Pride and Poltergeists

by H. P. Mallory

  “Bram?” Casey repeated.

  “Yeah, he’s a friend of sorts, I guess. A friend of Dulcie’s anyway. He’s not exactly on the straight and narrow, but Dulcie always relied on him for leads on the bigger, badder guys. Anyway, it turned out Bram had kidnapped Dulcie, but he did so in order to protect her.” I tried not to spit out the words, but they came out smoking anyway.

  “Protect her from what?” Rowena asked.

  “From the Darkness, I guess,” I answered with a shrug. “Bram, as usual, was trying to play both sides so he could ‘maintain the balance’ or something like that between the ANC and the potions rings. I don’t fucking know.” I refilled the glass to the brim and drank. Heavily. “Then something … happened. I don’t know what. Bram got discovered, maybe by Jax, maybe the Darkness found out on his own.” I shrugged. “The point is that Bram lost control of his people. Jax tried to… drain Bram, I guess, and beat Dulcie within an inch of her life.”

  I shuddered. The witch from Brokenview hadn’t just sent me word that Dulcie was there, she also sent memories. Dulcie’s memories and her point-of-view were played in cinematography, filched from Dulcie’s mind in the two seconds they had physical contact. It was ugly, to say the very least. Brutal. Unforgiving, which is exactly what Knight would be when he found Jax. Some morbid, angry part of me wanted to watch.

  Casey looked like he was about to ask for details, which I had absolutely no intention of giving him. Dulcie was hurt, and that was all he needed to know. I felt vile for telling him even that much. “Jax left Bram with a troll or a goblin or some underling and took Dulcie … somewhere. Brokenview first, but those portals can lead literally anywhere.”

  “And Jax is working with the Darkness?” asked Marcus.

  I nodded. “Yeah. We don’t know why the Darkness wants Dulcie, but apparently, he wants her alive. And it isn’t for ransom either; it’s been too long.”

  “How long?” asked Judy.

  “A little over a week,” I said.

  “Brokenview?” Casey asked, pulling himself out of a grimace. “That base isn’t under our control, any information they gave you—”

  “Is perfectly sound,” I interrupted. “I knew the witch in high school, and the message came in a daydream—totally secure, extremely difficult to cast. If she weren’t worried about being overheard, she’d have called me on the phone.” I realized I was close to shouting and took a long breath. “Their ANC has been overturned, but they’re not with the Darkness.” At least, she wasn’t, but I wasn’t about to plant unnecessary doubt. “I mean, they weren’t when she reached out to me.”

  Marcus was nodding, Judy was scowling, and Casey was pushing his glasses up onto his nose. Kent was just standing there. None of them said anything, but they all seemed to be thinking intently.

  “Most of the ANCs don’t even know they’ve been overtaken,” I said. “And the ones that do are fighting back, just quietly.” The burning blue cloud from the ANC filled my vision, and I blinked it away. Half the taken ANCs—which I guess now meant all of them—were in the middle of huge cities, some of them close to suburban areas. An internal insurgence, even in service of retaking the base, could have nightmarish consequences.

  “Could we contact this witch again?” Judy asked as she faced everyone in the room. She leaned against the counter, twirling a set of keys on her finger. “Maybe she could tell us where Jax and Dulcie went. Or what their superiors have been up to, if they’re Darkness cronies.”

  I shook my head. “I could try, but I don’t know that it would matter. Bram said nobody knows anything about the Darkness, not even within his own ranks. And Jax and Dulcie probably portal-hopped for hours, so who knows where they are now?”

  Judy nodded and hopped up on the counter. “Okay, so, no Brokenview. No witches, no archives, no Darkness. And no way to know where Jax and Dulcie went.”

  “We’re off ta ah great start,” muttered Kent.

  “Hey, I’m trying,” I snapped. Kent jumped. Nobody said anything as I got hold of myself.

  Breathe, I thought, just breathe. Not that I wasn’t, but a reminder seemed in order. I touched my throat, massaging the skin at my collarbone, and winced as I stretched the long red burns Dulcie had given me.

  Then something sparked. “But …” My nerves were frazzled, every single receptor in my body went on high alert, bracing for an attack that wasn’t coming. I was touchy, bitchy, but there was also a peculiar clarity that came with it.

  “But?” said Casey.

  “But there’s only a handful of creatures that could have given Dulcie powers like this,” I answered.

  “Given?” Marcus asked.

  “Yeah. She, uh … she can’t normally … do … that.” I couldn’t find better words, so I just let them hang stupidly in the air.

  “Would they be registered?” Judy asked.

  I shook my head. “I wish. The only ones on record are dead gods and demons older than dirt, most of whom are in prison.” However, if the ANC really had gone to shit, it stood to reason that nobody was in prison anymore. I did a mental tally of everyone Dulcie and I had put in jail over our illustrious careers and felt sick to my stomach. “If we can find someone who knows those circles …” The demons with fire and sand in their hearts, the monsters with iron eyes and silver claws and memories of a time when the world was empty. The gods of the old world, the ego of the cosmos, manifested. They’d be impartial, and above our petty, mortal conflicts. And if we could find one who was willing to help us …

  I touched the burns on my body, which were steadily scabbing over, turning grey with scar tissue. They were radiating magic, something holy and unclean all at once. The energy of a creature too strong for its own good, a kind of magic that shouldn’t exist. It was faint, the heartbeat of a dying animal, too weak to use as a fetish—but enough for someone else.

  “They could track Dulcie,” I said, dropping my hand. The thought of a demon, even a goddess or an angel, getting close enough to touch me made me sick, but we were out of options. Rowena cocked her head at me, examining the burns with her single dark eye, and she seemed to understand.

  “What do ye mean by circles?” said Kent. “What kind o’ monsters are we talkin’ aboot here?”

  I answered simply. “Old gods. Angels too, as well as demons.” The deep, apathetic roots of the spirit tree. Powerful, and notoriously full of themselves—likely the result of thousands of years of mortal reverence and fear. Being worshipped will do that to you, I guessed.

  “Demons?” said Kent, grimacing. “That’s … ambitious.”

  It’s crazy, is what it is, I thought. And it wasn’t going to be easy. Demons were less than accommodating, old gods always wanted something—sacrifices, virgins, firstborns, et cetera—and angels were nearly impossible to find, if they bothered to walk the Earth at all. The places demons lived were hot, desolate, and inhospitable, while the gods kept to whatever remained of their altars. Angels walked the thin line between life and death, a place that even advanced witchcraft had no hope of breaching, not to mention how taxing it was to try and talk to any of these creatures. Gods and demons loved riddles, and angels only spoke to those they deemed “worthy.” I could guarantee that none of us qualified.

  “It’s what we’ve got,” I said as I shook my head against the realization that the only demon I knew was one I’d rather not even consider for the job. “If we can find one willing to … examine … this,”—I gestured vaguely to my burns—“it’ll be a matter of seconds before we know where Dulcie went.”

  “And if we find Dulcie,” Casey started, warming to the idea.

  I nodded. “We find the Darkness, and we end this.”

  “Provided we can also find an amicable demon, angel, or god willing to talk to us,” Judy added.

  I winced. “Yeah.” That was the part that didn’t sit well with me.

  Casey shrugged. “Sounds good to me,” he said. “Any idea where to start?”

  I opened my mouth, read
y to say no. “Yeah, actually I do,” I said, my surprise obvious in my tone. I felt my face twisting into something like a grimace and I looked sideways at Casey. “But you’re not gonna like it.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Knight

  I watched Jax who was trying really hard not to look at me.

  He was in bad shape. One black eye, a hundred lacerations across his chest and arms, blood fucking everywhere … he was fully primed to die. Sweaty, sad, and already fading. But it wasn’t good enough. Not after what he’d done to Dulcie. Not after the torture he’d put her through, not to mention the humiliation. And now he would pay for it.

  He swallowed audibly, his eyes going wide as soon as they met mine. When he finally found his voice, he started to ramble. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out, blood and spit spilling out of his mouth. “I, I didn’t mean, I don’t know what happened to me I just, it just got out of hand—”

  I was on him in a second, grabbing him by his shirt and slamming him against the wall, hard enough for his head to leave a shallow crater in the painted plaster.

  “Didn’t mean to?” I seethed, my mouth right next to his ear, His throat pulsated under my hand, his thrumming heart practically daring me to tear it out. I squeezed until his face turned red, then purple, then black, and he scrabbled at me helplessly, his fingers tearing the skin of my knuckles, breaking it open in spots, but I didn’t care. Red seeped out from beneath my nails, turning my hands pink.

  Jax’s mouth opened and I felt his throat vibrate, but no sound came out. His mouth moved, so maybe he was speaking, but I didn’t hear a goddamn word. I dragged him forward and threw him with all my strength at the window—the glass shattered, caving in on itself, but it held long enough for Jax to be grazed by the iron-hot security strands. He hit the floor hard, screaming. The smell of burning flesh filled the room, and steam rose from his arms as the thin, red lacerations appeared on his face.

  “What’s the matter, Jax?” I asked, stepping forward. I kicked him hard in the face and heard his nose snap. As he clutched it, wailing pitifully, blood gushed onto the floor. I knelt down and grabbed his hair, pulling his head back until he was staring at the ceiling.

  “Are you scared?” I whispered. “Scared like Dulcie must have been?”

  Jax whined, his shoulders shaking with tears I didn’t know he possessed. No, I thought, Dulcie was stronger than him. For half a second, all I felt was pity. This hulk of a man, this monster, crying at my feet, a natural disaster pleading for his life. It was pathetic.

  Then he finally said something I could hear. “She …” he coughed, spitting blood into my face, “she deserved it.”

  With my fist tightening on his hair, my other hand moved of its own accord, darting up from my side like a snake and punching him right in the side of his skull. Jax screamed as he fell backwards, his head smacking against the wall. He moaned a desperate, wordless, inhuman cry of anguish, and all he could manage to say was, “Please, please, please, please …”

  “Please?” I asked incredulously. “Please? Are you fucking kidding?”

  I threw him aside and sat back, panting. He curled into the wall, hugging his knees. I scoffed and kicked him in the back, hard enough to push him into the opposite wall. He curled up tighter, and as he dropped, I saw a big, red splotch under the window. I grabbed him by the hair and slammed his face into the floor, making his skull rattle. His shoulders shook and his breath rasped. There was blood in his throat, turning his words to a gravelly croak. “You don’t get to beg, do you fucking understand me?”

  Apparently, he didn’t. “Please …” he moaned, “Please … just … please …” His words were tight and soft, brimming with fear.

  And something stopped me. Some line in my body went taut like a leash, pulling me backwards. No, I thought, staring at Jax’s bloody body. Imagining his hands on Dulcie, tearing her clothes away, dropping her, broken, in front of a blood-starved Bram … No!

  I couldn’t understand it. I should kill him, I thought, I should blind him and rip out his tongue, I should gut him with his own fucking teeth.

  No.

  The word resounded through my brain like a struck bell, deep and brassy, heavy, halfway muffled. It lingered there a moment, then faded like an echo, leaving behind a feeling of profound weariness. I was confused enough to be silent and still for three seconds.

  At the fourth second, the word came again. This time, it had friends.

  No, it said, you … should … not.

  “I …” I stretched my fingers and clenched my fist, exhaling sharply. A feeling overcame me, a casual coldness, a lethargy that made my hands feel numb. I shook it away and glanced over at Jax when I realized what was going on.

  It was telling that he was using Loki telepathy to communicate, but I supposed it made sense when I took in his jaw, which was shattered, the bones pressing against the underside of his skin in all the wrong places. I stood, cracking my knuckles, looming over him like a giant, a mountain, a dragon, and still seething. Just lie down and fucking die!

  Not …

  “Shut up,” I said, driving my heel into his back.

  Jax. Not …

  I stopped. Not Jax.

  The voice lumbered out of the darkness, a weathered presence trying desperately to stay awake. It smacked its lips and yawned at me. So if you aren’t Jax, who the fuck are you? I thought in reply. It was still nothing but a shadow in the corner of the room, a moving shadow, stretching and pulling back again, taking the shape of something.

  Meg? I wondered.

  The voice chuckled. The laugh sounded amused, like I was so far off—not even in the same zip code far off.

  Who are you? I thought. Jax was trying to get on his hands and knees. At first, I assumed he wanted to put up a fight after all, but when he finally did it, all he could do was vomit and fall back down again. My pity came rushing back in.

  Fucking pathetic, I thought.

  Yes … he … is … isn’t he?

  And yet I shouldn’t kill him? I argued with the shadow’s voice.

  The presence murmured to itself, and I imagined it shrugging. It was taking a more definitive shape now, the dull reverberations hardening into a recognizable register—a masculine voice, deep, thunderous, and ancient. Perhaps … you should, he said. But … not … now.

  Jax moaned and coughed, broken, and for one sick moment, all I had for him was empathy. Stop it! I thought, stop making me feel that!

  The feeling vanished, leaving me just as hot and hollow as before. The voice sighed mournfully. My … justice … is not … yours … to … dispense. The Loki’s … hour … will … come.

  I frowned. Your justice?

  The voice took a deep breath. Mine.

  Yours? And who the fuck are you?

  He chuckled. An … old friend … old, very … very old …

  I don’t know you, I said, glaring at the shadow as it meandered this way and that. I had to wonder if I were losing my mind and seeing things that weren’t actually there.

  You … don’t know … your own … maker?

  My blood ran cold before confusion overtook me. My own maker? I didn’t have a maker. Unless …

  No, that was impossible, that was fucking impossible. Hades doesn’t exist, I thought back to whatever creature was trying to impersonate a god. Hades is just a legend.

  Is that so? the voice demanded, angry and offended. Explain … yourself … then. Your … world …

  You don’t exist, I thought more fervently. Hades was a dream, a heroic story, the fire and brimstone of a civilization long ago. You’re not real. Far more likely, he was a hallucination, courtesy of Meg, and caused by my lack of sleep, lack of food, and the fact that I died and came back to life. Get out of my head!

  This … is what … she wants. Kill … him … and you … play … right … into … her … hands.

  Jax was staring at me now, confused by my silence. He dared to look hopeful—or maybe he was sneering, it was hard to tell
through all the blood on his ugly face. I took a step toward him and he cowered again, shaking like a fucking leaf.

  Let … him … go, the shadow said. His … end … will … be … appropriate … to … his … deeds. But it is … he took a deep breath, not … your … responsibility … to bring … about.

  Across the room, Jax laughed weakly. “What’s the matter?” he smirked through red-streaked teeth. “Getting squeamish?”

  Jax didn’t have to be bleeding. It was enough to look at him to make me squeamish. I opened my mouth to tell him so, but my tongue turned to lead, dropping like a dead weight in the center of my mouth. I couldn’t speak. Or even make a sound.

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, I thought, turning away from Jax and back toward the shadow that purported to be my maker.

  Leave him … be.

  You don’t get to fucking decide this, I replied mentally, storming back toward Jax, imagining his ribs splintering and digging into his organs. Jax flinched and glared up at me.

  “Make up your fucking mind,” he said.

  The voice sighed. I will not tell you again! It railed at me with the fury of one who had no patience or appreciation for being disobeyed. Well, he picked the wrong Loki to order around. As much as he disliked insubordination, I’d never been one to follow anyone’s rules.

  I didn’t even feel myself move, but in the next second, I had Jax pinned against the wall, my hand at his throat, my fingers digging into his flesh, tracing the outline of his esophagus. “This is for Dulcie,” I seethed, pulling him forward and slamming him back into the wall so hard that the plaster broke and the security wards beneath it pressed into his back, scarring him with a steaming, crosshatched brand. HIs face turned blue. My knuckles went white, and my bones nearly broke through the skin before I let go.

  He dropped like a sack of flour, coughing red blood into his hands. “Always … knew you were … weak.”

  “Shut up,” I said, resisting the urge to kick him again. Instead, I turned around, clenching my fists, trying to keep myself from pulling out my own hair. Stuck between a rock and something with really sharp teeth and laser eyes. Fuck!