Damn it. The perimeter wall of the circle wasn’t a ward, although it looked and felt like one. It was an ara, a magic engine. I’d read about them but never encountered one. It lay dormant until some idiot, like me, stepped inside it and donated some magic juice to get it running. It absorbed my magic and turned blue. If I’d been a vampire, the glow would’ve become purple.
It occurred to me that my feet were no longer touching the ground. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the place where the floor used to be and it wasn’t there. I glanced down. The floor had vanished. In its place gaped a black pit and I floated above it, weightless.
Oh, great. Just great.
I opened my hand, revealing the parchment. A feather of light swept it off my palm and dragged it into the air to my eye level.
The magic buckled. Long veins of indigo streaked through the ara and struck at the parchment. It shivered, caught in the spider web of blue tendrils.
It was good that the Temple was shielded by a ward; otherwise anyone with an iota of power would be able to sense these fireworks.
The tendrils clutching the parchment turned a darker blue. The circle picked up the parchment’s magic and now it spread through the glow.
A powerful magic pulse ripped through the ara.
The center of the parchment turned smooth. The worn lines creasing the rough paper vanished. Ink appeared, slowly, like a developing photograph. A magic square formed in the corner. An assortment of geometric figures: spirals, circles, crosses . . .
The magic pulsed again and again, like the toll of a great bell. My whole body hummed with the echo. Hurry up, damn you.
The ragged edges of the parchment grew as the web built onto it. The parchment must’ve been only a small piece of the original scroll, a top left corner, and now the circle was reconstructing it as it once had been.
Words appeared, written in Hebrew. Between them, smaller lines written in English came through.
I devastate the land and shatter it to dust,
I crush the cities and turn them into waste,
This was familiar. I knew this.
I crumble mountains and panic their wild beasts,
I churn the sea and hold back its tides,
I squeezed my memory, trying to pinpoint where I’d read this before.
I bring stillness of the tomb to nature’s wild places,
I reap the lives of humankind, none survive,
Come on, come on. Where did it come from? Why was it lodged in my brain? Words kept coming, faster and faster. I scanned the lines.I bring dark omens and desecrate holy places,
I release demons into sacred dwellings of the gods,
I ravage palaces of kings and send nations into mourning,
I set ablaze the blooms of fields and orchards,
A final phrase ignited at the end of the scroll. It pierced my mind. Cold bit my fingers.
I let evil enter.
Oh no.
The words glared at me. I let evil enter.
Oh no, you don’t. I knew this—this was a part of an ancient Babylonian poem, used as an amulet against a man once worshipped as the god of plagues. He’d brought panic and terror to the ancient world and decimated its people with epidemics. His wrath was chaos, his temper was fire, and ancient Babylonians feared him so much, they were too afraid to build him a temple.
I read all about him when I was ten years old. His name was Erra.
But the Steel Mary was a woman. I was absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure she was a woman. I saw her with my own eyes. A huge six-foot-six woman, but unmistakably female. I had a round hole, and no matter how the universe tried to get me to shove a square peg into it, it wasn’t going to happen.
The tendrils curled back, withdrawing into the circle. The scroll snapped taut and disintegrated into a cloud of glowing sparks. The piece of parchment, once again ancient and blank, landed into my hand. The power of the circle vanished and I dropped to the stone floor.
The door slid open and I saw Peter’s pale face. He wheezed, catching his breath. “We’re under attack.”
CHAPTER 20
I DOUBLE-TIMED IT THROUGH THE PASSAGEWAYS of the synagogue. Peter jogged next to me.
“What do you mean, there is no way to hide the circle’s magic? You said you keep the circle secret.”
He huffed. “The particulars of the circle are secret. Its power isn’t. One doesn’t hide the power of God. The light of knowledge must shine through.”
It shone alright. It shone real well. It shone so well that the Steel Mary had sensed the parchment and sent the cavalry to investigate.
A thud shook the walls of the old building. I dashed up the stairs, through the hallway, and to the front. Several people stood before the door on the stairs.
On the snow-buried lawn a six-foot-tall blood-red man grabbed a golem by the hind leg. He jerked the golem up, swung it, and smashed it on the ground, sending a spray of snow into the air. The golem slid, scrambled up, and galloped away, leaping over the broken body of its twin. All around the Temple crushed clay bodies littered the grounds. At least ten, maybe more. It looked like a war zone and only one side had suffered casualties.
A red aura flared from the man, ruby bright against the white snow. The sun was a pale glow behind the clouds. It was almost five and the night would pounce soon. I didn’t want to fight him in the dark.
“Is he alone?”
Nobody answered.
“Did he come alone?”
“Yes.” Rabbi Weiss swung into my field of vision. “What was on that parchment? What is he?”
You don’t want to know. “In ancient Babylon there was a god called Erra, also known as Nergal. He was the god of plagues and chaos.” And fear.
Except he wasn’t really a god. I would’ve preferred a god, but Erra was something much, much worse.
Another golem galloped from the back and hurled its spear at the man. The man batted it aside.
“Erra had seven warriors at his disposal.” I flipped Slayer, warming up my wrist. “Darkness, Torch, Beast, Tremor, Gale, Deluge, and Venom. Deluge is dead. The Beast Lord killed him three days ago.”
The golem charged the red man and reared, kicking with its hoofed legs.
I watched the charge. “This would be . . .”
The man stomped. Thunder rolled through the yard, like the sound of a colossal sledgehammer. The ground yawned. He grabbed the golem and thrust it into the forming hole. It sank up to its waist, still kicking. The man swung his huge fist and hammered a punch to the golem’s sternum. The clay chest shattered like an egg shell. The golem’s head fell to the ground.
“Tremor.” Power of earth. Lovely. By all rights, he shouldn’t have been able to make sinkholes, given that the ground was frozen solid, but apparently someone forgot to mention it to him.
Tremor surveyed the grounds, looking for the next target.
“He’ll never break the ward,” someone said to my right.
Oh yes, he will. Trust me on this. “I wouldn’t count on it. Your wards are very strong but your magic is too young for him.”
A gray-haired woman gave me a pitying look, usually reserved for imbeciles. “Our wards are written in a language that was twelve hundred years old before the Common Era began. Even Unicorn Lane can’t breach them.”
I pointed at Tremor. “Twelve hundred years before the Common Era, Erra was thirty centuries young. He predates your language.”
A bout of hysterical barking came from the left. Idiot dog, making himself a target.
“Open the ward.” I started down the stairs.
“That isn’t wise,” Peter called out. “The spell will hold.”
“Out of the question. It’s too dangerous.” The older woman crossed her arms. “We won’t be held responsible for your death or damage to the Temple.”
Tremor took a step toward my poodle.
“Open the damn ward, or I will break it!”
Tremor turned away from the dog, swiped the
golem’s head off the snow, and hurled it at the Temple. It flew through the air, cleared the ward in a flash of silver, and shattered against the Temple’s door. Of course—the golems belonged to the Temple and the ward was keyed to them, so they could pass through it. He’d pelt the Temple with golem remains, and when he’d run out of bodies to throw, he’d stomp over here himself.
The rabbis stared at the shards of the broken head. Tremor reached for another body.
The gray-haired woman looked up. “Peter, open the ward!”
White light streamed down. I stepped through, and the ward surged shut behind me. I started toward Tremor, pulling on the clasp of the cloak.
Tremor turned to face me. He wore the face of Solomon Red. Surprise, surprise.
The cloak slid off my shoulders and fell on the snow. I kept walking. Nice and slow.
Solomon regarded me with a condescending grin. He never smiled. Like a drunk straining every muscle to appear sober, Solomon did his best to hide the fact that he couldn’t read behind a mask of grave importance. But now he smirked at me with obvious contempt. An agile intelligence lit his eyes. Erra’s intelligence.
Solomon opened his mouth. A familiar female voice spilled forth. “You again. This is the best the priests can do? Or are they trying to entertain me?”
I swung my sword, warming up my wrist. “Why are you a woman?”
“Why can’t I be a woman?”
Because it fucks up my family tree. “Because Erra’s poem says you’re a man.”
Solomon shrugged. “You shouldn’t put your trust into the ramblings of senile temple rats.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Any other pearls of wisdom?”
“None that would help you live through the next minute.” Solomon spread his arms and pulled them together as if pushing a great weight before him.
The ground shook beneath my feet.
I leapt up and to the left. A sinkhole gaped where I’d stood. I landed and jumped again, barely avoiding another pit. All around me holes opened, like greedy black mouths in the snow, and I hopped between them like a chicken on hot tin. I dashed right, then left. Unless I learned to fly, I’d never get to him.
Solomon laughed in Erra’s voice.
Usually I saved my magic as a last resort, but this was the old power and now wasn’t a good time to screw around. I had to hit him now and hit him hard.
I took a deep breath and barked a power word. “Ossanda.” Kneel.
The world reeled in a haze of pain. Like grabbing a handful of my own flesh and ripping it out. I reeled, but didn’t go down.
Solomon’s mouth gaped open. A dull roar like the sound of a rockslide spilled from his lips. His knees hit the dirt. Who’s laughing now?
The holes in the ground closed. I ran.
The power word had drained too much of my magic, and every step turned into a battle of will. Like dragging lead chains. I kept running.
Snow flew under my feet. Solomon shuddered. Thick cords of muscle bulged on his thighs.
Ten feet.
Six.
Three.
I struck in a classic overhead blow designed to cleave through his neck. As I swung, dirt thrust between us. The saber’s blade sliced through soil and came away clean. Missed. Shit.
A thick mound jutted where Solomon had knelt. Trying to thrust through it would break the blade and accomplish nothing.
“First, you kneel, then you hide. So far I’m not impressed.”
The mound exploded. Chunks of dirt pelted the snow. Solomon lunged at me, laughing.
I dodged and carved at his side. Slayer sliced a narrow line just under Solomon’s ribs. Red gushed. Solomon whipped about and backhanded me. The punch smashed into my chest. I flew, slid through the snow, and crashed against something. Cold sliced my right side, as if someone had thrust an icicle into my kidney. My lungs burned. Colored circles swam before my eyes. I must’ve hit my head.
I squinted—the body of a broken golem. Warm sticky liquid wet my side. I wanted a shower to wash it off . . . Yep, definitely hit my head.
“Shake it off,” Erra said. “Come on. Up you go.”
I jerked myself free. The golem’s spear jutted out, propped by its corpse, and its spearhead was red with my blood. Just what I need.
“Have your eyes cleared yet?”
“Hold your horses. I’m coming.” Yeah, not so much.
“From where I stand, you’re just breathing laboriously.”
The snow swam in and out of focus. “Breathing hard. Are you coming or just breathing hard. You’ve got to get your one-liners straight.”
“Thanks. I’ll remember that.”
The blurry haze cleared and I saw Solomon charging at me on all fours.
No time. I braced my back against the golem and gripped Slayer with both hands.
Solomon loomed over me. “Time to pray.”
I kicked my leg up, catching him in the gut, and thrust into his chest. Slayer slid into the flesh between his ribs. The point met resistance and it vanished.
Solomon’s huge hands tried to grip at me, but my foot on his stomach held him back. Pressure ground at my bones. God, he was a heavy bastard. I twisted the blade, trying to rupture the heart.
“Give it up,” I squeezed out. “I hit the heart.”
Erra snorted. “I know. Do you have any idea how many bodies I had to go through to get him?”
The light shrank. Earth piled around us. A few moments and we’d be buried.
The wound gnawed at my side. My saber was caught, and sinking silver needles into the undead would be like poking him with toothpicks—slightly painful but ultimately futile.
Solomon dug his feet in. His fingers scratched my neck.
There wasn’t enough air. “Would you just let him die already?”
“He doesn’t have much left, don’t worry. You do talk a lot. Like a little squirrel in a tree, chirp-chirp-chirp.”
I barely saw the light above us. If the earth built up any more, Solomon would collapse on me when he died for the second time. I would suffocate, buried alive. “Your animal impressions are stunning.”
Solomon jerked right. His hand grasped my arm, he ducked his head, and pain clenched my forearm.
She made her undead bite me. “What the hell?”
Solomon grinned. “Little squirrel! You taste like family.”
Oh, shit.
A shaggy shape hit Solomon, snarling and snapping teeth. Solomon jerked and extra weight pressed on me as the dog tore into Solomon’s back. I cried out. Solomon swiped with his arm, knocking the poodle aside. His weight shifted, and I grabbed my throwing knife.
“Don’t touch my dog.”
Solomon laughed. “How curious. Hugh’s been keeping secrets. No wonder. That’s the trouble with hired help: without ambition, they are useless, with ambition—”
I stabbed my throwing knife into Solomon’s throat. “Severed carotid. Enjoy.”
Blood gushed from Solomon’s mouth, drenching my face. “See you soon,” he gurgled.
Solomon’s eyes went blank. He shuddered once and crashed on top of me.
Erra had bailed.
I strained and pushed Solomon’s corpse to the side, into the dirt.
A moment later a smelly tongue licked my face, covering my skin with the fine perfume of day-old roadkill.
I hugged the furry neck. “Okay, okay. Let me up now.”
The poodle leaped away, excited. I got to my feet. The cut in my side screeched in protest. An earthen wall rose up to my waist. I clutched on to it, so I wouldn’t tip over.
Solomon lay facedown. I kicked him. It didn’t make me feel that much better. I kicked him again, just in case, and realized I was looking at a spear sticking out of his back.
The ward went down. People rushed from the Temple, heading toward me.
Where the hell had the spear come from?
A man reached me. “Are you hurt?”
“Who threw the spear?”
He shrank ba
ck. “I’m a medic. I can help you.”
I tried to speak slowly in my nonthreatening voice. “Where did the spear come from?”
He blinked. “I don’t know, I didn’t see.”
I grabbed the spear and strained. Sonovabitch, really in there. I put my foot on the body, crushing a few black needles, and pulled hard. The spear came free. It used to belong to one of the golems. Someone had picked it up and hurled it. Someone with great strength.
Someone had reported my crawling around the pole with Joshua’s body on it. Someone had watched me from the ruins. And now someone had skewered Solomon and vanished. I was really getting tired of all the secrecy.
Little squirrel. You taste like family. See you later.
She recognized the blood, but she didn’t know who I was. If I were her, I’d track me down. I’d get into my house, learn anything I could about me, and look for anything I could use as leverage. I knew this would eventually happen and it finally did. All my friends had just acquired a huge bull’s-eye on their backs.
Julie. I had Julie’s pictures in the house.
I had to get home.
I had to warn the Pack.
I spun around and saw Marigold lying on her side in red snow.
Oh, God. I stumbled toward her and broke into a run.
“Wait!” the medmage chased me.
Marigold lay unmoving, her head jerked high. The twisted wreck of a golem’s spear jutted from her neck. She must’ve been hit when Erra was throwing shit around.
I dropped into the snow and grabbed her head. Her eyes stayed dark. Her long eyelashes didn’t move.
“Can you fix her?”
“She is dead,” the medmage said.
She killed my Marigold. The bitch killed my Marigold. I’d used this mule for a year. I’d brought her carrots, brushed her out, and relied on her to carry me into a brawl or storm. Now she was dead, killed as an afterthought.
I staggered to my feet. I had to get to the phone.
People jumped out of my way. I marched up the steps and grabbed the first warm body. “Phone?”
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