Vulture Moon

by Alexes Razevich

  The window was opened more than a crack. If I eased it up, could I climb in before Gil noticed?

  I sucked in the sigh that fought to escape my mouth. It was a stupid idea. He’d hear the window rising. What good would getting caught myself do?

  Gil pulled to his feet and paced the room again.

  “I’ve been planning this day for years,” he said. “Slowly building up my power, learning how to kill and put the spirits of the dead under my thrall. All those mysterious deaths, people dying when there seemed to be no reason for it—that was me.”

  The confirmation that I’d been right brought me no joy.

  “The ghosts know they are under my control and hate me for it,” he said. “Their hate fuels me. Their hatred gave me the power to overcome The Gate. When you so foolishly came to pick me up when I called to say I’d “escaped,” it was the energy of their hatred that let me overcome you.” He stood up and glared down at Dee. “Who’s the clever brother now, eh, Diego?”

  If Gil’s words were true and he’d done the best job he could on the sigils, why wasn’t Dee’s tattoo transforming Gil’s hate into positive power for him? I slid back into Dee’s thoughts.

  His voice blasted in my own mind, his thoughts sharp and clear.

  Get out, Oona. Run.

  I wanted to shout in triumph. There was no failure in the sigil. Dee had laid low, gathered his energy and will, faking weakness until Gil let down his guard. I felt irrationally proud of him.

  I wanted to tell him Jack was here, too. I wanted Dee to know we’d fight alongside him. That Gil would be stopped. I thought it hard in his direction even though I knew he couldn’t hear me. Then I turned and snuck away from the house.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Jack startled when I opened the car door and slid in behind the wheel.

  “Well?” he said, recovering his composure.

  I unveiled myself and the words tumbled out. “It’s Gil. Gil is behind it all—abducting The Gate, luring Diego into his hold, the mysterious deaths. All for power. Gil is going to sacrifice The Gate and then Diego to steal their power in—” I looked at my watch. “—fifteen minutes.”

  Jack kept his face remarkably placid but I felt the worry in him.

  “There’s no time for second thoughts, Jack. We have a plan. We have to go with it.” I looked at my watch again. “Fourteen minutes.”

  He rubbed at his mouth. “It’ll work. Magic is as magic does.”

  I had no idea what that meant.

  “Come on, cowboy,” I said, putting a load of confidence I didn’t feel into my voice. “Cast your spells.”

  Jack opened his door and stepped out onto the street. I followed and came around the back of the car to stand next to him. I didn’t have the kind of magic needed now, but I could give him a companion, someone who believed with every thread of her life that we would free Dee and The Gate.

  Jack drew in a breath and I felt him draw in power along with it. He closed his eyes, muttered some words and flicked his hands in, then out.

  Sirens blared. A dozen police cars screamed past us and turned onto the cul-de-sac; the black-and-whites of the regular police and the all-white vehicles of the MPs, all of them tearing straight up the short block toward the ranch house at the back.

  I was already running up the street, following the sirens. I heard the car door slam behind me and the slap of Jack’s feet. When I reached the house, a couple dozen policemen and women had lined up blocking any exit from the front or sides. One had a bullhorn held in his right hand. He had turned away from the house and had his eyes focused on Jack.

  We came up beside that man and Jack took the bullhorn from him.

  “Gil Adair,” Jack said through the horn. The loudness made me cringe. “You are surrounded. Come out with your hands up and your magic left behind.”

  I glanced down the street and saw lights coming on in three of the four other houses on the cul-de-sac, people coming out to see what the commotion was about. That was good. Witnesses put more pressure on Gil.

  But Gil didn’t come out and give himself up.

  “Gil Adair,” Jack called again through the horn. “This is your last chance. Come out now with your hands up and attempt no magic.”

  Seconds passed. Long, dry, terrifying moments where I worried what desperate measures Gil might be taking against The Gate and Dee.

  The front door opened. Gil stepped onto the narrow porch and cast his gaze over the scene in front of him.

  A slow smile spread across his mouth. “Well, if it isn’t Diego’s girlfriend, Oona Goodlight, and Officer Jack Schneider of the magic police.” His gaze again swept over the police surrounding his house. “And friends.” He chortled. “Not real friends though, are they?”

  My breath caught in my chest. Gil wasn’t fooled by Jack’s illusions. I’d worried it was a weak idea. Gil was a wizard, not some ordin with no idea something could look real but not be. So now what?

  My sigil tingled and a stream of power flowed through me. Easy enough to think it was because Gil was sending evil thoughts my way—he certainly was—but I also felt Dee in that burst of strength.

  Gil swung his gaze toward where I stood and laughed. “You’re pretty naive if you think that’ll help, Oona.”

  Shit. Had he felt Dee transferring power to me? Or did he mean the sigil? Had he found a way to counteract its magic?

  Gil locked his eyes on me and raised his hands. I felt him gathering his will, his energy, and his magic. But Jack was faster. From the corner of my eye I saw the fireball he loosed in Gil’s direction.

  Gil pivoted and used the will and magic he’d gathered against me to stop the fireball in midflight and send it hurtling back. Jack put up his hand to counter the spell, but the other man’s magic was stronger. The fireball slammed into Jack’s palm. He bellowed and grabbed his burned hand with the other.

  Gil laughed and cast a freezing spell on Jack, leaving the injured man looking like a demented statue, one hand held in the other, his face distorted with pain.

  I’d used a freezing spell on Petra. I tried the undoing words for that spell, but Jack remained a grimacing statue. Maybe I had the words wrong. Maybe only the caster could undo it.

  When Jack froze, the illusion of police he’d conjured vanished.

  Gil turned his attention back to me. My heart hammered in my chest. If he used the same spell on me, I had no way to counter it. Evidently I had no way to counter any spell Gill cast my way.

  The sigil on my arm burned. Energy poured through me, joining what Dee had sent. My mind kicked into overdrive, searching for a way to at least distract Gil before he could freeze or otherwise bespell me. Something to keep him occupied long enough for me to get into the house and find Dee and The Gate.

  Dee had taught me how to conjure real things. The conjured wouldn’t exist for long, but they were as real as anything while they lasted. Jack had made a mistake when he used illusion for the police and police cars.

  I bolted forward, reaching into my pocket for loose change as I ran—something real for the magic to anchor on. I had only seconds to act. I conjured a nest of bullet ants and pitched it straight at Gil’s head.

  Someone once described being stung by bullet ants as like walking over flaming charcoal with a three-inch nail embedded in your heel. Gil screamed and batted at the ants crawling over and stinging his head, face, and neck. I leapt toward him, meaning to push past him into the house. He shouted something unintelligible, his voice carrying the force of his anger, hatred, and physical pain. A gale wind rose up, driving me back and blasting the ants off his body.

  A flash of motion flared behind Gil—Dee running out the front door at full speed. He smashed into Gil from behind, pushing his brother down on the cement porch. Dee’s fell on top.

  The two men tumbled across the porch to the lawn. Both pulled to their feet and faced each other across a two-foot divide. They could have fought hand to hand or Dee might have found a knife or other instrumen
t in the house to use, but they were wizards and magic was their weapon of choice.

  Magic in the real world wasn’t like Harry Potter with two wizards facing off with wands at twenty paces. The real world was a lot messier than that.

  Jack was still frozen and couldn’t physically help, but I felt him transfusing his energy and magic to Dee. I sucked air across my teeth, frustrated that I didn’t know how to transfer my own energy and power to him without physically touching him. There was so much I needed to learn. Gil had the energy and power he could draw from all the dead he’d enslaved. Dee could use any strength, power, or help we could give him.

  And I knew a freezing spell. I could do to Gil what he’d done to Jack and end this now. I readied the spell in my mind, drew in my will and power, and started the words.

  Don’t, Oona, Dee shouted in my head.

  I cut off the chant, listening to hear if he’d say more.

  Don’t draw attention to yourself. Gil is strong. Your spells won’t affect him. You don’t have the power. I can’t protect you and fight him at the same time. Don’t draw his attention and risk winding up like Jack.

  I hated that I saw he could be right. Hated that the best way I could help Dee was to be quiet and unnoticeable. It wasn’t my nature to hang back.

  Magic crackled in the air as the two men focused their wills and readied their powers.

  Gil struck first, aiming a blast of icy air—much stronger than the blast he’d sent at me—and driving it straight toward Dee.

  Dee stumbled back several steps but caught his footing, steadying himself. He hurled a concussive wave of sound that boomed over the yard. Gil was knocked down from the force of the wave but pulled back up to his feet almost immediately. He shouted something and flung his right hand toward the magnolia tree in the yard. The massive crack of a huge limb tearing itself away from the trunk was probably heard two blocks over. The limb flew straight toward Dee, guided by Gil’s magic.

  Dee countered with fire. The limb burst into flames midair, swung around and sped back toward Gil.

  Gil shouted again. The fire went out and the burnt limb fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

  My hand itched for the Smith & Wesson locked in my car. I couldn’t bear to stand by and watch Dee and Gil fight to defeat each other. I didn’t doubt Dee’s skills and abilities, but I knew I could help even though he’d warned me not to try.

  A whistling sound drew my eyes skyward. A stone the size of a car tire was falling from out of nowhere directly toward Dee. He saw it coming and leapt away. The stone thudded into the ground throwing fallen magnolia leaves and bits of dirt and grass into the air.

  Dee waved his hands and Gil tumbled backwards, ass over teakettle. He pulled to his feet, snarling. He held his arms out in front of his body and began chanting. The stone he’d conjured slowly began to rise.

  Dee took the same stance, chanting the same words Gil was but a moment or two behind so it sounded like one of those kid’s round-songs—“Frère Jacques” or “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” Except this was deadly serious.

  The stone raised head height and moved slowly toward Dee. I felt the tethered ghosts on the lawn swaying as though wild winds blew across them. Gil stealing their energy and their magic, I thought.

  The stone picked up speed, flying toward Dee. He chanted faster, his words catching up with and matching Gil’s. The stone stopped in mid-air, then began moving toward Gil.

  I shook myself out of the nearly mesmerized state watching the wizards had brought on, bent down and scooped up a handful of leaves from the lawn.

  To conjure a real thing, you needed something real for the magic to grow on.

  The stone moved slowly in Gil’s direction. Both men wore looks of intense concentration. Sweat ran down their faces.

  I cupped the leaves in my hands and began muttering the conjuring spell.

  The stone halted, then began moving back toward Dee.

  A loud crack broke my concentration on the spell. A jagged shard flew off the stone and racked across Gil’s arm, drawing blood.

  His anger, his hatred for his brother ratcheted up. I felt Gil summon more energy from his ghosts for a final push, gathering his will, fueling himself with rage that it was the sigils and runes he’d inked on Dee that gave his younger brother the strength, focus, and power to fight him.

  The stone, already moving toward Dee, picked up speed.

  Dee’s power felt like an avalanche held in check only by the strength of his wish not to destroy his brother. He’d do it though, if it came to that. I felt his resignation to the possibility, his reluctant willingness to be the instrument of his brother’s death to save The Gate, Jack, me, himself, and all those Gil could harm if he won.

  The stone stopped only a few feet in front of Dee, hovered for a moment, then started back toward Gil

  Not a choice I’d want to make. A choice I could spare him from. I started the conjuring spell again.

  As always when I conjured something real, I didn’t see the moment when the leaves in my hand transformed to a twin to my Smith and Wesson. I dropped down the safety, cocked the gun, and pointed it at Gil’s chest.

  “It’s over, Gil,” I yelled. “Surrender, or I fucking swear I will shoot you.”

  He glared at me, his thoughts so loud I didn’t need to slip in to his mind to hear them.

  I could kill you in a heartbeat.

  “Not if I kill you first,” I said aloud.

  There was a gun, the power from the sigils, a lot of focused magic, and the flying stone all bearing down on him.

  Seconds ticked by. The stone moved faster toward Gil now that his attention on it had wavered. I kept the gun trained on him and wondered if Dee would let the stone smash into his brother.

  Gil glanced at the stone, coming toward his head and not slowing. He ducked in a panic and threw his hands up in surrender. I guessed it surprised him as much as it had me that Dee would have slung that huge stone into his brother.

  Dee stopped the stone midflight and eased it back until it was halfway between the brothers, then shattered it into hundreds of small stones that fell on the ground between them. Gil kept his hands in the air, his furious glare on his brother.

  Dee undid the spell on Jack, then walked slowly up to Gil.

  “You should have told me all that stuff a long time ago,” he said.

  My heart broke for the sorrow in Dee’s voice, for the pain that must be in his heart.

  “We could have worked things out,” he said. “You have no idea how many times I was jealous of you or how hard I worked to be as good as my older brother. I wanted us to be. . . I don’t know. Better to each other than our parents had been, I guess.”

  He held his hand out to Gil.

  Gil spat at Dee’s feet. “Fuck you, brother.”

  Jack stepped up and muttered some words I took to be a binding spell since Gil’s body went rigid and his eyes glazed. My ears pricked up at the sound of sirens. Real ones this time.

  “Take him inside,” Dee said. “I’ll work on getting the neighbors to forget what they saw and heard tonight before the cops arrive.”

  “Where’s The Gate?” I said.

  Dee motioned toward the house. Jack gave Gil a nudge in the back. “Get going.”

  Gil obeyed Jack the same way his enslaved ghosts had obeyed him. There was irony in that, but no pleasure in it for me. Nor I suspected for Dee or Jack. I followed the two men through the door. Inside, Jack made a gesture and the door locked and bolted itself behind us.

  “I’m going to look for The Gate,” I said and headed down the hall, throwing open closed doors as I went. The Gate wasn’t in any of the rooms in the house.

  The gazebo.

  I raced out the back door into the yard. The fifteen-by-fifteen foot square gazebo’s canvas sides were rolled down so I couldn’t see inside. I could see, though, that the roof had been removed, leaving the interior open to the moonlight. I knew The Gate was alive, felt it clearly, but had no
idea what kind of shape he might be in. I found a corner where two sheets of canvas met, pulled one back and stepped inside.

  The Gate was sitting cross-legged on a stone table—an altar—his eyes slightly glazed, like a man who’d woken unexpectedly and wasn’t quite functioning yet. A silver knife covered in runes lay next to his right knee. He wore a long gray gown with a deep V slit down the front—the better to cut his heart out, I thought. My stomach turned over at the implication. His eyes glittered when he spotted me.

  “Ah, fierce little lamb,” he said. “I am pleased to see you. And very pleased that our side won.”

  I nodded dumbly.

  He picked up the knife and stared at it a moment before turning his attention back to me. “And Diego? How is he?”

  I swallowed hard. “Devastated. Doing what needs to be done, like always.”

  “Ah,” The Gate said and sighed.

  How else would a man be who’d been prepared to kill his own brother?

  That went both ways. Gil had been ready to kill his brother as well. And his mentor. What sort of anger did it take to be willing—anxious—to do those things?

  The Gate had once said it was tradition for a wizard to try to kill his teacher once he’d learned all he could. If Gil had thought himself ready for that, he’d been wrong. Dee had proven him wrong.

  “Can I help you down?” I said and put out my hand.

  I had that same feeling I’d had when I first met him, as if The Gate was looking straight through my skin to my soul. He grinned, but there was no humor or pleasure in it.

  “I think I’ll sit here a moment longer, catch my breath.”

  I nodded, wondering if I should stay with him or go get Dee and bring him here.

  “Oh,” The Gate said, the word a quick exhalation of breath. His face took on a stricken look. “Go to Diego and Gil. Now.”

  I spun around and ran back into the house. The Gate’s voice had been firm, his words a clear order. My heart pounded. Had Gil regained his strength? Was he attacking Dee again?

  I came in the back door and rushed down the hall.