Hell's Bell

by Keri Arthur

  “We?” I all but squeaked. “I don’t know enough—”

  “I can deal with the spirit,” he cut in. “But I can’t do that and close the board. I haven’t got three hands, lassie.”

  A smile twitched my lips despite the coldness stirring my gut. He really was like my grandfather.

  “That agate charm of yours will protect you from the spirit,” he continued. “I did some prelim probing, and the spirit inside isn’t strong enough to get past the spellwork on the charm.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s not capable of finding other methods to cause me harm.”

  “Well, of course not, and this one does seem to have answered the call of anger, if its hellish response to my questing is any indication.”

  “Great,” I muttered, even as part of me wondered what he considered hellish. The other, less sensible half preferred to live in ignorance and deal with events as and when they happened.

  “It is indeed.” He cracked his fingers, anticipation evident, and then grabbed two of the masks. “Shall we go?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer; he just turned and strode back to the house, leaving me with little choice but to follow.

  “Be careful in there,” Aiden called after me. “Remember that whole returning to the café bleeding conversation we had not so long ago.”

  I flashed him a grin over my shoulder. He was leaning against the front of his truck, his arms crossed and expression annoyed. The wolf did not like being left out of the action.

  But as I stepped over the old concrete wall and limped through the longish grass, trepidation began to override amusement.

  Not just because of the pall of darkness that had wrapped itself around the house like a blanket, but because of the stench of rotting flesh coming from within. If my very human nose could smell it from the middle of the front lawn, then it was going to be bad inside.

  Ashworth stepped onto the front porch and squatted next to a small backpack positioned to the right of the open door. The hallway was wrapped in shadows, an oddity given there was no cover over the porch and the sunshine should have at least shone into the first six feet or so.

  Ashworth pulled his athame, several potion bottles, and a couple of cloths from the pack. He handed me one of the latter.

  “I’ve put a mix of cinnamon and patchouli oils on them. Tuck it into the mask before you enter the house, and it’ll help with the smell.”

  Help, but not entirely kill, I suspected. “And the plan?”

  “I’ll go in first and corner the spirit in the living area. You check the rest of the house, and find that board.” He hesitated. “It’s possible that an imp or two has followed the main spirit through the doorway, so be careful.”

  Imps were lesser demons—or sprites, as they were commonly known—and were generally more mischievous than dangerous. But they did have a tendency to throw things around, and in such a confined space that could certainly get perilous.

  Ashworth took a deep breath and released it slowly; almost immediately, his magic centered around him and increased in potency. That surge of energy hit my skin in increasing waves, until it felt as if I were being bitten by hundreds of tiny gnats. I shivered and lightly rubbed my arms. It had been a long time since I’d felt such power—not since we’d left Canberra, in fact—and the biting sensation was one of the many things I hadn’t missed.

  But somewhere deep inside me, in the darker recesses that gave me the prophetic dreams, stirred the notion it was something I’d once again have to get used to.

  I hoped it was wrong. I really did.

  And yet, for all that Ashworth’s magic bit, it very much explained why he was out here rather than living in the cozy—if often chilly—comfort of our capital, serving the needs of the council and the government. He might be a powerful witch, but his magic was little more than a flickering candle compared to the output of the high-ranking members of the royal lines. The few times I’d caught my father or mother unguarded magically, it had felt like I’d walked into the middle of an erupting volcano.

  With his arms held up in front of his body, he walked into the house, murmuring an incantation as he did. While I couldn’t hear the words, the sweeping nature of his magic suggested the spell was one that would basically corner the spirit—and the sprites, if they happened to be near—in one small section of the house. Once that was done, he could then deal with it.

  I put on the mask, blinking rapidly as the dual—and somewhat pungent—scents of cinnamon and patchouli hit my nose, and waited, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, until his magic reached a crescendo and the confining net was completed.

  I took a deep breath, half coughed as the scents caught in my throat, and then silently began a repulsion spell. As the threads of magic began to form around my fingers, I warily stepped into the house. Despite the mask and the odorous cloth, the heavy scent of putrefaction still hit, and I gagged. Somehow, I held it together, even though my stomach felt as if it had lodged somewhere in my throat.

  I spotted a light switch on the wall and flicked it on. Nothing happened. I frowned up at the light as I tried again. Still nothing. Either the globe had blown or the power in this place was off for some reason.

  I crept forward, but with every step the darkness got deeper, until the sunshine was erased and everything around me was black. I quickly whispered a light spell and tossed it into the air. It rather resembled the will-o’-the-wisps—or ghost candles, as they were more commonly known—that inhabited the forests around Castle Rock, but where their light was a cool blue, this was a warmer gold. But, like the sunshine, it wasn’t doing a whole lot to beat back the darkness.

  I continued to move forward. In the uneasy glow of the sphere, I could vaguely make out four doors. There were two to my left, one straight ahead, and another down the hall and to the right. That was where the pulse of Ashworth’s magic was originating, so at least I didn’t have to investigate it. Not until he’d dealt with the spirit, anyway.

  I directed the sphere into the first doorway, and then followed it. Something skittered through the shadows between light and utter darkness, and dread stirred. There were sprites in this bedroom.

  I resisted the urge to fling the repulsion spell their way, and looked around for the nearest light switch. It, too, was unresponsive. One broken globe might have been accidental, but two looked deliberate.

  I started searching through the drawers and wardrobe, although anyone with any sort of sense certainly wouldn’t have kept a Ouija board in their bedroom. After finding nothing in any of those, I knelt down to check under the bed. Pain ran down my injured leg and I cursed softly—only to cut it off abruptly as movement caught my eye. A very large vase was flying at my head.

  I immediately cast the repelling spell into the air, but not at either the vase or the sprites. Instead, I let it drape around my body like a protective curtain. The vase hit it and bounced away, and the spell faded into the darkness, remaining active even though it wasn’t visible.

  A low chuckle came from the other side of the room—a sound that hadn’t come from a human throat. I dropped my light sphere to the floor, and quickly peered under the bed. No Ouija board; just more shadows that moved and flowed across the outer edge of the light.

  I rose and limped out the room. The sprites would undoubtedly follow, but if they were annoying me, they were leaving Ashworth alone—a good thing, given he had a malevolent spirit to take care of.

  The next room was another bedroom, but appeared to be used more as a storeroom. There were clothes piled up on the bed, an ironing board set up on the left side of the room, and a long row of cupboards lining the other. As I opened the first cupboard door, clothes rose from the bed and launched at me. The spell cloaking me shimmered brightly and threw rainbows of light across the darkness, catching the scaly tails of several sprites and making them squeal in pain.

  If I’d had more time, I would have made more light spheres and chased the bastards with them. But it was mo
re important to find the board—until it was closed, it was very much the greater threat.

  The sprites soon ran out of clothes, and started chucking other loose items at me, ranging from the various clocks that seemed to be sitting around to the iron, and even the goddamn ironing board. I growled in frustration, which was met by more laughter.

  Then I was hit again—this time by something far larger. Something that didn’t fall away, but rather sent me sprawling sideways. Pain once again ran down my leg, but it was sharper this time, and accompanied by a warmth that suggested it was bleeding. I cursed them fluently, brushed my fingers against the floor to keep from falling over completely, and then swung around—only to dive sideways to avoid being hit by the mirror portion of the dresser. It crashed to the floor and shattered, and bits of wood and glass flew, thudding into my boots and slicing through my jeans.

  I hit the bed and bounced back to my feet, but the room was becoming a maelstrom of flying furniture, and if I didn’t do something soon, I’d face the very real possibility of injury. But even as another spell sprung to my lips, I felt it—the stirring of magic. It wasn’t Ashworth’s; this was fresh, light, and even more powerful than he.

  Wild magic.

  Sweeping into the room, coming to my rescue without being called or asked.

  And, just as it had in the cemetery, it entwined itself through my spell, both enhancing and empowering it, making it something far greater than I’d intended. As the nearby wardrobe began to shudder and shake, I quickly tied off the spell and flung it upwards. Light exploded through the room—through the house—and the sprites squealed as they were cast from the protection of the shadows and burned by the light.

  In the other room, a deeper, more powerful but very inhuman voice joined in on the chorus of pain. A heartbeat later, Ashworth’s spell hit a second peak, and with surprising abruptness the deep sense of evil left the house. Only the sprites remained, and they were being burned into oblivion, their tortured screams filling the air and the scent of their cindering flesh overpowering even the smell of putridity.

  Footsteps echoed, and then Ashworth appeared. “How the fuck did you just do that?”

  I frowned. “It was a simple light spell—”

  “There was nothing simple about that spell, lassie,” he cut in. “And there was certainly nothing simple about the power it contained—power you don’t have.”

  “No, but the wild magic does. The sprites were getting nasty, so I created a sunburst spell. The wild magic enhanced it.”

  He frowned and cast around magically, probing for the wild magic that was no longer here. His expression, when it met mine, was a mix of confusion and excitement—and the latter was the last thing I needed. “How did that even happen? There was no wild magic evident when I entered the place, and there’s certainly none here now.”

  “No, because it fled the minute the sprites had been taken care of.”

  It was almost as if the wild magic—or rather, the woman whose consciousness now ran through it—wanted to avoid a direct confrontation with a full-powered witch.

  Though I had no real idea why, I suspected it might have something to do with what Gabe had done. He’d admitted that his spell had come from the remnants of a very old one, but perhaps that hadn’t been the entire truth. Perhaps those remnants had been nothing more than that—scraps on which he’d based an entirely new spell. One that hadn’t been considered possible.

  If that were the case, then ghost or not, the high council would be very interested in not only talking to him, but also gathering the exact details of the spell. Then they would attempt to replicate the spell’s success. After all, what better way was there to protect the wellsprings of this world than to infuse them with the spirits of powerful witches?

  But such an endeavor would never be without risk; all power had the possibility to corrupt. Even highborn witches were not beyond its reach, although it was a rarity and quickly dealt with when it happened.

  “That doesn’t answer the question as to why it came to your aid,” Ashworth commented. “Did you call for it?”

  “No.” I shrugged. “But it does seem to have an odd affinity with me—it rescued me once before—”

  “In the cemetery,” Ashworth cut in. “Your friend claims that’s the reason behind the unusual construction in the spells that protect your place.”

  I raised an eyebrow, a casual action that belied the sudden acceleration of my heart. “You don’t believe her?”

  “I believe something very weird is going on, both in this place and with you two. But enough of that for now; let’s find that fucking Ouija board before your light fades and something else comes through.”

  He spun on his heels and marched out. I released a somewhat relieved breath, and continued checking the rest of the wardrobes. Again, there was no sign of the board, and the only things under the bed were dust bunnies.

  I left the room. I could hear Ashworth ferreting around in the living area, so as my sunburst spell began to lose its brilliance I quickly headed into the kitchen. And there, sitting on the counter next to the toaster, was the Ouija board. In the fading light gnarled, shadowy fingers were beginning to appear, gripping the edges of the board—a spirit ready to erupt the minute darkness fell. The planchette sat beside it, unwrapped and unprotected.

  I didn’t go any closer to it. I just stopped and told Ashworth I’d found it.

  He hurried into the kitchen. His energy, I noted, was nowhere near as fierce as it had started out. But then, sending that spirit back to whatever hell it had come from certainly would have drained him—both physically and magically. His gaze narrowed when he saw the board and the shadowy talons gripping it.

  “Step back, lassie,” he said. “I’ll deal with this.”

  “Good, because I’m sure as hell not going to.”

  His expression was somewhat startled as his gaze jumped to mine, then he laughed. “And why not? You’ve been trained, haven’t you?”

  “Only at a basic level.” I gave him a pleasant if insincere smile. “They tend not to lash out on the training of half-breeds.”

  Which was true, even if it didn’t apply to me.

  He grunted, and returned his attention to the board. Whether he believed me or not I couldn’t say—not without touching him and unleashing the part of me that could read emotions.

  And that was something I had no intentions of doing—if for no other reason than really not wanting confirmation that my fears about this situation and his informing the council of our presence here were based on reality.

  I crossed my arms and watched as he quickly and efficiently threw a confining circle around the board. When that was done, he glanced at me, and said, “You want to go outside, grab the shovel out of the shed, and dig two holes? They’ll have to be two or three feet deep, at least.”

  “You’re going to bury them? I thought it was better to burn them once they were purified?”

  “I haven’t any mistletoe with me to counter the influence of any hellfire spirits that might be attached to the board, so we can’t risk it.”

  I grunted. I knew mistletoe had uses other than being a reason to kiss someone if caught under it, but I had no idea it could be used as a counter against fire spirits.

  “Go, lassie. I need to ready this board for removal before your sunburst spell totally fades.”

  I spun around and headed out the back door, my gaze sweeping the overgrown backyard until I spotted the shed in the right corner. As I walked toward it, footsteps came down the drive, and Aiden appeared around the corner.

  “You’re limping again,” he said. “What the hell happened in there? It sounded like the place was being wrecked.”

  “There were sprites in the house as well as a dark spirit.” I opened the shed door and stepped inside. Light speared in through a window at the far end, highlighting the dust and heavy strings of cobwebs. “The sprites weren’t happy about being evicted and I jarred my leg in the process of avoiding the
things they were throwing.”

  “And sprites are?”

  “Minor demons. More annoying than dangerous.” I spotted a shovel and limped across to pick it up. “We found the Ouija board. Ashworth’s closing it down, but we apparently need to bury it to totally secure it.”

  “I’ll do the digging. You’ve been through enough for one day already.” Aiden took it from me, and then waved me back out of the shed. “Where do you want the holes?”

  I hesitated, scanning the small yard again, and then finally pointed toward a vacant, somewhat stony area away from any trees or shrubs. “Over there would be good.”

  “And naturally she picks the toughest bit of ground around,” he murmured, amusement in his tone.

  He’d almost finished digging the second hole when Ashworth came out, the Ouija board and planchette wrapped separately in soft white cotton. His backpack was slung over one shoulder, and there was a plastic sea salt container tucked under one arm. He salted the bottom of the first hole, placed the Ouija board in it, then began murmuring a blessing as he covered the board with more salt, and then added some garlic cloves, lilac, iron nails, and a couple of agate stones. He then motioned Aiden to fill in the hole while he repeated the process with the planchette in the second hole. When that was also covered in, he said, “Right, Ranger, the place is now safe, although I might stick around for a little while, just case we missed any sprites.”

  Aiden nodded and glanced at me. “Do you want to drive my truck back? I’ll pick it up later.”

  I hesitated, and then nodded. While the café really wasn’t that far away, I didn’t feel like walking. My energy levels were seriously starting to crash. “Do you need to take your kit out of it first?”

  “Already done that.” He handed me the keys. “Just try not to grind the gears too much this time.”

  “I’ll certainly try, but there’s no guarantee of it happening. I drive autos for a reason, you know.” I hesitated, then stepped forward and dropped a kiss on his cheek. “Ring me before you head over, and I’ll have a coffee and a meal waiting.”