a loss, but I could replace it. I focused on conjuring fire into my free hand.
Fire to flame, flame to fire,
Build and burn, higher and higher.
Flare to life, take form and strike,
Attack now, fiery spike.
Morrison was so focused on coaxing the shadow closer that he didn’t seem to notice what I was up to.
A ball of flame appeared on my hand, barely keeping shape—no doubt because I was still drunk and my energy was screwy—but it was flame, nonetheless. I slammed my hand against Morrison’s etheric hand, pressing the fire into his aura. He shouted, pulling away.
As the shadow made a beeline toward me, I grabbed up my anchor skull, lifted it over my head, and smashed it to the ground.
It shattered like the bottle had, hundreds of pieces scattering across the floor. At the moment of impact, Morrison let out a garbled shout and began to fade. He vanished, but the lizard creature was still there, and now it slammed into me full force.
As I raised my hands, trying to ward off the attack, there was a blur of movement. I blinked, startled to see Raj leap in front of me. He crouched, his gaze focused on the shadow monster, and a stream of red light shot from his eyes, burning into the shadow.
Behind him, Ember was muttering something, her arms outstretched. Before I knew what was happening, it began to rain in my living room. The shadow form yanked back with a yelp, and quickly dissolved as the water thinned out its form. The next moment, the room was silent, except for the trickle of rain that spattered down around us, soaking us to the skin.
The rest of the evening was spent cleaning up the living and dining room. The living room had taken the brunt of the attack. The walls were covered with ectoplasm, the furniture was soaked from Ember’s rain, and there were shards of glass and bone everywhere from the broken bottle and skull.
We said very little. In fact, after wiping it off and making sure it was safe, I turned the TV on, finding the stupidest, funniest cartoon I could. We needed to break the tension that good ole Jimbo had left behind.
We were all feeling the effects of the Stygian absinthe—at least our bodies were—so we worked slowly and methodically. Angel slipped into the kitchen and returned ten minutes later with a pot of cream of chicken soup and some toast.
“I think we need food,” she said. “Eat.”
Ember and I wiped down the chairs and settled in at the table, trying not to look at the mess left in the living room. I dreaded tackling the walls. The ectoplasm was going to be murder to get off. It was like slug slime, and I had the feeling I’d be painting the room soon.
“Um…well…it wasn’t boring,” Angel finally said, as we stared at one another.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I had no idea that was going to happen.”
“Hey, we were gung-ho, too,” Ember said. “Though I think the alcohol had a lot to do with that. I may never touch absinthe again.”
“At least not Stygian absinthe.” I leaned back, groaning. But I had other things on my mind. I’d never seen Raj act like he had before, with the laser eyes, and I wanted to ask him about it. But he had chosen to continue his silence in front of Angel and Ember, and I didn’t want to break his trust by attempting a conversation in front of them.
I could tell that neither Ember nor Angel were enthusiastic about continuing the sleepover, so I encouraged them to pick up their cars in the morning, and called them a taxi. By one a.m., I was alone in my house again.
As I stared at the ectoplasm still clinging to the walls and at the saturated sofa and chairs, I wanted to cry. It wasn’t so much the mess that awaited cleaning up in the morning that was hitting me, but more that I had put all of us in danger. Like it or not, the decision to call up Jim Morrison’s spirit had been my idea.
Tired, hoping that Ember and Angel would still want to hang out with me after this, I locked the doors and trudged into my bedroom where I stripped out of my clothes and hit the shower.
As the water streamed down my belly and back, I started to sob. As the tears streamed down my cheeks, I realized that I was crying about Ulstair, too. How would I feel if someone tried to call his spirit back from the dead on a whim? And with that thought, I started to cry in earnest.
As I toweled off and headed to bed, where Raj was sleeping quietly across the bottom, a soft cloak of energy swept around my shoulders. I stroked his fur, then leaned down and kissed his head before drawing a blanket over the sleeping gargoyle.
I paused at the window to look out into the stormy night. Arawn’s energy surrounded me and for a moment I heard him whispering in my ear.
Being the Daughter of Bones is not an easy path, and you will make mistakes along the way. But there are journeys ahead that will take you into the stars, and into the darkest depths of the Earth. And every time you stumble, learn from the fall, pick yourself up, and continue on, even if the world around you is burning to the ground.
And with that thought, I climbed into bed and immediately fell asleep, but my dreams were filled with spirits and flames, and behind that, the cold embrace of the Lord of the Dead surrounded me every which way I turned.
Chapter Eight
I woke up with a massive hangover and poured myself out of bed and into a robe. Slipping my feet into my slippers, I padded down the hallway toward the kitchen, avoiding looking too closely at the hardened goo on the walls.
Raj was sitting there as usual, staring expectantly at the refrigerator.
“Hey buddy, how long you been waiting?” I glanced at the clock. It was only nine-thirty, so I wasn’t terribly late.
“Raj ate the rest of the pizza.” He gave me a guilty look, but with those puppy-dog eyes, I couldn’t get mad. It had been my fault for leaving it out.
“Oh Raj, you know it gives you heartburn if you eat too much. Oh well.” I paused, trying to figure out how to approach him abo
ut his attack on the shadow creature the night before. Finally, I opted for the direct approach. “Listen, Raj…you remember last night? How you helped Raven out with the monster that was attacking her?”
Raj blinked, looking confused. “Raj no remember that.”
I stared at him. He never lied to me, except when he tried to cover up eating something he shouldn’t. “Don’t you remember? Raj saved Raven’s life. The laser eyes? Raj attacked the creature coming down from the ceiling?”
He frowned, let out a hrumph?, and shook his head. “Raj no remember.”
It was my turn to pause. Finally, because I believed him and I didn’t want to worry him, I just nodded. “Never mind, then. Last night was a blur and Raven was drunk. Here, let me get you something light for breakfast. When did you finish the pizza?”
“Before the light.”
I glanced out the window. It was gloomy and overcast, but it was definitely daylight. “Okay, how about some rice?” Rice soothed his stomach when he had gas or when he had an upset stomach, and given he had eaten the equivalent to a full pizza, I didn’t want him throwing up.
“Rice good. Raj likes rice,” he said with a contented sound as he curled up by his dish.
I started the rice to cooking and fixed myself a triple-shot mocha, along with some eggs and toast. I opted for scrambled eggs, four of them, and three pieces of buttered toast, to which I added cinnamon and sugar.
Sitting at the table, I finally forced myself to look at the walls. The ectoplasm had dried into snot-like streams. Frowning, I stood and walked over to one of the longer snot-cicles and tried to pry it off the wall. It came off, though it left a mark.
“Well, it’ll be easy enough to get this crap off, but yeah, we’re going to be painting again soon,” I said. Returning to my seat, I finished my breakfast, dished out Raj’s rice, and then went back into the bedroom to change.
Today I chose a black dress that reached my knees. It was retro-style, with a sweetheart neckline that cinched in at the waist, flowing out into satiny circle skirt. As I belted it with a red belt, I felt slightly more human. The caffeine was kicking in. I did my makeup, pulling my hair back into a side-ponytail, then slipped on a pair of platform lace-up boots that came up to my knees.
Witching Hour: A Wild Hunt Novel, Book 7 Page 10